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DTA SHORT STORY: The Two Analysts

“Guess who’s home!”

The woman walked in, her hair had grown longer from the last time she visited, a visit of blood. The man stood next to vials of various liquids, rats on his shoulders. His hair was a mess of knots. His eyes narrowed as the door slipped open, she was never good at sneaking. Kainat never needed to be.

“Mr. X and Shakesphere say you should leave,” Zebel said petting Shakesphere's head. Both fuzzy rats were content on his shoulder as he stared at the table full of chemicals. Not looking at the woman.

“Who?” She said eyes narrowing as she looked around the makeshift lab, a mess of chemicals and metals.

“I don’t know, I just hear things and name the little guy, one’s a writer or something." Her eyes widened a bit with realization as he said a little,

“Oh, your fucking rats! Those stupid things.“ Her hands almost moved to solidify her feelings but she stopped herself.

“What do I need to do to get you to leave my 75th lab?” The short man said with a sigh.

“This is only the 75th one?” She asked as she picked up a vial set off to the side. She was getting ever so close to him. Zebel ignored her, still staring into the vials in front of him.

“Yeah, ten have been burned 'cause I’m a witch according to humans. While 20 have been because of you." He still refused to look, she wanted to smash the vial.

“Funny, science is witchcraft now,” She smiled as she turned still staring deeper into the vial, Zebel picked up both rats and put them on the floor, they ran to their hidey-hole.

“Technically they’re the same, both come from a need for power,” The shorter man said as he started to organize the vials in front of him, refusing to look Kainat in her crimson eyes. He’d seen what had happened to others far too many times.

She dropped the vial with a crash, a shattering heart. Liquid pooled onto the floor, the color of blood and her eyes,

“I heard that thing has been paying a visit,"

His hands paused, “You want me to poison them?”

“No, no I would never want that,” she said drawing out the t while empathizing never, all lies.

“Should I keep guessing, or are you gonna tell me?” Zebel felt the urge to turn around but ignored it. She didn't respond.

“You really like making people guess, you’re a stereotypical villain.” Zebel continued.

“Eh you know us, we can’t afford to be predictable. You’re the same as me." She stalked closer now right behind him. He refused to turn, his rats scattered in the walls, away from the lingering danger. The air got thinner as she approached.

“Zebel," Her voice acid like always.

“Yes, Kainat?”

“How many of our old friends are alive?”

“Me, you and Hybrid.”

A sword was to his neck immediately once Hybrid's name was spoken.

“Aw, are you sure about that?” Her words were like licorice melting on his skin.

“I know you can’t detect lies, that was Yonna and Yinna’s thing…thankfully they didn’t live long enough for you to kill.”

“I think it’s a shame, now give me all the names. Who gave that thing his medication? Who gave you the recipe?"

“Dr Verna,” She shook her head,

“Callan, Brahma, even Dr. M are all alive according to rumors.” She tsked and pressed the sword to his pale skin, drawing two drops of crimson to match her eyes.

“Do you come here just to torture me? To trick me? Every damn time?”

“No, that's you.”

She withdrew her sword in a flash putting it in the sheath as she walked out. Zebel kept his head down until she shut the door, the darkness consuming the lab even with its glowing vials. Even with his glowing crimson eyes. A much lighter red compared to the deep evil outside.

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tw for lots of unaliving thoughts and actual unaliving soon after, but if you're all good then be my guest and read on.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

Kathleen moved lithely up the stairs, swaying, like a strong wind was pulling her back and forth like a paper thrown out. Her feet jumped on the very edge of each step, her hand but a tease to the metal guardrails, loosely brushing her palm on it as she made her way up the stairs.

I want to die.

Her uniform, a symbol of privilege and discipline had been worn on better days. Her IDs red band swung dangerously from her skirt pocket, vest left unbuttoned, and sleeved pulled up to her elbows.

She climbed up the two flights of stairs tipsily. Like a drunkard. With every rise, her body would stall before she swung her weight forcibly up. From the outside, through the tall windows that cornered this spiraling staircase, she was nothing but a silhouette moving up like a desperate stray.

A deep never-ending pit in her stomach demanded attention. Glazed eyes, dry lips. Kathleen’s wrists buzzed with an ache that tapped like Morse code in her brain: I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.

She clutched on the guardrail before letting go completely. **Fragments of broken phrases now put together chanted at the back of her mind. Something that told her to go higher. Higher. HIGHER. She lurched onwards, finally stepping onto a flat platform.

Kathleen reached the third floor of the Consolacion Building, a building reserved for the middle to junior high school students of Colegio de Santa Mariana. The third floor was the topmost floor, and with the sky mellowing into an orange light it was at its dimmest. Kathleen traced the same steps she made earlier, going down a familiar path. A path she went up on every morning before six and went down on at exactly four in the afternoon.

Up three flight of stairs, ignore the transparency the glass walls gave everyone. Move straight. To the left is the library, ignore that, don’t let the grand oak paneled doors tempt you away. A single peek turns into an hour. And Kathleen didn’t have an hour.

Her heart throbbed, a beat per minute, three syllables per second. Her feet moved rhythmically against the cement floor. Keep walking. Go on for twenty steps. Kathleen only took fifteen frantic steps to get where she needed to go.

Grade 10 - Our Lady of Mercy. Engraved on a wooden plate, beckoning students inside, was the title of Kathleen’s classroom. Every time she came upon it, Kathleen had to look up just to read that plaque. Seeing it again, her feet as lousy as her mind, brewed something in her.

Kept within the windowless doors and shuttered windows, the thirty by thirty foot room, had twenty students. Kathleen barely considered herself one of them. Yet here she was, coming back like a beaten wife to her deadbeat husband. Fingers indented into Kathleen’s closed fist.

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it and her breath went shallow. Past the just-clean whiteboard, Kathleen would wade through the armchairs organized like military platoons, the two sections divided into four rows. She’d climb unto the shelves lined near the windows that peer off into a low-income neighborhood fenced off by the school’s posh cement walls.

Pull its handle open. Push. And fall.

Kathleen imagined it. She imagined it hard.

I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.

Her hands stopped shaking. Her heart throbbed less. She took one last deep breath, and pushed the door open.

At this time of day, it’s meant to be empty. Nobody but the extracurricular students should be in-campus, and they wouldn’t be back until the sky was dark and Kathleen’s body was discarded off of the third floor.

But inside this room fit for twenty students, five of which whose names were starred on the student list, a lone girl was left behind. In the middle of this classroom, where the floors were kept pristine, and dust swept before they accumulated, no one had taken a particular interest before in the ceiling. No one cleaned it. No one really looked at it. But this ceiling was built in a particular way.

In the middle of this ceiling was a big hook, its end dull and rusting. Nobody knew why it was there. Nobody cared. Now someone’s body was hanging from it.

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perhaps I’ll get used to my tears slumbering alongside raindrops for prettier flowers.

and maybe I’ll get used to my view of sunsets and horizons above me changing hues to promising scarlets and drifting cloud formations.

look, how lucky are the birds for being just be – they do not have to be anything but the flier.

for I have roles among my soils rooted in soul-known rules in how I ought to …only stay.

so, forgive me, will you all, please?

for I did not learn how to be anything other than – playing the ideal bedrock for grander stems, branches, trees, and look – for more enchanting flowers to grow from.

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Another Dream

(mind the tags underneath the post.)

The moonlight hits my face through the window, and the last notions of sleep quickly leave me. This isn’t my room, though. The window hangs open, allowing a gentle wind to billow through the translucent curtains. I’m laying in a queen sized bed, and the duvet is this tacky, ornate design that no doubt costs way more than it’s actually worth. There’s no way in Hell I’d decorate a room like this. It’s uncomfortably empty, save for the bed and a mossy green wardrobe with peeling paint. I look up to the moon, squinting as if the light hurts my eyes. 

Before I can think better of it, I crawl out of the window. My feet hit dirt and grass and gravel all at once. I don’t mind it. The pain keeps me alert. I let myself wander, ‘cause I can’t shake the feeling that I have somewhere I’m supposed to be going— and eventually, I find it.

A freshly dug grave. It’s shallow, definitely less than 6 feet, and there’s only a thin layer of dirt between me and whatever poor idiot is buried here. Whoever buried this guy did a real shitty job. I hop down into the grave. This is definitely illegal, but it never occurs to me that I could get caught. It’s like the possibility doesn’t even exist. Despite the grave’s shallowness, I dig until my hands feel raw. And then I dig some more. My fingers start bleeding. And then I hit wood. Sweet. 

I don’t know why I’m doing this— why I’m so desperate to open this casket. I just feel like I have to. Like if I don’t, it’ll gnaw at me, eating away at my resolve until I do. Temptation is a beast that I wish not to fight. My dirt-covered, bleeding hands search for a way to open the lid. When they find it, I hesitate. What if I know whoever’s buried here? I shake my head to dispel the thoughts and rip the lid off. It takes me a second to recognize who I’m looking at. 

It’s me. A peaceful, content me. Smiling sweetly, angelic expression haloed by the moonlight. He’s holding a mountain lily between delicate, uncalloused, clean hands. Something twists inside my gut. There’s no way I’m going peacefully. There’s no way I’ve ever felt at peace, at ease. I’ve never felt peaceful in my entire life. This ‘me’ is already dead, so why do I feel my fingers twitch? Why do my hands wrap around his throat, desperate to make his expression change? This ‘me’ is obviously better off. Why am I disgusted by the idea of a life where I can smile like that? A life where I can be sure that my hands are devoid of blood? 

Do I have to destroy everything that’s better off than I am? Maybe ‘I’ deserve it. Maybe ‘I’ need to see reality, to get a little dosage of what the world is really like—My hands press down, squeezing. I strangle the corpse. And for some reason, ‘my’ hands release the Mountain Lily ‘I’ have been holding, and grabs my arms, trying to rip them away from ‘my’ neck.

Instead of hesitating, I keep choking him. I don’t even question why ‘I’m’ not dead— It doesn’t matter. Not now. The only thing that matters is showing ‘me’ the truth. That you don’t get to smile. You don’t get to go peacefully. You don’t deserve it. You’ll cling to life until your last breath is ripped away from you. You won’t go quietly into that good night. 

 If only because you haven’t earned it.

-- My writing, dated 2/7/23

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I feel like I forget about this account every year

anywho

I did write lore for one of my ocs (Ocean) down if anyone wants to. read it. <3

TW for mentions of abuse, death, & attempted murder

ocean's lore (google doc)

also her toyhouse profile because. yeah.

I recommend reading both on a computer because of how the layouts are ♡

Ocean whahhhh <33

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Your Weapons Rack

From left to right, in order of use, again, age (descending), then again, size (descending), and again by use:

A scythe, wrapped in chains. the chains keep opponents away, and the blade slices through your marks like butter (and yet somehow it’s heavy). the handle is plain, a stone polished and carved into the shape of a skull at the end. your most useful. it listens wonderfully to you, but it’s not your favorite. there is no novelty to its loyalty. the efficiency bores you. you use it, anyways.

A massive, colorful warhammer, polka-dotted and round at the ends. the sharper ends are covered by clown noses, and the flat end is stained with red. the colors hurt your eyes, and you have made numerous attempts to modify it (the colors always come back. there is nothing you can do). it is your absolute favorite. you lost it, once, and intend never to do so again. you hold it close to your chest, closer, closer, closer. but never too close. 

A worn claymore with a plain, rust colored hilt. it is not yours anymore. when it was yours, you modified it, sharpened the blade and kept it as the finest piece of your collection. even now, the blade never seems to dull, impervious to age and damage. it will outlast your entire collection. when it was yours, it did not listen to you. when it was yours, it seemed to despise you. that has not changed, even now that it is no longer part of your personal collection.A stiletto dagger, opulent and fragile, but effective. it is not yours. when it first came into his possession, it nearly fractured and broke. it is the newest in the collection, but quickly becoming one of his most optimized, if not the most. it is not your problem, but you sometimes are concerned that he will break the fragile little thing. you do not care, but it would be inconvenient. it would make the overall count on the rack uneven (you can't stand uneven numbers). 

An ax, worn but perfectly sharp, with a long handle. this one is not yours, but another from his collection. it sparkles with electricity, sometimes shocking him. it has never seen better days, and was always used without care for the weapon itself. this has not changed, even after it came into his possession. the craftsmanship is nearly perfect, but careless usage has damaged it. you often wonder if it is beyond the point of repair. it has a rebellious spirit and often ends up in trouble with him. despite this, the dull shine of the red blade never fully dies. you almost admire it. 

A rapier with a cobalt hilt, perfect craftsmanship, a little dull. this one is the last weapon that is part of his collection, and the oldest as well. it listens without question, which pleases him, but is a dull blade, too finicky and intellectual for his hands, and so remains unused, most of the time. you think it a bit of a shame. it’s of such a fine make, too. you might have to steal it away from him. you’re not so sure that he wouldn’t notice, though. best to leave it be until he’s out of the equation. 

A chainsaw, covered in stickers, in an orange case. it has a complex about listening to direct orders. wielding it is an intricate dance of reverse psychology and direct orders. it behaves carelessly with itself, wandering down a path that will inevitably lead to self-destruction. you have no intention of stopping it. you only hope to get as much use out of it as possible before that day comes. 

An ornately carved bow, light blue, with arrows to match.  it nearly broke once, years ago, and you have kept it sealed away since then. you carefully keep it in shape, afraid of it breaking again. after that time, years ago, it had to have a piece replaced. the intricate carvings were replaced with silicone and plastic, and you grimace each time you see it. unity was always your favorite. it is not often in the direct line of fire, supporting from the back. you still fear the day it breaks for good. but there is nothing to be done. you don’t care enough to. 

-- My writing, dated 10/8/24

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“Did they rehearse that shit?” Rei’s voice was muffled from holding their broken nose.

“What?” Cyn asked. Were they okay? Did they hit their head too hard?

“Oh- oh, no, I get it.” Ethan nodded. “Like, that was too perfect. The transitions to all them showing up was too clean.”

Cyn considered. Would they? They had had a lot of time on their hands, but would they all really work together for something like that?

Zasha- poor kid was holding onto her dad, who was crying, while her mother tried to shield her from Olive’s unconscious body lying on the floor- piped up quietly.

“They all said something that led into the next person showing up. Those dragon guys might make sense, but the lady saying something that applied to both her with Ryu and Stolas and Via and Kora with Eryn and Rei felt planned.”

“But… would they?” Red asked.

Cyn was about to respond before a voice from the floor did instead.

Zaria had apparently come to pretty quick, but was still lying facedown on the floor, either too woozy or depressed to get up.

“Yes. Fucking theater kids.”

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Blair Nasir Rafferty

Blair is the captain of an infamous military ship known as The Orient. He witnessed both his father and brother perish in battle, his mother dying shortly after his birth.

After the death of his brother, Blair felt like he was obligated to continue the family tradition of running the ship until death. Countless times has he gotten injured and almost died, but guilt and the constant feeling that HE had to be the one protecting his crew drive him forward.

Blair is a character that may require lots of research into cultures I’m unfamiliar with. He’s a mix of a species of people based on arctic foxes and a species of people based on fennec foxes.

For the arctic fox people, or Sneacaines, I wanted to base their culture off of celtic, norse and a little bit of japanese mythology and culture. For the fennec fox people, or Farsarakines, I wanted to base their culture off of persian, hawaiian, arabic and maybe even some ghanaian mythology and culture.

Everything about him may change as I research these cultures and develop lore for this world, but as of right now he feels like a pretty set character.

Due to the fact that his crew is a mix of many different cultures, and because his parents and brother died when he was pretty young, I feel like he’d be way out of touch with both the Sneacaines and the Farsarakines. He wouldn’t be curious about his families cultures, as he has more to deal with, but when he meets Sorima, Kyaverre (Name subject to change), and Morstora (Also subject to change), he’ll end up learning more about other cultures and his own.

If there is anything you’d all like to know about him or other things about this world, you could ask! I might make one of those ask accounts if I flesh more of his world out. Alright, thank you!

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Interview with Bo and Octavius, my main characters :)

Context: Bo and Octavius are new employees at SCC; all characters are in the afterlife, and the SCC is essentially an organization that keeps balance for living world. Hypothetical conversation about if she were interviewed.

[Both pull out a chair and sit down, interviewed holding clipboard and pen, eyes skimming questions] 

Interviewer: Hello. Thank you so much for agreeing to have an interview with us. Would you like to introduce yourself before we start?

Bo, nodding eagerly: yes, of course! Thank you so much for your time as well. My name is Bo, I recently started working at SCC managing the mortal world, and it’s been lots of fun. I’m happy to know that I’m making a difference to help living people! And everyone at SCC is incredibly kind—

Interviewer, tapping pen impatiently on the clipboard: just a few words, please.

Bo: oh, right. Well, yeah. I’m Bo. Hello.

Interviewer: mhm. Okay, so, first question: what’s your job at SCC and what do you think of the higher up’s there? What’s the work environment like?

Bo: Right. Well, I’m an archer, I’m working on bettering my skills and aim with Octavius, it’s been great. We’re there to interfere with the mortal world when we need to, and defend SCC in times of crises. Yes, and then, what I think about the higher ups… well I haven’t spoken to many, but Asher the captain of my unit. He is an amazing leader! Keeps things organized, always goes the extra mile for us. The work environment is very reasonable. As you can tell, I’ve loved my time.

[Interviewer nods slowly at the rant]

Interviewer: mhm, yes, that’s great. So, you mention Octavius, who I understand to be your partner at SCC. What’s your relationship with him like?

Bo: Oh, well we only met a few months ago, but I really look up to him, y’know? He’s definitely more skilled than I am, so I have some things to learn… yeah. He’s cool.

Interviewer: yes, and what do you have to say about your personal relationship to him? There are some rumors going around you two are a couple, any comments on that?

[Bo paused, a little thrown off. She mumbles over her first words.]

Bo: What? well— first of all, no, we’re not dating. There’s nothing romantic between us at all.

[Interviewer turns to camera and gives a doubting look]

[Bo waves her hands in front of her, defensive] 

Bo: No, seriously! Octavius is a coworker I look up to. I think we’re friends maybe. I don’t know… he’s kind of quiet. But yeah, we’re not dating. Who said that, actually? I wanna know. Do you have—

[Bo tries to look at paper, and interviewer switches to the next page]

Interviewer: moving on. Gonna ask some more general questions about you so the people can know what kind of person is handling the world we hold so dearly.

[She takes a pause before answering, bothered by the last question]

Bo: yes. Of course. I understand.

Interviewer: What’s your history like? What country did you live in alive? Did you have a job before working at SCC? 

Bo: right, so actually, leading up to my passing I suffered a major head injury and forgot most things about my life… because it was a condition my body was already adapted to, it was not fixed when I moved on to the afterlife. So I really don’t know much about when I lived. But on the question about a job, I did do archery things under other countries and briefly taught lessons.

Interviewer: You have no memory of your life? That’s pretty rare. Most people with memory issues have them resorted. Can you elaborate on that?

Bo: Well, the incident with my head injury and the incident that led to my death were separate, so unlike most people, it was not restored when I died. I don’t know what I looked like, what my name was, or anything. I know when I died because I could ask what year it was in the afterlife. It was a couple hundred years ago.

Interviewer: that’s a very interesting condition. And did this impair on your transition to the afterlife.

Bo: well, I wouldn’t know… it didn’t hurt, I don’t think. The only life I’d ever known was here. I was behind in experience and everything, but I’ve managed to find myself.

Interviewer: Well thats nice to hear. What’s your favorite time of the year and why?

Bo: Well winter of course. It’s nice cause we don’t have to deal with the cold weather in the afterlife but everyone still celebrates the holidays and stuff… the Christmas season makes me feel all nice and warm too. It’s something about the vibe, I don’t know. It’s sweet.

Interviewer: Alright, just one more question and then we’ll move on to your partner, octavius. who’s your favorite person you met at SCC?

Bo: well… that’s kind of a tough question. I’ve met lots of good people. Octavius and Seriphona are both like mentors and  appreciate them. But if I had to say one person, probably Asher. He’s really just a great leader. He’s very supportive of me and, y’know— everyone else on the team.

Interviewer: Asher? Right. So just a quick follow up question, what has your relationship with him be like?

Bo: he’s really just a great leader, like I said. He really made me feel at home in the unit, he taught me a lot of the things I know… I’ve learnt he’s a good father, too, his daughter comes to the office sometimes and she’s unbelievably adorable.

Interviewer: what a nice answer. Well, that will be all for this interview. Thank you for your time.

Bo: oh. Yes. Thank you.

Interview 2, with Octavius

[Interviewer and Octavius pull out chairs, interviewer pulling out clipboard and Octavius folding his hands in his lap]

Interviewer: Hello. Thank you so much for your time in this interview. Could you give the audience an introduction before we begin?

Octavius: Yes. My name is Octavius. I’ve been working at SCC as a knight for a few months now.

Interviewer: Okay, good! And we just asked this to Bo as well, what’s your job at SCC and what do you think of the higher up’s there? What’s the work environment like?

Octavius: As I said, I am a knight. Bo, my partner, is an archer. Most of our time is spent intervening with the mortal world. Eliminating any threats, for example, parts of our world may accidentally slip into theirs, and we guarantee those risks are handled. The higher ups here are fine. The boss is very intelligent. However, our captain is a bit… energetic. Perhaps unprofessional. The work environment is standard. Not much to say about it.

Interviewer: sounds good. And you mention Bo, what’s your relationship with her like? How is she as a partner?

Octavius: she has a lot to learn, but she knows it. She’s improving, at least. She can be a bit chatty too, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. She does her job splendidly, though. Works overtime, takes more responsibilities than she needs to. She’s committed.

Interviewer: Kind words. Now, I’m sure you’ve heard of this already, but there are rumors going around you two are secretly dating. Any comments on that?

[Octavius raises a brow, then shakes his head.]

Octavius: I don’t understand how that question would be relevant to this interview, but those rumors are completely false.

Interviewer: On the topic of relationships, are you romantically involved with anyone? Any past relationships?

[Octavius glares at the interviewer.]

Octavius: Even less relevant. 

[Interviewer sighs]

Interviewer: Okay. That’s fine. Now, we just want to get a better idea of who you are, so the people can know we are in good hands with the new SCC team. What was your life like when you were alive?

Octavius: I lived in Rome. I was a knight back then too, had a lot of success with it. My family was fine. My dad was a noble, I didn’t see him much. My mom got me to train when I was younger and took care of me the most. I died on the battle field. I am committed to my cause, and I will carry that on into this afterlife.

Interviewer: Great! Final question, do you have anything to say about the members on your team? Does anyone stand out to you?

Octavius: Yes. Clyde stands out to me. He’s a bright little boy. My thoughts on the others: Whiskers is irritating. Victor and Seriphona are very admirable. Asher… brings us together, I suppose. As I said, Bo is committed and improving rapidly. She could also act more mature, though.

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Now that I have more followers you’re legally required to read my original shit because fuck you

There you were, sat in the cold crevices of your lab, faced with the only thing you can stomach, lord how you’ve tried, lord how you’ve tried to enjoy the fruits from this plane like you did in your youth, like you used to, but when your forced to eat this for six years straight you don’t really have a taste for anything else.

You see the way he looks at you, knowing you devour the flesh of his kin as frequently as you drink away your past to no avail, but anything else makes you retch, and with that, you’re reminded of darker times.

Times you couldn’t fight back, times you couldn’t move, times where you craved a gentle, loving hug instead of…you can barely comprehend the thought.

You always loved fruit as a child, but now its sweetness repulses you, and even now as you stand high above those you deem unworthy you still feel that pulsation around your neck.

You scratch away, you bite, yet there’s no one there, just ghosts, all you see are ghosts. And yet through it all, he was there, why does he even hang around here anyway? He doesn’t work, he’s committed to play, that’s all he’s meant to do. Yet the things he tells you, the temptation to break free from those holding you back from your true potential.

If you said you never felt tempted to follow his word you’d be a liar, the one thing that always made you fight back was your children.

They were never meant to be here, you didn’t want them, but they’re here, and despite everything, despite…how they were made, you love them. You love them so much.

When you brought them back you gave them the choice of what they wanted to look like, and everyday you breathe a sigh of relief that every time you look into their eyes, you never see his staring back at you, begging you to hate them as you do him.

After everything you don’t view yourself as human anymore, you feel so alien from those you’re supposed to lead, but…that’s why you’re better right? You went through hell and came out on top, you’ve made discoveries they could only dream of, they should worship you.

As you have your feast of Pyromanial flesh it’s warmth nurtured you in a way you hadn’t felt in months, the chills of your sickly body ceased as your eye pricked with tears at this familiar feeling. You felt close to her again…how you felt when she saved you from walking off and never getting up. You miss her, so much, and no matter how hard you look at him, he will never be her.

He’s not calm, he’s not smart, he doesn’t push back, god how you hated him, every stutter made you want to break his neck and leave him for the winged unholy bastards to feast on for years to come…

But why did you feel a hint of compassion? His circumstances were so different from yours…why is he so patient with you? Why does he come back again and again? Why does he keep on insisting that he’s your friend…?

Your anger skyrocketed and you broke your mirror with your weakened fists, breathing heavily as you could barely stand. You looked down at the broken glass, you wanted to scream, but you didn’t, your children are asleep remember?

You finished your meal, the flesh that you fight against is also yours to conquer, to control, to devour, to dominate. Yours alone, what that foul creature once paraded as fearsome beasts that struck fear into the hearts of billions were now your appetisers.

You overcame them, you won, you are beyond anything that roams this earth…

Then why do I feel like he’s always staring back at me…?

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AGAHAGAHGAHAH THANKS FOR REPOSTING MY PIECE :333

you're welcome!!

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• OC FICLET •

Masterlist | Characters: Felix (he/him), Reagan (she/her), January (he/him), Maddox (he/him), Rory (they/she), Wilder (he/him)

Credits go to @jiphenn as the story + characters in purple belong to her ^^

It was their fifth week at Chumps Jr., and the night was passing slow as ever. The Board Game Club all sat scattered across the room, eating their dinner. Well, to call it a dinner was an overstatement, considering what each of them had in their hands was nothing more than a measly piece of stale, freezer-burnt bread. Which was just barely thawed out, by the way. Felix just wished they had more to go around. Anything to stop the aching hunger in his stomach, day in and day out.

The night outside was dark and cold. The only things lighting up the sky were of the flashlights and lamp-posts outside, casting a dim glow through the street. The wind howled, slamming against the brittle windows, shaking the entire diner. Snow fell heavily outside, turning the street a scenery of sparkling white.

Felix shivered. He was grateful for Chumps Jr., glad to have some place to lay low in, but the harsh cold of outside always managed to sneak its way in. Racman didn’t seem to have very well-functioning heaters in this place. Most nights he’d wrap himself as tightly as he could with his blanket, trying to fight off the cold, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

This night was not any different from the others, the cold causing him to shake and clench his hands tight, the faint memory of his snug, cozy bed back at home the only thing to provide him comfort.

He sighed, dragging his gaze up from where it was fixed on the grimy cement floor, unable to keep staring at nothing. Almost instantly, he found himself locking eyes with the one person he didn’t want to see right now.

Reagan.

She had pushed herself into the farthest corner, away from everyone else. Her hands were clasped in front of herself, her thumb rubbing against her promise ring - a nervous tic of hers Felix knew all too well by now. Her hair was unruly, falling in knots down her shoulders. Her eyes shiny and tinged red, a tell-tale sign that she had been crying even more than she let on. As soon as she noticed him staring at her, she narrowed her eyes, the sad, loneliness that had been present in them switching to bitter anger. She huffed, turning around completely, so that the only part visible to Felix was her back.

It was as if the temperature had somehow dropped ten degrees. He was so used to his big sister’s warmth, her kindness that never faltered, even when she was so angry at him that she wanted to wring his neck out. Seeing this foreign side of her, one that spit insults of pure poison at him without a care, that ignored him and glared at him and hated him, it made him feel… strangely empty.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He hated fighting with her. They should’ve been together right now, that’s what they promised each other. In times like these, family stuck together. That’s what was important. But Reagan was so mad that it didn’t matter anymore. And when she was screaming at him, so full of hate and resentment, yelling things that just couldn’t be true, Felix couldn’t control his temper. Now he’d left a mess for the two of them that Reagan definitely wasn’t going to try and clean up.

He tore his gaze away from her, but the next person he found himself staring at wasn’t any better.

January sat crouched over, hair hanging limply in his eyes. It was even longer now, his black roots mixing in with the brown, which was dull and washed out, not the peanut colour it was before. He picked numbly at his piece of toast, practically refusing to eat. It was a weird sight for a guy who used to happily share his 3-course meals. Despite having Maddox right at his side, January had never looked more alone. The life had been drained from his eyes, leaving behind this glassy, empty look. It was as if someone had replaced him with an imposter. The January Felix knew was loud and vibrant, lighting up the whole room. This January….He was merely a shell of his former self.

Felix missed him.

He stared back down at the floor, feeling even more miserable than before. Every person he looked to for direction, just reminded him of how bleak and desolate their situation really was. They were stuck here. No one was coming to help them. No one was coming to save them. They were truly, utterly, alone.

The minutes ticked by, the silence excruciating as they all sat there, no one making any moves to try and lighten the mood. But finally, Maddox stood up, brushing the crumbs off of his fingers and breaking the silence that had slowly been suffocating Felix’s very being. “Okay, Wilder and Felix can have bed #1, Rory and Nyssa on bed #2, and Kuali’i can take the couch.” He said, pointing to each bed, doing his best to provide the group some sort of direction at their leader’s absence. “January, Winola, Akali, Alzena, Astley, and I will take the floors.”

Felix climbed into the bed, Rory helping Wilder in after him, the two of them mirroring each other as they laid flat on their backs, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

The lights came off with a flick, leaving the room in a hollow darkness.

Silence.

Felix hated his fucking life.

[oc-writing-corner]

• OC FICLET •

Masterlist | Characters: Felix (he/him), Akali (he/him), Reagan (she/her)

Akali belongs to @jiphenn

“Well I uh, brought you this.” Akali coughed awkwardly, reaching into the seemingly endless pocket of his jacket and producing a thin white envelope. On the front, written in big, loopy letters that Felix instantly recognized as Reagan’s handwriting read “Felix”. Felix’s eyes went wide, the urge to snatch the letter from Akali’s fingertips right then and there almost too intense to ignore. Almost.

Excitedly, he took it from Akali, ripping the envelope open, careful so that he didn’t wreck the contents inside - which, to him right now, were more valuable than billions of violet Paradise coins. “I was going to give it to you yesterday but you weren’t home.” Akali said.

“Thank you,” Felix turned to his friend with a look that was of only the utmost of gratitude, his voice coming out as a shaky whisper, before focusing his attention back on the letter in his hands, which was written neatly on a piece of crisp pale paper, folded in half.

With shaky hands, he opened it up.

Felix,

First of all I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to protect you properly and I’m sorry that I said all those things at Chumps Jr. I never meant any of it and I was just scared that I would lose you. I shouldn’t have let my fears get the best of me and act like that, but sometimes I just can’t help it. I know that’s not an excuse, but please believe me when I say you are the most important person in my life and I would never purposely do or say anything to hurt you. Stay safe during training. I don’t know what kind of things they’re putting you through but I know you can handle it. Work hard and impress the others. Most importantly please take care of yourself. Eat 3 meals a day, drink lots of water, and keep up with your hygiene. Who knows, you could bump into someone cute.

Everything I do here reminds me of you. When I watch the kids play together it reminds me of you. When I eat dinner I think of how it would taste better if you were eating with me. When I sleep at night I even miss the sound of your obnoxiously loud snoring. Please don’t worry about me, Akali’s family is treating me very nicely here. Have fun at training, and make lots of new friends. I love you loads and look forward to hearing from you again.

Rea

[oc-writing-corner]

character study—ahiko senju

prompt—waking up with him

cw—mentions of sex

she wakes up to a world of white.

ahiko sits up and pulls the covers off of her, eyes still bleary with sleep, only realizing after stumbling out of bed that the mesmerizing snow-blanketed landscape before her is on the other side of a window.

an unfamiliar window, she realizes, but the view outside is so enchanting it takes a second for her to realize that, one, this is not her room; and two, that she is completely naked.

she looks around, alarm bells going off in her head, wondering where in the world she is—

oh.

oh.

she freezes as her gaze lands on the figure on the other side of the bed.

naked and draped in white sheets, with the light streaming in from the window hitting him just right, setsuo looks absolutely divine.

ahiko doesn’t breathe. she wonders if she’s laid eyes on an angel.

“can’t get your eyes off of me, huh?”

the rasp in his voice startles her from her trance, and she quickly snatches a blanket from his big bed, covering herself as a furious blush creeps up her face.

the rasp in his voice is not from sleep—no, as she hears his usually melodious voice, she remembers exactly how feverishly he’d praised her last night, how loudly he’d expressed his pleasure—

it’s no surprise his voice is gone.

“oh, be quiet.” she crawls back into bed, the strain from last night finally catching up to her.

her thighs throb terribly, and even the pleasant ache in between her legs isn’t enough to offset the burning of strained muscle. as she settles next to him, his hand coming to instinctively run up and down her back, she starts feeling the little bruises and marks he’d left across her neck and breasts.

“you’re the worst.” her voice is just as ruined as his, she notices with a huff.

“that wasn’t what you were saying last night.”

“be quiet.” she mutters, finding no energy to argue further, and burrows her face into the crook of his neck. the chill of his skin, coupled with the lazy strokes of his hand against her back, threatens to lull her into a second sleep.

“not my fault you couldn’t keep up,” he teases softly, his voice still rasping with wear. his lips brush lightly against her temple, and the small gesture sends warmth blooming through her chest.

ahiko groans, muffling the sound into his shoulder. “keep up? i’m not the one who came so hard he almost passed out.”

setsuo chuckles, the deep vibrations reverberating against her cheek. “yet here you are, limping around the room like I broke you.”

“you’re insufferable,” she says, but her words lack venom, softened by the hand she lazily drapes over his bare chest. his heartbeat thuds steadily beneath her palm, grounding her in this quiet, stolen moment.

for a long stretch of time, neither of them speaks. the silence is broken only by the faint howl of the winter wind outside, and the soft rustle of sheets as they shift closer. it’s a peaceful quiet, one that neither is eager to disturb.

but eventually, ahiko speaks, her voice quieter now. “it’s beautiful outside.”

setsuo’s hand pauses mid-stroke, and his gaze shifts to the window. “yeah.” he smiles, and ahiko can’t help but feel like he’s not talking about the snow as he continues.

“it’s the most beautiful thing in the whole world.”

hehehehehe

[oc-writing-corner]

Winne and Izzy Lewis.

One might say they were doomed from the get-go. I mean, what else do expect from a pair who only ended up in each other's arms due to the (less than gentle) push of a mutual agent?

Winnie wanted to be a star. That's all she'd ever wanted - or what she'd been told she wanted, anyway. Since day one, Winnie had been told how she was destined for greatness. She'd be one of the greats. Alright.

Winnie's heart was too big for her dreams. Welcomed anyone with open arms, friends, strangers, lovers. A revolving door of given love. Too much kindness than one person should give.

Now Izzy - Izzy did truly dream of being great. Unlike Winnie, nobody seemed to agree until Jim. He would do anything to prove everyone wrong. He would also do anything to keep himself feeling like he was on top of the world - even when he very much wasn't. Someone once said Izzy struggled to connect to reality, which might be the truest words ever said about the man.

To say the two didn't love each other would simply be untrue. There was a certain kind of love the two shared. The kind that you'd have to live through to understand. But what kind of person would want that for themselves, truly? To love someone so much and either hate yourself in spite of it or hate yourself for it? To rake each other through the mud over and over to see who comes out on top?

But it was Winne and Vance. That's all they had, it's all they knew.

A short-lived career and an even shorter romance. To think, the success each could've had, had they simply never been shoved into each other's arms. It's tragic.

One recovered and carried on, while the other scratched and clawed their way nowhere, clinging to a dream that wasn't ever meant to be theirs.

[oc-writing-corner]

PARADISE FUN FACTS

THE BOARD GAME CLUB

Wilder, Kuali’i, and Rory have grown strangely close during their time at Chumps Jr.

The Board Game Club got attacked (and rescued) from Chumps Jr. on March 2nd, Rory’s birthday

Rory gifted Wilder a new journal during his stay at Paradise

Alzena writes letters and draws pictures for her brother every day in Paradise, hoping to give them to him when they see each other again

Nyssa has grown strangely attached to Astley and sees him as a human shield (even though he’d probably collapse if he got punched 💀)

Astley has been alcohol free since Chumps Jr. 😜

When Akali first got his representative letter, him, Ensio, and Ilona got into a BIG argument over it

Alzena, Winola, Nyssa, Avil, and Rory had pedicure nights back during their BGC days 😜🤪

Nyssa and Astley have weekly girl-time at Paradise where they do face masks and paint each other’s nails 😍🥰

The only reason Akali never slept over at Felix or Bliss’ house is because he couldn’t take his mask off while he slept

Felix bought Reagan a slice of birthday cake and a couple of her favourite books as a belated birthday gift during his third week at Paradise

Felix plays Board Games with Della at least once a week and they grew to be pretty good friends

Nyssa thought Vincent was SUUUUUUPER HOT when he made his first entrance

Astley spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with Akali’s family before their Chumps Jr. runaway murderer era

THE UNIT LEADERS

Borislava doesn’t ever read the minds of Atiah, Manon, Gunther, and Vincent because she fully trusts them

Einar has freakishly good hearing, he can hear most of the conversations in the arena from the stands

Reese originally worked in the Entertainment Unit as a bartender, that was until they saw the amount of people that were coming in dead or injured 💀

Haven has recruited ⅚ of Paradise

When he’s not training or fighting, Einar spends his time helping the Hospitality Unit with the orphanage

Borislava is involved in all musical aspects of the entertainment unit (she dances, sings, and plays instruments)

Gunther taught Borislava how to play the guitar

Einar’s hands (and home) are freakishly cold

Borislava plays the piano, acoustic guitar, ukulele, violin, and flute

The Unit Leaders liked to hang out at least once a week and update each other on things (they spoil/treat Borislava like their child)

Reese doesn’t actually like working/being head of the Medical Sanction, they only do it because it’s “an important job that needs to be done”

THE TOP 5

Despite only coming to Paradise in January, Hiraya managed to join the Top 5 in two months

Una was trained by Gunther and the 2 got along quite well, even hanging out before and after training

Whenever Atiah hears anyone talking about Borislava or her performances he will happily join the conversation and brag about her

Atiah makes most of Borislava’s outfits and she fully trusts that he’s not making her anything goofy or hideous

Una is actually crazy smart, he had 90’s in all AP classes

Shehani has very rough hands from training so much

Unlike how most people are brought to Paradise, Una stumbled upon it by pure luck

Shehani’s eyesight (and all her 5 senses) are really good. She can see quite far away and adjust her eyes to brightness very quickly

If Avil didn’t die then Shehani would’ve trained her in a heartbeat

Hiraya brought her cat “Pussy” to Paradise, she would not come without him

Una is multi-talented and is skilled at literally every hobby (painting, drawing, writing, sculpting, sports, debate, sewing, embroidery, crochet, singing, dancing, piano, etc.)

Atiah likes to wear shirts with different textures/patterns/fabrics so Borislava can feel them

The Top 5 get along quite well since their around the same age (minus Einar, he’s like their uncle)

When it comes to pure strength, speed, and intelligence, Una was the strongest of the Top 5 (minus Einar again, he’s in his own league)

Atiah and Borislava got together when they were 14

Gunther was Una’s first friend

Despite being a very famous actress/model, Hiraya keeps her life VERY private

Hiraya’s best friend+soulmate is her cat (said it in an interview herself)

Kuali’i and Shehani were the perfect match for training, as Shehani trained till near death and Kuali’i didn’t care about his life

THE LIM FAMILY

Manon is Paradise’s “mascot”. Everyone knows and loves her

Gunther, Atiah, and Manon were all saved specifically by Vincent, hence why they live with him. Other kids usually go to an orphanage

The stuffy that Atiah ripped out of Felix’s arms now belongs to Manon. Along with several other stuffies he’s stolen

Vincent appears at the most random spots in Paradise. One second he’ll be in an ice cream parlour and the next second he’s watching a fight at the arena

Vincent doesn’t partake in fighting or join the combat unit to “keep things fair and interesting 😜”

Gunther, Atiah, Manon (and Akali!!) were/are trained by Vincent

[oc-writing-corner]

˚₊ 𖥔 ˚ ‧ㅤㅤㅤ୧ “Questions, Questions” Ⳋ :･˚₊ ˚

Characters: Atlas (he/him), Wren (they/them)

Atlas surveyed the streets below, sure he must have been dreaming.

Taking up the entire back wall of the hotel room was a long, shiny floor-to-ceiling window.

A window.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen one. The warehouse, despite its many floors and levels, didn’t have any. Not ones that led outside, anyway. And definitely not ones as grand as this one. It was nothing but the same steel-gray walls along every hallway, stretching on endlessly, inescapable no matter what room you turned into. His bedroom had been like that too: four bare, gray walls, not a single window in sight.

But here - here he could see it all.

The darkened streets stretched out below him, bustling with cars and people. It wasn’t as crowded here as it had been when he’d first drove with Wren this morning, less people around to watch. Still… It was beautiful.

Outside. He could really see outside.

Wren’s van sat out in front of them in the parking lot, the pale white of the paint glistening from the streetlight overhead. He could spot a few men gathered on the corner, little wisps of smoke drifting up into the night air around them from their cigarettes. They were laughing loudly, in the way where they threw their heads back, mouths spread out in a grin. Atlas wondered what it was like, to laugh like that.

He stood there in silence, simply taking it all in, eyes flickering towards every person that passed by on the street, to every car in the distance. They were all but blurs of colour in the darkness of the night, the illumination of streetlights casting a dull glow over everything, the lights from nearby shops slowly starting to flicker off as the day came to a close.

Atlas was pulled away from the serene view at Wren’s eyes on him. They looked up at him from their spot criss-crossed beside him on the floor, face curious as he met their gaze. They patted the spot beside them, expectantly waiting for him to sit.

He hesitated for a moment, scanning their expression for any hint of hostility. He wasn’t sure what to think of them. They were brash and rude, not to mention stupid, but then again, they’d tried to genuinely help him, hadn’t they? Slowly, he obliged, taking the seat next to them.

Wren fixed their gaze back onto the street below, pressing their forehead into the glass. “How old are you?”

Atlas bristled at the question. “You first.”

All day they’d been asking things like this, trying to… get information out of him. He guessed it’s what anyone would do, he was a practical stranger, after all. But a part of him couldn’t help but feel on guard at it. He wasn’t supposed to tell people about himself, wasn’t supposed to give anything away. Especially to someone from outside of Eden. Though, he guessed, he wasn’t a part of Eden anymore either, was he? Those rules didn’t apply to him anymore.

Not after he left them.

Wren sighed, but for once didn’t push, instead opting for answering his deflection. “Fine asshole. I’m fourteen.”

Atlas went quiet at their answer, weighing his options. Eden’s rules didn’t technically apply to him anymore, but that didn’t mean he really cared about Wren, either. It wasn’t like they were ever nice to him before now. Still, it wasn’t like he was going to gain anything from being so prudent with them. And telling them his age couldn’t be that bad….

“I’m fifteen.” He relented.

Their head jerked towards him at his answer, eyes going wide in shock as they mumbled, “You’re just a kid.”

Atlas’ gaze didn’t leave the window, his face still a perfect mask of calm, the only movement coming from him being his eyes as they scanned the different buildings outside. “I’m older than you.” He pointed out.

Wren clicked their tongue loudly and shrugged, tearing their face away from the window again to glance at him. “Yeah. I’m a kid too.”

Atlas focused on a particular car - it was deep maroon in colour, with a dent in the side, little chips along the paint. He put all his attention on it, taking nice, even breaths, holding back his urge to scream at them. He’d never felt so miserable, so helplessly alone, in his entire life. “My age doesn’t matter.” He responded, voice clipped.

Wren rolled their eyes, huffing out a breath of frustration. “Yeah. Did they tell you that too? Did they tell you it doesn’t matter that you’re a literal kid?”

Atlas stiffened. “That’s none of your concern.”

Wren sighed and leaned back on their hands, still staring out the window. “Fine, whatever.” They went silent for a long moment before a thought suddenly occurred to them. “What’s your name? Do you have a name?” They asked, glancing back towards him.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” He said coldly, unable to hold the exasperation from leaking into his voice. Wren seemed to have that sort of effect on him; he never felt quite so defensive or angry as he did when he was around them.

Wren huffed, sagging forwards and resting their forehead upon the glass once again. They seemed unable to sit still for more than a minute, constantly fidgeting and moving around. Atlas had never found something quite so irritating. “Look, I know you don’t like me. That’s fine. But we can’t do anything unless you trust me a little. At least enough to give me your name.”

“I don’t need to give you anything.” Atlas replied rigidly. He decided that he in fact wasn’t going to tell them anything. He was out of Eden now, so that meant he could choose. There were no rules against that, not anymore. And Wren was definitely not his superior. He liked it better this way. That way they couldn’t use anything against him. That way he still had the slight upper hand.

Wren let out a long, hard sigh, rocking for a minute before flopping all the way back, lying flat on the scratchy carpet. “Okay. Whatever.” They mumbled, closing their eyes.

Atlas didn’t move.

Wren thumped their feet on the floor rhythmically, disturbing Atlas’ peace. “Fine, I don’t need to know your name. Do you have a favourite colour?” They asked, glancing towards his hair, a shaggy mullet with burgundy streaks littered through it. “Is it red?”

“Is yours blue?” Atlas countered, still annoyingly refusing to answer any of their questions. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand sitting here, with them, couldn’t stand their constant chattering. He wanted to be at the warehouse, with Cato, with Ira, wanted to be in his dorm room, curled up on his familiar bed. Wanted to be training. He wanted to be at home.

You left that, remember? He chided himself. That isn’t your home, not anymore.

“Very clever. Did you figure that all on your own?” Wren asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

“It doesn’t take a genius.” He grunted, not once glancing toward them to meet their gaze.

“Sarcasm.” They muttered. “You dye it yourself?” They gestured vaguely towards his hair.

Atlas answered with nothing but a curt nod, hand subconsciously raising to fiddle with his hair, a dark red strand twirling around his fingers.

“Me too. I’ve spent too much money on box dye.”

Atlas hummed. He remembered the first time Ira came over with box dye and helped him with his hair.

He had been twelve. She’d swung into his dorm room with a small grin, waving the box around like it was pure gold. It had been, to him. He remembered, up until then, he’d barely even had belongings to himself. No books beside his textbooks, no notebooks or paper besides the ones supplied to him for his lessons. No souvenirs, no nothing. His room had genuinely been bare. Just a bed and a small desk pushed into the corner. Wren had commented on the absolute emptiness of his room, but it was nothing compared to back then.

So when Ira had offered to dye his hair, he’d been over-the-moon. For as long as he could remember, her hair was always done up in some interesting way. A streak of colour, or ombré, or jaggedly cut in a way that Atlas wished he could pull off. He remembered the way excitement coursed through his bones as she helped him chop off his ordinary, plain black locks for the shaggy mullet that he had then kept for the past three years. That pure, child-like excitement… it had been the best feeling in the entire world.

Wren didn’t take his lack of a response as a sign he wasn’t in the mood for a conversation, simply continuing to talk. They might’ve been talking to themself, for all that it mattered. “The first time I dyed my hair, I bleached it without instructions. It was so bad, it started falling out of my head.”

Atlas still didn’t react, simply winding his hair around his finger, over and over and over again.

Wren continued. “I had a big bald spot on the side of my head for the entire first part of 6th grade. My mom bought me this hair growth stuff for bald guys. Didn’t work at all.”

Atlas didn’t give them a second of his attention. He stared out the window, watching out into the streets below, half-forgetting to blink. Wren’s gaze didn’t leave him as they sat up, scooting closer to his side. “Hey…?” They asked, leaning over slightly and waving their hand in front of his face.

“Hm?” Atlas hummed, his piercing gaze falling upon them. This was the closest they’d dared get to him, only inches apart. “What is it?”

Wren furrowed their brows at him. “You went all zombie on me.”

“I was listening.” Atlas said dismissively. What he really wanted to say to them was “shut up, I do not want to talk to you right now, or ever, for that matter”, but he held his tongue. He wanted to do many things - shove Wren away from him, scream at them, beat their annoying face until it was black and blue, run away from them and never come back - but that did not mean that he could actually do them. He was stuck with Wren, as much as he hated it, so the best he could do was try to tolerate them. For now.

Wren frowned but shrugged, brushing past it. “Okay.” They said, leaning away to resume their position of resting their forehead against the window, letting out a heavy exhale as they did so. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

Atlas focused his attention back upon the window, watching outside in silence for a second. If he was to be honest, he’d say that he really couldn’t care less if Wren told him anything about themself. But he knew that’s not what they wanted to hear. “Whatever you would like to tell me.” He said with the slightest of shrugs. We are not friends. He thought. And we will never be friends. There’s nothing you can do or say that will ever change my mind on that.

Wren rolled their eyes with a loud and dramatic groan. “That’s not how this works. I’ve told you plenty and you won’t even respond.” They said, shooting him a scowl.

Atlas hummed. “What would you like me to say?”

“I dunno man. Usually you’re supposed to acknowledge what someone’s saying.” They said with a loud huff. “Whatever, you get a free pass because you got brainwashed.”

“I’m not brainwashed.” Atlas muttered, side-eying them.

Wren clicked their tongue and scoffed. “I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything, but you kind of are man.”

Atlas scowled. “You don’t know anything about me. Stop acting like you do.”

Atlas’ words caused Wren to shrug. “I mean, I knew a lot more than you.” They pointed out matter-of-factly.

Atlas was so sick of Wren’s constant comments. He gave them a hard glare. “No, you didn’t.”

Wren narrowed their eyes at him, giving him a skeptical glance before sighing. “Whatever.”

This finally broke Atlas’ resolve.

It wasn’t their dismissal that did it, more an accumulation of the last day. He shouldn’t have snapped like he did, but suddenly the burning anger that had been boiling in his chest all day finally exploded out of him, hot and sharp.

“I hate you.” He spit, whipping around to glare down at them with pure hatred shining in his eyes. “At least Eden treated me kindly. At least I belonged.” His voice shook, emotion slipping through in a way it hadn’t in - he didn’t even know how long. Years? A decade? Forever? “At least I wasn’t stuck with an insolent child.”

His words came out quick and sharp, a part of him scared to even say them. He couldn’t remember ever speaking out against someone in his entire life. He wasn’t supposed to - it was against the rules. He was supposed to keep his feelings in check; a soldier who couldn’t keep control over themself was as good to Eden as a ticking time bomb. Soldiers were polite. Soldiers were obedient. Soldiers didn’t voice their own opinions. Soldiers didn’t have opinions - didn’t have emotions. For all of his life, he had been this: The perfect soldier.

But what had that gotten him in the end?

“You don’t know anything about what it was like.” He said coldly. He had to admit to himself, actually saying what he had been thinking the entire day…. It felt kind of good.

Wren’s eyes widened slightly, a look of shock that gave Atlas the slightest hint of satisfaction evident on their features. They slowly tilted their head up to look at him again, the words hanging lowly in the air between them, turning the atmosphere thick with tension.

Finally, Wren broke the dreadful silence. “Yeah, I get it.” They said, pausing for a moment, as if they were for once going to put in a sliver of thought before they spit out some crude sentence at him. “I don’t expect you to like me. And I don’t really care if you do.” Their face was calm, voice even as they talked. It felt as if they were addressing an explosive child, not a boy who had spent the last fifteen years of his life carefully pushing down his true feelings for what mattered, who always did what he was told without questions, who worked and worked and worked. Who didn’t know what it was like to experience true relaxation - true peace.

“I may not know what it was like,” they said, the slightest bit of exasperation in their voice. “But I know what would’ve happened if you stayed.”

It was like a slap to the face. Atlas paled, the thought of the files - the videos; the horrific images of torture, torture that he would’ve endured, torture that Eden had been doing on its own soldiers for years causing his mouth to instantly snap shut.

The smug feeling dissipated just as fast as it had come. There was no rebuttal to their statement. Although he never would’ve admit to it, both he and Wren knew that they were right. What had been waiting for him after today….

He didn’t even want to think about it.

In one swift movement, Atlas got to his feet, his hands shaking as he roughly turned on his heel, stalking out of the room and making a beeline for the bathroom. For the first time in his life, he felt the careful control he had over his emotions slip through his fingers, anger burning in his chest fiery hot, flushing his cheeks red.

The door slammed behind him with a sharp bang.

Credits go to @ohagiwrites as she helped co-write this (and Wren is co-owned with her) ^^