#* ✫ . * ✧˚( they made you into a weapon and told you to find peace ✧ inspo)

[clawsextended]

selina is extremely contradictory in almost every sense, but you kind of get used to it after awhile. at first it’s jarring, and then you realize how different her lived experiences are, and it ceases to be shocking how selina can act one way and think another. her frame of reference for most interactions is either nonexistent or cruel. it doesn’t take more than ten minutes of conversation with a genuine selina to realize she’s kind of improvising… everything, here.

[forgotten-retrouvaille]

(nourish) - leon making pancakes for her

Paperwork was never something that Jill enjoyed . Even so , it occupied most of her nights , her evenings - it was better than staying up only to stare at the ceiling and think .

Maybe a part of it rested in the guilt that still bore itself heavy on her soul , perhaps it was needing something to do , to focus herself on something that wasn't the anger she felt towards the organization for refusing to put her back in the field , the anger that they wanted her on the sidelines - they said until she recovered properly , but Jill wasn't a fan of their excuses . Even still , she would take what she could get - it would at least assuage part of herself , knowing she was one step further to fixing what had happened the last year .

The ex-cop had been up since the little hours of the morning , stirred awake by nightmares , and unable to return to the peace sleep was supposed to bring . Now , she was sat in front of the desk in a room that she had designated as her home office , papers strewn across the polished wood , empty pens accompanying half-finished reports , a radio resting towards her side . A hand ran through her hair as she let out a long exhale , blue ink scrawled across the stapled parchments in front of her .

Movement out of the corner of her eyes , the soft clink of ceramic as it was placed on the table in front of her , a stack of freshly-made pancakes resting on them . Jill's gaze flicked away from the paper , the stark white almost seared into vibrant blue - she would not complain if she did not have to see any more of those typed letters from a printer that was definitely running out of ink . She could see the cracks in the black , in the gray .

The pen was still held tight in her hand - half full with the cap practically snapped off . A moment passed , and she set it down , turning her gaze to the man standing at her side then .

"Didn't know you were up this early ." Exhaustion was written in her tone , letting out a soft breath .

[ahsterism]

truly i think leon kennedy’s one condition when being forced to join the military ( you know. aside from his life and sherry’s safety ) was that he gets to keep his hair long and bleach blonde. he had to be hot it’s literally all he had left.

[endawn]

no no but it is the doomed by the narrative. doomed from the start. pax’s inclusion as the starks stalwart protector changing nothing in the end. in the end, he’s still human. he’s fallible.

[wintersghst-a2]

once again making bad decisions

[varnaedhar]

@caeloservare: //I'm still feeling brave and agressive! Catch these hands! (((ง’ω’)و三 ง’ω’)ڡ≡ ♥

Missa, my beloved! I adore your Raven and I'm super excited to write with her each time. I love the tension she creates around her with her such a strong personality. I really like how she has softer sides to her prickly outer layers, but she wraps them in so much spikes so no one will know she has "weaknesses". She's tough and it shows. She's also fun banter! I mean it that queueing reply for her deals mental dmg points, because I want so badly to post right away, so I could wait to read her response not for my queue to run aksjdjdjd xD Anyhow, hi, love you, love your Raven, please keep delivering all these juicy various flavours of tension with her <3

HERAMI, I AM ON MY WAY TO BED, YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME. I love you so much, you're an insane sweetheart and I really did need this so thank you. ;; Raven is probably the muse I get the most anxiety about writing because I know my take isn't entirely canon but she's really important to me, so thank you. ;;;;;;

unprompted affection how dare you

[flintstruck]

tag drop 001.

✧ ⥼ㅤ — ㅤ❝ i’ll raise you like a phoenix.  ╱  ooc.

✧ ⥼ㅤ — ㅤ❝ the scent of sweat‚ jaws at my throat.  ╱  desires.

✧ ⥼ㅤ — ㅤ❝ a better knife than you are a person.  ╱  ic.

✧ ⥼ㅤ — ㅤ❝   ╱  threads.

✧ ⥼ㅤ — ㅤ❝ made into a weapon and told to find peace.  ╱​  musings.

✧ ⥼ㅤ — ㅤ❝ honey and wildfire are both the colour gold.  ╱  aesthetics.

✧ ⥼ㅤ — ㅤ❝  you’re gonna carry that weight.  ╱  insight & mannerisms.

✧ ⥼ ㅤ— ㅤ❝ i'm sorry. i'm sorry. this may be me at my best.  ╱​  about.

✧ ⥼ ㅤ— ㅤ❝ i can carry it well. it remains heavy.  ╱​  v.001 ; warrior of light.

✧ ⥼ ㅤ— ㅤ❝   ╱​  visage.

[sapphiredhearts-a]

new tags ( twilight / tmi )

[krayat]

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ author. ❫ ››› ㅤ we are bees then﹐ our honey is language .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ promotion. ❫ ››› ㅤ come﹐ little bees﹐ the flowers have your breakfast ready .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ announcement. ❫ ››› ㅤ we must dissent from apathy﹐ we must dissent from the fear .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ prompt. ❫ ››› ㅤ doves and pigeons can also be trained to send messages .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ anonymous. ❫ ››› ㅤ who is this stranger﹐ who comes in the darkness ?

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ continuum. ❫ ››› ㅤ time doesn’t erase the demons we don’t see .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ euphuism. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi am make - believe. this is an archive. it hurts to be a story .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ episteme. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤanger travels through me﹐ pushes aside everything else in my heart .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ visuals. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤburial by fire is the last mercy: decay is for the living .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ imagery. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤi build a life and i tear it apart﹐ and the sun keeps shining .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ thesis. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤwho am i when i feel ? what dies in me when i am me ?

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ theory. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤbut would you know yourself if you weren’t burning .

* ⊹ 。*´ ❪ behavior. ❫ㅤ ››› ㅤthey made you a weapon and told you to find peace .

[clawsextended]

dating selina like—

[forgotten-retrouvaille]

//CLOSED STARTER ❯ GOT AWAY CLEAN

@outbreaksurvived

This wasn't somewhere Jill typically frequented , but she'd come here anyway following an investigation launched by the local law enforcement in another part of town , after a particularly good haul . She hadn't fancied being arrested and interrogated , so she'd decided to come to another part of the city , and she'd been casing it for the past couple weeks or so.

There were bound to be several goldmines in the buildings around, and it was rather busy - which always helped . People didn't tend to notice when they were used to people bumping into them near constantly , that they didn't often think much when they were bumped into again - but never noticed skilled fingers dipping into a pocket , a bag slashed , a watch unclasped while apologizing for a mistake , or wallets and phones being fished out of pockets .

They'd realize eventually , but by then Jill was already long gone, disappeared into the crowd , into the side streets and alleys she had scoped out earlier - she tended to blend into the surroundings . She was rather unremarkable to most - she never tried to stand out from the crowd or tried to draw attention to herself . Her dress was rather typical as things went - jeans , boots , a dark shirt and a leather jacket she often found her hands - and trinkets - in the pockets of , and a silver necklace that she always kept close to her .

She had been leaning against a street corner for the past long few minutes - she stood casual , relaxed , she knew what she was doing . Her gaze scanned over the streets , the people walking within - she was casing each and every one for a potential mark. Something like wallets out in the open , people checking for their valuables, people who weren't so in tune with their surroundings that she could easily bump into and nick something.

He definitely didn't seem experienced - young , a rookie , she could guess . The other looked to be around the same age that she was, and it was a mighty contrast - both of them were on completely different sides, had gone down completely different roads .

A flash of blue caught her attention , and she stood up a little straighter, but didn't do anything fast . She'd always been careful enough to skirt around the officers that occasionally patrolled the places she worked , but as her gaze landed on the figure down the street , it was pretty clear she didn't really have anything to worry about .

Jill was the daughter of one of France's - and now the Midwest's - more well known thieves , and she herself had been reported on more than once , but the authorities never had anything to go off of , not even an appearance - and he seemed to be one of the new officers in the area .

She wasn't far from where he'd made his post , and half of her knew what she usually did - leave and come back later , but the other, more cocky half of her wondered how close she could get, if she could nick any of his items . It would definitely be a great deal for bragging rights , or at least just her own ego, but it was also extremely risky and she had a very strong chance of being arrested for real if she was caught .

Still , Jill had never been one to shy away from a challenge , and this would be an easy steal - she was extremely capable , she'd done this for years and had even grown up with it , whereas he looked barely fresh out of the police academy.

Her gaze flicked over his person - sure , the typical gear was there - but she was looking for other things . She caught the outline of a wallet , a phone , and several other smaller trinkets that made outlines against the fabric of his clothing. His watch was tightly clasped onto his wrist , but that wasn't a hard steal if she timed it right. Jill watched him for a few moments longer, before getting off the wall and soon approaching him , hands in her jacket and a slight curious half-smile on her expression .

"Hey , pretty boy . Don't think I've seen you around before ."

[ahsterism]

i can't resist the allure of pathetic video game men it's true

[moondostj]

"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself." - Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis / "They made you into a weapon and told you to find peace." - unfinished poems iii // s.z (via mrdcks) / "I punish myself for my whole life, my whole life I punish.” - Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov / “In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. What was the point in just being hurt on the inside? It should bloody well show.” - Janet Fitch / "I almost do not exist now and I know it; God knows what lives in me in place of me." - Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot / “I do not exist. There is nothing left.” - Euripides

art: likeafunerall on instagram

[thesecondhandwoman]

TRAINING FOR TWO

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: Ambessa notices that you have been struggling to defend yourself and decides to teach you some self-defense moves. What starts as a serious training session quickly devolves into a sweetened moment between you two.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the sprawling city of Piltover, casting a warm, amber glow over the courtyard where you stood. You had always known the city was beautiful, but today, with the sun dipping behind the horizon, it seemed even more so. It was a soft, peaceful evening, the kind of tranquility that made it feel as though time itself had decided to slow down. But beneath this calm exterior, there was a tension within you—a nervous flutter in your chest as you prepared for your first real training session with Ambessa Medarda.

Ambessa was a legend in Piltover, a force of nature in every sense of the word. Her presence alone commanded respect; her battles were whispered about in hushed tones, filled with both awe and fear. You, yourself, had always been captivated by her—her strength, her poise, the way she moved through the world like a blade cutting through air. But it wasn’t just that. It was also her complexity, the way she could be cold and calculating one moment, and then fiercely protective the next. She had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the room, even when she was surrounded by others who may have seemed to deem that tile more, all the way from her soldiers to the council.

And now, she was standing just a few feet away, her eyes focused entirely on you, waiting for you to get into position.

“Ready?” Ambessa’s voice was as calm as always, but there was an underlying sharpness to it that told you she was watching you carefully, studying your every move.

You straightened your back, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nerves that rushed over you. “I think so.”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her eyes swept over you, her gaze assessing in that way she had, making you feel like an open book in her hands. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. She had an uncanny ability to make you feel seen without feeling completely exposed either.

“Good. Let’s start with the basics then,” she said, stepping forward.

As always, her movements were fluid, almost hypnotic in their precision with each and every step of her feet, every swing of the arm. It was to the extent where you could feel the air shift around her as she moved, as though the world itself bent to her will, which made it both inspiring and a little intimidating.

Ambessa placed her hand on your shoulder, her touch steady and warm, grounding you. “Stand tall,” she instructed, her voice low but steady. “You’re not just moving through the motions. You’re making the world around you move with you too.”

You nodded in response to her guidance, shifting your weight and trying to steady your breath. This wasn’t just about learning how to fight. It was about finding your own strength, a strength that, up until now, you hadn’t been sure you had. Ambessa was showing you how to pull that strength out of yourself, how to turn your body into a weapon without ever losing sight of who you were. Something that you have noted she may have learned from her own regretful experience, but you tried to wash that away as Ambessa began to move again, snapping you out of the growing depth of your thoughts.

Instead, you followed her lead, moving into position, trying to mimic the graceful yet powerful stance she demonstrated. The sound of your feet shifting against the cobblestones was sharp in the quiet of the courtyard, but Ambessa’s gaze never wavered.

“Good,” she said, her tone warm with approval. “Your stance is solid. But—” Her eyes flicked to your feet, then back to your face. “You’re too tense. Relax your shoulders. Feel the ground beneath you, and let the movement flow through you.”

You tried to take a deeper breath, relaxing as best as you could, but the tension in your body seemed determined to stay attached, like a child clinging to their mother’s leg in a taunting manner.

Ambessa noticed it immediately, of course, and stepped forward, positioning herself behind you with the grace of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. She placed her hands on your shoulders, her touch firm but gentle, guiding you with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. “Don’t fight it,” she murmured. “Trust yourself. Trust me.”

Her words were quiet but carried weight, like a promise wrapped in steel. There was no mockery in her voice, no impatience—just pure belief in you. The warmth of her hands on your shoulders grounded you in a way nothing else could. You let your muscles relax under her touch, the tension melting away bit by bit until it barely remained, finally releasing you from its agnozing grip.

“That’s better,” she said, a hint of approval lacing her voice. “Now, remember, the goal is not to overpower your opponent. It’s to redirect their force. Use their own energy against them.”

You nodded, the weight of her words sinking in as you absorbed the lesson. Ambessa was not just teaching you how to defend yourself; she was teaching you how to read the world around you, how to flow with it instead of resisting it, especially when you encountered dangerous circumstannces.

“Let’s put it into practice,” she said, stepping back to give you space. “I want to see how well you can hold your ground.”

Your heart began to beat faster. You knew what this meant. The training was about to get real. Ambessa’s eyes darkened with focus, her stance shifting to a more offensive one. There was no fear in her expression—just the quiet confidence of someone who had already won the battle before it had even begun.

You braced yourself, watching her every movement, trying to predict what she would do next. She came at you quickly, her body moving like liquid, and before you could even react, she had swept your legs out from under you, sending you sprawling to the ground.

The impact was sharp, the rough stone scraping against your palms as you caught yourself, but before you could get your bearings, Ambessa was there, her hands on your arms, steadying you.

“Up,” she said softly, pulling you to your feet with a strength that belied the gentleness of her touch. “You’ll fall a thousand times before you get it right. And I’ll be there to catch you every time.”

You blinked, stunned by her words. You had expected some reprimand, some sharp criticism for not reacting faster, but all you got was understanding. It made all of the other training by Ambessa seem confusing, since you had seen her train other people, as strict as ever, but she wasnt with you.

“You don’t need to be perfect,” Ambessa continued, her voice soft but firm. “You just need to keep trying. And when you fall, I’ll be here.”

You couldn’t help but softly smile at that. There was something comforting about her presence, something that made you feel safe even in the chaos of training. It wasn’t about the perfection of your movements—it was about your willingness to stand back up, no matter how many times you fell. And you intended to keep doing it, even if you had the slight expectation of falling more than you patience may want.

Ambessa stepped back, watching you closely, her gaze never leaving your face. “Again,” she said simply, her tone laced with quiet determination and order.

You took a deep breath, wiping your palms on your pants, and braced yourself once more. This time, when she came at you, you were ready. You didn’t wait to be knocked down—you moved with her, shifting your weight and redirecting her force. The movement wasn’t perfect, but it was better than before by a lot.

Ambessa’s eyes sparkled with approval, and a soft smile curled on her lips. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s exactly what we are wanting.”

You couldn’t help the rush of pride that surged through you. You were learning, growing—and it felt good. It felt right.

For a few moments, the two of you continued the sparring, each move more fluid than the last, the rhythm between you like a dance. But as the training went on, something shifted. There was less focus on technique and more on the quiet space between you—on the unspoken connection that had always been there but had never felt so palpable.

Then, in a particularly quick movement, your foot slipped on the stone, and before you could regain your balance, you found yourself tumbling forward. You barely had time to react before Ambessa’s strong arms wrapped around you, catching you effortlessly.

“Careful,” she murmured, her voice a mix of playful teasing and genuine concern.

You blushed at the feeling of her solid, trained muscles, caught in her arms like a clumsy mess, but her hold on you was steady, unwavering. She lifted you gently, a soft laugh escaping her lips as you tried to regain your composure yet looked so flustered.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

It was a simple gesture, but it sent a warmth spreading through you, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. There was no training, no struggle—just the two of you, in the quiet of the evening, her arms holding you close.

“Mm, do you intend to always catch me? Even when it gets annoying?” you asked quietly, your voice barely being above a whisper.

Ambessa’s gaze softened, her hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as she looked at you with that fierce tenderness that only she could have. “Always,” she said, her voice steady and filled with a promise that you could feel sink deep into your bones. “Even if it seems like you’re the one teaching me how to fall.”

You chuckled a little at her tease, smiling up at her again. You seemed a lot more relaxed, nearly forgetting about the main purpose–fixing up your training–as you wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her into you, chest to chest.

Ambessa couldn’t help but smile at the gentle yet intimate act, allowing you to pull her in just enough that she could capture your lips with her own. Her hand met your cheek again as your lips moved with one another, her tongue slipping into your mouth a little to show just how passionately in love she was with you in this moment.

However, she forced herself to slowly break it, eyes fluttering open again to meet yours. She softly smiled and rested her forehead against your own, kissing your nose as the pad of her calloused thumb grazed your cheek in gentle strokes.

“Now let’s get back to training, love.” She whispered.

[artsy-hobbitses]

In truth there is no better place to be Than falling out of darkness still to see Without a premonition Could you tell me where we stand? I'd hate to lose this light Before we land And when I feel like I can feel once again Let me stay a while Soak it in a while If we can hold on we can fix what is wrong Buy a little time For this head of mine Haven for us

One of the things that I adore about Ties That Bind was the journey that Preston 'Prowl' Wan took to become a fully-fledged character, where he initially began as simply a mirror of IDW Prowl. And to honour that development, the man whose compassion is no less real for being learned rather than innate, who sees numbers and the faces behind them with the same crackshot clarity, and who believes not in gods or fate or a higher calling but in people, and in you Jazz, has earned a brand new character sheet! His old sheet can be found here And below, you'll finally find his full story!

Preston Wan Peirong remembers little of his childhood, which is perhaps for the best in some aspects; Hard to tell the truth from a lie in a memory when one doesn’t know how many times they have been ‘rewritten’.

However, what he can tell you with unnerving clarity was the coldness of it all. The sterility. The unquestionable sense of order and obedience to the system he was told kept the world from devolving into chaos after it narrowly avoided total annihilation. 

As a cold construct, Preston was a part of a batch commissioned specifically for the law enforcement division and grew up in the youth wing of China’s Public Security Academy in Beijing. Here, he was trained to become a police officer from the day he was old enough to respond when the numbers under the barcode stamped on his neck were called out: P7031 Names weren’t given; Names had to be earned. 

Every aspect of his life and that of those in his batch was strictly regimented down to the last minute; Food calculated down to the last calorie for maximum performance with minimum waste to funding. Lesson room, shooting range and dorm temperatures kept frigid to ‘sharpen the mind’. The text which met his gaze, the lessons which rang in his ears, the words that came out of his mouth when he was permitted to speak.

He learned early on what his purpose was in the world, and had it drilled into him how integral purpose was to keeping the system running; Everyone had a purpose, everything had its place, and as long as the people understood both, order would be maintained, and order had to be maintained to keep the peace for the good of the many. Sometimes, yes, that meant oiling the gears. Other times, it was hammering down stray nails.

That purpose drove him, and by seven, indoctrinated him so thoroughly that he didn’t question the stinging in his knees when he was ordered to kneel on rice grains during his lesson drills, or his own hunger when ordered to go without meals until he’d learned to disassemble and reassemble his weapon at a speed which put officer cadets to shame. 

At eight however, the sterile and orderly world he knew within the academy walls began to crack; Sitting on the top of his batch, it was decided by the academy trainers that he needed more one-on-one tutelage after class hours. It was decided that he needed a handler. 

Tan Yumei was a former soldier; a renown crackshot with steel in her eyes and in her bones from years in service to the state; The kind that made her sit up straighter when the offer was made for her to become a glorified babysitter—in her words—to what had to be the world’s best behaved boy. 

Asset, the interviewer would correct her. Not a boy; an asset. Our asset. 

The promise of a job in the academy which would come with pay and medical benefits which far eclipsed her government pension was too tantalizing to pass up, and she took on the child known as P7031 under her wing. 

She was to train him in field work and help with his assimilation into society; the silo of the academy gave him the skills necessary, but could only do so much to help him function as part of the system. 

As often as she was told to treat him as an asset, a tool rather than a child, that proved easier said than done as Yumei found herself warming up to all four-foot-six of stoic, stony-faced, serious-as-a-heart attack P7031. 

It started small and innocuous; ice cream as a treat for a job well done, something completely novel to the child. No sense using the stick exclusively when the carrot was there as long as results were achieved, she would assure the staff.

This hid her growing disturbance with the way P7031 was raised, more so as he began to light up when when she greeted him every morning, began to smile as she praised him for things that weren’t tied to the purpose given to him by the academy, began to question the world around him in ways he had never been given the chance to do before with the kind of childish wonderment that dissipated into thin air when it came time to return to the academy. 

And P7031 began to feel his worldview shift as well, as she was the first person to treat him like the child that he was, whether it be reading with him young adult novels not approved by the academy board or snapping the very first pictures of himself he was allowed to keep (a gift to remind him that he existed beyond the academy walls). Attachments were an alien concept to him; he understood that his purpose meant connections beyond duty—whether it be family or friends, neither of which he had prior to Yumei— were wasteful, unnecessary, dangerous. But for the first time in his nine years of living, he wanted for something more than purpose. He wanted a life with his handler, his mother, as the card he presented to her on a second Sunday in May proclaimed with words easier written than spoken.

And as the time grew near for her handler contract with the academy to end, it was a sentiment Yumei echoed. 

When he was ten years old, she came for him after hours; silent, stealthy and wreathed in shadow, promising him a life away from the academy, from a purpose he never asked for. 

And at ten years old, time froze for him. 

P7031 didn’t remember anything of that night; The escape to the docks. The lullaby hummed to keep him calm. The struggle and the thunderclap that spattered his coat in blood that wasn’t his, and the wretched, barely human sound that tore from his throat. 

He didn’t remember being dragged back to the academy beaten within an inch of his life screaming blue murder. 

Didn’t remember the golden eyes crinkled at the edges with amusement as he begged for them to stop, because he knew Uncle Gold-Eyes, the one they called Trepan, to be a doctor who dealt with ‘defective’ assets; something he had once prided himself in never being. He didn’t care that he was defective; they had already taken the only person worth anything in his life away from him physically, and they were prepared to take what remained of her in his mind to ‘fix’ him. 

His pleas fell on deaf ears, and what he did remember, after all this, is simply his dorm room, Spartan as ever. 

Life went on, with only whispers of the unexplained cancellation of the handler initiative, which he’d never heard of, as a ripple in the monotony of his classes, shooting range practice and on-field assignments.

At eighteen, he graduated from the academy and finally earned the right to a name, and P7031 became Officer Wan Peirong, assigned to the Chengdu Security Bureau where he became one of its rising stars. 

His professionalism, loyalty and sense of duty were unmatched, even among his batch, and he unquestioningly served the system that kept the nation running. Criminals had no place in the system, but as he was told by his superiors, neither did dissidents who threatened order and had to be re-educated, taught the error of their ways to become productive citizens the same way he had been molded into a model worker in the academy. 

In this period, blips in his memories became more frequent, though his attending physician dismissed his concerns as it didn’t impact his work. Work which he began to question one day when his task entailed breaking up a miners’ protest downtown. As he led one activist away, an elderly woman kowtowed at his feet, begging for him to show mercy to her son, and something in her voice made him loosen his grip with the beginnings of doubt.

Miners were not an outlying group; they were a sizable section of the populace, and they weren’t the only group voicing their grievances. He was tasked with helping keep the peace; something he was told repeatedly that the many desired over the few who bucked against the order. But who was he serving when those who bucked against the order he was told should not be challenged became the many? 

It was a question Peirong struggled with as the days went by and dissent grew louder among the working class, which authorities were ordered to respond to with mounting force even for the pettiest infractions.

He began to seek out banned texts, including translated copies of ‘Towards Peace’, supposedly penned by a Cold Construct just like him from the west, to gain clarity on the situation; He reasoned that ne had to study all angles before making a move after all, and the more he read, the more shaky his faith grew in an institution which was far from the paragon he had been promised in the academy. 

He wasn’t a fool however; he knew how the system worked inside and out, and began searching for loopholes to secretly help out people he believed were being failed by the system, as well as utilising malicious compliance to cover his tracks in a real-time game of chess with his superiors.

It all came to a boiling point one day, as he was assigned to a squad escorting a group of political prisoners to a new facility. 

Among them was someone Peirong recognised as one Brandon Shen Bailin; a charismatic and  defiant radio deejay-reporter from Hong Kong who recently came out as a Cold Construct and was nicknamed the ‘Blaster’ for the exposes he penned about the government. 

Brandon had gone missing weeks ago on assignment in Xinjiang; no amount of bandages and no large a hoodie could hide the toll that time had taken on the man, who was now emaciated and missing all of his fingers.

Before Peirong could fully process what he was seeing, the reporter was separated from the rest of prisoners and forced to kneel, as a gun was placed in Peirong’s hands by the Second-Level Inspector and he was told to dispose of this enemy of the state.

What was unspoken but clearly understood between both of them, as Peirong could deduce from the officers closing in on him, was that this was a test of loyalty as his wavering faith in the system was becoming clear to the bureau’s cabal. 

The choice was made in a split second; he refused his commanding superior’s orders, shot the man square between the eyes before they could draw their weapon and then kneecaped the rest of the officers before the dust settled.

Hauling Brandon into the shotgun seat of the prisoner transport truck and driving off, he helped the reporter liaise with a contact that directed them to a rendezvous point at the nearby contested China-Arunachal Pradesh border to fight extradition orders. 

With authorities not far behind, Peirong pressed on and covered for them as they raced towards the border, following in Brandon’s lead. He had spoken with them throughout the journey; stilted and monotonous as ever on his end as he struggled to connect with them, but two things were clear, as they made that run for freedom:

The first was that the system was untenable if it would deem parents, poets, artists and blue collar workers–the many, the unarmed—as enemies of the state.  The second, was that while they ran for their lives, he wasn’t sure whether he’d ever truly lived at all. 

This was a sentiment that Peiriong echoed, after he was overpowered by men in the same uniform he wore, to the constable pressing the nozzle of a gun to his forehead; That they were free to take his life, a life where the only moment he’d felt even barely alive was he had defied an order for the first time. 

The argument that occurred next between two commanding officers who debated his fate was a surprise, though not so much as the revelation that this wasn’t the ‘first time’ he had broken protocol, and that he had apparently broken protocol one too many times that they were now weighing his use against the cost needed for his ‘upkeep’. 

In a day of firsts, it was also the first time Peirong had allowed his emotions to overwhelm him, as his increasingly frantic demands to know what they did to him before this—suddenly the blips in his memories made sense—was met with a pistol whip to the temple, and booming sound which made him believe for a fraction of a second that the gunman had kept true to the threat to kill him. 

Except he still breathed, and despite the ringing in his ears, he dazedly managed to push himself up to see the officers scattered and stunned while a new man stood in their midst; armored, backlit against the sun, and smiling.

The words were muffled, but he could read the man’s lips clearly; “Focus on me.” 

It was the singular thread of clarity he needed to finally accept the hand outstretched to him as both of them made a run for the waiting aircraft that would, for better or worse, take him away from his purpose, from the only life he knew. 

The man, who introduced himself as Jace Zayden codenamed Jazz, was a friend of Brandon who had refused to leave without the lone cop who had risked everything to help them.

And where Peirong had feared losing his purpose, his reason for existing with the single step he took beyond China’s borders, he found that he had instead traded it in for another the moment Jace invited him to team leader Omar ‘Orion Pax’ Parvez’s table to discuss strategy; something this new team desperately needed. 

He chose a new name, Preston, to mark his departure from his old life, and focused on his new purpose as framed by the man who saw worth in his life when those he’d once pledged it to did not: Peace through compassion, even if learned, over oppression. 

And between understanding what it meant to live as a man rather than a government asset, and forging connections beyond what duty once dictated for him, maybe, just maybe he could one day piece together the scattered fragments of his past.