#GO GO NIGHTHAWKS WERE TAKING FLIGHT.

[bestbeeking]

name your top 10 favorite birds

little bittern

zigzag bittern

cinnamon bittern

yellow bittern

australian bittern

great bittern

least bittern

black bittern

dwarf bittern

@might-be-evil

[alphateampilot]

Job done, it was time to proceed home and stock up for a three-and-a-half hour flight returning to base. Vehicles, samples, and equipment sanitized and stowed in the armory of the plane, and everyone going through preliminary measures before actually boarding.

Loading up is always slower than unloading.

And now they had a different kind of precious cargo that they'd claimed from their contract and needed proper accommodations for before they touched down in their Yukon airstrip.

Hawk looks over the flight checklist, runs through his inspections once, twice-

And then organizes with Hunk to make a call back to their command center.

They had a few hours to set up labs and quarantine, and get their techies dressed out to take infectious cargo, as well as decontaminate the plane once everything was unloaded... along with setting up a call with their surgeon on tap.

The much less glamorous parts of this kind of job.

Beltway is relieved of his duties as co-pilot, which didn't seem to bother him too much this time. He still was entirely focused on their new acquisition: Ada Wong.

Or at least... something that looked like Ada Wong. Down to the scars on her shoulder, thigh, and abdomen.

He kept his comments to himself, and invited Hunk as his co-pilot for the duration of flight. Everyone else could make themselves at home in the cabin and get a small rest before they touched down.

Hawk finally takes his seat on the left and makes contact with the air tower, waiting for clearance to take off- and once in the air, waits until they're a good distance away with their course set before switching communications to be over the intercomm:

Ding-dong.

"Good evening everyone, you are tuning into the Nighthawk Show on Wolfpack Radio-" he chirps, holding the mic a few inches from his face, "The current time is two-twenty, post-meridian at Pacific Daylight Time, estimated time of touchdown is five-twenty, post-meridian in the same time zone."

"The weather right now is slightly overcast, light snow expected, and a brisk twenty-six degrees farenheit, which is negative three-point-three degrees celsius for those of us that prefer metric... and now, on to our sponsors."

"The Mission today was brought to you by Shen Ya Corporation, and Dr. Kimber Petty, who sought out our organization with a request that was anything but petty- tracking down a cetatious terror that had been responsible for outbreaks in the Lune Bay, Oregon."

Hawk pauses to look over his mission notes, "And now- a recap of our news for today: Our agents on the field were Beltway, Bertha, Vector, and yours truly, Nighthawk. Our mission operator, and the man with the plan, Hunk." "We had a surprise reunion with Four Eyes! Now, a Blue Umbrella celebrity dandy, and a little rusty with the CQC, but that rust shook right off when it was time to get really get to business."

"With the surprise Wolfpack Reunion, and a little direct help from our contact, Daniel Danielson, we were able to route the BOW into the bay where Shen Ya set up a trap to assist our efforts. Wolfpack encountered troubles at sea, and lost one vehicle to the BOW, but no operatives. All things considered, the loss is minimal, and the plan went off without too much hitch, and the whale was successfully routed into the paralytic trap. But because of the mass of the whale exceeded titan-class weight, our party had to place charges inside to make a dent in the hide."

"Now, to the highlight," he calls out, "Wolfpack made entry through the baleen, following Four Eyes' path laid out to more vulnerable places for the charges to be set. Vector encountered an undead diver, and tried to silently dispatch it, but was thwarted by the screams and flames that happened when it was killed. Beltway took the opportunity to take a step ahead, and ended up losing an arm in the process."

"Bertha and Four Eyes performed emergency medicine to get him up, and Beltway was able to clear the path for us down with an explosive, where we encountered giant skeletal remains, and an already mutated elite J'avo hostile."

"Wolfpack coordinated to take out the elite J'avo and others that were in the AO. With that accomplished, charges were set, and Beltway..."

He frowns, "Beltway set a chain reaction off of something while extracting an organism from within the skull. Footage will be reviewed for later debriefing."

That said...

"Contract completed to satisfactory, samples were divided between Wolfpack, Dr. Kimber Petty's marine lab, and Shen Ya. Payment has been received and will be divided accordingly when we RTB. Clean-up, and status of the outbreak going forward are not a part of the contract."

"Remember when we touchdown, all of us are going to have to go through standard exposure protocol, and our operator will give the official debrief and orders once all our collections and footage are reviewed. This is Nighthawk, signing off, enjoy the flight."

[ghostofadragon]

I'm genuinely so obsessed with your sun of alcoritrés OC verse….. its so fascinating to me and i Love your drawing with the dragon & rider gear diagram it's so well thought-out!! The whole setting and the people seem so interesting i need to know More…….. do you have Information about the characters im obsessed

thank you!!! :^D its pretty new so its kind of underdeveloped but the main charas of the universe rn (and basically the only ones i have. like i said its new) are like

DRAGON INSTITUTE CONTEXT: unnamed officially as of right now but there is a thus-called Institute where several of the characters were born and raised as dragon riders. its very militarized and reminiscent of the irl (US) air force - riders are psychically bonded to their dragons from birth and use that link to communicate with them midair.

Farah "Spaceman" Al-Basri Glorymorn and her dragon Maiseylith - he's a Lockheed, built for high-altitude flights, hence the origin of the 'spaceman' callsign - are kind of the main pov characters of the universe? she's about 30-31, so a good handful of years younger than the other two i'm about to list, and hence she was in an age class underneath them in the institute and was around to learn about their short-lived War Hero Exploits and kind of revere/idolize both of them (well, not collar, but i'll get to that) as a result. since she is new i do not have an Entirely formed personality for her on the ground Yet but she's a bit of a smartass, kind enough but not very social/often the odd one out, is introduced as somewhat of an everyman, she's comparatively new to this whole active combat thing and wants to do good by her new boss:

Richas "Goldie" Auberon and his dragon [NOT NAMED YET FORGIVE ME] are the quintessential Golden Boy (hence the callsign) War Heros of the story at first. his moniker before i named him properly was 'heroguy' if that tells you anything about his narrative place. he's kind of a doomed-by-the-narrative servant of the war machine, but he does Eventually learn to be a better person. eventually. it takes a while. to the local public he's kind of a celebrity captain america type though. on the surface he's kind of the typical male video game protag emotionally constipated Man Guy archetype, but he's also just genuinely kind of a dick underneath it. he gets better though i promise. he used to have a vicious but one-sided childhood class rivalry with:

A. L. "Collar" Iscariot and her dragon Beowulf, deeply stoic and caustic, callsign named for the collar of scars around her neck - previous to the injuries she was called 'duck' because she cut it too close to the ground during training one too many times and they never let her live it down. farah is her "replacement", which is to say, farah is richas' right hand man, which is the place collar used to (bitterly and unwillingly; she did not like richas and did not want to be associated with him) have before she publicly deserted the Institute and left to, for her own reasons, follow:

Sinclair De Vautour and his dragon the Queen of Spades - a nighthawk, built for stealth: he was not raised in the institute, and bonded to QoS after he rescued her from a illegal trafficking/dragonfighting operation where she was in line for the ring. This was not an act of goodwill. He needed a weapon. (He did quickly grow to like QoS, though.) he is very much the Goth Evil Overlord kind of archetype: this is still in development but i think on paper he runs some kind of wide-scale company as a front for his operations; collar is his loyal second-in-command, there with him since (almost) the beginning. he is an orphan, though his dragonfire scars were given to him later on. he was forced to cannibalize his family to survive the event that killed them. he is generally very unforgiving and cruel. i would say he and collar almost have kind of a harrow/gideon dynamic going on if they were middle aged bitches instead of in their late teens and also were not in love with each other. and if gideon was a heartless cunt and 200x less goofy in nature. this makes no sense but you gotta trust me on it man

there is also "Lovelace", real name unknown, who is sinclair's... uh... side piece? literally do not know how else to explain it. he hired her under the guise of being his girltoy but she's actually there to do insane hacker work for him. whether they also have sex or not is irrelevant. she is wanted by the state government and has served significant time in prison for past cybercrimes. she does not have her own dragon but occasionally co-opts QoH by bribing her with food and/or baubles if she needs to go anywhere on dragonback.

like i said in there this verse is very new so there are a lot of missing or temporary details to all of this but i AM slowly chipping at it 👍 my time is currently being absorbed by namowrimo but ill get back in there eventually! dragon rider ocs are my passion 4ever

[spacefinch]

Warning: here be Star Wars fanfic:

I wrote this for a school assignment a few years ago….

Star Wars: Sato's Story

By Finch

[Atollon. Phoenix Squadron’s base of operations.]

Sand. Dust. That was all that my nephew Mart and I could see outside the ship’s viewport.. The entire base was on lockdown thanks to this blasted sandstorm.

"How much longer until the storm lets up?" Mart grumbled. "I hate being stuck inside."

"I am not sure. But in the meantime, I have a story I would like to tell you," I said.

"A story, huh? Is it about the ‘glory days’ you and the older pilots talk about?”

"Not exactly," I replied. "Do you remember me telling you that I used to be in the Republic Navy before you were born?"

He nodded.

"For years, I thought I knew who I was: Commander Jun Sato, one of the best Republic military tacticians to hail from the Outer Rim," I began. "But nothing could prepare me for the day my career— and my life— changed forever…"

✦

It happened during the last days of the Clone Wars, more than sixteen years ago. The Separatists were invading Mykapo, our home planet. But there was no way I was going to let that happen.

At the time, I commanded the 719th Battalion alongside Jedi General Quon-Li and Admiral Styan Haringer, an old friend of mine. We had plenty of resources: hundreds of clone troopers, a fleet of Venator-class cruisers, and state-of-the-art starfighters and bombers. To say I was confident in our ability to win would be an understatement.

Before the battle could begin, though, we had to devise a plan of attack...

"Since time is of the essence, I will make this short," Haringer said as we all stood around the holotable in the Firebrand's (the command cruiser's) war room. He began all his mission briefings this way, even the excruciatingly long ones that bored me to death when I was a cadet. Thankfully, this one was on the short side.

The plan we discussed was as follows: Our Venators and light cruisers would move to outflank the Separatist ships and open fire, cutting off escape. At the same time, a squadron of bombers would attack the Separatist command ship, with a fighter squadron serving as escort. The battle in space would keep the enemies distracted long enough for our gunships to deliver our ground troops to the planet’s surface and take care of the battle droids there. Not much different from the other battles we had fought. Except this time, I would be flying alongside my pilots, rather than giving orders from the relative safety of the cruiser's bridge.

"You don't have to do this, Commander. I am certain the general can lead our squadrons on his own," said Haringer, with a familiar look of concern in his eyes. It reminded me of the old days, when I was still learning to command. He’s still looking out for me, I thought. I can take care of myself, though.

"It's not that,” I replied. “Mykapo might just be another planet to you, but it is my home, and I will do everything I can to defend it.”

“And I will do everything I can to defend the Republic,” he responded.

✦

A few minutes later, our two fighter groups— Dragon Squadron (composed of six-winged ARC-170s) and Nighthawk Squadron (composed of Y-wings)— were ready for battle.

"This is Dragon Leader," Quon-Li said. "All wings, report in." He spoke with a deep, gravelly voice that was a characteristic of his species, the Mon Calamari. His fishlike features made it seem as though he was most comfortable underwater— which was true— but he was also a gifted pilot.

I listened through my flight headset as the Dragon pilots called in. After that, it was my turn. "This is Nighthawk Leader, standing by," I said, from the cockpit of my YT-2400, the Sato’s Hammer.

✦

“Hey, that’s the freighter we’re in now!” Mart exclaimed, interrupting my story. “That is so cool! Was R3 there, too?”

Hearing his name mentioned, Mart’s old astromech droid turned his conical head to look at us.

“Yes, he was,” I said. “Now, let us continue the story.”

✦

"Nighthawk Two, standing by!" That was Lieutenant Galt. By far one of the most enthusiastic clones in the 719th. And another good friend of mine, as well. No matter what mission we were on, he always kept everyone’s spirits up— often by starting a friendly competition to see who could shoot down the most droid starfighters.

One by one, the rest of my pilots called in.

I had commanded and fought beside these men for three years. Following Quon-Li's example, I had taken time to get to know them, not just as soldiers, but as friends. Which meant I trusted them with my life.

"All right, men, you know what to do," I said. "Attack speed!"

✦

Even with Dragon Squadron covering for us, the other bomber pilots and I had our hands full. Vulture droids came at us from every direction— like a swarm of angry hornets, only much larger and angrier.

Fortunately, we all made it through the first wave of enemy fighters in one piece. I wasn't planning on letting my guard down, though.

That soon proved to be a wise decision. Compared to the rest of the Separatists' defenses, that first wave was just the practice round.

We succeeded in destroying the Separatist’s flagship, but not everyone survived the attack run. Many good men were lost— including several from my own squadron. In spite of the losses, though the battle was a victory for both the Republic and the people of Mykapo.

✦

As cleanup dogfights concluded, the rest of my squadron suddenly changed course. That's strange. I never ordered them to do that.

I spoke into my comm: "Nighthawk Squadron, this is your commander speaking. Get back here AT ONCE!"

I expected to hear at least one "Yes, sir!" or other acknowledgement over the radio. But there was no response. This doesn't make sense. The comms are working perfectly. And it's not like the clones to ignore a direct order.

Two seconds later, I saw where the Y-wings were headed. Toward the ARC-170s, all of which were chasing a small starfighter.

Not just any starfighter. Master Quon-Li’s ship. And unlike the Hammer, Jedi starfighters weren’t designed to sustain heavy damage.

I tried contacting the fighters again. “All units, break off your pursuit, now. This is your only warning.”

This time, I did get a reply. “Negative. We have orders to terminate the Jedi,” came Galt’s voice.

This can’t be. These men would never do such a thing.

“What? Why?” I could barely contain my shock.

“He’s a traitor. They’re all traitors.”

I had only known Quon-Li— and a small number of other Jedi— for a few years. I didn’t consider myself an expert on their ways. But I had seen them in action. I had seen their dedication and loyalty to clone troopers and civilians alike. They would never betray all those people.

The next several moments felt like an eternity. Before, my goal had been clear. Lead my squadron into battle, defeat the Separatist invaders, and liberate my home.

Now, though… Now I was faced with a choice. I could choose to go along with the clones. Remain loyal to them. But then, I would be letting them kill Master Quon-Li. Did I really want that?

Or I could save the general. But that would mean turning on my own men, and by extension, the Republic. By doing so, I would be dishonoring the commitment I had made when I joined the Navy.

This was not just any decision. Not like deciding what to eat for breakfast or what to do when I was off duty. This was a matter of life and death.

I weighed the options in my mind once again. Side with the clone troopers— who were loyal to the end— or side with the general, who always did what he believed to be right. Time is of the essence, Jun, I told myself.

I made my decision.

“R3, raise deflector shields to maximum level,” I said. The droid immediately did as he was told. At least he still listened to me.

I gripped the controls of the freighter and banked hard, heading straight for the Republic starfighters. Most of the fighters remained focused on the Jedi starfighter, but a few broke off from the group and began to chase me.

If they thought that would drive me away, their assumptions were soon proven incorrect. I stayed on course, tilting my ship to dodge the incoming laser fire. For three years, these pilots had regarded me as their friend, and now they treated me as the opposite. What happened to them? How could they do this?

I opened a comm channel to Quon-Li’s fighter. “This is Commander Sato. You need to get out of here, General,” I said, trying to hide the growing fear in my voice. As if I could hide something like that from a Jedi.

“I’m trying. But my fighter doesn’t have a hyperdrive. I won’t be able to get far,” Quon-Li answered.

Blast it! How could I have forgotten about that? I scolded myself. Out loud, I said, “My ship does have a hyperdrive. If I can get close enough, you can dock with it.”

“It’s risky, but it might work,” the general replied. “Just make it quick, Commander.”

A laser blast from one of the clone fighters scored a direct hit. Warning lights flashed across the Hammer’s control panel. The deflector shields had been compromised. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before the hull was breached.

I didn’t want to fire on my own squadron, but I had no other choice if I wanted to stay alive long enough to help Quon-Li get to safety. I aimed both of the Hammer’s turret guns and fired. The repeated blasts vaporized two of the pursuing fighters and sent three others spiraling out of control. I blocked out the thought of the lives ended. The lives I had ended.

I pulled my ship up alongside the Jedi starfighter. “Stand by on the docking port, R3,” I ordered. “I will handle the rest.”

Quon-Li moved into position, turning his fighter on its side so it could attach to the docking port.

R3 beeped questioningly at me.

“Not yet,” I said. “We have to get closer.”

And the sooner, the better. I closed the gap between the two ships.

“Get the docking port open, now!”

But before R3 could get it open, two proton torpedoes hit Quon-Li’s starfighter. One second, it was flying next to mine. The next, harsh light filled my cockpit viewport as the fighter burst into flame.

“NO!” I shouted.

The fighter was gone. Master Quon-Li was gone. I’ve failed.

I felt anger boiling inside me. Anger at myself for not being able to save the general. And anger at the pilot who had shot him down. Part of me wanted to make the clones pay for what they had done. Make them regret the day they turned on their own leader.

No. The clones wouldn’t just betray the Jedi. They were bred to be loyal— both to the Jedi and officers like myself. Something is amiss.

R3 turned to look at me and whistled. His one camera-eye remained as always expressionless, but I could tell what he was probably thinking in that computer brain of his. And I appreciated his concern.

“I’m fine,” I said, partly answering R3, but mostly trying to convince myself.

A light on the Hammer’s communications panel began flashing, signaling an incoming transmission from the Firebrand.

“Put it through, R3,” I said,

Immediately, a blue-tinted hologram of Admiral Haringer materialized over the panel’s projector.

“Commander,” he addressed me.

“Admiral, what is going on?” I demanded. “Why have the clones turned on their own general?”

“Actually, it is Quon-Li who was the traitor,” Haringer replied. “And the same can be said for all the other Jedi.”

This was almost exactly what Lieutenant Galt had said just minutes earlier. And it still didn’t make sense.

“You’ve known the Jedi for much longer than I have,” I said. “You know they would never betray the Republic.”

Haringer didn’t answer, but narrowed his eyes.

“At least tell the pilots to cease firing at me,” I said. “I tried telling them myself, but they don’t seem to be listening.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” It was a completely reasonable request.

“By order of the Emperor himself, all traitors to the Galactic Empire must be punished. That includes you, Sato,” the admiral said.

The Emperor? This was worse than I had thought. Much worse. Ever since the war began, I had started to see that the Republic was beginning to fall from its former glory. I just hadn’t realized how far it had fallen.

“Now see here, Admiral,” I said in a tone I rarely used when talking to a superior officer. “I am not a traitor. If anyone deserves to be called a traitor, it is you.”

Up until this point, I had respected Haringer. I had admired his loyalty to the Navy. Loyalty at any cost. Now, though… Now I realized that loyalty at any cost came with a price. A price that meant sacrificing one’s integrity and morals— sometimes even one’s own friends. Haringer was willing to pay that price, but I was not.

“I have my orders,” Haringer replied. “And it is not my place to question them.”

“Then we are enemies now. So be it,” I said, and ended the transmission.

✦

The clone pilots were fast fliers. They followed my every move, trying to cut off my escape. But their attempt was in vain. They may have been skilled, but I was more so, having more flying experience than they.

Earlier this day, I had been flying alongside these men. Now I was flying away from them. Away from my battalion. Away from my homeworld. Away from everything I had known.

The question is, where do I go from here?

Then it dawned on me. I no longer had friends here, but I did have friends elsewhere in the galaxy.

“R3, set a course for the Alderaan system,” I said. “Quickly, if possible.”

Minutes later, the Hammer made the jump to hyperspace. There was no turning back.

✦

Epilogue: Atollon.

For a few moments, neither one of us spoke.

Then, Mart broke the silence. “I’m sorry about your friend, Uncle,” he said. “It must have been hard for you to lose him.”

“Yes, it was. But I’m over it now. Mostly,” I said, looking at the red-orange sky outside the cockpit window. The sky. The sandstorm’s finally died down, I realized. Which reminds me…

“Why don’t we go outside and watch the sunset?” I suggested. “I know where we can find a good view.”

“Good idea,” said Mart, following me to the Hammer’s boarding ramp. “Come on, R3. You need some fresh air, too,”

Sixteen years ago, I thought I had lost everything. My career, my home, one of my closest friends. But in the time since, I had met new friends— a new family— during my path as a member of the Rebellion. A path that I never would have taken if I had chosen differently during that battle.

[slifarianhawk]

Chapter 20: Lost Love (Wesker's P.O.V)

I watched Tabitha's torso fall into the arms of Steven. I dashed over to her and lifted her out of his arms. Staring as her sliver hair returned to the chocolate brown I remember her eyes were. It seems the angelis virus brightened her hair. She was even more stunning than she was before the mansion incident.

"Where is the infirmary?" I asked without delay.

"Her medical facilities are behind her office, sir." Archer stated matter-of-factly, "The angelis virus is currently unstable and she is a threat while she is unconscious."

"Grant me access to the room and I'll carry my dear Tabitha there." I started heading out of the containment room, "Steve and Agent Nighthawk, you'll follow me. Once you have granted me access Archer go to inform the White Queen of the situation.".

"As Tabitha's husband, you have some rights to Pheonix Corps. I'll allow you access to our commander's medical room. I'll let her decide on what all you can have access to when she awakens." Archer spoke leading us through the hallway and stopping halfway to Tabitha's office he turned to look at me, "It has been eight years since you two have been together and this morning she told me she couldn't keep her cover anymore due to her heartache of not being with you. Did you feel the same way about her?"

I looked down at the unconscious form of my wife and kissed her forehead.

"All I ever cared about was making a new world where I'd have her by my side. Cleansing the world of all that would do us harm. I busied myself with my work, but it was almost agony when I didn't have her by my side." I said continuing to her office.

Archer pushed past me, opening the door to Tabitha's med bay. I saw a hospital bed with shackles connected to it. I set her down and pulled the blanket over her. Her unconscious form was as beautiful as the nighttime sky.

"She's likely to be out for some time." the white queen AI said appearing beside the bed as Archer shackled her to the bed and left.

"about how long do you think?" I asked while grabbing Tabitha's hand.

"more than likely she'll wake up in three hours once injected with her viral stabilizer which Arjuna is preparing now." The AI spoke.

"Arjuna? Do you by chance mean Archer?" I inquired.

"Arjuna is the name given to him by Tabitha. His name before was a number given to him by Umbrella. When she saved him in 2003, she gave him the name Arjuna due to his bow skill." The White Queen said.

"After her favorite hero from mythology, I remember the night she told me that. it was our third date. Our first actual date was not just a coffee on the train we got an actual weekend pass and went to an Italian restaurant. They kept messing up my order and they told her if she thought she could do it better to take the reins in the kitchen. She laughed and gave me her food which was a pasta puttanesca which was my second choice. She was kind even when others didn't deserve it. That day we decided to start trying for a relationship, not just being friendly towards each other." I motioned for Steven and Nighthawk to return to their regular duties. With them leaving I leaned over and whispered taking Tabitha's hand.

"You'll be a goddess by my side again my dear. I won't let you go as I did during the mansion incident, my dear lotus one of my deepest regrets was abandoning you." silent tears fell down my face.

"She will be happy to hear that sir," Archer said entering the room holding an injector," she should wake up soon with this. Once I give her this dose, I have something to show you."

"And what is it that you would like to show me?" I asked drying the few tears that shed.Archer injected Tabitha with the serum inside the syringe, "The place where Pheonix Corps started. Please follow me.".

He walked out of the room and I followed close by. Leading me up what seemed like endless corridors and flights of steps until we reached the main lobby. I stared at the massive picture of Tabitha and the massive tattoo that marked her as Umbrella's property. Now on her shoulder was a massive twisting scar, a forever reminder of mine and her past. Next to the fireplace, there was a door with a snake carved into the handle.

"This room was the first one completed of the Phoenix Corps hunting lodge," he lowered his voice and continued speaking "and is the second most secured room because of the contents. the only place more secure is the Pheonix Corps base."

"And why is it so secure? Money, security servers?" I inquired.

"As well this is also where the deed lies and a special letter to Lady Tabitha from Spencer. It is where she came after the mansion incident and where she started her war with Umbrella." He spoke opening the door after pulling out a three-prong key from it.

"Her game against Spencer.... what does the letter say?" I asked walking into the room.

"I will allow you to read it only to know why she went back to raccoon city after coming here in the first place. I will be the first one to tell you it was not for her siblings."

"It was to track me down right? That is what I saw from the nest footage in the files she left for me to review." I spoke.

"You are partially right but her main goal was different. It is all explained in that letter." Archer said closing the door, and locking it behind us,

"Please understand that what I am doing is for Tabitha's good. I really shouldn't have even allowed you in here, but she can not hide from this anymore.".

He had taken out a ripped open letter and a manilla envelope from a beat-up ebony desk.Handing the items to me with shaky hands Archer spoke in a deadly serious voice, "This is how her war against umbrella and the rise of the Pheonix Corps.

Taking the letter and the deed I sat down at the security desk. Setting the manilla envelope with the deed aside, I unfolded the letter and began to read. Spencer's voice echoed through my head as I read the handwritten letter. He told her how he had given Birkin the virus and how he had planned my betrayal of Umbrella. My grip grew tighter word after word. He said that she was the perfect choice to become the next heir to Umbrella even though she left after our son was born. He even offered a place by his side till I and my sister returned to him.

He wanted her to run Umbrella and become an entirely different person than she was. He told her to return to mine and her home, that she would be able to find my plans in my office under a false bottom in the floor. I aggressively sat the letter down.

"Spencer lured her into a trap, just so she could be experimented on," I growled out.

"Not quite it was a genuine offer Spencer gave her. She was here when Sergei delivered that letter to her. Sergei called her here under the pretense of claiming your remains. This room is where Sergei tried to claim her as his own the first time. She left the deed here and ran back to raccoon and you know the rest." Arjuna said turning towards the cameras.

Beep beep...

Archer pressed the button on his choker turning his com link active.

"Archer here." He said.

"Yea uh this is Steve Burnside we have a situation. She's gone." Steven said, "the bed she was restrained to is broken in half.".

I felt my heart stop for a second. Where was Tabitha? Does she fear me that much? Or was she fleeing from her past again?

"I know where she went..." Archer trailed off, " she went to see her daughter's grave... the one she hid in the forest."

[alphateampilot]

They never changed Hunk's set, just the weapons that were popped into it and the amount of padding strapped to him  He spent the first minutes of briefing checking each clip of every weapon he was handed. An AK, A USS 9mm, his own combat knife- freshly sterilized. They gave him three sachets of herbs on site, and an auto antiviral injector- looked like an epinephrine pen.

He didn’t fully set sights on the cargo until everything was tinted red and his comms line was switched on. When he did catch it, it was as the damnable thing was loaded into the jet. That’s G. The reason for the shit hitting the fan.

They ran them through decontamination before and after suiting up. The hiss of the sanitizing spray against gear made his lip twitch. He had burn scars on his arms from bleaching them- got scratched by an infected and a squadmate overcompensated. Well, maybe she didn’t, considering the alternative. The small squad of people loaded up with the cargo, and it was only then that he addressed them.

Hunk’s the one running the op on Command’s behalf, the highest ranking. He’s recognizable by the red lenses. There’s a palpable tension when he steps on the plane before operations actually commence. Hazmat folks leave the surroundings to the folk with guns.

“Alpha leader Agent Hunk. Report.”

There were six of them running in total, sporting similar makes and models of Umbrella gear. Hawk was to his left.

“Jackdaw, Epsilon team leader-” chirped one. Singsong. Following him, was the woman, Baywatch, of Epsilon, and Chariot of Epsilon. Chariot was co-piloting. The last was Pagan. Pagan was Henry’s personal security officer, and she stood a full head higher than her Epsilon mates. He’d met her before. 

“Our objective is to get this plane to Loire without incident. Once landed, we will escort the parcel to a truck, and hand it off to the company.”

Pagan gave a huff , Czech and spoke with a lilt, “The director will receive us with Gamma team after we get to the point.”

“Confirmed,” Jackdaw said, “–  Nice to be playing with the Grim Reaper.”

Hunk watched him past the lenses of the respirator, and no one said anything for a time.

“Get the bird in the air. Nighthawk, Chariot, let’s go.”

Nighthawk straps himself in, waiting for Chariot to do the same. He’d already done the pre-flight checklist before Hunk and himself had ever arrived. Hawk went ahead and double-checked, triple-checked. Trust but verify.

Strapped in and ready to go, he flips on the engine, and makes contact with the comm tower, waiting for clearance for launch. The traffic controllers give the go ahead, and he issues his response.

Easing down the runway, he takes hold of the intercom, and in his peppiest voice, addresses his squadmates:

“Goooooood Morning, Ladies and Gentlemen! This is Nighthawk, your pilot speaking! Welcome aboard this flight to Loire, France. We are here to make sure you have an enjoyable flight- If you look outside you can see the first glimpses of a beautiful, tropical sunrise…“

Liftoff.

“… if you could please, remain seated for the duration of the flight, enjoy your First Class treatment, and have a wonderful day-"

The jet ascended. The interior was well pressurized- but regardless, there’s always a sensation of ringing in the ears and popping in the higher altitudes.

“We will be providing entertainment throughout this ten-hour journey, so sit back, relax, and behave until we can touchdown. Nighthawk, out.“

He flipped off the intercom and monitored the equipment, checking altitude, and coordinates, and setting a course. He glanced over to Chariot. It didn’t seem like he was much amused- though it was impossible to tell expression underneath the helms.

Oh well. He knew he was funny.

"Mmph."

He drinks tea himself to wake his own ass from the grave, waiting for Hawk to figure out what the waking world was.

Long nights into longer days, and they had a flight left for the evening. Hunk worried his lip over the edge of his cup, Nighthawk gawked,  “Nobody would give you the benefit of the doubt that you banged the Grim Reaper,” he offers, counterpoint and tired. 

He was right. The people that actually knew who he was outside of his mask and lenses gave him as much space as possible and worried looks for themselves. They were never really friends, either.

The motherfucker that kills everyone around him for a living. Kind of. Inadvertently, usually. The Grim Reaper isn’t named idly, but a lot of the fear was earned by his ability to remind someone that he could kill them.

A step forward or even a hard look was usually enough to send somebody running. Reputation’s a hell of a thing.

Kudos to Nighthawk for being just oblivious or ballsy enough to sit at a table with him in the first place. He’d make a joke about getting his affairs in order, but it seemed tasteless enough with Grin turned to ash, to let it lie.

He rubbed at an eye to get the sleep out of it.

The mint’s relieving. He savors it and collects his jacket, the key card, and the minimally packed duffel they saddled on him with and leads them both out of his room. Umbrella's retreat would go on with two less employees to suck the poor excuse of a morale booster down. Fine by him. He preferred the road.

“You should go get whatever you need. Car’ll be here in an hour.”

And he’d be waiting in the lobby thinking about what medication to shirk today. It’s a dreary day and shitty flying. Ten hours of it. He popped everything but the painkiller with morning tea and egg broth. He looked a lonely sight with a cup of tea and at least twenty feet between him and the nearest person.

Nighthawk nodded and left to get his things- also minimally packed as this retreat was impromptu, and not really well thought through. The company dime could take care of anything he needed, as far as he was concerned. He did end up taking the little soaps and shampoos that were in the room, stuffed them in the duffel. Hotel staff would have to throw them out anyway, he was sure, so may as well just take it. He slung it over his shoulder and made his way down to the lobby- grabbing a complementary breakfast, and just a little more coffee. A little under an hour of waiting, and a few more helpings of the do-it-yourself waffle batter, and the valet arrived. Very professional, and terse. The ride was all business down to a nearby airfield, where the rest of their crew was waiting. Military grade transport vehicles set up a perimeter in the private section of the field, USS personnel, both technical and military, were at work suiting up and setting up their flight. As they were told to exit, Nighthawk took a look at what he would be flying. On the outside it looked like a personal transport jet- one of Umbrella’s custom aircraft. Half of the jet that was dedicated to “passengers“ was refitted to have an on board biohazard containment set up, the other half dedicated to military personnel and armory. On the ground, in a sectioned off area, the perimeter had set up a decontamination unit. He could see other techs dressed in hazmat suits carefully loading a cylindrical chrome plated container on board. That’s G. The Golgotha virus. He scanned down on the field- There were four others suited up. He saw the distinct orange fatigues and helm of the USS pilots. As well as three USS ground troops dressed in greys and blacks. They were armed to the teeth as per usual. An Umbrella Tech leads them to the transport vehicles- their gear is provided for them. Issued anew from the shitshow that was Raccoon. “Suit up,“ they were commanded. Nighthawk dressed into his fatigues and gear, donning his gloves, helmet, sidearm, tactical knife. He secured everything together and put in his respirator, breathing in the new filtered air. He was given two spares. Hunk dressed in his peculiar manner. He never wore the Umbrella logo. Always simple black fatigues, wearing a gas mask and helmet that seemed outdated for the rest of the USS’s gear. Those red lenses were just the right saturation to appear glowing. Seeing that on a dark night? You’d think you’d really met the Grim Reaper. Better pray Mr. Death isn’t sent after you.

[yandere-mha-blog]

Chapter 3: Getting interesting

Words: 2176

You sat alone at your desk that day, looking over at Fumiko who saw you looking knowing that you knew that she was looking at you, and quickly turned her head, she must have felt ashamed about how everything was handled. You were paying attention like usual when you overheard some girls talking.

“So did you hear that Akio got put in the hospital by the nighthawk.” one said

“Really, you would think the heroes would have caught him by now.” the other one said, you had to hold your tongue saying how Akio was actually a bastard and had it coming that night, still then people would talk about you and your involvement and right now you had to finish school, four years of this wasn't about to be flushed down the drain because you were interested in this so-called villain, still it brought up a lot of questions now, how many of these attacks were actually prompted, what other tricks was he able to pull off.

You left your last class around 9 at night, night classes always sucked but what else could you do as you kept walking down the pavement only to see something bright red catch your eye. You stopped to make sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you as you saw the red feather laying on the ground the other way, was this another “gift” of his?

Curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back, so you went over to the feather and it moved down the street, was he playing with you, it was either follow the feather or go home and do more boring work. So you followed the feather to satisfy your curiosity as you went down the street. What exactly was he doing as the feather stopped outside a public park? It was empty or so you thought as you picked up the feather and walked in.

“I believe you dropped this,” you said looking up in a tree to see him with his foot dangling down

“Oh is that where I left it, you are doing me a big favor by bringing it here,” he said as the feather flew out of your hand and attached back to his wings

“I know you can control them, so what is this about?” you asked

“What about it, I am just chilling in a tree.” he said, “you are the one who followed my feather-like a baby duck following its mother.” “I am not a baby duck.” you said “Why do you keep leaving them for me to find?”

“Because...we are both birds,” he said

“You have to be kidding me, I'm not a bird,” you said

“Sure you are, you got them sharp talons, you can do some serious damage to someone if you wanted, is that why you want to become a doctor.”

“Excuse me, how do you know that?” you said

“I can also hear through my feathers you know.” he said “And see, like how a dolphin has echolocation.” “More like a platypus and it's bill,” you said

“Hahah true, true.” he said “When you sliced open my feather oh so rudely the other day, I was also able to see all your textbooks.” He said stretching his wings out “is why you want to become a doctor, because it's the only way you can cut people open without being labeled violent.”

“...” you were silent as one of his bigger feathers nudge your face

“You can tell me.” he said “I am not one to judge here, you know.”

“Why are you so interested in that?” you asked

“Tell you what, you tell me the truth and ill tell you something interesting about my glorious self,” he said

“Okay fine, you got me okay, I don't know what it is but as a child I would find dead animals and just want to use my talons to study them more, I was curious about it,” you said

“Well birds gotta fly, you gotta do that.” Hawks said, “So did your parents find out.”

“They did, they sent me to therapy and I suppressed it, till well I was doing dissection in class and well old habits die hard I guess,” you said

“You are telling me.” Hawks said, patting your head with one of his wings “So then what happened?” “I got sent to the school therapist, again, and she told me my curiosity was good but wasn't being used the right way and that there are other ways to learn about stuff and maybe biology was my passion, but using a scalpel can only go so far.”

“I get that like I can fly a plane, but it isn't anything like using my wings.” Hawks said, “Now my turn, hm let's see what can I tell you.”

“Why are you a villain?” you asked

“I don't like people telling me what to do, I like to do what I want on my terms.” He said, “I can't exactly do that if someone has their hands on my wings.”

“So you don't see yourself as a villain?” you asked

“Not really, the Hero public safety commission has been trying to get their hands on me since I was a child, maybe that's why I;m able to be better than most trained heroes.”

“Really now,” you said, so that's why they were so adamant about catching him.

“Haha, they won't ever catch me.” Hawks said “Anyway, I think you need to stop suppressing your quirk. When I saw you use your quirk on that guy who attacked you, you got scared after using your quirk on him.”

“I was mostly angry at him, why did you go after him?” you asked

“It's what I do, I see someone hurting someone else. I don't care if they are a hero, villain, or civilian.” “Well right now you are the only one who is on my side,” you said kicking the ground

“Funny, I feel the same way about you.” He said with a smile, you laughed a bit

“YOu aren't anything like I expected.” you said “I read so many news stories about how you were some evil killer villain, yet here you are having a full conversation with a civilian.”

“Hahah it's kinda funny when you think about it, you get bored easily huh?”

“I do and I hate it.” you said swinging your arms out “I mean each day something over and over again, learning stuff I already know just so I can satisfy my quirk.”

“Well if you got talons use them, you don't see me not using my wings.” he laughed with you “Still you should enjoy your boredom when you can.” “Haha I’ll try, thanks hawks I feel better,” you said

“I feel better too, when you are running from the law you don't have time to sit back and talk much, most people run away screaming.” “Hmm wonder where they would get that idea from,” you said

“Haha yeah wonder where.” Hawks said before his laughter died down. “Still it's getting late. You should head back to your dorm and enjoy a nice cup of tea.”

“I will, thanks for talking to me, you think we will talk again?” you asked

“Maybe if our paths cross again,” he said standing up in the tree

“What does that mean?” you asked, he just tilted his head before smiling, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone only with a gust of wind left in your face.

Maybe it was the fact you were smiling all day the next day that Fumiko was getting worried about you since at lunch she walked over

“Hey…(name) can we talk?” she asked

“Sure,” you said

“Well, Akio is getting out of the hospital and I would like if we can all talk this out,” she said

“Fine, I'll 'talk 'to him,” you said, wanting to see his face and maybe giving him a couple of good slaps.

“Great, I'm glad we can all sweep this under the rug,” she said, no you were not going to sweep this under the rug, what delusional world was she living in.

Still, you went with her to the hospital to see this man again, you and her went into his hospital room and he was slashed up, good you thought.

“Hey Akio how are you feeling?” she asked

“I'm doing good, thanks,” he said

“That's too bad,” you said crossing your arms

“(name) Akio is recovering can’t you try to forgive him?” she asked

“Forgive him, after what he tried to pull,” you said

“Hey, I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing.” he said.'' Besides, didn't pay the price, I almost died.” you rolled your eyes

“Oh please if the Nighthawk wanted you dead you would be dead.” you said “I let me tell you i will never forgive you, oh you were drunk, you seem sober enough to try to get me home, to walk out of the bar without stumbling, the only reason I'm not taking this to the police is that I know shit bags like you get off with this every time.”

“Hey I was just trying to be nice!” he said, ” Hey Fumiko I thought you said you were here to smooth things over.”

“That's what I thought.” Fumiko said “Hasn't he suffered enough?

“No,” you said, “and if I see you come near me on campus again, you will wish the NIghthawk killed you.”

“(NAME)!” she yelled at you grabbing your arm, you brushed her off

“You are just as bad as he is,” you said and stomped out you got your message across by slamming the door.

You had better things to do anyways like reviewing your notes, you were getting bored again as you tapped your pencil on your desk.

Hawks on the other hand had just got done stopping a purse snatcher, where were the heroes anyway he thought that there should be more around this time as he reattached one of his bigger Primarie feathers, his work still wasn’t done for the night crime never slept there was always something going on somewhere. But he was getting hungry so he might as well grab something to eat as he landed in an alleyway and hid his wings and put his jacket over and walked into a convenient store to grab a bite.

“Is that all?” he asked

“Yup.” Hawks said

“Okay your total is 580 yen,” he said, hawks took out his coin pouch and paid the man, before leaving, convenience store food was easy to get and rather cheap but he was worried he was gonna gain a gut at this point, with his wings he wouldn't have anything hindering his flight ability, he wondered how miss talons were doing right now, maybe he would stop by for a visit.

You were about to pass out at your desk when you heard a tapping at your window, you looked over and saw Hawks hanging upside down tapping at your window. You walked over and opened the door.

“Oh so our paths do meet again it seems,” you said

“You know it chickadee,” he said. “Man convenience store food is good and all but it's so greasy.”

“How do you pay for that?” you asked

“I take money off the people I beat up.” Hawks said, “You look like you are in a bad mood?”

“I am,” you said

“What's got you under the weather?”Hawks asked

“Akio is getting out of the hospital and everyone is telling me to forgive him when I'm not.” You said

“Ahh well if it makes you feel better, I stole his wallet the other day.” Hawks said, you rolled your eyes

“I wish that made me feel better, I don't know why everyone is thinking I'm in the wrong here,” you said

“People are complicated, they don't like to believe someone they know is capable of doing dirty things.” Hawks said rubbing his chin “You can either let other people get you down when you are in the right, or you can know you are right and say screw em.”

“I say they screwed them.” you said “It feels nice to have someone on my side for once, this school sucks.”

“Why don't you leave, do something worth your time?” Hawks asked

“I...can’t,” you said

“OH, I see.” Hawks said, narrowing his eyes and flipping back up on the pole to his feet, “And here I thought you were different.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you said getting a little upset with him

“Nothing, nothing, I just thought you were a woman who did stuff worth her time is all, it's sad to see you wasting your potential here.” Hawks said

“I'm not wasting-” you want to say but a large gust of wind hit your face again and you sighed, before slamming the window shut in anger, anger that you felt like he was right.

[hoodedmenace]

"Talon's already taken by the Court of Owls, and I'm pretty sure that Nighthawk already exists too. I think he's... some marksman cowboy or something." Jason doesn't try to talk over the sound of them clanging up the fire escape, though it is a bit uncharacteristic of him, like he's suddenly dipped back inside of his own head, something like pensiveness radiating off him.

He's mildly winded after scarfing down so much food in one go and climbing approximately seven or eight flights of stairs, so he drops into a crouch nearby to reorient himself. Takes Matt in quietly, the cut of his silhouette against the hazy New York sky, horns and everything. Devil of the shadows and all that. It's all so similar to Bruce that it hurts sometimes. Jason tries to not get too caught up in thinking what a young, wounded, angry Bruce must have been like as Batman.

"...Nightwing came first," he says, haltingly, and he even manages to sound like he's looking anywhere but at Matt. "There was a whole—thing. I guess. He and Bats were always fighting about something, and one day B fired him. It was a whole thing, I won't get into the weeds, but Dick left for the Titans and had this gross heart to heart with Superman, of all people. There's this myth, on Krypton, about a man who was cast out by his family, but devoted his life to fighting crime. And since Dick couldn't be Robin anymore, he became Nightwing." Jason's voice is laden heavily with something, but it's difficult to parse out exactly what. Grief? Guilt? Jealousy? "He always wanted to be better than Batman. Do better than him."

Matt reorients, filtering out the traffic and distant sirens and chattering voices. Alley. Fire escape. Five, no, six stories. Ladder's too high. Ah — dumpster. That'll do it.

"It's the bird names," he calls back to Jason as he scales the ladder. "You and Nightwing are still evoking songbirds when you could be calling yourselves something slightly more intimidating like Talon or Nighthawk. Then again, no one expects a robin to roundhouse you in the face."

He stands on the rooftop, hands of hips, waiting for Jason to climb after him. "And for the record I don't have a thing about acknowledging our relationship. That would be the saddest kink I've ever heard of."

[thisiswhatwereupagainst]

Obscure Marvel fancast of the day: Rachel Shelly as Dr. Tania Belisnky aka Red Guardian aka Starlight!

Tania Belinsky was a brilliant neurosurgeon from Russia, written back when the USSR was still in power. She grew up a devoted patriot to her country, and though she found some of what the government did to be (in her own words) repulsive, she was still dedicated to the positive Communist ideals of unity and the individual serving the many. However, when her father was exiled to Siberia for being a dissident, Tania become a costumed vigilante who fought crime, but also protected other dissidents, in hopes to reform Soviet society from within. For this reason, she was considered an enemy of the state and a wanted criminal herself by the Russian government. As a vigilante, she called herself the Red Guardian, after a previous superhero, a man who had been Russia’s answer to Captain America during the 50s. She had no superpowers, fighting purely through athletic skill, hand to hand combat, and the use of a bladed belt buckle as a weapon. Tania came to US at the request of Dr. Stephen Strange. Strange did not know she was secretly a superhero; he merely wanted her help as a fellow neurosurgeon in performing a brain transplant. The operation was a success, but right afterwards, Strange was attacked by the supervillain Plantman. Tania revealed her secret identity as Red Guardian, and they defeated Plantman with the help of Power Man. After that, Tania stayed in the United States to serve as another member of the Defenders alongside Dr. Stranger, Power Man, Valkyrie, Nighthawk, the Hulk, and other heroes. Alas, she only had a few adventures with the Defenders before she received a call from Russia, threatening her loved ones if she did not return. She did as commanded, and when she returned home, the KGB was waiting for her. They informed her that they knew of her secret identity, but it was not the government that they were taking her to…but instead to the most powerful man in all of Russia, the feared being known only as “Codename: Sergei”. It was he who had ordered her return and orchestrated this kidnapping. Tania fought her captors, but a mind-calming cowl was placed on her head, so that she was in a subdued state when she was brought before this man–Sergei Krylov aka “The Presence”, a mad scientific Soviet genius who had caused a Chernobyl-like nuclear disaster in the “Forbidden Zone” by using cobalt radiation that had transformed him into a superhuman being. He had been monitoring Tania and her activities, and while he considered her heroic ideals to be naive and misled, he had decided she was his ideal mate. Tania was forcibly subjected to the same radiation, and granted superhuman abilities as well—flight, super-strength, invulnerability, and the power to shoot blasts of pure nuclear radiation. However, these powers came at a terrible cost: her free will. Tania was now in mental thrall to the Presence, as little more than his zombie-like slave…though even in this state, she always begged him not to hurt others. However, the Presence was a supervillain (what a surprise) and when the pair inevitably came into conflict with Tania’s former teammates, the Defenders, Tania regained her free will when Presence was about to kill her friends. She rejected him, and when he called her the thing he loved most, she called out how his very words showed he just thought of her as a THING, and said that he didn’t really love her, he loved a fantasy he had of her, a zombie he had created. Basically, the Presence was a gross incel before a term was invented for it, and she called him out on it. His heart broken and ego deflated, the Presence departed. As for Tania, she was kept isolated at a Soviet research facility, til the Presence unleashed a giant radioactive amoeba on Russia. Tania was unleashed to do battle the amoeba and stop him. When she arrived on the scene, she realized he wasn’t the blame for the giant amoeba, but was fighting it himself…and failing with their combined powers, they destroyed it…and then Presence confessed his love to her and as if that weren’t bad enough, SHE STAYED WITH HIM! And, surprise, she was later shown to be under his mental control again later! which makes me think that his control never really left her in the first place, and that her getting away from him physically helped her stave it off, but when she got close to him again while fighting the amoeba, that re-activated it, and THAT’S why she agreed to stay with him once more. Anyway, Presence starts going mad with power…which just means he gets more egotistical and gross. he decided he should not just be content with ONE mind-controlled consort, but should have ALL the sexiest Soviet superheroines. So he sends the mind-controlled (yet still aware enough to cry) Tania (who now goes by Starlight instead of Red Guardian) to kidnap her fellow Russian heroines, Black Widow and Darkstar. Darkstar, by the way, is the long-lost daughter of the Presence. And he knows this at this point. And yet he still wants her in his little Soviet Harem. Seriously. It’s so gross. Starlight says that this shows how he isn’t mentally well, but his “symptoms” seem to be just being egotistical and thinking he’s entitled to a bunch of hot women being under his command including his own daughter, he doesn’t seem insane so much as just disgusting to me. In any case, Starlight once again manages to snap out of his control, but “chooses” to return to him since she believes that her love can heal him. Yeah, I don’t think that’s really her choice. I think her “love” for him is just more mind-control. And if it’s not, it’s Stockholm Syndrome. And the tragic thing is, if she ditches him for real? She’s all alone. His radiating her didn’t just give her powers (which seem to have been simply to enable her to do his dirty work, like KIDNAPPING WOMEN) they also make her radioactive herself, so she can’t be around other people long or she’ll irradiate them, killing them or making them sick. He’s ensured that he’s the only person she can be around, it’s either him alone or total isolation. Just like a real abuser often isolates their victims through mundane means. Anyway, yet again she “chooses” to be with him after he is defeated by the Avengers in another villainous effort. Tania begs for his life to be spared and accompanies him into custody despite the fact she did nothing against the Avengers during their conflict, only looks sad. The exposition says that Thor shakes his head at her choice, but…as I’ve said, I don’t think it’s a choice. It’s either some degree of still-active enslavement, or the “choice” of any other abused victim when they “choose” to stay with their abuser. That’s what so many people don’t get about abuse—that victims usually “choose” to stay with them, because of how much the abusers warp their mind. And that’s just in real life, where super-powered mind-control doesn’t exist. Starlight and Presence are later released from custody to fight a greater supervillain threat, Kang the conqueror, and Presence plans to use their regained freedom to do more villainy, but Starlight talks him out of it. That’s usually what she does, try to persuade him not to be a supervillain or hurt innocents. So she’s not under totally robotic control, she can have free thought like that, she just…can’t leave or disobey him. In a way, that’s almost crueler than if she was just a robotic zombie, because it means she’s aware of what’s going on. No wonder she looks sad a lot, huh? But then again, her “persuading” Presence not to go rogue while fighting Kang…was by threatening to him that she would leave him if he did. And he agreed. So he at least does believe she can or would leave. Maybe his control waxes and wanes. Or maybe she really is choosing to be with him, so long as he doesn’t go too far in his evil, because she thinks she can change him or because, as mentioned, she can’t be around anyone else. Of course, HE can’t be around anyone else either, so does that give her one bit of leverage too. Abuse victims do sometimes have that, and it doesn’t invalidate their victimhood or make them “not really victims/not really abused”. Anyway, at some point offscreen, she grew able to control her radiation seepage, so that she was able to be around others again, and she left Presence. She became a superhero again, and joined the Winter Guard, the Russian superhero squad. Darkstar and Vanguard, the Presence’s long-estranged children, were on this squad…and Starlight started a romantic relationship with Vanguard. The son of the man who enslaved her and forced her to be his lover and servant. And as weird as that is…I get it, actually. Abuse victims often desire to go back to their abusers, and many do. Others have to fight themselves on it, even years after escaping. It’s quite possible, likely even, that Starlight still “needed” Presence, and thus getting with his son was a way of coping with that, a way to be with him without returning to him. So yeah it’s weird and squicky but it makes sense. As for Presence, he took up with a Dire Wraith sorceress named Fantasma (who was a former member of the Winter Guard herself) When the Winter Guard fought them, Fantasma was thrown into Limbo…and she dragged Starlight along with her. Neither has been seen since. My problem with Tania’s story isn’t the content itself. A story about a smart, powerful woman with her own interesting life who has everything taken from her because a man decided he owned her is a very realistic one, despite the fantastic trappings of this scenario, and it’s worth telling. But it needs to be handled with care and attention. This should be TANIA’S story. It should be ABOUT her. We should see her tragedy and triumph up close and personal. The writers should CARE and ask the readers to care too. But that’s not what happens. This cool lady joins the Defenders, has an interesting personality set up with an interesting personal conflict set up (her loyalty to her country vs her hate of its government) and then all of a sudden she just gets swept off the playing board and is kind of forgotten, popping up here and again over the next 20+ years to remind us that she belongs to this gross guy now and has limited to nil free will, escapes a few times but only temporarily, and the heroes she was friends with just all kind of ignore it. This isn’t like Bucky Barnes or Laura Kinney where the story of her trauma and enslavement is the focus, where she’s the main character, where careful attention is paid to her arc, where she HAS an arc. Tania doesn’t have an arc. Hell, when she finally gets her free will back and her radiation-seep under control, it’s completely offscreen! Her victory is never shown! She just shows up with the good guys again and we’re left to infer what happened, as if it’s some insignificant detail! And just as she’s done this—she gets tossed offscreen, forever. At least forever thus far. It’s just…so unfair. And I don’t mean on an in-universe level, where drama and conflict and unfairness should happen just like in the real world, and to keep the story moving. I mean it’s unfair in how it was handled on a meta level, and this character and her story deserved a fuck ton better.

[lyonofsaintmark]

HEAVEN SENT // HELL BENT

Hey, so, being extra I decided to do a two part playlist for SAMAEL. First one is metal flavor, second one is southern gothic. Liner notes and links below the cut. :V

(Art credit for the covers to Cam!)

HEAVEN SENT / (side a)

BISHOP PIERRE CAUCHON: The church opens her arms to you, but if you do not sign, the Church will turn her back to you, and you will stand alone. JOAN OF ARC: Alone? Yes, alone....with God! --The Passion of Joan of Arc

Leo Hawke, the human bound to the divine.

ULTRAnumb (Blue Stahli)

Violated, so degraded The show has just begun Dominated by all you hated This will make you ultranumb

Drag Me to Hell (Lord of the Lost)

The more I reach out for Heaven The more you drag me to Hell

Better the Devil (Tim Skold)

Tear my soul apart Drown me in your sea of darkness I’ll be your lucky star If you promise that you’ll never let me go Better the Devil you know

Losing My Religion (Lacuna Coil)

Oh, life It’s bigger than you And you are not me The lengths that I would go to The distance in your eyes

Devil in My Life (Grace Jones)

Devil in my life, treading on thin ice With your words so wise, always in disguise Devil in my life, I’ve seen it in your lies Slowly mesmerized, as I fall you rise

Operation: Mindcrime (Queensryche)

It just takes a minute And you’ll feel no pain Gotta make something of your life, boy Gimme one more vein You’ve come to see the doctor ‘cause he’ll show you the cure I’m gonna take away your questions, yeah I’m gonna make you sure

Wings of Feather and Wax (Killer be Killed)

I never stopped to notice The fire in your hand A burning so consuming But now I understand And now I’ve fallen like Icarus to land Too late to kill the flames I fanned

Ambassador (Evergrey)

I am light to cast away shadow Spirit, Holy Ghost, and even Jesus God walking Earth Ambassador

Just Like You (Celldweller)

It’s the dark of night and I’m at the end of my line Alone in my head and waiting for something divine To answer me Drowning in silence, the internal violence I pray to make it through

Flight on an Angel’s Wing (Deadsoul Tribe)

Come with me, my friend Come with me and clear your mind So tired of the lies they laid upon you Open your eyes and you’ll see I’m going to take a flight on an angel’s wing Far and away She’ll carry me home

Small Town Boy (Paradise Lost)

Mother will never understand why you had to leave But the answers you seek will never be found at home No, the love that you want will never be found at home Run away, turn away

A Demon’s Fate (Within Temptation)

Angels have faith I don’t want to be a part of his sin I don’t want to get lost in his world I won’t play this game

Gates of Hell (Timeless Miracle)

Far beyond the gates of Hell Tricked the Devil, broke his spell Traveling ‘round the River Styx to freedom

A Grave Mistake (Ice Nine Kills)

But I heard that you reap what you sow So here’s to believing in ghosts And when you see my face you’ll know You can’t save yourself or save your soul When you meet the man whose life you stole On weathered wings and broken bones A fight for the fallen, flies the Crow

Lost and Damned (Kamelot)

Don’t ask why Don’t be sad Sometimes we all must alter paths we’ve planned Only try to understand I want to save you from the lost and damned

House of Eternal Hunt (Avatar)

It’s my time My darkness, my might divine It has been foretold this land Will live and die by my hand Child to the moon and the storm Silent shadow growing I’m reborn

Darkling (Sirenia)

You’ve got to chase your demons on the run Put out their fires, their dark desires The exorcism has begun Slaying all, leaving none

/ HELL BENT (side b)

If there is a hell, it’s what Christians have made of this world, in Christ’s name. -- Ammon Hennacy, The Book of Ammon

Lyon Hawke, the angel who fell to earth.

Angels Look Like Hell (Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band)

The Devil don’t live down in Hell The Devil’s right here, doing very well And it’s hard to tell It’s hard to tell When devils look like angels And angels look like hell

Old Devils (William Elliot Whitmore)

From behind these bars the view don’t change Desperation, death and despair From what I hear of the outside world It ain’t so different out there And they tell me there’s a war without no end The old devils are at it again

In the Branches (The Builders and the Butchers)

They left angels singing in the branch of a burning tree Said it was all a game His daddy went and twisted in the bed that he made And you’ll end up the same He went down, down, down Down where the fire is born

Birds with Broken Wings (Ben Caplan)

I climbed up a mountain just to kill my son An angel tried to stop me with a ram Well, he said “Your mind’s infected” But I said “You lack perspective!” You gotta walk the bottom if you wanna see the top

Sins of My Father (Tom Waits)

Does the light of God blind you Or lead the way home for you I’m gonna take the sins of my father I’m gonna take the sins of my brother I’m gonna take the sins of my mother Down to the pond

Laplace’s Angel (Will Wood and the Tapeworms)

You could break an angel’s fall And ignore the devil’s call Still forsaken shoulders fall silent now It’s no more than cultural You and me, inseparable It’s a small Hell, after all

Boy, Decide! (Murder by Death)

There’s a son He is born with a silver spoon in his mouth Go on, boy, admit There’s gotta be something you love Enough to protect

Caves (Brown Bird)

The corners of the heart are caves That echo with the bloodcurling cries of babes We’ve sheltered in a shadow of a doubt Where faith is abated by design

Dream of Sleep (The Peculiar Pretzelmen)

When I dream I dream of sleep And when I sleep I never dream I’m bending and I’m breaking Under weight of the secrets that I keep

Funeral March (Strawfoot)

Good riddance to you You’re in the clear You watched me dying Never shed no tear I used to be a man ‘til lines were drawn Oh, I’m marching on

Old Pine Box (Those Crooked Bastards)

Brother, I have never not been lost The apples on the tree have turned to rot And all around I feel the Lord’s eyes watching If you think I’m gonna whimper Well, I’m not Throw me in an old pine box And nail that lid on top

Some of Adam’s Blues (Quaker City Nighthawks)

My name was written In the foundation Despite our faithlessness You bring salvation And now I know it’s true

God’s Gonna Cut You Down (Johnny Cash)

You may throw your rock Hide your hand Workin’ in the dark against your fellow man But as sure as God made black and white What is done in the dark will be brought to the light

Strawfoot (Sixteen Horsepower)

I am not alone And looks can be deceiving When you get down to it You’re talking when you should be leaving Why is it you don’t want what he’s giving? It ain’t no sin, son, to be forgiven

Dynamite (Devil Makes Three)

I know that it’s coming I ain’t worried now ‘Cause we got enough here to go around And every single person gonna get them some

Hell’s Coming With Me (Poor Man’s Poison)

I am the righteous hand of God And I am the Devil that you forgot And I told you one day you will see I’ll be back, I guarantee And that Hell’s coming with me

I’m Always Walking as Somebody Else (American Murder Song)

Traveler I am Knock-two-three-four God is in your country The Devil’s at your door

[alphateampilot]

Memories || September 30th 1998 It had been a week from the deployment of Alpha and Delta team to Raccoon City to see the retrieval of Doctor William Birkin and the G-virus. Waiting patiently for the command to extract his teammates, the mission was taking longer than expected. Even worse was the lack of communication from the executives that had planned the operation in the first place.

Now, Colonel Vladimir had taken over the operations in the area, and all personnel were being kept in the dark. Tension was palpable.

Radio static interrupted the tunes in the break room. Bluejay, another USS specialist pilot, hit the top of the little personal radio, muttering in annoyance. “C’mon... What’s wrong with this thing?“ “Hey, careful,“ Nighthawk offered, “You break it, they’ll make you pay for it. Lemme look at it.“ Nighthawk looked over it- just as assurance that it wasn’t broken. No sooner than he reached it though, the nasally drill of an emergency broadcast came through. “The hell?“ his solo companion in he room tilted his head, and set down his coffee.

“Shush,“ Nighthawk raised his finger to his lips. A woman spoke: “Attention all residents of Raccoon City, the President has authorized a missile strike on Raccoon City. The payload will arrive tomorrow, October 1st, at 7AM. It is designed to eliminate all biological material. You will not survive if you remain in the city. Please evacuate. I repeat-“ “The hell?“ Bluejay tilted his head back to Nighthawk, “Shit’s that bad, huh?“

“Shit, I guess so,“ Nighthawk stood dumbly, looking at the radio. A missile strike? For the whole city? That was probably nuclear..

Delta was still in there.

He took his helmet and secured his goggles and respirator, strapping himself in and taking his vest and munitions. Bluejay looked over to Nighthawk incredulously. “The fuck do you think you’re going?“ “Out. Catch you later, Jay. Hasta luego,“ Nighthawk waved over his shoulder dismissively.

Jay grunted and shook his head as Nighthawk left, “Whatever, Gonzales.“ Nighthawk didn’t pay any mind. Col. Vladimir may have ordered no flight- but he had also a political mess to deal with and tired, tense personnel not keeping track of their resources. Evacuation had been ordered by the President, and a nuclear payload was less than half a day away.

Everyone was tired, and no one could keep track of the various, and sometimes contradictory orders. No one even questioned him when he claimed a MEDEVAC chopper, and had it fueled, and stocked with emergency fuel.

Act like you are supposed to be there, and no one’s the wiser.

All fueled up, and set with his knife, handgun, and experimental pheromone grenades, he got the clearance to launch from their communication operatives.

He was going to get Delta back- anyone back. Corporate management be damned.

[tagsecretsanta]

Belated gift from @gumnut Logic to Emma on Facebook

Thank you Nutty for filling in last minute with this wonderful piece, both I and Emma truly appreciate it! 

As always, Secret Santa does not own this piece, full credit goes to the author mentioned above!

Title: Happy New Year

A TAG Secret Santa fic

Author: Gumnut

27 - 30 Dec 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Not the average new year’s eve.

Word count: 3439

Spoilers & warnings:

Timeline: Standalone

My prompt was: How the Tracy family celebrate Christmas and new year

Author’s note: Okay, this fic is a little weird and I’m not sure it answers the prompt, but it is what happened when I started typing. I hope you enjoy it anyway. And I hope you all have a fantastic new year :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Ten...the match caught and flickered in the breeze. She caught it, wrapping it with her hands, nursing it to the candle, and letting out a breath as flared into life.

Module Four hit the surface of the North Pacific Ocean and immediately started rolling in the swell. Thunderbird Two’s heavy-duty spotlights tracked it as it was tossed about.

“Gordon, you okay?”

“Riding it out. Though I have to say, I’m glad I didn’t over indulge at dinner.” Virgil watched as all the module indicators flicked to green. “We are go for module deployment.”

“Make it fast. That swell is unpredictable.” He would have preferred to have lowered TB4 using the grapples, but the wind gusts were more problematic than the swell. As if to reassure him of his decision, TB2 was suddenly swiped sideways. He compensated hurriedly, bringing her back to stability, her lights once again training on the module. It was the better of two poor choices.

The undersea habitat didn’t have a choice, so here they were, in the pitch dark of the last hour of the year, attempting to fish more scientists out of the deep.

The weather was not cooperating.

Gordon lowered the ramp, and with a speed he would not usually deploy, shot off into the cold and turbulent water.

Virgil grunted as the wind caught his girl again.

Module retrieval was going to be a bitch.

-o-o-o-

Nine...she took the first candle from its holder and gently tilted it towards its brother. The two wicks touched and flickered. The two became one.

Space is silent, but it isn’t. There is always some kind of machinery functioning to keep life alive. Whether it be Thunderbird Three herself, or his own helmet, Alan was always accompanied by sound.

At this very moment, it was his own swearing.

“Goddamnit, move!”

But the airlock refused to obey. Likely fused shut by the explosion that had set the ship adrift, it was between him and the three remaining life signs. He had to get it open, their life support was failing.

“John, what are the chances of me cutting through this?”

“Not great. It is reinforced. Have you tried the Claw?”

The Claw, complete with a capital C, was a piece of equipment designed by Virgil based on his exo-suit. Virgil rarely made it out into space, but there was occasionally the need for heavy lifting out in the void. It used a grip attached to a thruster pack and could be deployed to create force in any direction.

“It was next on my list.”

“You’ve got nine minutes left.”

“Working on it.” He pulled in his equipment pack, tethered to his sled, and grabbed the Claw. Fastening the grip onto the airlock wheel, he deployed the thruster pack to give the correct directional push.

And the wheel refused to budge.

-o-o-o-

Eight...the first candle flickered haphazardly, once again teased by the breeze as she moved it to the second of its brethren. She smiled just slightly as it, too, caught and flared.

“How do they expect me to catch something I can’t see?!”

It was muttered at his instruments and he didn’t expect an answer. All his scanning equipment was trained ahead attempting to locate the hidden exhaust of an experimental plane deployed by the GDF. It would have been an interesting experiment, if the pilot wasn’t currently trapped inside. It was codenamed Nighthawk because the plane was designed to work best at night - apparently testing it during the day would have made Scott’s rescue attempt a little too easy. So here he was after dark, on New Year’s Eve of all nights, flying over the back end of New South Wales attempting to find an invisible plane.

Yet again, International Rescue was the only organisation with the mechanical guts to fix the GDF’s problems.

It pissed him off big time.

His sensors flickered, his arms moved, and Thunderbird One darted to starboard. For just a moment he had the craft clear as day in his sights.

Then it was gone again.

It was only a matter of time before it crashed. He could communicate with the pilot, but the signals were scrambled and misdirected and no use for locating anything. When the GDF screwed up, they screwed up big time.

“C’mon, c’mon!” He brought TB1 to a hover, every sensor combing the darkness around him.

A flicker.

Another.

Nothing.

A godawful metallic screech as something impacted his ‘bird’s hull on the port side. She swung around, spun on her axis, and suddenly Scott was in free fall.

-o-o-o-

Seven...the third candle wouldn’t catch. She bit her lip, and prayed just a little. The breeze threatened.

John Tracy wished he had more hands. Two were not enough when he had four brothers - one in space, one underwater, and two in the air.

“Scott! You need altitude! Impact in twenty seconds.”

His brother grunted as his hologram grimaced, fighting the controls of his ‘bird.

John didn’t need a damage report, TB5 provided him with all too much detail. Damage to Thunderbird One’s port side VTOL and flight stabiliser had her in a spin.

“She’s not responding.”

“You’ve got additional weight on your port side.” John’s fingers flew across the hologram, attempting to ascertain exactly what the readings were trying to tell him. Damn. “You have a mass embedded in her superstructure, despite the fact we can’t see it.” Calculations. “You’re going to have to attempt to land vertically. Use your rear thrusters to support the imbalance.”

It wasn’t going to be easy. Thunderbird One wasn’t designed to be anywhere vertical but on her gantry, but there was no way Scott would be able to sustain a horizontal landing.

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.” It was said through gritted teeth.

He couldn’t help but think that if Thunderbird Two had been sharing the same airspace as her sister, she could have pulled her out of her dive.

But she wasn’t.

And John was left to watch.

-o-o-o-

Six...the third wick absolutely refused to light and her heart clenched. Let it rest a moment. She moved onto the fourth candle and touched the flame to the waxed cotton.

Night rescues weren’t really out of the ordinary, but they could be eerie. As he left the reach of Thunderbird Two’s powerful spots, he had to rely on the illumination his own Thunderbird could emit. And Thunderbird Four could shine a considerable wattage.

Underwater nightlife was a whole different ocean full of fish in comparison to that under daylight. Despite being in the middle of open ocean, this particular spot was above the very top of a great undersea mountain, just high enough to support the beginnings of a temperate reef system. No doubt one of the reasons the mobile observatory was in the area.

“Undersea Habitat Victor-Two-Zero-Romeo, this is Thunderbird Four, do you read me?”

The line crackled a moment, but a female voice gasped and answered. “Oh, thank god. We are down to our last module. Please hurry.”

“FAB, ma’am. I’m on approach. Can you give me any further detail on the cause of the problem?”

“It won’t go away and keeps attacking.”

Gordon frowned. “What won’t go away?”

“The whale.”

“A whale?!” And his spots lit up the damaged habitat. It looked as if it had been pummelled with a giant baseball bat. Of the five interconnected modules, only one had any sign of life. “Why would a whale attack you?”

But he didn’t get a chance to listen to her answer as his spots lit up a giant mass of flesh, an eyeball, and suddenly Thunderbird Four was rolling.

-o-o-o-

Five...when the fourth candle refused to light, she took firmer measures and turned to the iron fire pot and touched the first candle to paper. It burst into flame.

“Alan, you’ve got incoming debris!”

“What?!”

But John didn’t need to repeat himself as the first of the projectiles tore through the space in front of his helmet and ricocheted off the hull of the space freighter, narrowly missing his arm.

“Shit!”

“Take cover. Freighter’s starboard side. Now.”

Alan grabbed the Claw and flipped himself vertically to thrust in the right direction and tore around the engine compartment of the ship and hid in a crevice directly opposite the incoming stream. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Apologies, Alan, I didn’t catch it early enough.”

Alan sighed. He knew his brother was stretched thin at the moment. Apparently dangerously thin. He should have been paying more attention himself.

“We’re down to five minutes.”

“I know.” Silent impacts thundered around him. “Is there any other way in that doesn’t require me to be swiss cheesed?”

“Only the maintenance hatch you dismissed earlier.”

“We may not have a choice.” Alan sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, but it is going to be tight. It wasn’t meant for ship access.” But he would make it work.

Grabbing the Claw and his laser cutter, Alan darted out from his crevice and along the length of the ship, hiding in its shadow. A snap of a carabiner and he was secured once again.

“Okay, you hunk of junk, I’m going to kick your ass.”

-o-o-o-

Four...The breeze was stronger and the first candle flickered out, leaving just the one burning, flickering sporadically. She added fuel to the fire pot.

The flash was blinding and Virgil swore.

Lightning wasn’t a problem, but the storm was. “Gordon, you need to make this quick, the weather is deteriorating faster than we anticipated. He swore again as a nasty downdraft attempted to shove the cargo plane into the turbulent ocean.

The module below was being thrown about like a cork. Virgil made the decision. “Thunderbird Four, I am submerging the module. You will need to dock underwater.” His fingers darted across controls as Thunderbird Two shuddered through another nasty downdraft. Below, the mechanics of Module Four started pumping water and it slipped beneath the waves to hover at a depth that would protect it from the turbulence.

“FAB, Virgil - Shit!”

“Gordon?”

“We have a pissed off whale down here!”

Virgil watched as his readouts tracked Thunderbird Four. She was darting, rolling and suddenly shoved sideways by massive lifesign. He grit his teeth, unable to do anything to help.

-o-o-o-

Three…she built up the fire pot until it was a massive towering flame.

Scott yanked the lever backwards and let off a prayer to the god of pilots.

Thunderbird One attempted to respond, and he grit his teeth. “C’mon.” Without her port thruster, getting her vertical was a challenge. “C’mon, damnit.” The extra weight dragged and she refused to stabilise.

The air was dark around him, but his instruments were screaming altitude loss and collision warnings, his cockpit lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Goddamnit, fly!”

-

Gordon swooped around the mass of angry whale. What the hell was his problem. And it was definitely a ‘he’, a full-on bull sperm whale, a very unhappy one.

He ran through whale behaviours in his head as he swooped and dove towards the habitat. A hand darted across his instruments, searching...

-

Alan hit the hatch with his fist in frustration. Grip, for crying out loud!

He was down to three minutes to get these guys out and he still hadn’t made it into the damn ship yet.

There was no sound in space, other than the scream in his own helmet as suddenly the entire side of the ship was torn away, a chunk of rock tearing through its hull.

The Claw spun off into space.

-

John bit through his lip, his concentration total on all four brothers. One hand played his holographic controls like Virgil played his piano, data shunted off to where it was desperately needed at the flick of a finger. The other spun between views, scans and acquired information at the full speed his highly advanced Thunderbird could manage.

“Virgil! Waterspout!” And the information was shunted directly to TB2.

-

“Waterspout?! What the hell!” Thunderbird Two groaned as he forced her sideways out of the path of the anomaly. The crosswinds were shit, and she dipped noseward. Damnit!

He kicked in her rear thrusters, killed the VTOL and tore across the ocean in an arc, circling around to return for pickup. She bucked like a rebellious mare.

-o-o-o-

Two...she grabbed all five doused candles in one fist.

Gordon swore again as the whale clipped him on one side. “Okay, I’ve had enough of this. Undersea Habitat Victor-Two-Zero-Romeo, I want you to kill all transmissions. All kinds. I want you silent as the grave.”

“What?”

He spun TB4 on her axis. “Now. If I think what is happening is happening this is your own fault, do what I say!”

He sighed as all transmission bands went silent. He scanned the full spectrum. No....no...ah, damn there it was. “I said all of them!” And it finally disappeared.

Another dodge of a whale fluke and Gordon peeled off in a curve.

-

Alan tasted blood. He had bitten clean through his cheek. He spun slowly in space, the ship in front of him sporting a jagged hole in its side.

Just big enough for an astronaut to crawl through.

Two minutes and counting...

-

Thunderbird One bucked like a mule, but he finally managed to get her vertical enough to fire her rear thrusters. Their plummet slowed.

The holographic ground was still coming up fast.

-

Virgil homed in on the module’s signal, finding once again his place in space. Lightning flashed in warning.

-

John held his breath. Seconds ticked by...

-o-o-o-

One...with determination she thrust all five wicks into the roaring flame of the fire pot. Burn damn you.

Scott yelled as his thrusters made contact with solid ground.

Gordon flicked a control and Thunderbird Four sung into the darkness.

Alan dove into the ship, calling out in desperation.

Virgil swore yet again as Thunderbird Two bucked.

John wished he could close his eyes.

-o-o-o-

All five candles burst into vibrant flame, the five merging into one, defying the breeze, taking on the energy of the fire pot and burning strongly.

Just as midnight passed over Tracy Island, Sally Tracy separated out the five candles and placed each of them in their holders. She smiled just slightly as each eagerly leapt up brightly, dancing.

“Grandma? Have you heard anything from John?” Kayo walked across the comms room towards the balcony where Sally had set up the fire pot. The breeze tousled her hair as it lay loose around her shoulders.

“Not in the last ten minutes.”

Kayo came up close and hugged her. “Happy New Year, Grandma.”

She kissed her granddaughter on her cheek. “Happy New Year, honey.”

-o-o-o-

Epilogue

As dawn lit up the sky on Tracy Island, the sun was witness to five very tired brothers flying home. Thunderbird Two had Thunderbird One grasped under her undercarriage, the severely damaged craft sporting a massive dent in her port side. Her pilot sat very unhappily beside Virgil in the cockpit of TB2. Gordon was asleep in the seat behind them.

The sky roared as the great red rocket of Thunderbird Three tore out of re-entry and spun in for landing.

She was followed by the ever-silent drop of the elevator from Thunderbird Five.

Virgil lowered his brother’s ‘bird to the side of TB2’s runway. He and Brains, and no doubt Scott, would be out later to assess the damage and plan repairs. As fast as possible. Scott was intolerable when his ‘bird was down.

He rolled his shoulders as he brought his own ‘bird into land. There would be no shortage of checks to be done on Thunderbird Two, either. Gordon was already complaining about the work to be done on both TB4 and Module Four, and he wasn’t even fully awake.

Thunderbird Two spun in her hanger and he powered her down.

All three brothers sighed.

“Debrief in ten?”

Scott muttered an affirmative and while Virgil ran through post flight, his brothers crawled out of their seats and headed up to the villa.

In the distance, Thunderbird Three roared as she docked in her hanger.

-o-o-o-

“The idiots were emitting random noise on a frequency that could have been designed to piss off a sperm whale. Once I had them kill it off, I dug up something that would interest, but keep that same whale calm, and I led him off. When he was gone, it was easy to grab the three idiots. We docked with the module, surfaced, and then had wonder pilot over here do his retrieval magic. I have to say, Virgil, that was some damn fine manoeuvring.”

Virgil blinked at the unexpected praise. Gordon must be seriously tired. “Thank you. I admit it wasn’t easy, but we made it in one piece. Brains, I will need to do some thorough checks on the grapple launchers and the module connectors, they were put under some serious strain.”

The engineer nodded.

Scott blinked as if he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. “Good job, Gordon, Virgil.” He turned to their youngest brother and frowned. Virgil followed his gaze and found Alan asleep in the corner of the couch.

“I can report for Alan.” John looked as tired as Virgil felt. “All the crew of the freighter were saved. In spite of the unexpected debris storm Alan encountered. Virgil, he will need a new Claw. He might have some modification requests on that front as well. “John yawned. “Sorry, full report will be available as soon as I’ve had enough sleep.”

“Scott, your turn.” And despite himself, Virgil yawned as well.

“I’ll keep it short. Stop doing that.” And Virgil grinned as Scott caught the yawn bug. “The GDF night camouflage is pretty damn good. I had a lot of trouble locating their craft. That problem was solved by said ship colliding with Thunderbird One’s port side. You’ve seen the damage. She’s down for repairs. We’ll know for how long as soon as Brains has a chance to assess it. Pilot was a lucky bastard and survived with only minor injuries. Apparently, the camouflage works both ways and navigation from inside the ship is extremely difficult. It’s back to the drawing board for the GDF.” And he spat the acronym. “Brains, you might want to check out One’s logs on what she could detect. All I can say is that Thunderbird Shadow walks all over them.” There was no shortage of smugness in that statement either.

Accompanied by another yawn.

“Well done everyone.”

They all muttered something congratulatory, punctuated by another round of yawns.

“Oh, and Happy New Year.”

A couple of grunts followed that.

“Get some sleep and we’ll look at throwing some belated fireworks.”

More grunting.

“Dismissed.”

Virgil stood up with creaking bones and stumbled towards the stairs.

And almost collided with his grandmother.

“Oh, so sorry, Grandma.” He steadied her with one hand, suddenly aware of four brothers lining up behind him. In the corner of his eye, Alan was wobbling with Gordon holding one of his arms to keep him steady.

Grandma grabbed him in a hug. “Happy New Year, Virgil.”

He startled and immediately returned the embrace, dropping his chin onto her head and holding her tight. “Happy New Year, Grandma.” He kissed her hair. His eyes darted to his brothers, all four frozen to the spot.

She let him go, but looked up at him and smiled, before darting to Scott and repeating the process.

Virgil frowned, staring just a little as she moved from one brother to another, wishing each of them a Happy New Year and hugging intensely.

His attention was suddenly drawn away, however, as, silent as always, Kayo appeared and wrapped her arms around him. “Happy New Year, Virgil.”

His eyes widened, but he hugged her and wished her the same. She smiled up at him and then, just like Grandma, moved onto Scott and, hugging him, wished him a Happy New Year.

Virgil simply stared.

Once all the brother hugging had been completed, both women stood back and Grandma started ushering them up the stairs. “Well, off to bed with you. We can celebrate later tonight.” She smiled at all of them.

Kayo’s smile was a little smaller, but just as genuine.

Virgil decided he was too tired to work out what the hell was going on. He turned and began to tackle the stairs. He would think after he had slept.

-o-o-o-

Sally watched her boys climb the stairs wearily.

They were home safe. Tired, but safe.

So far it had been a good year.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[black-strike-otp]

part 68

Children plz, be polite. Be civil. So much sass.

“Death didn’t agree with me,” Blackout jeered, taking a step back from the medic. “What do you think you’re doing, tracking a Hound? Have you not heard the saying that the hunter is destined to become the hunted; especially by a bigger, more experienced predator?”

Snorting back laughter, Nighthawk jabbed a digit in Satan’s direction as he hissed, “Don’t act like I can’t follow a trail. I’ve dealt with my fair share in pursuits of bots over the years. And who the frag answers a question like that? How are you online?”

Adjusting his optics, the melted shadow of mech turned his gaze over to the dragon standing off to the side. Infiltrator caught his gaze and lowered his helm slightly beneath his gaze. Whether the gesture was one meant for respect and awe, or of fear and apprehension, Blackout couldn’t make out.

The impatient tapping of Nighthawk’s pede on the ground had him turning back to the elder bot. He faceplate appeared as solemn as every bad memory recalled it to be. Only now, it was in front of him, magnified to the tenth degree and definitely more peevish than usual. He’d since dropped his arm to his side and his dark coal digits coiled in and out of the shape of a fist like he had the jitters.

“It’s a long story,” Blackout uneasily expressed, his voice quieter now.

Shrugging his shoulders, the seeker spoke with irritation: “I don’t see what’s stopping you from telling it. And what’s this?”

Following the medic’s gaze, Blackout looked down at all the replaced armor plating and temporary covering over much of his chassis. Some of the pieces had obviously been recolored to better hide his appearance in the darkness as he preferred; but some of them were still a startling silver. Untreated metal alloy dressing to hide his healing wounds from debris and the gaping hole near his spark chamber.

“What’s it look like?” he growled with annoyance.

“The best a poor sad sap without medical experience can do,” Nighthawk sniffed.

“I have just enough experience to not be dead,” he thickly snarled.

The medic gave a harsh snicker. “I’ll give you that one.”

Glancing around with unease, Blackout gave a slow vent as he brought his optics back to Nighthawk. He knew how he must look; tired, run down, a ghost of the past, a mech who had taken one too many blows and was now living a hermit’s life.

Each and every one of those things would be true.

Lowering his shoulders, the enormous mech gestured vaguely with his servo as he rumbled, “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, if you come with me. I can speak in private and I... Could use your help.”

Arching an optic ridge, Nighthawk glanced over to Infiltrator as he scooted close to his side. He turned back to Blackout for a moment, meeting his gaze with curiosity.

“Alright,” the seeker slowly agreed, his curiosity heightened. “Where are we heading?”

~

It was a relatively short flight to the hideout Blackout had taken up residence on a nearby dwarf planet. It barely sustained the size of most lunar structures, but it was quiet and bots didn’t so much as glance to it on their way to the bazaar for the most part.

Blackout lead the Jaguar and its small crew of two towards what was currently on the light side of the clay-like dustball world. As they swooped in low towards a cave structure entrance he banked; coming in low and landed steadily upon the surface. Red dust went swirling in every direction as his thrusters slowly burned and growled into silence. Not but a few yards away, the small traveler ship rested and purred into silence.

Transforming proved to be quite difficult. Panels shifted and groaned; armor refused to budge and bulked up against other pieces and kibble. The former commander of the Rising Star only hoped that Nighthawk and Infiltrator were too preoccupied shutting down their vessel to notice. By the time he managed to finally complete shifting into bipedal, he was leaning over and grimacing with pain.

The medic and dragon’s scratch of pedes against the ground had him quickly lifting his helm.

Opening his mouth, Nighthawk’s optics glistened with concern.

“This way,” Blackout cut in before he had a chance to hear a whisper of pity come from the mech’s mouth.

Nighthawk snorted through his olfactory sensors and followed in reluctant silence.

Entering the cave system, the monstrous mech shifted his optic view scanners and heightened his sensors as he trailed down the gloomy dim. He could hear the exhale of hesitation from the red seeker before he continued too dare to trust him. It wasn’t his easiest option, but the mech had guts. Most bots would take into account the mech they were following; the horrible acts he’d performed, the treachery, the slaughter, the mayhem and they were likely to turn tail and run rather than follow him into the blacker darker than the darkest side of the twilight hour.

Infiltrator pressed against Nighthawk’s good leg as an added assurance to lead the old bot through the maze of darkness. The duo followed cautiously behind Blackout; down the uneven terrain further into the hole as it twisted and turned in a snake's random path until it began to widen out. Light began to form at the end of one of the branched off structures and filter down into the path they turned down.

Shadows moved ahead in the light. Blackout allowed himself a brief smile as he picked up the pace slightly to step into the carved out and widened end of this particular tunnel.

< Don’t attack him, > he informed the bug through the bond.

< That makes it a whole lot less fun, you know. Can’t I just make a stabbing motion at him? >

< How can I expect him to stay and help if you do that? >

Chirping with understanding, Scorponok lifted up from the ground as Blackout entered. Two of his golden optics remained on his master and two upon the entryway as the outsiders followed shortly thereafter.

Before the titan had a chance of turning to speak a word, Nighthawk was already exploring the room. There was a limp in his gait as he walked suspiciously to the left and then to the right. Blackout turned to watch him, somewhat puzzled at the medic’s anxiety. There was nothing of interest in the room; a relatively smooth floor he’d paced on much too often, energon cubes, some stolen and traded for goods and shabby looking chairs and even a table.

Then he watched as Night moved to pass by Scorponok. The minicon didn’t shift enough in time to cover the small white frame curled up by his side. She lifted her helm up slowly at all the noises and turned a blurry blue optic stare up towards him tiredly.

Nighthawk turned on him in a flash, his optics blazing.

“What did you do to her?” he demanded, his voice seething as his servos acted more like talons daring to strike him.

“You think I did this?” Blackout asked, his voice going from battled to enraged as he went on, “I would never-”

“Never? Never? Never coming from the mech who has crushed larger bots between his index digit and thumb digit. Don’t you never me, what have you done?”

Nighthawk’s tone was hauntingly quiet and threatening as he took a step forward. In a surprisingly act of mercy, Blackout raised his servos up in the air. He knew it wouldn’t mean much; the medic knew very well what he was capable of, what sort of arsenal he had on him. Or at least, had on him at least for a time.

Growling, the seeker raised a servo as he hissed, “I’m going to rip your optics from your helm and-”

“Nighthawk, stop!”

A fleeting glimpse of white and blue, and Novastrike had placed herself between the two mechs.

Both mechs paused, slightly surprised.

“Novastrike, get out of the way,” Blackout requested gently.

Ignoring him, the small femme held up her arm- the only arm responding anyway to Nighthawk and spoke quickly but firmly, “He’s not going to hurt me, Nighthawk, trust me. He would never hurt me.”

That seemed to have stumped the medic. Gradually, he dropped his arm and his pose returned to its usual sophisticated pose and less of the big cat ready to pounce and shred and maim.

“You remember my name,” the medic mused for a brief moment, seeming pleased from what Blackout could read.

“Hard to forget a name and a friendly face,” she answered with relief, dropping her arm. A slight smile pulled at her mouth as Infiltrator curled around Nighthawk’s legs to sniff at her curiously. Unlike the last time they’d met, she didn’t hold back this time at touching his snout with a delighted grin.

Offering a lopsided if not tired smile, Nighthawk returned his gaze back to Blackout.

“I have supplies on my ship. You could have saved me the trouble of fetching it by telling me there was a patient to attend to.”

“I guess I should have,” Blackout agreed with a vent. “If I’d realized you were going to try beheading me.”

The medic chuckled lightly.

“I’ll go get your equipment-”

“Oooh no, no no no, no you won’t,” Nighthawk quickly stated with a firm shake of his helm as he raised a servo. “You’re not going anywhere near my ship. Infiltrator, if you’d please.”

The dragonic Cybertronian lifted his helm and let out a slight sneeze.

“You got it boss,” he declared with a salute of his wing. Pressing the appendage back to his body, the wyvren bounded down the corridor, using the earlier trace of the map and scents still lingering to lead him out.

Jerking back slightly with surprise as the medic nearly stabbed his thrust digit against his chassis, Blackout narrowed his optics towards the mech.

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

~

He knew the seating was far from comfortable and the energon was old and lacking substance and flavor, but at least Nighthawk didn’t complain. The mech had been silent since Blackout had began talking. Even as his words wandered off or he strayed into the detail of things one would probably think unimportant to the story, he remained quiet and merely listened.

And as he grew quiet, he only grew more nervous. The hushed spell over the seeker continued to last. He wondered if he’d placed the old bot to sleep. He’d never been much of a talker; but trying to recount years of being missing in a short span of time proved more complicated than he’d thought.

“So, you’ve actually been online this whole time, living with... rogues?”

Blackout nodded.

“I’ve got to say, I’m surprised Megatron’s biggest supporter didn’t go running to his master’s side,” Nighthawk commented with a sneer.

Grunting, Blackout offered a shrug as his response. “I had other priorities.”

“And Neutroboost?” the medic pressed.

“I... I don’t know,” he admitted, looking down at the muddled and hardly glowing energon he’d been nursing in his servo. “After I threw that slagger against the wall, I broke free of the ship and chased after the escape pod. It took me days to follow it; they’d launched it at it’s full speed and keeping up with it, both in the shape I was in and the fading particle trail its thrusters left, was damn near impossible.”

“She was starving,” he went on as the memory replayed fresh in his memory banks with a pang of guilt. “We both were. And by the time we got back to the location I’d marked on the star chart where the Rising Star and Revenge II should be, there was nothing. No trail, either. I could only assume that they’d jumped with the transwarp drive and went elsewhere, or we were just too many days behind them and the trail had run cold. We drifted a while longer in hopes of running into the ships but to no avail. After a while, I did pick up on a high-traffic area of multiple ship trails and we followed it to that meteor you were just on.”

“I picked up work where I could and traded whatever services I could provide to help us make ends meet, but it hasn’t been easy,” he finished.

Nighthawk took a sip of the energon. He gave the slightest wince, probably at the taste.

“How long have you two been out here?” he whispered softly.

“Few weeks,” Blackout recalled with uncertainty. “I haven’t been keeping time, to be honest.”

As the medic turned his helm off to the side, Blackout followed his glance. Novastrike was once again balled up and recharging despite their attempts at getting her to lay in a position that wouldn’t cause her repaired arm any further strain, but that had proven useless. Scorponok had positioned himself around her protectively. Lying just beside them was Infiltrator, who tried to push his muzzle in to see how the femme was doing here and there. Each time he did so though, the bug would raise a drill and gesture or push at the dragon with a quiet hiss not to disturb his charge.

It didn’t seem to matter to the minicon that the dragon had medical experience. The femme was resting, and now no one was allowed to bother her now or they’d feel the wrath of the irked scorpion.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Nighthawk offered quietly. “Both of your losses, really.”

Blackout raised his massive shoulders slowly. He tried to keep it as shoved back in the depths of his processor as he could. It seemed like every time he went to recharge, all he got was images of Guard’s offlined faceplate staring out at nothing.

“Have you considered trying to find the ship?”

That caught him off guard.

“I... Don’t know that either,” he growled with frustration. “There’s no telling where it is now. It could be just around the star, or lightyears away. I haven’t the faintest clue. It’d be a fools errand to look for it now.”

“So, Neutroboost wins.”

Tiredly, Blackout placed a servo over his faceplate. His words came out muffled as he muttered: “It would seem so.”

Placing his energon down, Nightawk leaned back in the rubbish of a chair he was in. He looked Blackout up and down a moment before he flicked his wrist towards him.

“That sounds a lot like quitter talk to me.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Blackout asked, his tone showing his aggravation now as his servo dropped from his faceplate. He turned a quick glance to Novastrike upon realizing he’d raised his voice. When she didn’t stir, he continued much quieter:

“I can’t risk searching all of space for a transporter and a battle cruiser. It’s impossible. I would offline before I found it, probably, and drag them down with me.”

Light flickered brightly from the seeker’s optics as he leaned forward. “Why did you leave Scorponok with the femme? Surely she’s safe here, untraceable on this planet.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You just said that you didn’t want to drag them down with you.”

“Well I’m hardly going to leave the pair here, you slaghead, is something stuck between your audios and your processor?”

With a smug face, Nighthawk reclined further as he commented, “You like her, don’t you?”

Blackout bit his glossia and stayed silent.

The smug grin slowly disappeared from Nighthawk’s faceplate. His mouth opened just slightly as he came forward.

“You love her,” he exclaimed in a hiss. “The great Decepticon Hound, in love.”

“Shhhhh,” Blackout growled. “Keep it down.”

“Does she know?”

“Of course she knows, you stupid fragger, shut up.”

Nighthawk gave a slight tuting sound. “That poor, sweet femme. You know, the brief time I met her, I knew she was a special femme. But to wrangle you in, whoa, I clearly underestimated how powerful she is.”

“Cut the slag, Nighthawk,” the big mech tersely sneered.

“You’re just mad because it’s so obvious and you can’t hide it,” the seeker proclaimed. “Either that, or she doesn’t love you back.”

By the look on Nighthawk’s face, the instant regret smacked him harder than even Blackout could have if he hadn’t been in the damn mech’s debt for repairing Nova.

“I- I didn’t mean that-”

“Yes, you did,” Blackout smoothly replied; proudly stating, “not that I have to ponder such things. I’m comfortably aware of the answer I have in those regards.”

He became acutely aware of Nighthawk’s softened optics. Was it just him, or did the grumpy old medic actually seem happy for him?

“It would seem so,” he agreed. “My apologies. That was uncalled for. Judging by how quickly she jumped up to defend you when she thought I was going to strike you...”

“You were going to strike me,” Blackout growled with a blank expression.

“Oh I certainly would have. I would have finished with well, that,” he gestured to Blackout’s chassis. “If you’d been the culprit behind that femme’s injuries.”

“Why would I bring you here if I’d done that?”

“I don’t know, to gloat?”

“I was never a gloater.”

“Sometimes.”

Both mechs gave a slight chuckle.

Sighing quietly, Blackout looked down in his energon cube. He glanced over the hard lines of his armor, the scars, the marks, and felt the smile still lingering on his mouth.

Clearing his vocalizer, Nighthawk brought his helm back up and into the conversation.

“You know, the larger the search group, the better the outcomes,” he vaguely remarked.

“Please, I don’t need anymore of your charity,” Blackout grumbled. “I’m already indebted to you for what you did for Novastrike.”

“That’s not debt,” the medic choked, trying not to laugh. “I quite like Novastrike; it was a privilege to see the little femme and know she’s okay, and to help her once more. She was far more shy the last time I spoke with her though, but still an exceptional patient.”

“That’s great,” the large mech drawled. “But I’m still not interested. Why would I drag around a Decepticon medic with me? Shouldn’t you be returning to your ship, anyway?”

“Oh, I must not have mentioned,” Nighthawk stated with mockery. “I’m defected.”

“Heh,” Blackout chuckled. “Well frag, doesn’t look like any bot’s sticking around these days.”

“Hard to stay when Lord  Megatron allows his most loyal, one of his most trusted advisers and friends from the days of old to simply go missing to offline,” growled the seeker. “He didn’t even bring you up. Not even once. You were just listed among those who were lost in the records. A note to your status on the Nemesis and the Decepticons and nothing more. I knew from that moment that if you weren’t safe from Megatron’s pity, no bot was. If he wasn’t willing to make sure you were returned to the Nemesis; if he couldn’t take the time to try saving you, what were the rest of us to him?

“Pawns? Toys? Disposable,” the medic bitterly simmered. “After all you had done on behalf of him and his dreams, his goals, and he simply left you... I couldn’t stand by any longer. Infiltrator and I have been on the go ever since. From place to place, planet to planet, refueling station to refueling station. Wherever we can stop for conversation, some energon, a little time to explore and nothing more. As you can imagine some Decepticons recognize us or our insignia, no matter how ill kept they are, and insist on swapping war stories or asking where we’re from, where we’re going, what sort of mission we’re on.”

He created a circle motion with his servo to implicate his endless cycle.

Strange. Blackout had never considered the influence of his fated ‘demise’ among other Decepticons. And for it to hit Nighthawk so hard for him to leave; the same mech who had fought and disagreed with him for ages, that was something. If it did that to someone like Nighthawk, what sort of uproar was it giving among the other Decepticons?

“I’m still not taking you on some crazy quest to go find the Rising Star,” he commented with a snarl. “Get that out of your thoughts. I couldn’t pay you, anyway.”

“I’m not a bounty hunter Blackout; at least, not anymore. I’m a medic by trade. You needn’t not pay me. Besides,” a grin flashed across the medic’s faceplate. “Consider it my payment to you in exchange for something.”

Arching an optic ridge, the dark-armored mech hummed curiously. “What in Primus’ name am I going to pay you with?”

Nighthawk waved his servo at him. “Let’s crack you open and have a look behind all those patches now, shall we?”

Narrowing his optics, the Satanic mech vented with annoyance, “My pain gets you off that much, huh old mech?”

“Disgusting,” Nighthawk growled with a revolted shudder. “No. I haven’t had a patient in months. Do you have any idea what that does to my processor? It turns to mush, is what it does.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, doc, I’m sure your processor is as empty as ever.”

Nighthawk whacked him upside the helm.

“Ouch,” Blackout murmured quietly, glancing to Nova to make sure the metallic clap hadn’t awoken her.

“A little respect,” the medic announced as he ruffled himself up. “I’m an authorized medical professional.”

“So I heard a million times from the medic on the Rising Star,” grumbled the big bot.

“We’ll talk over the payment in a bit,” Nighthawk stated, pushing his seat back to stand. “But first, let's see about your damage.”

[azunara-archive]

can u believe. its an azu lore post. i know its been a while huh.

ngl i just tagged a bunch of people drac tagged yell at me if u dont want future pings

@unkorea @deadlanddisciple @littleshroomclan @fusefr @incalyscent-fr

"The eldest will go to my sister, Kast. He'll thrive in the Bone Castle, I'm sure of it." Revenant spoke, the skydancer hunched over a small nest of hatchlings, wings half-spread in a protective gesture. He wasn't looking at them, instead focusing on his mate across the nest.

"They're one of our longest standing allies anyways. It'd be a good show of faith. I think the youngest should go to Leechroot--you and I both have sisters there, and she'd be in good hands." The Nighthawk--Mephala--replied, scratching her ideas in the dirt. She was reluctant to get up and get paper and ink, preferring to stay here besides her mate and children.

"The middle child, then? Perhaps the Bloodborn--" Revenant began, only to be cut off by Mephala.

"No. I will not have any of my children near my father."

"CamelCase, then? I had family there, and they're an equally long-standing ally. Kalea spoke highly of her mother as well, and it's one of the few clans that Houndmaster approved of. It seems like high praise in my opinion."

Mephala nodded, gently scooping one of her children back into the nest--the eldest and only boy had tried scrambling out and making a run for it, but she gently nudged him back into place. His youngest sister watched the flurry of activity in the ceilings as Mephala's albino deathseekers came and went. Their eldest daughter was curled up, seemingly asleep, but the way her head flicked slightly with every movement betrayed how intently she was listening to the world around her. She likely heard every word and was pretending she hadn't. Mephala smiled to herself, humming a lullaby she remembered faintly from her childhood.

Her brother had gone, her sister was getting final words of advice from their father, and Namira was stalling. She always knew she'd leave her parent's side at some point, that was inevitable. But now that they were big enough to fend for themselves they had to leave in true Plague fashion, despite their youth. And as her parents had stated multiple times, it was too dangerous to stay in one place.

Her brother had been excited to leave on his own, departing at first light without even waiting for his parents to escort them to the edge of the territory. Namira snorted to herself--of course he'd be eager to go, he was always complaining about how quiet everything was, how his sisters never wanted to wrestle or play--nevermind that he was bigger than them and often beat them handily.

Her sister was about to take aloft with their father now, which didn't particularly surprise Namira. She always had a talent for necromancy, it wasn't surprising Revenant coddled his imperial daughter a bit more. She looked up to the sound of wingbeats as her father and sister took off. She watched them briefly before turning back to her own meager belongings.

A few old notebooks of her mother's, a pair of daggers, a worn doll in the image of the Gladekeeper, and a set of dark leather armor. There was of course the bird food and leashes and jesses their mother gave them as as well as the birds themselves in gilded cages, and each had received a trinket from Revenant's first resurrected bone construct--a good luck charm of sorts.

She pricked her feathers as she sensed her mother behind her. Mephala's shadow cast over her and Namira tied everything together before speaking, "Time to go?"

Mephala gave her daughter a gentle nudge, "You've gotten better at noticing what's happening around you. You'll make an excellent spymaster, little raven."

Namira turned to face her mother with a small smile, blinking hard to chase the tears out of her eyes. "You really think so?"

"Of course. I've included a list of some of my lesser contacts in those books. It will be a good place for you to start. Some day, you might even surpass myself. I look forward to that day." Mephala smiled at that, even as she was crying. Her throat tightened--was this how her mother had felt, long ago when they were released into the Wasteland? Mephala had been younger than Namira before her, and ill-prepared by comparison, and yet there was still that stab of anguish as she prepared to let her daughter go.

"You have your map, right?" Mephala said after a few seconds trying to recollect herself.

"Yeah," Namira said, her voice hitched high with a sniffle. "I do."

"I'll take you to the edge of the territory. You'll have to fly the rest of the way through the Plateau, and then you'll have to cross through the Wasteland before you reach the Tangled Wood--but it'll be okay. The Plateau is an easy flight, and you have Plague magic in your blood. You won't fall susceptible to anything there, and you're a swift flier. You can outrace anyone who gives you trouble, and most won't if you tell them you're the daughter of the Nighthawk. Your birds will give your heritage away sure enough."

"Still, you be careful. Send me a bird when you make it, okay? And don't take any unneccesary risks."

Namira nodded, unable to bring herself to speak. She made a choked noise before crashing forward to embrace her mother, burying her face into her mother's shoulder one last time.

"I love you, my little raven. Fly swift, fly well."

It had been a few hours since her mother had turned back to the small stretch of territory they owned. Namira had flown a swift pace to get through the Plateau as quickly as possible, but now she had slowed down significantly, each wingbeat cause a pulse of pain along her spine.

The bird cages on her sides rattled as the crows inside chirped irritably, and her belongings weighed heavy on her. Still, she had to find a safe place to land. She scanned the Wastelands below her and for miles it was flat stretches of land. Too exposed for her tastes. Closer to the Arcane border there was a forest of sorts--rotted and still pestilent like much of the land, but at least she could find a place to lay low and sleep for the night.

She tilted her wings and adjusted her flight, soaring onwards. It took another hour of steady flying before she was over the forest itself. As she drew closer, she saw a huge pillar of white stone, dappled with bleeding red pools. It unsettled her for some reason, and she veered away from it. Perhaps staying in the forest wasn't such a good idea after all. She sighed, rallying herself for another few hours of flight.

Suddenly, her back and wings became ablaze with pain as something crashed into them, as if someone was shredding her upper half with thousands of claws and teeth. She twisted, plummeting as she tried to see what was attacking her. The creature was blurry, hard to pinpoint as it moved erratically, as if her brain refused to recognize it.

It clawed its way higher into the sky for a second swoop and Namira let herself fall further, eyes squinted as she tried to figure out what the thing was. It appeared almost like one a heartred croaker, with huge fleshy wings and a reptillian face. But something was very wrong with it.

Its wings were crimson, but that was because it was lined with hundreds of visible veins, making the wings pulse with each movement. Namira realized now that the underside of its belly was crimson with veins as well, a rosy shade of red that stood stark against the sky. It had no eyes either, instead empty sockets with roses sprouting from them, and flashing rows of teeth as it snapped at the air aimlessly.

The ground rushed up to meet her--boughs of blood red trees and bone white branches stretching for her in a fatal catch. She frantically braced her wings to try and slow her descent--the beast above her had no such fear of the ground evidently as it dove madly towards her at full speed.

Namira squeezed her eyes shut as she collided with the trees, hearing the branches snap and break under her weight. The branches tore at her flesh and she winced in pain. However, slowing down had prevented her from the fate that the beast was experiencing. It dashed itself against the trees, moving too quickly and impaling itself on a branch.

She let herself fall to the ground and collapse, panting hard. After several seconds she did a quick assessment--miraculously, all of her belongings were intact, and the birds in the cages were rattled and angry but otherwise unharmed. "Thank the Gods," Namira whispered as she sat up on her haunches, looking around her. Night was rapidly falling, and she had to find somewhere to camp for the night. She started slowly moving in a direction, limping along in pain.

Half an hour later and she realized everything still looked largely the same--she was definitely lost and had zero way of figuring out any rhyme or reason to this forest. "Figures," Namira hissed to her birds, "I bet the others got to where they needed just safely, and here I am stuck in this damn forest."

She shook herself, trying to calm herself. "Okay, okay. What would Mom do? She wouldn't panic, right, so I gotta stay calm. Just stay calm. It'll be alright."

"Namira, come quickly! Help!" A voice rang out and Namira froze. It was her brother crying out for help, and she raced towards the voice, ignoring her pain. His voice grew louder, more desperate, when she suddenly froze. There was no way he would be here.

His route took him much farther south, closer to the Water border than the Arcane border. What was he doing calling for help?

"Namira, please!" Her sister's voice rang out then, followed by a chorus of her mother and father and brother all begging her for help. She recoiled, confused and afraid as the forest came alive with the desperate pleas of her family.

Something was coming now--she could see something moving swiftly through the trees. Its movements were erratic and too quick for her eyes to follow, much like the beast she had faced earlier. The voices followed after it, chorusing along as it screamed. Namira backed away, wings fluffed up in distress.

"Go away!" She yowled, setting off running once more. The voices followed, except instead of a chorus of pleas for help they became mad laughter, her entire family howling in mocking laughter.

Then she realized there was literal howling.

Something crashed into her, knocking her into the ground. The forest came alive with a chorus of snarls, and Namira was aware something was standing over her. She curled up in fear, wings folded over her head as she tried to make herself as small as possible.

There was a shriek in the woods as the horrible laughter became different voices, then howls of anger, then silence. Namira opened an eye to see a huge black wolf standing over her. The wolf had shots of silver in their fur and was covered in scars, yet it still snarled ferociously as it kept a protective position.

She realized then she wasn't alone--other dragons had come. There were two imperials, both wearing ferocious wolf capes, and a wildclaw with a dark wolf pelt matching the wolf that stood atop Namira. One of the imperials then spoke up, the one with a white wolf fur cloak.

"S'good thing we heard you, huh?" She said with an easy grin. "You would've been dinner for that beast if we hadn't come along."

"Are you well?" The other imperial asked, moving closer to inspect her. The wolf stepped away to stand by the wildclaw, letting the imperial look closely at Namira. Namira froze as the huge imperial loomed over her, yet there was something familiar about the dragons, something in the smell.

The wildclaw came closer then, wiping her sword clean and sheathing it in one smooth move. She inspected Namira, head tilted, before she finally spoke, "One of the Blood Queen's spawn."

Namira blinked in confusion, peering at the wildclaw. How--?

"Her magic's odd, though. S'got nature and arcane along with Plague." The white-wolf imperial piped up. "Smells like home too."

"...Then they lived." The gray-wolf imperial mused. "Unbelievable. I thought we were the only survivors."

Namira shuffled upright, squinting at her rescuers. "Wait, who are you? Do you know my parents?"

"My name's Kalea!" The white-wolf imperial chirped, and then gestured to her twin, "This is Kyrja."

"And I'm Mellori," the wildclaw stated calmly, a hint of amusement tracing her features as Namira's eyes widened.

"The Houndmaster?" Namira asked, "Mom and Dad talked about you, said you were one of the bravest dragons they knew."

"And humor me, who were your parents of Saeva Renatus blood?" The wildclaw said.

"Mephala and Revenant."

"As I figured. It's good to hear others of our clan managed to survive." Mellori seemed pleased by this knowledge. "I was always sad that our pack had been crippled so."

"We should get her back to the camp." Kyrja said calmly, "She's pretty hurt."

"C'mon, hop on my back." Kalea grinned, stretching out so Namira could clamber aboard. The skydancer obliged, and from her perch realized that beyond these dragons there were numerous strange creatures--bone constructs like her father's, but imbued with steel as well and dog-shaped. Such was the Pack of the Houndmaster, she supposed.

"Y'think Anaimia will be angry?" Kalea asked as she padded along. Namira simply listened to the conversation--now that she was safe she was too exhausted to really contribute. She hadn't realized how tired she was.

"Doubt it. She has strong lineages and I'm sure even Anaimia has heard of the Nighthawk," Kyrja replied.

"Oughta let her stay, then. I kinda feel bad for her, though. Never gonna get to where she was going." Kalea's voice was quiet, and Namira could barely hear it.

"She'll be safe here." Mellori said smoothly, "I will keep an eye on her, as a child of my packmates. The--" Mellori's voice drifted away, or perhaps more accurately, Namira drifted away into sleep, lulled by the rocking movements of Kalea.

Her last thoughts before she fully slipped unconscious was how would she explain what happened to her parents.

[fapangel]

foxtrotalpha jalopnik com/-1544383008 But why?

… not sure, actually. The theory presented in that article (which I’ve seen before) as to the F-117 being used as a benchmark aircraft for testing new anti-stealth/counter-stealth radars confuses for one reason - the F-117′s stealth is based on a rather different concept than the stealth in use on all subsequent aircraft. The F-117 was based on the Have Blue program, whereas the B-2 Spirit, and every aircraft that followed (including the F-22 and the F-35,) have utilized the designs pioneered by the Tacit Blue program. You can easily see the big difference between the designs - whereas Have Blue had those funky angles all over to redirect and scatter incoming radar energy, Tacit Blue accomplished much the same, but with shapes that were a hell of a lot easier to make aerodynamic. Hence why the F-22 and F-35 now use that design - they allow for a great deal of stealth without steeply compromising flight performance. An anon has asked me to do a rundown of stealth tech and I intend to, so that’s all for another post, but suffice to say that with the Chinese stealing a goodly chunk of F-35 related research - enough that their J-20 stealth fighter clearly shows the inheritance in its lines - and the Russian PAK-FA clearly taking the same approach - it begs the question of just how much value the F-117 would have as a testbed aircraft for modern radars.  I don’t know nearly enough about the relevant engineering to say for sure - perhaps Tacit Blue really does just accomplish the same scattering of radio waves with smooth curves rather than sharp angles, and that’s it - but somehow I doubt it’s that simple. 

To wit, Tacit Blue is - from everything I’ve seen and read - truly a different technological approach to the challenges of reducing radar cross-section, compared to the Have Blue method. (This fascinating article on the origins of the RQ-170 covers this pretty well -  in addition to the much better aerodynamic performance, the article notes that Tacit Blue’s “curvilinear” design is far better for “all-aspect” stealth; i.e. it reduces RCS against radio waves hitting the plane from almost any angle.) Again, I might be wrong on this, but I’m pretty sure that has consequences past just “smaller effective RCS.” Radars - and computer algorithms both controlling their beam-forming and analyzing the received data - would be carefully designed to account for just how radio energy is scattered off an aircraft. This’d be especially important when you take radar networks into account, for instance, radar A could pick up radio waves bouncing off the stealth aircraft at a 45 degree angle, because they were actually emitted by radar B, forty to sixty miles away from radar A. Again, I’m no physicist and I might be completely wrong here, but just looking at these aircraft, I’d expect the Tacit Blue “curvilinear” approach to scatter the radio waves less discretely. Imagine taking a high-pressure fire hose and blasting an F-117s skin with it, and then a B-2. Before you were ripped limb from limb by screaming, weeping ground crew, you’d notice the water stream hitting the flat angles of the F-117 tended to deflect in a more coherent stream, but the constantly-curving surface of the B-2 would diffuse the deflected water more evenly. Now swap the water hose analogy for radio waves, and you can get an idea of what I’m saying. That’s why curvilinear is better for “all-aspect,” I think - because those angled facets on the F-117 deflect that energy somewhere, and if you happen to have a shit-hot radar set and you’re in the right place when that plane makes a turn, you’ll notice that smaller beam of energy as it crosses your dish - if your radar’s software is coded to recognize that kind of signal and pick it out from the background noise. Radars pick up everything, and the software - and the operators - have to make a lot of judgement calls on what is a legitimate contact and what needs to be ignored. A ton of what radars do rely on this - for instance, look-down/shoot-down ability requires a radar to ignore the radio waves bouncing off the ground itself (congratulations, you found the planet,) and focus on stuff with a high Doppler shift; i.e. those radar returns that are clearly moving at a few hundred knots. So it seems unlikely to me that they’d find the F-117s of much value as a theoretical “stealth aggressor” aircraft for testing next-gen radars - unless they’re simply testing stuff from a head-on detection standpoint against single radars, and the F-117s extensively-studied RCS characteristics make for a useful standpoint. It’s possible… but as another FoxtrotAlpha article notes, the rarely-espied playdates between B-2 Spirits and a highly-advanced radar aircraft stationed at Tonopah with the F-117s is much more likely to be advanced radar/stealth testing.

The other possibility suggested by the article - that they’re being used for Red Flag aerial exercises (where the highly directional nature of their stealth would be of less import, being pitted against modern fighter aircraft radars at closer ranges,) seems more likely to me - and their further assertion that said program is just an excuse to retain airframes, personnel and experience for more direct uses of the airframes seems very plausible. For starters, the Air Force has already directly confirmed that the F-117 fleet is being maintained for possible return to service. But what kind of service? 

Now it’s no secret that the ChairFarce keeps a massive boneyard of mothballed aircraft in Arizona just in case we get into another serious shooting war where quantity gains a quality all its own - in fact, a B-52 kept in that same “Type 1000″ storage as the F-117s was recently returned to service. As that article notes, even in “near-flyaway condition,” restoring a military aircraft isn’t easy. My neighbor, a mechanic by trade, once told me that old cars are like old men - they retire, they sit down in an armchair, and they die. When something full of moving mechanical parts sits still, it degrades - seals stiffen, gaskets dry out, lubricants stagnate, parts stick, etc. And then it all has to be replaced. So the USAF rotating their Nighthawks out to take walkies every now and then make perfect sense. 

But I still doubt that the F-117 will be sent into combat - at least, with pilots aboard. This National Interest article (yes, I know) does a fairly succinct job of comparing the F-117 to the F-22 and F-35. The F-22 and F-35 benefit from tremendous advances in computer, sensor and software tech that make them much better at steering around radars - the computers can quickly re-calculate the probability of detection in X airspace against Y detected radar signature, and quickly re-route the pilot to keep him out of “red zones.” (Gathering the empirical data used for this is exactly why the B-2 and that nifty super-secret radar plane would be playing tag over the Arizona desert.) Combined with the all-aspect stealth of the curvilinear design (which lets you turn - i.e. alter course - much more freely without flashing some radar your skirts) this gives the F-35 a big advantage. In other words, the F-117s design isn’t just compromised after the Serbian shoot-down… it’s also obsolete. 

In other words, it’s expendable. 

“Expendable” isn’t a word used lightly with any combat aircraft, much less a hideously expensive stealth aircraft covered with sensitive and temperamental RAM coatings that need to be carefully swaddled in environmentally-controlled hangars. The dated stealth characteristics, low performance and above all, the significant superiority of more modern stealth fighters are all fine reasons against risking pilot’s lives flying the F-117 against a near-peer opponent like China or Russia. 

But those exact same reasons - especially the compromised and obsolete nature of the tech - mean that if you remove the pilot from the equation, you stand to lose little if an F-117 is shot down. You’re not losing a modern aircraft that can penetrate modern air-defense systems, you’re not losing highly-classified tech that will fall into enemy hands, and it’s one less quirky, expensive aircraft thirty years old and falling further behind the curve (literally) every year. Moreover, the F-117 is still well-optimized for stealth against high-frequency fire-control radars from the frontal aspect. In other words, it’s still a much better option for attacking a SAM site than an F-16, F-18 or F-15E (unless you’re going for BALLS TO THE WALL CLUSTER BOMBS IN FREE FALL HEY IT’S WILD WEASELS Y’ALL which was never sane or safe against farmers with hand-trained eyeball-aimed AA guns, much less modern SHORAD.) And then there’s the numbers - we only have 20 B-2s, which is why they’re jealously guarded, not enough F-22 Raptors and the F-35 won’t be serving in high numbers for many years yet. Moreover, the F-22 has limited payload options - despite some amazing things being accomplished with the Small Diameter Bomb program, it’s still a small bomb. Until the F-35 shows up in force, there’s a shortage of aircraft that can sling big, heavy Mk-84 based PGMs and bunker busters - and lo-observable standoff attack weapons like the JASSM and SLAM-ER, while fantastic, are expensive, and even our copious stockpiles must be judiciously used…. and their standoff reach greatly increases the utility of old aircraft like the F-117, since instead of being tasked with “penetrate airspace pumped with so much radio energy it practically glows without being detected” it’ll be asked to “get within 100 miles of this border without being detected and drawing sixty fucking Flankers down on you, so we don’t have to assign half our escort fighters to hold your hand.” 

“The F-117 is being turned into a drone guies!!1!” has been a meme/rumor for a while now, I know - but there’s a few good reasons to think it has merit. For starters, you don’t just slap a computer into the pilots seat and hey presto, drone! It’s difficult, time-consuming and fucking expensive to re-wire electronics, especially purpose-built fly-by-wire systems dating from the pre-COTS era… but they’ve already done it with the F-16, and I’ve both seen mention of F-18s turned into drones, and seen that the government replacement program for the F-18 has called for “manned, unmanned, and optionally manned platforms.” The AIr Force has openly stated they want autonomous fighter jets  - not just Global Hawks flying circles in permissive airspace, mind you, but autonomous fighter jets - to work in concert with the F-35. And I quote: 

“You take an F-16 and make it totally unmanned,” Work said. “The F-16 is a fourth-generation fighter, and pair it with an F-35, a fifth-generation battle network node, and have those two operating together.”

Battle network node. That’s not just a buzzphrase, that’s an indicator of how they hope to translate that massive information advantage into a force advantage. The F-16 fleet is really showing its age (as are our original F-18s) and even if we bought brand new souped-up conformal-tank hauling F-16 Block-Eleventy-Billions, the old aircraft are plain worn out. Traditionally we take old fighter planes and convert them into radio-controlled target drones till they’re all blown up, which is where all our F-4 Phantoms went. As long as we’re blowing them up anyway… this isn’t the first time someone realized that something built to be difficult for our own pilots to hit might be difficult for the enemy to hit, as well. But these aren’t purpose-built wee target drones that can only carry cameras - they’re fully-functional warplanes that can carry almost any modern munition you want to put on them. Even if the enemy shoots them all down, you’re only out aircraft destined for the scrapyard anyway - and they still have to deal with the goddamned F-35!

The Navy seems to agree with this approach - they’re already practicing integrating their new XB-47 carrier-capable drone into flight ops by having it land on aircraft carriers alongside manned aircraft. The Navy has also invested heavily in the “swarm” concept. First seen with their little pushy robo-RIGs meant to drive off Dinghies of Peace getting too cozy, they’re now applying it aggressively to aerial applications, like the much-publicized swarm of minidrones launched out of an F-18s flare dispensers. Swarms like this serve two purposes - one, they are much harder to kill (quite literally swatting flies one by one, if you can even see them,) and two, the software required for a “swarm” to work is by nature a “decentralized network,” which means it’s much more capable of thinking - and reacting - without centralized command and control. This means that “swarm” style logic - which is all about communicating with the fellow swarmers and making decisions for itself, and in accord with The Swarm - is inherently quite capable even if their communications are jammed. Even if it can’t phone home for instructions, The Swarm is fairly autonomous, by its very nature. The Swarm provides each member with sensor input from all platforms, “brain”power from each member, and if one gets swatted, they still have the rest of The Swarm. In fact, the military is now focusing on ensuring each node of The Swarm can operate independently of even its fellows if the jamming is so heavy they can’t even talk with one another, as they openly stated recently: 

One thrust will be equipping drones and other autonomous systems with bigger brains and better networking so that they can function even when an enemy jams their ability to radio back to a human controller for direction… "When you don’t have bandwidth, when you’re under cyber attack, when you’re being jammed. That’s the problem we’re trying to address.”

That’s Cool Planefag, but what does this have to do with F-117s? 

This big thrust towards distributed drone networks - using older, even obsolete manned aircraft as reworked drones - applies specifically to the F-117′s case because the driving impetus behind these efforts has a lot to do with our old friend: 

Triumf-chan is just the latest evolution in the constant battle between ground-based anti-air and air-based long-range strike that began in earnest in WWII and has never let up. On the left, we have the reigning champion, the rich-as-hell Free World who need to project tons of FREEDOM into the bitch faces of the dictator of the week. On the right, the challenger, who’s lost every round so far but has made the champions victories horrifically costly anyways and has driven the champion to the ropes so many times he can taste that maddeningly elusive victory. It’s an arms race that hit the ground running in 1945 and hasn’t slowed since… 

… and the Reigning Champion’s current efforts in that direction are turning more and more to unmanned weapons. There’s of course the plethora of standoff weapons, that began with the Shrike in Vietnam and is now evolving into crazy shit like radar-frying Masers mounted on cruise missiles.… but the most interesting thing, to me, is that they’re mirroring the Navy’s effort to, ah, distribute lethality by presenting the enemy with more threats - for instance, the MALD-J standoff jamming drone, already an amazing anti-IADS weapon, is being upgraded with an optional home-on-jam kamikaze attack. Since they’re expendable drones, they’re not coming back anyway, so they may as well finish the day by executing steep dives into some Triumf operator’s bitch face. This is being enabled by the addition of a datalink which lets them - stop me if you’ve heard this before - be tied into the combat network the rest of our aircraft and weapons use. This would also let them work in concert with their fellows to coordinate jamming and terminal attacks even if their communications back to base were disrupted by any means - jamming, “cyber attacks” or a whirlwind MILSTARS-meets-killsat romance. Now the enemy can’t simply dismiss them once they figure out they’re flying a pre-mapped path that’s not responding to pop-up threats - not only do they move, but they might fucking come after you. Or… they could release a swarm of those nasty little mini-drones that navy F-18 dropped - think of them as affectionate, self-aware sub-munitions. Or don’t - I’m sure the Russians stay up at night thinking about them enough for all of us.

This is an example of the ultimate ends all this network-swarm-drone shit is being aimed at - saturating, flummoxing and defeating the modern Integrated Air Defense Network. Now when you consider the obvious utility of using older, worn-out 4th generation fighters as pawns in this game - pawns you can afford to lose, but usually come back after a mission, unlike million-dollar-a-shot missiles - and apply it to the F-117, which actually has an RCS smaller than a freight-train flying broadside, and you can start to see the real potential here. If an aging multi-role fighter makes a good drone gunman, than an aging stealth bomber makes an even better one. The F-117 can get closer to SAMs than 4th gens of similar age, the drastically improved communications and battle management nodes make it possible to very quickly and cohesively react as a team to developing situations and threats, allowing them to cover their weaknesses, and as an obsolete, unmanned platform they can be risked further forward than much more expensive and valuable modern, manned fighters, or even very expensive unmanned platforms. 

So that’s Planefags Rambling Explanation of Shit Everyone Knows Anyway If They Read Defense Blogs Instead Of Dating. For those looking for the tl;dr: the F-117 is basically the Terminator. 

“The F-16 series had aluminum skin. We spotted them easy, but these are new. They look like interference… radar ghosts, diffused returns, everything. Very hard to spot. I had to wait till he opened his bomb-bay doors before I could zero him.” – Kyle Radoslav

“The Nighthawk’s an infiltration unit - part manned aircraft, part autonomous machine. Underneath, it’s a titanium-alloy combat airframe, microprocessor-controlled. Triple-redundant, very tough. But outside it’s faceted aluminum: RAM coated ,designed for the stealth bombers.”   – Kyle Radoslav 

All right. You stay down by day, but at night, you can move around. The F-16s use FLIR so you still have to watch out. But they’re not too bright. Dani taught us ways to dust them. That’s when the infiltrators started to appear. The Nighthawks were the newest and the worst…– Kyle Radoslav

“You’re spiked, motherfucker!” – Sara Cveta

Hey buddy, did you just see a real bright light? – KC-135 pilot over Bosnia

“These were taken by a SA-6′s TV camera in Belgrade, in 1999. It killed sixteen TV techs that night. Men with families, children.”

[the cop lays two new pictures on the table.]

“These were taken near the Macedonian border… today.” 

“I’LL BE BACK.” – Nighthawk

[durex-on-a-bible]

Self-Defence (5/5)

Contains brutal mannequin murder, implied suicidal depression, blood, and laundry folding

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Much later, and much further away, a large pair of plimsoll-clad feet trod their way through the desert. Caliban turned back round to look at the distant water tower, moon-shadow trailing in front of him, then carried on away from it. He’d made sure beforehand to check inside, peering at the sleeping, prone man: Charles was lost in some old, incomprehensible dream, and Logan had stayed out overnight in the limo.

A spare few hours… they had to count.

Scratching at an itch on his scalp, the chalk-white mutant instinctively felt for a phantom hat, then relaxed. While it was still certainly warm on his skin, the sunlight lost its potency when reflected as moonlight – he absent-mindedly felt where his t-shirt had ridden up, tugging it back down. The few essentials he had needed were bundled in one arm, pressed up against his chest: a small paperback book that he’d bought online, with Logan’s help; a bottle of water; his poncho, in case he had to make the return trip in daylight.

A heavy cardboard box.

Gradually he saw the outline of a nearby ghost town, of about 50 buildings, take shape. Finding it for the first time had been pure accident: he’d merely been taking a night’s stroll to get some fresh air, when he saw it. Drawn to the ruined houses, he had walked among them as another mass of bleached angles. Since then, it had become somewhere to go when he had the time, when he needed to acknowledge his distance from humans and mutants alike.

At least, that had been his initial reason. As it happened, the place had other, more pragmatic benefits.

Caliban ducked his head under a low-hanging doorway, entering the floorspace of an old tailor’s shop. Whoever the people were who had once lived here, they had left in a hurry – There had been no time to take the exquisite clothes, nor the fabric-polystyrene mannequins which they rested on. With care, he unbuttoned a moth-eaten suit jacket from its stand, then, after some rummaging, pulled out a rusted wire coat hanger from the rubble; reaching up with one long arm, he managed to hang it up onto a narrow beam, where it joined a long, smart line of decaying garments. Pointless, perhaps, but something of a ritual now – misplaced guilt for inanimate objects turned habit.

The dummy now stood with three others in a lopsided triangle. He stood to the edge of them and stretched as much as his stooped posture would allow, until loose. Rummaging through his items and prizing open the noisy plastic, he once again found himself with the knife, clutched in a firm hammer-grip. The hunched mutant took his place in the centre of the mannequins and closed his eyes.

And breathed.

He yelled, throwing his weight into the knife-hilt as he descended upon them. A small kettle of nighthawks startled and took flight, calling in alarm while Caliban tore into the starchy, padded bodies, a harsh nails-on-blackboard screech with each thrust.

Then, he stopped and massaged his temples. Each of his “victims” lay discarded on the desert dirt now, frayed and ruptured where they had been attacked – with no resistance.

“For fuck’s sake.” said the mutant quietly, to no-one.

He rose now, tenderly picking up a mannequin in each hand by its splintered wooden base, and carried them round the back of the store; a neat stack of curved busts, riddled with slashes and stab wounds, awaited the new arrivals. The two recently-destroyed stands landed on top of the pile, followed by the third a moment later. Arms crossed, the thin man glared at his previous efforts. How many months had it been? Four? And he was still coming out here, still trying to ‘train up’ by himself. All his efforts, against prop opponents. It wasn’t enough, not to keep the other two safe, and the risk of Charles waking up in the night while he was gone was-

No.

No, not yet. Caliban wasn’t going home until he’d finished. Discipline, that was the key.

At that, he sauntered through the rubbish back to his essentials, taking a quick swig of water when he arrived, and uncovered a second-hand copy of ‘Knife Fighting: A Practical Course’. The convenience of being responsible for online orders to their PO Box meant it was easy to slip the book in with other items, squirreling it away before Logan could see it; no point starting that headache all over again. But then, the few hours the older mutant would return, he would instantly wrap himself in the rust-holed cladding of the water tower, following his ailing mentor around in vain; or he would stagger through their shared living space, hackles raised at any attempts to communicate.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned a few chapters in: ‘Zones of Attack and Defence’ – that would do for tonight. He studied the pages, his eyes adapting to the moonlight as he read. A series of diagrams caught his eye, as they tended to: a balding man in his 40’s, wearing casual polos and denims, posing defensively and confidently with a thick blade. Each still of him was divided into four, showing areas where an attack could strike, and how to defend each area. Something about the man unsettled Caliban, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

Propping the book open with a small chip of masonry, he tried to picture the quadrants reflected ahead of him, and readied his defensive stance, knife in hand: by now, he had lost his form due to lack of practice, but it serviced regardless. A quick glance at the book again, and he threw his posture into a crooked parody of a ‘zone 2’ parry, protecting his left flank. Another peek, and he shifted his arms, putting them slightly further away from his body.

Zone 5, centre. Zone 1, top-right. Zone 4, bottom-right. Zone 3, bottom-left. Zone 2, top-left. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.

Then he saw the sky.

The moon had begun to set, pushing long shadows into the old shop. All around, the hues began a shift from all-encompassing navy to a warmer shade of green.

Time was up.

He finished the bottle, crushing it in his hand, then pulled his poncho and hood over himself – sunrise wasn’t due for another hour, but he’d made that mistake before. The knife was cleaned and returned to its box; the bottle balanced on top, nestled in the great drapes of cotton as he scurried back out of the ruin, leaving the dead settlement to sleep, and striding back across the stretch of dry earth towards the ancient plant he called home.

For the time being, at least.

It had just been a casual observation, maths-wise. The limo driving brought in roughly half a thousand dollars a week, which was cut down by about three hundred dollars once food, medicine, utilities, and other things had been factored in. That left just over a thousand left over… which then vanished every week, for the past year. Which, by Caliban’s estimate, left a total of sixty thousand dollars unaccounted for.

From there, he hadn’t needed to wait long before he found out: a newspaper clipping left out on the table, pinned down by a cup of stale coffee, listed an advertisement for a “1996 Sunseeker Manhattan”. The grey pointillist photograph showed a moderate-sized motor-yacht, parked somewhere on a distant port – priced at seventy thousand dollars.

When he first saw it, the blood had drained from his face. He tried to imagine himself going with them, confined to the lower decks like a vampire, then realised: of course he couldn’t. He was never meant to come. He’d left it where he found it, but brought the coffee with him to flush down the sink. A few days later, he had managed to calm down, to rationalise; it made sense for Logan and Charles to do so, to get out to sea, and as far away as possible from anyone the seizures could hurt.

Including him.

Still, he’d figured, it would be a pleasant way to end the elder mutant’s days. And after all was said and done, he could arrange afterwards to collect Logan… and help him through the loss, just as he’d done for the past year.

Back in the present, he found himself once again spying on the sleeping Charles. A small mercy: their patient was long overdue his diazepam. He sniffed the air, hoping to catch wind of Logan’s arrival. Nothing. His – he paused – ‘employer’ was still a distant light in the peripheral of his head, weaving through an empty, black space.

Might as well do some laundry, he thought to himself.

The knuckles in his hands peeked through his skin as he picked through the three men’s clothes: Soft, comfortable woollen items for Charles, cloying with must and age; ragged, beige t-shirts and button-downs, his own cobbled-together wardrobe; and lastly the formal wear of Logan’s chauffeur uniform and his many vests – some with holes, some with tears, most with blood. He grimaced, sorting the clothes into different wash categories, into repair jobs, into lost causes. As he went, he felt along each piece, searching for anything left over in the pockets; he’d told Logan to check before putting it in the pile, but by this point he was better off just doing it himself. God knows how many time’s he’d fished out coins or pen lids, even some sticky humbugs from Charles’ pockets-

His fingers ghosted over something solid in Logan’s trousers.

He hadn’t noticed until just now, since most of the shorter man’s clothes had a strong scent of blood, and the metal that leaked like poison from his bones. But, whatever was in there? It reeked, the tang settling on his tongue. Reaching in, he unfurled his hand to see a small, silver cylinder rolling on his ash-white palm. It was rounded at one end, flat at the other, and was wrapped in a thin casing. Rightly, he guessed it to be about nine millimetres in width.

A bullet. He sniffed it, and recoiled.

Adamantium.

He clenched the thing in his fist.

“It’s too late,” Logan had told him. At the time, Caliban hadn’t understood why.

Now, he did.

His free hand found his face, and they crushed into each other as he tried to steady his breath, shaking like a wire in the wind.

 After a long moment, he released his pink features and rubbed his finger and thumb under his eyes, wiping the wet drops off onto his shirt. The cage of his other hand released, the bullet settling back into the creases, and he stared at it. Then, he opened up his chest pocket and slipped it in, a cold weight against him.

“No,” he muttered, resuming his chores: “It’s not.”

Logan would likely be back in a few hours.

He’d talk to him then.