#ICE vehicle killer

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

According to new data from the European Automobile Manufacturers’ Association (ACEA), EV registration in the EU fell by 43.9% in August as the two biggest markets, Germany (-68.8%) and France (-33.1%), saw significant declines.

Despite this, Volvo was one of the bright spots, as overall vehicle sales climbed 36%. With 19,605 vehicles sold last month, Volvo topped Tesla and Fiat to become the fourteenth largest automaker in the EU, UK, and EFTA countries, according to Dataforce.

P.S. Volvo EX30 has a perfect size for Europe, range is good and price tag is a little bit better as well...

Gasoline fans are rejoicing way too early, the drop in EV sales has a very simple explanation in Europe: Electric car buyers who follow the European EV market know that much better electric cars are coming at much more reasonable prices in 2025. True ICE vehicle "killers" are coming...!!! Tesla Model Y is way to expensive and boring to change the habits of gasoline car buyers and compete against Dacia Duster.., VW T-Roc or Nissan Qashqai...  but the expected new electric car models are another story....

Especially considering the fact that new gasoline cars are significantly more expensive than old ones. For example, the price of the Nissan Qashkai base model with a discount in Latvia - € 28,280 (Original price - € 31,230)...

[nemesyaaa]

buffalo 66' au ! old!serial killer!rafe x young!sugardoll!reader (how they met, and their first night together.)

you were red and you liked me 'cause i was blue. but you touched me and suddenly i was a lilac sky.

warnings : lmfaooo this part always killing me but here it is....rafe being 90% of the warning part and the menace he already is, kidnapping, daddy issues, urge of sexualing your own self, slight of stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, dark!rafe, violence, mentions of threats, r being a missing girl, age gap, size difference, choking. rafe being mean to the reader. slight of daddy kink. sick attitude. dirty talk. attention whore. just minors DNI. (why it's bigger than my grocery list actually...). please carefully pay attention to the tags !!?

author's note : it's my first time writing a dark fic so don't expect too much 🙏🏿 you can read this without watching buffalo 66.

some girls were the trailer park princess, and others the queen of the gas station.

as the girl of the gas station, you were there all day on the road of these men much older than you, who had and drove pretty vintage cars who were literally bigger than you. those rich daddies surely had more money than your poor father who was always sitting behind the desk of his shop waiting for the night.

your father never gave you any attention, not even a look, he didn't care about what you did on your summer days as long as he never saw you. so you stayed all day at your playground queendom across from the pitiful, filthy motel where you lived. because here at least the men were looking at you.

of course they were looking at you, you always gave them something to look at with your tiny dresses that showed your naked thighs, your tits pressed together in that backless top. you always dressed in that soft and milky blue shades. as the sea and the sky, you were blue.

while their wives found you sick, you could feel their stares every time you leaned down to grab the keys that they forgot to give you each time. you could feel their eyes completely charmed by the way your summer dress rode up above your ass, and your panties stuck out.

fully bent over, you could hear the groans of these old men, the way they forced their hands themselves to not touch you when you wanted nothing more than to see them give in to the young temptation that you were.

you had a power in them and you loved to see them completely crazy.

you worked as a gas pump attendant. in reality, you did it behind your father's back because it allowed you to stay in the company of these men who only had eyes for you.

you always put on a show for them, and it always worked because you were irresistible.

but there was this guy every time, a regular customer, cold and short-spoken who never spoke to you.

he had a beautiful and luxurious car and you always wondered what job he did to drive such an incredible vehicle, and to spoil you so much with all this money.

he never said thank you for your service. after all, you were paid for it. his eyes were blue as you. he could park and glare at you for hours, sitting deep in his seat, a cigarette stuck between his opened lips.

he was so much older than you, so much to the point it was indecent. when you had first seen him, you had melted like sugar.

as you were coming back from the ice cream parlor, your lips sucking that delicious vanilla ice cream, you sat on the edge of the gas station, right in front of his car, your legs completely spread, white cream melting and dripping between your thighs. he rubbed his painful boner through his boxer.

you were sick, you let him look at you with this completely perverted stare while you let chunks of ice fall into your cleavage.

his eyes were all over you, but this time it was different, because this time it was him who was thinking about you while touching himself. this time it was him who was sick about you , him who had all these furious ideas about you. he pumped himself so hard, biting his lips harshly. and you continued your depraved show, while he jerked off, his big cock shaked and leaked in his own hand, his thick and already experimented fingers moved around his length faster and faster, the sweaty and dirty sound of his balls slapping, the squeaking noises of his chair, his arched back making the chair shaking. you thought of the veins of his dick engorged of blood pulsated against his hefty strength. that was enough to make you fully wet.

you wanted nothing more than to make this old man reach for you. but the problem was, you were too young and naive to know how mad he was, and what he really wanted to do with a pretty doll like you.

you stood up when you finished your ice cream, putting your dress back on neatly, and leaned down, leaning your porcelain princess arms over his car window.

you shuddered when he spread his cum on your face without any warning, smeared the remains of vanilla ice cream over your sloppy lips gloss with lick of drool.

he pushed his big thumb against your little mouth, pushed it into an o shape, and you closed her to start licking up the drops of his cum.

but like every time he came here, he never spoke to you. you had just seen the car leave, while you still had the taste of him on your lips. it was rude.

the next day, your father sent you out to do some groceries on a sweltering hot summer day, tired of seeing you around doing nothing. what he didn’t know was that this was probably the last time he saw you. and even shoupe that you had seen earlier in the morning, and who had told you to be careful, something with a killer around.

when you were done with the grocery, you started walking through the empty parking lot.

you thought you were alone, even though there were a few empty cars.

but it was a mistake, a terrible mistake that you were going to regret.

“didn't shoupe tell you to be careful this morning, sweetheart ? because i'm pretty sure, he did. ”

you screamed when the man grabbed you by the waist, pressing your little ragdoll body against his chest much stronger. the stranger quickly covered your mouth, and bruised your pretty lips with violence without any caring, shoved down his fingers between them to the point that you almost choked with your own breath and saliva.

“ you hurt..me…! ” you tried to say with a lot of difficulty, as his firm grip crushed against your breasts.

“ not yet actually, doll. but i promise, i will if you continue to fight. so beware, or i will fucking kill you. not a threat, sweetheart. it's a promise. “ and you knew that even god couldn't save you at this time.

you tried to bite him, but your teeth barely touched his skin. his lips hovered above your ear, you could hear his deep older voice warned you.

" bite me one more time, and i will break you. i love wrestle with you little girl, but i think you will really hate the way i fight. because when daddy fight sugardoll, he kills. and tiny things like you are so easy to wreck. and you dont want to die today, right ? you're too young for that. do you got it ? nod if you got it, yes. smart baby, understand easily that she needs to listen and not fucking run away. ”

his strength was heavy. you had stopped resisting a few minutes ago, even when he put you in his car.

he started driving, with a smirk, he looked in the rearview mirror before telling you.

“ what's the matter, sugardoll ? don't want to put a show for me, anymore ? ”

he had taken you to a shitty old motel down the road, where no one would be able to pick you up here. you knew he was intelligent, you knew it because you understood that every time he came to see you, he tried to learn more about you, but not to know you no, but to know when would be the right time to kidnap you. you knew it because he had stalked you carefully.

he had tried to tie you up while you tried to struggle one last time. but he had grabbed your jaw so violently that you felt your face shiver in his hands. “one more move, and i’ll show you how dolls are really treated, how i have no fucking bother to kill a tiny thing like you. ”

“i’m not going to run away.”

"i know.” he shushed you with a sick evil smirk. “ but it's not because you don't want to, sugardoll .but more because you can't.” he said, while releasing your jaw.

“ that's the small but important difference. i kidnapped you. do you even know what it means ? "

you started to cry, tears running down your cheeks.

“ you want a real reason to cry? fine. i can do that for you. i kidnapped you but you want to know the big part of all this? is that no one will come for you. your father doesn't love you , and that's why you work in this stupid gas station. you love the attention of these men so bad that you feel obliged to sexualize yourself to feel desired but me, i wanted you the first time i saw you. i let you do it, i let you play with them, but now it's all over. since i own you, this game is fucking over. ”

“shoupe will come after me ! ”

“but maybe you won’t be around to see it anymore.” he looked at you, and shushed your tears, while staring in your wet eyes. “ yes, i really like when you give me those tears, cry to me, little girl i'm the only men that really got you. ”

you glared at him as if he had fallen from the sky.

“ but now you have to be careful, don’t get on my nerves. i know it's hard for you, but don't do stupid things. ”

he placed your hand on his lower back, where you had felt the metallic coldness of the gun. and you shivered.

"yes, you got it. don't ever get on my nerves.”

“ how can i get on your nerves ? you don't really seems like a bad guy. more like a sweet guy ? ”

“ i'm not. and i'm not trying to be so watch your mouth. “

“ but i really think you are. can i hug you ? ”

“ try it, doll, literally try it. just try to touch me, i dare you. and i bet you will never tell me i'm the sweetest guy again. ”

“ can you at least bathe me ? ” you asked seriously.

“ jesus, do you think i'm your slave or whatever ? do you forget which position you are in ? in the captive one. so do not ask me those stupid things again. and don't try, no, never try to run away because, i can promise you that when i will find you, it will not be a pleasant time for you. and not even a little, but to the point, you will ask me to kill you. and i will be in a mood to accept your request ? yes, me. ”

you nodded as the kind and little girl you are who cannot argue against this tall man. he released your small face, and you were bathing alone. while you were taking your bath, alone in the tub, you heard rafe on the phone without being able to understand what he was saying but after that call, he left the room.

you had decided to buy some food with the little money you had at the food and drink vending machine.

with a happy smile, you went back up, hoping to please him. but you had found him on the chair in front of the TV.

“look, what…”

“i think you’re really nice. but not at your own good, sugar. ”

“ i just wan…”

“ get on the bed, now. ”

he couldn't help but relaxing when he saw how your blue dress was so tiny, already showing your soaked underwear.

" no whining. " he said as he shoved himself deeply in your tight abused cunt, your ragdoll body pressed down in the mattress, his thick stronger arms hugged your small waist, while thrusting harder and harder, your walls clenched around his fat cock. you can felt the size growing bigger in your wettering pussy, as he turned you into a real crybaby, tears flowing down your cheeks. you were caged by his beefy and muscular body on the bed, gasped on the edge. “ you wanted to act like a big girl ? then take it like a big girl. no fucking whining, i'm just giving you what you want. ”

he was literally buried inside you, snapping your hips, moving in and out. the atmosphere was hot, you felt the heat, there were trails of saliva around your mouth. “stop whining babydoll, daddy is not at his worse actually. and you don't want to see this happen.” you wanted to hate him but it was like you appreciated him being so mean to you, your pussy was dripping, your fluids drenching him, your sticky walls surrounded his girth. " yes, that's it. pull up some juices for daddy, make it easier for him to destroy you. "

everytime you runned away from him, he lifted your head with a grunt, and with a wild thrust inside of you, making you drip even more as his glistening tip reached your spot, the dirty and wetness sound of his moves echoed in the room, your body trapped against his taller one.

with a hand on your throat, you were arched to the point where he could see your wetted eyes rolled up. "try to run away again, and you will have the fucking pleasure to be a momma, as well as a missing girl. i'm not asking you to take my cock better.” he said with a threat. “ no, i'm telling you to do it as your fucking job. ”

all teary, you could bet that rafe didn't know how big he was for telling you this. you were trying your best actually. he was rutting in you, holding your tiny size with one big hand, getting so feral everytime he saw your small body twitching when he pushed himself further. your moans were loud, as your squirted more than one time on him, your dripping walls clamped his hard cock. even when your third orgasm flowed against your bulging pussy, creating a mess at the surface, he continued.

" you know sugardoll, you better work faster for my cum, because i will only stop when i will see how creampie your pussy is for my dick.”

he stuffed your puffy messy cunt, while your pumped his fingers who slidded deep down in your throat, your warm and bullied tongue fighting to not dropped them.

you slobbed more with the overstimulation. you felt like this man was insatiable. rafe loved to see you, his sugardoll in pain, taking so much for him.

when he finally stopped teasing you, and fighting himself to not cum, and clearly toying you, he exploded, making you cried out. all your body was filled with spasms.

you expected something from rafe when he pulled out, a little soft spot, or at least, just one look but he just went to the bathroom. alone.

you expected him to be sweet for you, like the sugar you were for him. and you knew, that you will work for this later.

when he came back, you looked at him, always attracted by his charisma, the way he made you felt so tiny by his big size, the way he was old enough to make you feel like a little girl, just the way his raised voice made you feel so small.

“ can i sleep with you ? ”

“ whatever. just don't touch me. ”

“ you're not gonna be my big spoon ? “

“ what the fuck is this ? i'm not gonna be your spoon. jesus, can you just sleep and not ask for any stupid things that you think i will do because you're already so obsessed with me ? and give me your hands. ”

he tied them up on the bed with your little blue ribbon.

“ just in case you think you can escape me. ”

“ i can't sleep like that ! ”

“ i fear it's not my fucking problem, sugardoll.”

“ fine. i will talk and talk all night. ”

“ i can fuck you all the night too. but one of us will not survive this. so stop being so damn annoying. ”

“ what if i want to pee in the middle of the night ? ”

“ you're strong enough to hold it. and you fucking better be strong enough to hold it. ”

“ why are you so mean to me ? why you kidnapped me ? ”

“ sugardoll, listen to me. look at me, yes. eyes on daddy right now. i swear, and you need to listen carefully because i will tell you once, just once, so your dumby brain need to pay attention, if you're talking another time, even if i see your lips moving, just a twitch, i will put my dick right in your mouth, making you suck it for without a break until the sun rises again. and i can promise you that after, you will never talk to me because you will never be able to open that mouth again. do you got it ? nod your head if you got it, doll.”

and you nodded.

as a doll, you were conditionned to listen to your owner, even if he was so mean to you. but you were as soft as sugar, always melted around, already thinking he was the best guy around.

“ sweet dreams, sugardoll. ”

i promise one day i will write something very good, just give me a chance. i think the only sweet thing in this work, it's rafe calling r " sugardoll ", he's so mean please 😭😭 i think i make him a little too dark to the point, i'm questionning about how he can be sweet to the reader now ????? but i guess, it's part of the game. tysm @bunnyrafe and @fae-of-prey me a lot !

[sunarryn]

Dp X Marvel #6

They called him Wraith.

Not Phantom. Not Fenton. Not Danny. Those names belonged to a ghost of a boy that never made it out of a cold, steel lab buried beneath the earth—forgotten by the world, forsaken by the stars. Wraith was something else. A project. A weapon. An experiment that should have failed but didn’t. The product of every nightmare HYDRA ever dared to dream. Not even the Red Room could engineer something so devastating. Not even Arnim Zola’s data-crazed AI mind could fathom the scope of him. Even the Winter Soldier—their perfect killer—trembled at the mere scent of Wraith in the air. He was the one he whispered about when the old ghosts came clawing through his fractured memories. “The one they locked away. The one even I wasn’t allowed to see.”

They started with the basics: a perfected version of the Super Soldier Serum. Not the knockoffs that littered the black market. Not the diluted trash the Flag Smashers used. No, this was the pure, concentrated essence of bioengineered physical supremacy. It made him fast. Strong. Deadly. But that wasn’t enough. HYDRA didn’t want a man—they wanted a god.

They replaced his bones with vibranium, stolen from the very heart of Wakanda in a mission so secret even the Dora Milaje never learned of it. His skeleton was a lightweight fortress, a perfect balance between flexibility and unbreakability. He could be shot point-blank with an anti-tank rifle and not flinch. He could leap from ten thousand feet and land without cracking a toe. His spine alone was stronger than most armored vehicles.

They burned out his organs, one by one, replacing them with biochemical synth-constructs, living machines that pulsed with a power that didn’t belong in the realm of science. His lungs filtered radiation. His kidneys could process raw acid. His stomach could digest metal. Disease didn’t touch him. Poisons turned inert inside him. He didn’t age. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t need to.

His blood… wasn’t blood. It shimmered when it moved. Viscous and luminous, like glowing starlight mixed with oil. Warm, but synthetic. Slick, but alive. It wasn’t just Extremis. It wasn’t just ectoplasm. It was something else entirely. Something that hummed when it moved, that responded to emotion, that sparked with eldritch light when he was angry. It healed him before injury even registered. It whispered to him in languages he never learned but somehow knew. It could ignite with a thought and turn his veins into conduits of fire and ice and terror. They bled him once, just to see what would happen. The blood ate through the floor, hissed like a serpent, and disappeared through the cracks. The lab tech who performed the procedure dissolved within thirty seconds.

And then there was his skin. It was soft, warm, perfectly human. If you touched him, he felt like a boy in his late teens—young, firm, deceptively fragile. But beneath that flawless layer of polymer-fused dermal tissue was something that didn’t burn, didn’t freeze, didn’t shatter. He walked through fire. He dove into the Mariana Trench. He stood unflinching beneath arctic storms and tropical cyclones. He once fought a vibranium-clawed assassin barehanded and didn’t bleed. The assassin didn’t survive.

But the worst part—what made him truly unkillable—was his heart and his brain.

They didn’t understand what they’d done. HYDRA liked to pretend they were gods, but even gods get scared when they tamper with forces they don’t understand. His heart wasn’t just a pump anymore—it was a fusion of quantum mechanics, biomechanical tubing, and something that throbbed with ectoplasmic radiation. It pulsed at its own rhythm, immune to external manipulation. It couldn’t be stopped. You could shoot him in the chest, burn him to ash, decapitate him—and the heart would keep beating. Worse, it could restart him.

The brain was worse. They hadn’t just enhanced his intelligence. They hadn’t just implanted neural tech and a language matrix and memories from assassins, soldiers, pilots, hackers, spies. No. They’d opened a door in his mind. They’d let something in. Something ancient. Something not from this world. Something not even from this dimension. It whispered to him when the moon was full. It guided his hands during missions. It told him where to strike, who to kill, what to become. Sometimes he heard it laughing.

Sometimes he laughed with it.

Wraith was the culmination of every evil science, every secret experiment, every whispered nightmare stitched together into a boy-shaped thing that wore a black suit and a bored expression and had a voice so calm it made seasoned killers nervous. He could walk into a room, look at you with those sky-blue eyes, and make your heart stop—because something about him was wrong. Not obviously wrong. Not monstrous or alien or robotic. No. It was subtle. A slowness to his smile. A tilt to his head. A precision to his movements that screamed in the back of your brain: This isn’t human. This is pretending to be human.

He escaped, of course. Nothing like him could be contained forever. The facility was a ruin within minutes. Bodies left stacked like cordwood. Walls melted. Floors cracked open. Not even the cameras could capture his escape—the footage was corrupted by a static that made your teeth ache and your eyes bleed. Every hard drive in the facility burned itself from the inside out. There was no trace of the boy they once called Danny Fenton.

Now, there are sightings. Rumors. Whispers. In Madripoor, they say he took down a cartel by himself, and the sky turned green when he screamed. In New York, people say he walked past the Sanctum Sanctorum and Doctor Strange flinched like he’d seen death. Wakandan scouts report strange readings near vibranium deposits—heat signatures that vanish into thin air. S.H.I.E.L.D. has classified him as an Omega-level threat.

The Winter Soldier? He saw him once. In an alley in Prague. Wraith didn’t attack. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him with those glacial eyes before disappearing in a flicker of light that bent reality itself. He didn’t sleep for three days after. When asked what was wrong, he just whispered, “They built something worse than me. And it remembers everything.”

Maybe there’s still a boy inside him, buried under steel and fire and ectoplasm and pain. Maybe that boy is screaming. Maybe he’s plotting. Maybe he’s just waiting. After all, you don’t build something like Wraith and expect him to stay still. You don’t break a boy into a god and expect him to forget.

[littlebigmouse]

List of Small Things™ I enjoy about Fullmetal Alchemist in no particular order

Everyone in FMAB/manga is just Some Guy™ and very human and I love that so here goes:

Falman getting stuck with a serial-killing suit of armor in his appartment for days and his reaction to it. It may have been weeks. He's been on sick leave the entire time. He's a guy in his early thirties with a flock of early-greying hair because being in a dead-end-role in the military is stressfull, ok. He gets stuck at home with a funny little serial killer (and eventually some foreign body guards, and a foreign prince?? lighting signal fires in his backyard?? like man what a week)

The whole military ambush against the Devil's Nest was yes, kind of kickstarted by the gang kidnapping Al for Greed, but it was mostly kickstarted because Ed was down south to do his yearly official report and Bradley and Armstrong just happened to be present when he was informed Al had gone missing. Greed's entire operation was done in by a teen doing his paperwork

on that note, Greed really decided to spend his immortality wisely by pursuing absolutely none of his supposed ambitions and just decided to settle down with a bunch of buddies. An offshot of the buddies he was initially made to guard, too. I don't think Greed is aware of this either

everyone on that radio building. The radio host 100% down to get some coup-shenanigans into his station to drive engagement. The guys sympathising with Mrs Bradley and taking care of her. Breda taking control of the narrative with a perpetual frown by the skin of his teeth.

I know the story of how the Bradleys met is technically not canon(?) but Mrs Bradley slapping her future husband upon their first meeting because he got his flirting tips from his siblings will never not be funny. Idiots. All of them.

EVERYTHING about Darius and Heinkel. They lost their jobs and became wanted criminals upon helping out some scrawny 15 year old. They have families they miss dearly. They haven't looked back since. "You guys don't HAVE to help me save the world" - "It's not like we have anything better to do"

i was going to say the Ice Cream Truck, because it's iconic, but actually, when told to disguise a vehicle, 15-year-old pinacle of edgelord fashion Edward Elric turned it into a colourful nightmare of spikes that barely resembled a car but might be closely related to the worlds deadliest parade float. None of this was necessary. Ed is just like that.

Hawkeye growing her hair out after meeting Winry, and Winry getting piercings after seeing Hawkeye's

Denny Brosh bursting into tears when he sees Maria Ross is still alive. Dude managed to not quit his job despite working in the same city (department?) where his best friend's killer was his supervisor. They were also very real for showing us that this is a guy who oversleeps and is older brother to at least three younger siblings. There was no need to give us more on Denny Brosh but every little detail hit so hard when they reunited.

okay so remember that time Ed and Ling ate Ed's shoe. Remember that Ed spend some time on a "deserted island" as a kid. Gluttony's stomach had nothing on him. Izumi raised some anime-ass boy-scouts. 100% Farm boy behaviour. These kids are so 15 it makes me want to bite things

immortal, soul-spliced dwarf in a flask got rid of his Sloth and still managed to procrastinate on his world domination plan until the last minute. Most Human disaster.

the entire half-episode they spend on Dr. Knox and his regrets and family. FMA is so good about humanising everyone.

everyone bullied Yoki because he was a small town fraud exploiting workers for his own benefit. Simply a jerk. He also hit Pride with a car in an epic rescue, and cried and screamed the whole way through

that one shot of a kid curiously poking a soldier they found bound on the ground with a stick

(I know it's technically not canon, but-) "I'm trying to save your life, asshole!"

Edward Elric

[steinbeck-vines]

Every Flags inspiration theory I have found, compiled

Note: some links are used multiple times, from sources with multiple theories. I pretty much linked everything I could find.

Albatross

Charles Baudelaire: mentioned here, here, here, here, and here. He wrote “L’albatros,” had imagery of guts in his writing, was a party person, wrote about alcohol, was a poet and major influence on Paul Verlaine and Arthur Rimbaud, and travelled to India (kukri knives are Nepalese in origin, but they are used elsewhere, including by the modern Indian Army. There is a very tangential possible connection).

Samuel Taylor Coleridge: mentioned here, and someone I know IRL is convinced of it. In The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the albatross is a good omen for a ship (a boon to transit, + could connect to evading the helicopter and the time Albatross forced Chuuya to swim home) who is brutally killed, haunting the narrative.

Jules Verne: mentioned here. Albatross' management of vehicles goes with Around the World in Eighty Days, and the quicksand ability, if his, could reference Journey to the Center of the Earth. Verne being in 55 Minutes makes this seem less likely, though not out of the question given the unlikelihood of Albatross' legal name or author basis being specified.

Doc

Michael Crichton: mentioned here, here, here, and here. He wrote Jurassic Park, which includes dinosaurs (possibly connecting to his ability), the disastrous consequences of dubiously ethical genetic experiments (connecting to Stormbringer overall), and general themes of irresponsibly playing G-d. He had an M.D. from Harvard, making him, like Doc, a real doctor who studied in North America.

Edward Elmer Smith/E.E. "Doc" Smith: mentioned here. A sci-fi author known as Doc who was also a chemist. (He was described as blond, athletic, and gallant by Heinlein, which could be an intentional irony if Doc is based on him).

Iceman

Eugene O’Neill: mentioned here, here, and here. He wrote The Iceman Cometh, a play with a lot of parallels to the Flags and Stormbringer, and looked like Iceman.

Richard Kuklinski: mentioned here, here, and here. A convicted murderer known as the Iceman who claimed to have been a mafia hitman and to have killed 100-200 people (actually killed at least 5 but probably not more than 15). There is a book about him called The Ice Man: Confessions of a Mafia Contract Killer (though he didn't write it).

Aoyama Jirō: mentioned here. An art critic known for keen insight and a member of IRL Nakahara Chuuya's friend group.

Kawakami Tetsutaro: mentioned here. He introduced IRL Nakahara Chuuya to Saburō Moroi, and they were close friends until Nakahara's death.

Lippmann

Walter Lippmann: mentioned here, here, here, here, here, here, and probably elsewhere. Named Lippmann, he wrote Public Opinion, and his career in journalism, propaganda and negotiation work, and close ties to people in power fit with Lippmann being the face of the Mafia. The way he frequently held back until he got to a controversial issue which he decided he had to speak out about at the end of his career and him authoring a book which opens by talking about delays in information transfer could both correspond to an ability which will (allegedly) go off when he's killed and show the world the perpetrator.

Hasegawa Yasuko: mentioned here. She was an actress who IRL Nakahara Chuuya was once in love with and remained friends with.

Piano Man

Moroi Saburō: mentioned here and here. He brought together a music group which turned into a friend group which included IRL Nakahara Chuuya and adapted some of Nakahara's poems to music, as well as writing a lot of other music for the piano and other instruments.

D.H. Lawrence: mentioned here. He wrote "Piano," a famous poem where listening to a piano brings back memories of a lost childhood.

Billy Joel: mentioned here, here (sort of?), and in at least one other post I can't relocate, usually or always as a joke. He wrote and performed the song "Piano Man," which is about people hanging out at a bar.

[a-killer-obsession]

PITCHING TENTS ⛺️

Kid Pirates x AFAB Reader Modern AU Campground Series

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

It wasn't something you'd ever admit to those who knew you, they all made the reasonable assumption that you went camping to spend time alone. At first, that had been the case, but you'd quickly come to learn that other single men your age were doing the same thing, and you found yourself loving the thrill of a romp with a stranger.

Masterlist || AO3 || Part One

PART 4/6 - GODDESS (Heat)

CW: sex with a stranger, afab reader, drug use, public sex, semi-public sex, outdoor sex, face sitting, p in v sex, body worship, roleplay, foot fetish, squirting, cumshot, mutual masturbation

WC: 4k

Taglist: @nocturnalrorobin @bbnbhm

The rest of your neighbours pulled into the carpark as you happened to making your way down the shop ramp, bag of ice in hand. Killer, behind the steering wheel of the noisy vehicle, noticed you immediately and pulled up beside the ramp with a shit eating grin on his face. You waited for him to roll down the window to talk.

“What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here on your own?” He joked, playing like he'd never met you.

“Getting ice for your friend's dead body,” you laughed back, feigning a cruel smile and holding up the bag of ice, “poor Kid couldn't handle me”

“Damn, you got him to shut up?” Killer snorted, “Hop in, we'll give you a ride back to your tent”

The passenger on your side in the back, Heat you now knew he was called, shuffled over so you could jump in the door closest to you. You had to almost throw yourself in with how tall the truck was, but you managed.

“Heat, Wire, this is [y/n],” Killer introduced you quickly before pulling up next to the gate to swipe his access card.

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled sweetly, sitting the bag of ice on the floor between you and Heat.

“Hey, do you come to this site often?” Heat asked, “I was wondering if there was anywhere for a bonfire you knew of”

“Oh, yeah absolutely,” you replied, “there's a field near the hiking trail that has a somewhat permanent burned out patch where the teens like to set a bonfire around New Year's. You gotta watch for the sheep if there's any in the field but the farmer doesn't seem to care about bonfires. You planning on lighting one up tonight?”

“Yeah, did you want to join us?” he asked, a little shyly. It wasn't hard to notice the way he was eyeing your exposed thighs in your slightly hiked up short dress, and you made no move to pull your dress down.

“Absolutely, Kid owes me a beer,” you smiled knowingly in the mirror at Killer.

“Oh does he now?” Killer smirked back, clearly catching your meaning.

“Met him in the pool,” you explained, mostly for the benefit of the other two, “kept the poor lonely man company since you lot left him here”

“The poor baby,” Killer snorted, noting the fresh marks on your neck and chest through the rear view mirror.

Heat grabbed the bag of ice for you as Killer parked in their spot, carrying it over to your own site without even having to be asked, what a gentleman. “Where you want this?” He asked as he followed you. You unzipped the tent door and opened the cooler for him.

“Just in here, thanks for carrying it,” you smiled, sitting on the edge of your tall blow up mattress. Heat spilt some of the ice as he noticed the large dildo sitting casually on the covers, right where you'd left it after pleasuring yourself before heading to grab ice. You knew full well it was there, and made no attempt to hide it, curious as to how he would react. Flustered, was the answer you got.

“Fuck, sorry,” he stuttered, kicking the dropped ice out the tent door before it could melt. The small room wasn't quite tall enough for him to stand, but it was pretty close, a damn lot taller than his own shitty tent. An average height man would no doubt fit easily in here, but he was absolutely taller than average. “I should get back,” he scratched his head, awkwardly standing sort of bent over in the first chamber of the tent.

“You don't have to,” you purred, opening your legs just enough for him to get a flash of your lace panties, “but if you have to, let the others know it's about a ten minute walk to the field, come grab me when you're ready to head out later”

“Okay, yeah, no problem,” he coughed, fleeing with a vibrant blush on his face that made you giggle at his bashfulness.

You weren't surprised when Killer presented you with a plate of barbecued meats and deli salads before you even had a chance to make your own dinner. A thanks for ‘keeping Kid company’ he said as he left the plate with you. A few hours later and the blue mop of hair belonging to Heat appeared at one of your mesh windows, having been inside your tent to watch some more trashy tv on your laptop.

“We're gonna head out soon if you're ready?” He asked awkwardly, trying not to look in the window in case you were… doing something.

“Thanks Heat baby,” you cooed back, closing your laptop and grabbing a small backpack you'd filled with the essentials, aka snacks, a small blanket, condoms, and a bluetooth speaker, in case they didn't have one.

“We have plenty of booze in our cooler if you just want to drink what we have,” he suggested as you zipped your tent shut behind you.

“That'd be fantastic,” you hooked your arm around his and could already see the pink blooming on his face. “Shall I lead the way?”

The other three boys collected their things, Killer carrying a large cooler, Kid and Wire carrying bags of store bought firewood, and Heat grabbing a backpack and slinging it over his other shoulder before letting you lead him away. You led the boys out past the camp store, now closed, locked up and abandoned for the night, through past a old wooden sign marking the start of the hiking trail. The first ten minutes of the trail was actually just regular grazing fields, and Heat being a gentleman helped you over the wooden stiles that allowed for easy passage over the wire farm fences. You almost lost your footing on the uneven ground a few times, the grass full of small holes from the cattle and sheep that were occasionally rotated through the fields. As you approached the edge of the forest you veered off to the side, leading the small convoy to a decently sized circle of rocks in the middle of a secluded field, the middle of the rocks filled with ash and the remnants of old fires. Around the rocks were several small wooden benches that someone had added a few years ago, you weren't sure if that was the farmer's or camp owner's doing but it seemed they had some sort of agreement regarding the bonfire field. The boys dumped their things around the ring and set about starting the fire, the daylight quickly fading as the sun disappeared behind nearby mountains on the other side of the valley that the campgrounds were sitting in.

“Nice quiet spot,” Killer noted.

“Yeah, teens like it cos nobody gives a shit if they underage drink out here,” you explained, “this time of the year nobody comes out here though”

“And you said there's a hiking trail nearby?” Wire asked. You wondered if it was the first time you'd heard the tall man speak.

“Yeah, we passed the sign for it on the way in but its not well known since you gotta be in the camp carpark to see the sign, only locals and avid hikers with guidebooks come out here.” You pointed to the thin dirt trail that disappeared at the edge of the forest, “real trail starts just over there. It's about a three hour hike from start to end,” you looked at his long legs, “maybe one and a half for you,” you smiled at him, “and ends on the other side of the camp, through a few more fields. Then you just gotta make a ten minute walk back up the road to get back to camp. I prefer to just get to the summit and come back the way I came though, there's a lot of trucks on that road that couldn't care less about hikers, and no real path, just grassy shoulders.”

“Noted,” he mumbled, sticking his hands in the pocket of his hoodie as he sat. He looked a little ridiculous on the short bench given his height. In fact, they all looked a little funny. Apart from the bench you were forcing Heat to share with you, your arm still linked with his, the others had all opted to claim their own bench each. Just as well, you weren't sure these handmade benches could handle more than one of them at a time. Big boys. Big… big… boys, you smirked to yourself. “I'll probably check it out tomorrow, if the weather is good,” the hooded man continued.

“I was planning on heading up myself,” you replied, “you want company?”

“No,” he replied sternly. You rolled your eyes, grumpy man. You had a feeling you wouldn't be climbing that particular tree this holiday. No matter, you had Kid and Killer, and Heat was looking promising.

Hours passed and among good company you'd managed to get a good buzz on. The fire was roaring, but the last of the wood had just been thrown on. Wire, being the grump he was, had already excused himself and headed back half an hour ago to head to bed. You felt like you hadn't learned anything additional about the man, who had spent most of the time sitting quietly while everyone else talked.

At some point you'd managed to cheese your way into Heat's lap, sharing a joint with him while he stroked your bare thigh. His hands were so very warm, they left goosebumps whenever they moved and exposed your thigh to the cool evening air. One of your hands was buried in this hair, scratching the back of his head, you swore you heard a small whine from him when you first did it.

“Come on Kid, these two have more than enough company,” Killer laughed, a little wobbly on his feet from drinking as he stood.

“What, but I wanna see her tits again,” Kid complained.

“Again?” Heat blinked. You snorted a laugh at the whole situation.

“Kid, if I show you my tits will you leave?” You offered. Kid pondered for a moment, his shaved brows furrowed in drunken thought.

“Only if I can give em a grab,” he decided. Killer rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Alright, deal,” you stood and pulled your dress over your head, and Heat made a surprised little gasp as your tits fell loose from the fabric, having not worn a bra. “You don't mind, do you Heat?” You purred, making yourself comfortable in his lap again, this time with your back to his chest. He'd been half hard underneath you all evening but now he was twitching to life. You encouraged him to wrap his arms around your waist, mostly because you were cold now without your dress and he was so very warm.

Kid smirked and raced over, taking one of your tits in his hand enthusiastically and groping you. You were certain he would have stayed there forever if Killer didn't drag him away by the ear with a disgruntled “come on big guy, let Heat have a chance”, but not before taking a cheeky grab for himself. You got up just for a second to turn in Heat's lap as the others finally left, not that you wouldn't have gladly fucked Heat in front of them anyway.

“Finally I have you all to myself,” you smirked, rolling your hips against him. He let out a shaky rasp and grabbed your ass, fondling the soft fleah and leaning back a little as you grinded against him.

“Are you… are you sure you want me?” He asked nervously, not meeting your eye as his confidence suddenly faltered. “You wouldn't rather go with them?”

“And miss riding this pretty face?” You cooed, running your fingertip over his fascinating facial scars, “you will let me ride it, won't you pretty boy?”

“Yes! Of course,” he replied enthusiastically, his confidence reignited. “Please”

“I love your enthusiasm,” you purred, your lips so close to his he could feel your breath against them, “but I wanna get a taste of you first, before you taste like me”

He groaned and squeezed your ass as your lips crashed against his, his tongue greedily hunting for yours immediately. The groves on his scarred lips felt nice against yours, an interesting new texture, and his tongue was strong and hot against yours, saliva and moans exchanged as you rolled against him. He let you dominate the kiss, a refreshing take for you. Nine times out of ten, when offered a willing hot wet hole, the strangers you pulled liked to dominate you, and you had no problem with that. You loved the rough fucks they gave you and the dirty degrading things they called you while they filled you. But once in a while came along a rare gem like Heat, soft and sweet and ripe to take a juicy bite from, an opportunity to flex your more dominant side.

“You're so cute,” you mumbled against his neck as you broke the kiss to nip and suck at his tattooed neck, tracing the inked maroon thorns with your tongue, “so unbelievably sexy as well, I think I'd like to ride that pretty face now though”

Heat made a soft moan and swivelled on the bench so his legs were either side of it, pulling you with him. He laid back and you took the opportunity to properly grind yourself against his erection now that he was flat. You could feel the wet patch in your panties as you rubbed against what felt like yet another massive cock, what luck you were having. He admired the way your breasts bounced slightly with every movement, he wanted to suck on them so badly but he'd be patient for now, he knew he'd get the opportunity later. You stepped off him for a moment to remove your panties, leaving you entirely naked in the field. Heat thought you looked like a goddess as you straddled back over him, the orange light of the fire making your skin glow like you yourself were a deity made of fire, your hair shiny and wild in the firelight like it was set a flame.

He watched with hungry fascination as you sat on his chest, your pussy within eyeline, glistening in the flickering light as you spread yourself for him with your index and ring finger while your middle finger ran circles on your clit. His hands travelled up your sides, making you shiver, till they found your breasts and grasped them, his thumbs flicking over your pert nipples, making you buck slightly.

He stuck out his tongue for you, begging for you to ride it, wide and hot and wet, and you smiled fondly as you accepted his invitation, lowering yourself onto his face with a moan. His hands moved to your thighs, wrapping around them and holding you down tight as he lapped at your pussy, bullying his thick tongue inside you. One hand reached around to play with your clit, and you leaned back with your hands on his strong thighs as you savoured his mouth on you.

“Ohh that feels so good pretty boy,” you moaned, one hand burying itself in his hair “good boy Heat, good boy”

He whimpered against you and doubled his efforts, your hips rolling and rutting against his tongue and nose on their own accord till you shook and came on his face with a short spurt of fluid. He nosed your clit as he used his tongue to clean you, moaning as the aftershocks of your orgasm rocked through your body. You shuffled off his face to sit on his midriff, leaning down to kiss him and tasting yourself on his lips, still wet with your release.

“Fuck,” you said with a shakey voice as you sat back up, “and here I was intent on riding that dick too, but you made me cum so damn hard my legs are jelly”

He gave you a proud grin as he sat up, moving you down to his groin with strong hands like you weighed no more than a bag of grapes. He pushed your hair out of the way to kiss your neck, running his tongue up it and tugging on your earlobe with gentle teeth. “Let me take care of you then, goddess,” he mumbled against your neck.

“Goddess? I like that,” you purred.

“I'm gonna,” he kissed down your chest, “worship,” kiss, “every,” kiss, “part of you.” You moaned as he took your breast in his mouth, running his tongue over your nipple and sucking on the malleable flesh before letting it go with a pop and moving to the other, his groans vibrating against your skin as you eagerly grinded against his clothed erection, leaving a wet spot on the front of his pants. God you wanted him so fucking bad.

“There's a blanket in my bag Heat,” you moaned as your hands threaded through his hair. Never before had you ever felt so intimate with a stranger, but the way Heat touched you and laid soft kisses over your chest and neck made you feel like you were with a long time lover. “Lay me down and make love to me”

“Whatever you want, my goddess,” he groaned against your bare skin. You slid off his lap and grabbed your bag, handing him the blanket. He laid it over the grass and offered you his hand, and he helped you lay on the blanket, the fire still lighting you in a warm orange that made his dick twitch at your beauty. So smooth and soft in the firelight, bare to him like you'd emerged from the fire itself just to sate your lust with him, a humble devotee, blessing him with your mere presence.

You watched with hungry eyes as he removed his clothes piece by piece, devouring him with your eyes as more and more of his muscular body was revealed to you, a hand between your spread legs to touch yourself as you watched him. The firelight made small glints on the underside of his large cock as he stood in front of you stroking it, the two of you getting off on watching each other get off, and you bit your lip as you realised he was pierced and the glints were the light catching on the metal ball bearings. His cock was somehow longer than Killer's, wider towards the end, a set of three piercings like a ladder up the underside.

Enjoying the goddess roleplay he was setting, you leaned into it, slipping off your sandals, the only items you still wore, and lifting a foot to point it towards him. “Come worship me, come show your goddess how devoted you are”

He stepped closer and took your ankle in his hand, running his tongue up the sole of your foot, making you squirm at the tickling sensation. He groaned as he took your big toe in his mouth, sucking on it and watching you with a dark look in his eyes that made you unbearably wet. It was quickly clear to you that Heat enjoyed feet, you often found that men were more willing to let themselves go to their kinks when it was with a stranger, and you were happy to indulge even if it wasn't really your thing. Your other foot lifted and pressed against his cock, pushing it up against his abdomen so you were stroking him with the sole of your foot. He whined against and bucked against your foot, the piercings feeling strange and pleasant against your sole. Desperate to feel your wet heat on his aching cock, he kissed up your ankle, lowering himself to the blanket like a man kneeling at your altar as he kissed all the way up your calf and thigh. He stopped for a moment to enjoy your pussy, already craving that taste again like a man addicted, before you pulled on his hair with a whine, needy to have him inside you.

He took the hint and quickly fumbled around in his discarded pants, kneeling between your legs while you stroked him languidly and he searched his pockets. He pulled a condom from them and threw the pants aside. You let him go so he could put the condom on, and you spread wide for him as he lowered himself over you, his tip pressing against your entrance.

“Come worship me, Heat,” you moaned, your eyes locked with his as his brows furrowed and he sunk inside you. “Oh fuck, yes~”

His hands and mouth drifted over your body as he started to thrust into you, kissing and touching whatever he could reach, the pull of your walls on his cock driving him insane with lust. He leaned back and tucked his hands under your ass, forcing it upwards, the new angle making you whine as he supported you above the ground effortlessly while still fucking you hard at a rapidly increasing pace.

“You're so beautiful goddess,” he whined, “so fucking beautiful”

“I want your cum, worshipper,” you moaned, “show me how much you love your goddess, make me cream on your cock and paint me with your sacrifice”

He let out a throaty groan as his thrusts became irregular and desperate, fucking into you with everything he had. You reached down and rubbed your clit furiously, crying out as your orgasm crashed through you and you squirted, the hot liquid splashing against Heat's abdomen and dripping down his thighs, glistening in the firelight and soaking into the blanket beneath you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pulled out and tore off the condom, raising himself slightly to jerk himself off over your stomach, “I'm cumming goddess, fuck, accept my sacrifice please”

Long ropes of cum shot out over you, spraying over your breasts and neck with wet splats as he threw back his head and let out a carnal groan, one of his hands gripping your thigh for support. He crumbled on himself as he finished, his hand still wrapped around his softening cock, panting hard. When he finally came back to earth enough to admire his work, you ran two fingers up your stomach and swiped the cum, sucking it off your fingers with a satisfied hum.

“Such a good boy for me Heat,” you purred, “come lay with me, your goddess is pleased”

Heat collapsed on the blanket next to you, uncaring that you were covered in cum as he draped an arm over you and pulled you close. The two of you laid there for a while longer till you began to shiver, and Heat made quick work using his shirt to clean you up, only bothering to put his pants back on while you redressed yourself. He snuffed out the fire and carried your bag for you as he led you back to the campgrounds hand in hand. He was prepared to go back to his tent alone, but you insisted he stay with you, so the two of you curled up in your bed and you fell asleep with his warm chest against your back, his leg trapped between your thighs, and your fingers intertwined over your chest.

[NEXT PART]

[docochocart]

DOCORONPA R

CHAPTER SIX

[ trial ] (1/2)

All consuming pine trees were shaded by the teasing moonlight. The winding path took on an oversaturated yellow under the ancient headlights. Drummer sat forward in her seat, intently watching her way as she desperately sped through the campgrounds.

She could feel it, she was close.

It felt as though she'd been circling these grounds for an eternity, but Drummer was determined to defy the will of the camp. She had to escape, there was no other option-

There it was. A gap in the fence.

She must've missed it in her previous runs. This time she wouldn't let the opportunity pass.

Hastily tugging the wheel, Drummer put the truck en route for a clean escape. Adrenaline filled her every fiber as she pressed the gas pedal to it's limit.

A voice murmured from the backseat, Drummer frantically checking behind her. Ice Skater spoke in her typical condescending monotone:

"Watch out."

Drummer's head spun back to meet the road in front of her, but by then it was too late.

Drummer was only able to recognize Marine Biologist's terrified expression moments before the truck collided into her.

Her body unnaturally slid up the windshield, careening behind the speeding vehicle as an unrecognizable pile.

It's all her fault, isn't it?

*BEEP*

A succinct, hauntingly inhuman beep played over the sound speakers, awakening the campers to blinding LED lights shining overhead.

Drummer rustled around for a moment, the tone still ringing in her ears. Her body felt stiff. It hurt to move, it was agony to sit up. The groans of her peers showed her she wasn't alone in her pain.

After a few minutes, everybody was up on their feet. This courtroom was different, smaller this time.

As if crafted for this moment, there were six steel podiums circling a seventh podium in the center of the courtroom. A black star was printed onto the steel base of the center podium, clearly some sort of statement.

Drummer and the lot found their places in their podiums, nervously awaiting the parameters of this "trial."

MonoMaton was nowhere to be seen up until this point, a luxury that would end as soon as everybody had settled in:

"Greetings campers! I have bad news for you!"

Snapping to attention, the cast silently eyed the plush as it hopped its way over to its usual voyeuristic position:

"Due to the shenanigans of our last trial, I'm not allowed to talk to you anymore! How sad."

Rebel and Sailor scoffed at the announcement, with Ice Skater taking it a bit more seriously:

"And what does that mean for us?"

The plush produced a twisted giggle as it finally reached it's destination at the center podium:

"It means you have 25 minutes to come to a unanimous decision on Marine Biologist's killer."

The cast lurched in unison at this announcement. Only 25 minutes? That was less than a third of their usual time allotted. MonoMaton continued on while they reeled:

"Failure to correctly determined the blackened will result in singular execution, randomly selected out of the remaining campers. You will then receive 25 more minutes to come to an accurate conclusion? Got it?"

Rebel, unsurprisingly, questioned the validity of this system:

"Randomly selected, huh? Got a feeling you're choosing from a pool of 2."

MonoMaton didn't hesitate to respond to this allegaiton:

"Trust your gut."

Before a now infuriated Rebel could curse out the corrupt lamb, the floor of the center podium retracted. MonoMaton disappeared into the floor in an instant.

TRIAL START

Surrounding the cast, six Jumbotron screens displayed an already counting down timer. They had to get to work and fast.

Ice Skater, of course, led the charge:

"I think first it's important we try and establish a motive. Were there any campers that would've wanted Marine Biologist dead?"

Personal Trainer was quick to respond:

"Didn't Bartender like, hate you two?"

Sailor grumbled a defense for his fallen from the other side of the court room:

"We didn't really care about her."

Ice Skater turned a pointed glare in his direction:

"So you only hated me?"

Sailor drunkenly shrugged:

"Pretty much."

Ice Skater rolled her eyes before continuing:

"Anybody other theories?"

Drummer posited for a moment. Was there anybody Marine Biologist had crossed?

She snapped to attention after reaching deep into her memory, interrupting unsubstantiated Sailors drunken theories:

"I mean, it was her that got you and Cadet found out... right?"

Ice Skater looked offended for a moment, as if it were an accusation. Surprising even Rebel, the ice princess simply smiled before saying Drummer had a "good memory."

Sailor hopped back in:

"Oh yeah, she was kinda weird it was probably her."

Ice Skater continued guiding the discussion, warning Sailor to not get too ahead of himself. Welder concurred:

"Yeah, didn't we watch her head explode?"

A silent, collective nod moved the conversation past that theory. PT began to panic a bit after checking the time:

"But is there anybody we didn't see dead?"

The room pondered again for a moment, their first real moment of silence since the start of this rushed trial. Welder broke the silence:

"We never saw Bartender's corpse."

Sailor, angrier this time, stepped in for his absent friend again:

"She was eaten by fucking pigs, what corpse?"

Despite thinking Sailor had made his first good point in their entire time here, Drummer backed up Welder's theory:

"I mean, it's still the only body we never saw up close."

Sailor, visibly dehydrated, crashed out at Drummer:

"So watching her die wasn't enough proof? You aren't smart, lady."

Rebel opposed the booze breathed hunk:

"For all we know it coulda been a fuckin' screen on the floor there. Or that chip in our brains fuckin' with us."

Sailor's face was now as red as his dead friend's hair:

"How would they have gotten that video of her getting torn apart by pigs if she didn't get torn a fucking part by fucking pigs, bro?"

Ice Skater tried to put the conversation back on track, being blocked by an intrigued Drummer:

"I think that's well within their power actually. I think that's what Marine Biologist saw that pushed her over the edge, actually."

Ice Skater's attention turned to Drummer, her normal demanding tone returning:

"Elaborate."

Drummer did just that:

"It was too chaotic for me to really think about it at the time, but whatever footage Marine Biologist watched on that monitor clearly was haunting. They clearly are capable of faking something like that."

Surprisingly, Sailor managed to form a decent counter argument:

"Well then who's to say that any of the other deaths couldn't have been fake? They have a robotic plush sheep for christ sake."

Rebel interjected again, trying to push things along:

"Well, we only got about 5 minutes left so I say we go for the most obvious choice."

Personal Trainer contested:

"Don't you think we're risking it too much just going by a feeling?"

Rebel snapped back:

"Don't think we got anything else to go off of, besides, plush confirmed your life isn't on the line this round anyways."

The room fell silent following his blunt retort, so he continued.

If we waste our time arguing over imaginary details we might've seen we're gonna end up psyching ourselves into the wrong answer. Theres one body we didn't see in person, who's with me."

A silent nod from 4 of his peers confirmed that this rounds votes would go to Bartender. Sailor, however, wasn't gonna let this happen without a fight.

The drunken giant put on an embarrassing display of a tantrum as the cast called for a vote. His petty insults and weak defenses didn't do much to sway his peers as they were prompted to vote. His last remark managed to get a grimace from Rebel:

"I'm voting for you, coward."

Ice Skater finally chimed back in, suddenly infuriated:

"Don't be so fucking dense. Throwing away your vote with stakes this high isn't only self destructive, it's homicidal."

Sailor brushed her off, snorting before callously pressing the tablet in front of him:

"Whatever that means."

With all their votes cast, the timer cut out to a black screen. This void would quickly be filled by the cold image of MonoMaton, announcing the alleged blackened:

"Looks like the camper with the most votes waaaaaaas... Bartender!"

Shocker.

The plush paused, as if to build anticipation amongst the cast. The mounted shotgun above Rebel's head began it's all too familiar hum as MonoMaton withheld the verdict:

"Looks like you guys were... cor-"

*BAM*

The mounted shotgun over Rebel set off, along with every other gun in the room. After enduring the audible shock of 6 shotguns firing in unison, Drummer was surprised to find herself unharmed.

She opened her eyes only to be met with a thick, red fog filling the air. The blasts were all blanks, at least she hoped:

"Hello? Is everyone still there?"

Voices began calling back one by one, confirming their safety. First was PT, then Ice Skater, then Sailor, then Welder... then an all to familiar voice chimed in:

"Still alive."

Bartender stood somewhere in the red cloud, giggling in amusement of the audible gasps. Rebel was only confirmed alive when he groaned:

"Oh my fucking god."

Drummer covered her ears as what sounded like 1000 air conditioners blowing at once began harmonizing from all sides. Within seconds the room was clear of the artificial fog, revealing Marine Biologist's murderer:

FIFTH KILLER

ULTIMATE BARTENDER

"Miss me, sheeple?"

Ice Skater lurched in disgust at the sight of Bartender's face, as if she'd hoped to have been wrong. Drummer pounced before Ice Skater could manage words:

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, bitch."

Bartender teased the agitated girl:

"Go ahead, try it."

Drummer stood there for a moment, recalling what had happened when Daredevil attempted to escape his podium:

"I'll wait."

Bartender chuckled off the failed threat:

"Damn, what a pussy. Anyways, did you like seeing your bestie with her face all cut off?"

Drummer's heart began pounding, beginning to consider the odds of clearing the podium without getting caught by the hidden trap. Thankfully Personal Trainer interrupted her delusional gamble:

"Don't fall for this shit Drummer, she's not worth it."

Bartender shot PT a nasty look before muttering:

"Ugh, peasant."

Rebel cut the shenanigans short by finally asking the returning camper a question:

"How and why are you alive?"

Bartender grinned, all to excited to answer:

"Cuz some of us actually have the brains to pick the winning side, duh."

Before anyone could question what she meant by that, a gutter wail from Sailor temporarily broke Bartender's frame:

"HOW COULD YOUUUU..."

As his lungs ran out of air and his desperate cry petered into nothingness, Bartender answered with one word:

"Superiority."

Ice Skater finally through her hat in the ring:

"Enough of this childish shit. Who are you working for?"

Bartender shrugged, replying simply:

"Don't really know."

Ice Skater continued the line of questioning:

"Then how did you get this position."

Bartender giggled:

"There was an opening."

Ice Skater leaned in:

"When?"

Bartender rolled her eyes:

"This isn't an interview. We'll talk about what I want to."

Ice Skater strangely submitted to this:

"And what do you want to talk about?"

Bartender turned to look Drummer in the eye before coldly saying:

"Cutting that ugly bitch's face off."

Sailor wailed out again:

"YOU'RE REALLY SCARING ME, DUDE."

Ice Skater cut back in the second he ran out of breath again:

"She wasn't the only person you killed though. Did you already have this job when you murdered Streamer?"

Bartender furrowed her brow:

"Not a fuckin' interview."

Rebel piggybacked off Ice Skaters line of reasoning:

"Come to say, that sounds like the time a slot coulda opened up for ya, doesn't it?"

Bartender sighed:

"Ugh, stop embarrassing yourselves. That's my job."

Ice Skater pushed deeper:

"Was it Streamer that had this position before? Or Cowboy?"

Welder retorted before Ice Skater could finish:

"Well it certainly wasn't Cowboy, I can tell you that."

Ice Skater coldly brushed them off:

"We can't rule anything out at this point. Don't be childish."

Rebel joined in on ignoring Welder's feelings:

"Yeah... I mean the guy was always trying to boss us around and keep us in line n' shit."

Welder continued their romantically charged defense:

"Yeah, because he was a good fucking person who cared! Unlike you assholes."

Strangely Sailor chose to take offense to this:

"Hey! I care!"

Personal Trainer tried to rally the group:

"We're already off track again, guys."

Welder agreed:

"Yeah, let's just drop it."

Ice Skater refused:

"I'm sorry if it hurts your feelings, but your friend is a likely suspect."

Rebel nodded along as Ice Skater talked down to an increasingly peeved Welder.

Bartender docilely leaned against her podium:

"So nobody wants to talk about this girl's face being cut off?"

Welder ignored the subject of the trial, continuing to defend Cowboys audience to a crowd already thrown into discord.

The bickering parties went back and forth about the likelihood of this theory, Bartender repeatedly trying to regain her spotlight only to be ignored. Finally she cracked:

"Do you want me to just fucking tell you who it was? I'm fucking over this."

Ice Skater looked almost annoyed by the offer, but she bit. And she bit hard:

"FUCKING OBVIOUSLY."

Bartender cackled, it was the first time she'd managed to get under Ice Skater's skin like this. Clearly she'd wanted this for a long time, taking a moment to revel in it:

"Maybe I won't actually, I like seeing you so desperate."

Ice Skater attempted to regain her poise, but was visibly shaken by her own vulnerable display. Luckily, Drummer was about to rob Bartender of this pleasure:

"I think I know who the opening could have been."

Bartender prodded for the theory with a squint, Drummer spilled:

"It was Salesman, wasn't it?"

Drummer eyed down Bartender with the accusation. Bartender not budging an inch from her relaxed slouch:

"Are you stupid or something?"

Drummer continued:

"Who was it then? Feel like we're wasting time here."

Bartender rolled her eyes:

"Ugh, fine. You got me. It was Salesman. Now what?"

Ice Skater's head spun to Drummer in shock:

"How do you know that?"

Drummer shrugged:

"Bad feeling."

Welder questioned what this even meant:

"So is Salesman's like, behind this all? I don't get it."

Rebel retorted:

"Evidently not considering he's dead and we're all still stuck here."

Ice Skater went against her usual ally:

"Perhaps a torch of some sorts was passed on in his wake."

Rebel fired back:

"Or maybe he's wasn't head honcho to begin with, if she was even telling the truth about it being him."

He turned his furrowed brow to Bartender's center podium:

"If you're superior to us like you said, who's superior to you?"

Bartender scrunched her face in disgust:

"I don't like your phrasing, peasant."

Rebel smirked:

"Ok then. Who's your fuckin' boss, princess?"

Bartender groaned in protest:

"I told you, I dunno. Move on."

Ice Skater wasn't gonna let this go so easily though:

"Then who hired you?"

Bartender attempted to move on past this subject once more, taking another pot shot at Drummer:

"Thought faces only came off like that in the movies."

Drummer met her gaze, cold as ice:

"Is your boss in the room with us right now?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Philip Holsinger at TIME:

On the night of Saturday, March 15, three planes touched down in El Salvador, carrying 261 men deported from the United States. A few dozen were Salvadoran, but most of the men were Venezuelans the Trump Administration had designated as gang members and deported, with little or no due process. I was there to document their arrival. For more than a year, I have been embedded throughout El Salvador’s society, working on a book chronicling the country’s transformation. From the huts of remote island fishermen to the desk of the President, from elite homicide detective units to elementary school classrooms, I have interviewed government officials and everyday people, collecting stories that would shock Stephen King. I’ve stood in classrooms full of happy students which not long ago were empty, because children here once learned early that schools were places to be raped or recruited. I’ve interviewed killers in prison and sat with them face-to-face. As I stood on the tarmac, an agent with the U.S. Department of Homeland Security's ICE Special Response Team told me that some of the Venezuelans had weakly attempted to take over their plane upon landing. It wasn’t unusual for detainees to try to make a last stand, the agent said, guarding the doorway to the plane at the top of the gangway stairs. “They began to try to organize to overthrow the plane by screaming for everyone to stand up and fight. But not everyone was on board,” the agent said, cautioning me to be careful because some of the Venezuelans would fight once they were offloaded. 

Even if not fighting, almost all the detainees came to the door of the plane with angry, defiant faces. It was their faces that grabbed me, because within a few hours those faces would completely transform. The Venezuelans emerging from their plane were not in prison clothes, but in designer jeans and branded tracksuits. Their faces were the faces of guys who in no way expected what they first saw—an ocean of soldiers and police, an entire army assembled to apprehend them. One of the alleged organizers of the attempted overthrow fought the U.S. agents on the plane, cursing the Americans, the Salvadorans, President Nayib Bukele himself. El Salvador’s Minister of Defense, René Merino, who had been standing on the tarmac at the bottom of the gangway, rushed aboard, dragged the guy to the gangway himself, and flung him into the waiting hands of black-masked guards.

[...] Around 2 a.m., the convoy of 22 buses, flanked by armored vehicles and police, moved out of the airport. Soldiers and police lined the 25-mile route to the prison, with thick patrols at every bridge and intersection. For the few Salvadorans, it was a familiar landscape. But for a Venezuelan plucked from America, it must have appeared dystopian—police and soldiers for miles and miles in woodland darkness. The Terrorism Confinement Center, a notorious maximum-security prison known as CECOT, sits in an old farm field at the foot of an ancient volcano, brightly lit against the night sky. I’ve spent considerable time there and know the place intimately. As we entered the intake yard, the head of prisons was giving orders to an assembly of hundreds of guards. He told them the Venezuelans had tried to overthrow their plane, so the guards must be extremely vigilant. He told them plainly: Show them they are not in control. [...]

Inside the intake room, a sea of trustees descended on the men with electric shavers, stripping heads of hair with haste. The guy who claimed to be a barber began to whimper, folding his hands in prayer as his hair fell. He was slapped. The man asked for his mother, then buried his face in his chained hands and cried as he was slapped again. After being shaved, the detainees were stripped naked. More of them began to whimper; the hard faces I saw on the plane had evaporated. It was like looking at men who passed through a time machine. In two hours, they aged 10 years. Their nice clothes were not gathered or catalogued but simply thrust into black garbage bags to be thrown out with their hair. They entered their cold cells, 80 men per cell, with steel planks for bunks, no mats, no sheets, no pillow. No television. No books. No talking. No phone calls and no visitors. For these Venezuelans, it was not just a prison they had arrived at. It was exile to another world, a place so cold and far from home they may as well have been sent into space, nameless and forgotten. Holding my camera, it was as if I watched them become ghosts.

Time Magazine has a report on how the Venezuelans deported to El Salvador’s infamous CECOT prison as a result of Donald Trump’s anti-American misuse of the Alien Enemies Act, many of whom were wrongly deported there since they had no gang ties of any sort.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

did someone say THE HITCHER PART TWO NOTES?? (n again MANY thanks to @dallasgallant for recin' this to me AOUGH)

whenever vehicles move on screen it's always in this real choppy jerky move n I'm curious if that was in purpose or just the nature of. 80s movie.

'I'd didn't do it. I didn't do any of it' MAMA. YOU HAVE A LOADED GUN POINTED DIRECTLY AT HER HEAD. N A HAND OVER HER MOUTH. YOU ARE NOT LOOKIN INNOCENT!!

'do you beleive me?' 'sure. yeah' mama. I wouldn't belive your ass!! you got a gun!! you're pinnin me in!! you look guilty as sin!!

dog these cops LOVE to point guns at him. can yall chill out. oh fuck they wanna kill his ass huh.

OH SHIT SHES GOT THE GUN NOW. SHE SHOT THAT GROUND N I AUDUBLY WENT OW!!

mmmm so we have a bonnie n Clyde esque? situation. hm. that's interestin.

this is the THIRD time this motherfucker has tried to turn himself in. TURN YOURSELF IN THE NEXT TOWN! the cops in THIS town want to shoot you dead man. ok n theyre firin yeah.

mmm explorin the point in which a person becomes desperate enough to shoot. hmmm.

SHE DROPPED THE FUCKIN GUN.

OH him hittin the breaks so they fire at EACH OTHER. oh he kinda went insane on that I fear.

JESUS FUCK THOSE CARS ARE ROLLIN

man at this point what do you even do. like. you're just fucked. capital f fucked. even if you convince them you didn't kill the first few people. he's committed a LOT of crimes since then. so.

OH FUCK A HELICOPTER. man they are NOT fuckin around anymore.

DOG. they do NOT have reason or cause to be firin on him like this. everybody needs to chill tf out RIGHT now.

his whimpery lil 'oh god' my poor baby

HUH. so we're really doin the 'what if the villian was a Mary sue' thing hmm. HE JUST SHOT DOWN THE HELICOPTER WHILE DRIVIN N THAT MOTHERFUCKER ONLY GLANCED OVER LIKE TWICE.

'why didn't he kill us?' mama don't ask him. he don't know either. OH. but the way he's dodgin the question is so reminiscent of the hitchhiker in the very beginnin where Jim asks him where he's goin n the hitchhiker won't answer OUGH. Jim has basically in 24 hours become his unwillin protoge

so what's the move now. Just like. wander through the desert or.

I will forgive the layin in bed with shoes n jacket exactly ONCE cause hes had a real awful day but he's still on thin ice.

'I wanted to help him' jesus FUCK. hey. can I say somethin? Dallas 'is this what you get for helpin people?' Winston core

that bed is so bouncy. how am I meant to be takin this moment seriously. he's bouncin.

'I can explain it!' 'it ain't that simple. I already tried' he would know. man. he's tried to explain this shit to like 10 people n not a DAMN one believed him. not even her man.

this. not quite romance. is so fascinatin. it's not love. n it never could be. but you get the distinct impression. that maybe. if they had met in some other life. or maybe just in a world where Jim never stopped for that man. it could have been. but not anymore. n never again.

MAMA PUTS THATS PHONES DOWN

dog I know this showers bout to feel fuckin heavenly. he still has gasoline on him n blood n dust n all that shit. that shower might as well be the gates of heaven

'I just want you to know where I am' DO NOT TELL HIM THAT. NASH. PLEASE.

DOG. why the FUCK. how the HELL. did the hitchhiker get in this goddamn ROOM. get the ever lovin FUCK outta here.

oh I hate this. I hate this alot. get the fuck away from her. good lord.

her recognizin it's not Jim by his hands. hmm. I dunno what it is but there's somethin there. (thought on this some more. the hands of a killer vs the hands of the innocent. hmm. aough.)

DOG HIM RIPPIN THE TOWEL BAR OUT TO USE AS A WEAPON.

somethin just occurred to me. he's got no wallet. n she left her stuff on the bus. where did they get the money for this motel.

dog these shots are SO sick. him silloetted between the 18 wheelers in the head lights. STUNNIN shot.

who the FUCK are these clowns. man. a BREAK. just ONE.

oh MY god. I don't even wanna describe this to you guys. I hate this so fuckin much. Jesus. oh my god.

if I were Jim I'd be LOSIN my fuckin mind. OH. so NOW. you see. NOW you want my help. NOW you know I was tellin the truth. I'd fuckin THROTTLE those cops.

the hitchhiker returnin the gun to him MY god.

'they'll catch you.' 'yeah. sure. so what.' oh. my fuckin god. Jesus christ.

the parallels between the cops n the hitchhiker n forcin violence onto Jim. Jesus christ.

'do it.' 'shell die' 'god. you wasted it'

oh my god I nearly fuckin vomited. that was oh my fuckin god. oh my god oh my god.

'I can't tell you how sorry I am' oh they're sorry! they're sorry they're sorry they're sorry!! if I were Jim I'd go entirely psychotic. I'd fuckin SNAP man.

OH MY FUCKIN GOD. THE SCENE WHERE NIM REMEMBERS HIS NAME?? OH MY FUCKIN GOD MAN I HAD TO PAUSE THAT SHIT SO FAST. the SMUGNESS as he realizes Jim remembers my fuckin GOD.

Jim spittin in his face that shit was SO cathartic. he didn't have to say anythin. that was enough. GOD.

I hope Jim gets to kill this son of a bitch. please. please. please.

'are you ok?' n Jim just silently lookin over at the cop. DUMB fuckin question. the FUCK do you think huh.

am I tweakin. is he wearin different nikes?? who gave him new kicks.

'you'll never hold him' 'there somethin strange goin on between the two of you. I dunno n I don't WANNA know.' way to make bein hunted by a man across an entire state n driven to borderline insanity sound like a torrid love affair.

Jim looks so fuckin over it man.

OH. THE PARALLELS BETWEEN JIM N THE HITCHHIKER LOOKIN TO THE COPS GUNS.

MAMA PUT THAT THANG DOWN. JIM. I LOVE YOU. YOURE SO CLOSE TO GETTIN OUTTA THIS. PLEASE PUT THE GUN DOWN.

need to sketch this man immediately. that whole scene with him n the cop car is SO well shot man.

ohhh I hope Jim's gonna kill this son of a bitch. well. ideally I don't want him to ever go near that man again. but if he's gonna crash out at least let him kill.

STOP FUCKIN DROPPIN THE GUN.

OH. THE FUCKIN CIRCLE NARRATIVE. JIM PUSHIN THE HITCHHIKER FROM THE CAR. BUT NOW HES IN FRONT OF HIM.

oh were not fuckin around anymore huh. he's tryin to kill his ass frl

MAMA GIVE UP ON THE CAR. FIND THE GUN.

oh SHIT. THE WAY I AUDIBLY YELPED WHEN HE HIT THAT MOTHERFUCKER OH.

oh Jim is NOT fuckin around anymore huh. he's got that gun n he's not jokin.

so. there's no way he's really dead right. yeah. I had a feelin.

OH. JESUS FUCK. I THOUGHT THEY WERE GONNA GO WITH THE LIKE. 'NO I WONT KILL YOU CAUSE THEN ID BE AS BAD AS YOU' NOPE!! HE BLASTED THAT MOTHER FUCKER!!

oh MY god. this shot it fuckin gorgeous.

final thoughts. Jesus hell. holy fuck. oh my god oh my god oh my god. I would ONE HUNDRED PERCENT watch again n recommend. the lack of emotional pay off. the circular narrative structure. the frustration n palpable helplessness. dear god. the ONLY note I have is I think to have the last scene of the movie be Jim walkin up to the road n stickin his thumb out to hitchhiker. like. watchin that would have made me fuckin TWEAK. but jesus christ. yeah. watch this movie. NOW.

[archoneddzs15]

Microsoft XBOX - HALO

Title: HALO / ヘイロー

Developer: Bungie

Publisher: Microsoft Game Studios

Release date: 25 April 2002

Catalogue No.: K43-00002

Genre: First Person Shooter

"Combat Evolved" describes things very well. HALO was the killer app that Microsoft needed to sell consumers on the XBOX platform. The combat in HALO is indeed a step up from most FPS' and is challenging and fun. Enemies will duck and dive for cover, engage you in a variety of ways, and generally put up a good fight. What may even be more amazing is that your own team is not entirely useless. It may be one of the ground-breaking features of Halo that your own team actually puts up a good fight and helps you out by making themselves useful. No standing around looking curiously at the primed grenade at their feet or running into your line of fire (well at least not too much). They actually engage and kill the enemy effectively! On the other hand, maybe this says more about the incredibly sad state of AI in gaming than it says about the AI in Halo.

The vehicles are also very well done. It's immensely fun driving around in the Warthog with a gunner while fighting aliens or laying down the pain from a Banshee fighter. The Warthog, fun as it is, has somewhat odd driving characteristics though; it skids like Bambi on ice even when you drive on dry concrete.

Halo also has my favorite type of cut scene: the in-game engine cut scene. Not only that, they're also reasonably well-directed with a certain flair that gives them a movie-like quality. No talking heads here.

One positive thing that actually surprised me was Master Chief himself. I had expected a DOOM-style mute hero, but it turns out Master Chief talks and actually has a personality. Granted, he doesn't have the "charm" and "charisma" of Duke Nukem but he's no Gordon Freeman-style mute either. I really don't care much for the personality-free protagonist style of Half-life and DOOM. It works in DOOM because there's really no one around for your character to talk to but when people are talking and addressing you and your character just says nothing it just gets a bit weird.

The Covenant is an interesting collection of alien races with unique traits. I almost feel bad every time I shoot a grunt. With their runt, short appearance, high-pitched voices, and the clumsy way they carry their weapons, especially when panicking, they have a very child-like appearance to them. In some ways, the grunts are more disturbing than The Flood. Unfortunately, we get to know almost nothing about the Covenant and its alien races other than "they want to kill all humans".

It's also a plus that there are no boss fights, just increasingly difficult battles.

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

BYD Seal U interior review

P.S. In fact, the video gives an answer as to why the tariffs introduced by the EU and USA will not save legacy automakers, who are struggling to keep up with their badly overpriced electric cars. Economies of scale work in favor of China's electric car makers...

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.7)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary: Kidnapped, heartbroken, and thoroughly pissed off, you become a one man team- breaking through restraints, into houses and cars to find a way back home.

Warnings: 5000~ words, light swearing, blood, violence, torture.

A/N: these chapters keep getting longer and longer it seems. I will try and hold back my yapping... anyways! hope you all enjoy! :)

Masterlist | Taglist Request | un-edited.

Body bruised and scraped from being thrown around with the various landscaping tools around you, your head slammed against the door as the vehicle came to a halt. You took deep breaths in and out, picking up the dead-fish smell in the air. You were near the industry sector and by the sounds of the gravel crunching beneath everyone’s feet, you were upshore. 

Three slams against a metal door and it creaked open and you pushed inside, stumbling with the bag over your head and losing balance as your feet were chained together as well. Shuffling back to a stand, the men above you laughed before a bucket of ice cold water was drenched over your body making you instantly shiver. 

Breathing in through your nose sharply as the bag was then torn off your head, you found yourself lazily strapped to a wooden chair- it creaked everytime you shifted your weight. Eyes blurry to the newfound light, you blinked a few times before the once blob in front of your face turned into features and a broken-toothed smile was gracing just before your lips. Their cigarette breath causes bile to rise up in your throat yet you kept a natural expression, staring between their eyes to the crooked bridge of their nose. 

A cigarette was being lit to your left side, they flicked the ashes on your suit as the sparks burned against your skin. Taking a quick glance down, you tried not to frown seeing your once beige suit now a tattered mess of brown and grey with various cuts breaking the soft plaid pattern. The head man, the one to choke you in the first place, takes a step back and sits on a metal chair behind himself, taking a drag of the shared cigarette before mockingly dangling it in your face. “Want a drag, dearest?” 

You make no comment, just staring off past his shoulder, silently observing your surroundings for more clues. You press your head against your shoulder, mocking a scratch behind your ear as your comms flood your eardrums once more. Samantha is crying and losing her actual shit as John raises his tone at one of the nearby officers- not allowing him to check the security footage. That makes sense as to why Samantha is currently losing it- more unnecessary work to hack into the system. 

Thinking to yourself, this is more relaxing, getting to sit down and take a break, being on the receiving end of the saving than being the sole savior. You can’t help but produce a small smirk as you roll back your shoulders and lean back into the chair, spreading your legs for comfort. “You gettin’ comfortable there? Good, enjoy it while you can. God knows- I know- the work you’ll be doing after this with a body like yours.” 

You chuckle, foot now dragging up his leg and positioned in his lap. “But why go through all the hassle, sir? When I could stay, just, right… here” you foot ghosts over his lower abdomen, you relish the sharp intake of breath that signals success. “Mmm, well as good as that would be for the both of us…” he takes a drag of his cigarette, finishing it off on your leg as it places a burn mark on your ankle. “...my brothers could use someone like you, a fighter, a killer of their own. Takes a special kind of fucked up to do the things you have done…” his hand now drags up your leg, fingers dancing over every cut to touch the skin of your leg as you stay still. 

“...and if you remain that kind of person for em’, I can only promise rewards beyond your imagination,” he finishes with, stopping his chase of skin at your upper thighs before carrying your leg off his lap and standing. “Now before we get started, is there anything you wish to tell your newest contractor?”

“And what information would that include?” you press forward, blinking twice. “Anythin’ you are wishing to share before I force it outta ya, making both of our jobs easier.”

“Ask your men to leave and I’ll be an open book, can have a nice date about it,” you counter-offer, smile returning to match his one. With one motion of his hand, the room clears outside of the warehouse, the rusty door creaking closed to a slam. “Speak.”

“I was contracted to Greece in order to capture that royal you were after-”

“Who was your contractor then?” They lean forward, as if smelling your hair as you face forwards, tone even. “Undisclosed- manager wanted utmost privacy and I respected that, which made the job easier in the end.”

“And if the job was as easy as you said, why waste tears over a tool to be used for the bag?” They whisper into your ear, you swear to feel them smirk as a bead of sweat drips down your forehead, racing towards the muddied floors below. You wrap a leg around your chair, your hands almost free from the cheap rope they used from the gardiners truck as you access the best way to take this man to the ground and to make your escape. 

“I am loyal,” you state, the one truth you have slipped today. “Well that is a blessing and a curse, we have a dilemma on our hands already with you…” His hand drifts up, resting on the back of your neck. You pray that Samantha shuts the fuck up in your ear, unknowling if he can hear her screaming or not. “...Very, very loyal it seems. I am disappointed. Seems as though you already need a lesson, a shame.”

And with that, his fist slams against the bag of your head as you fall towards the floor, finally freed. You snake your feet around his ankles, forcing him down with you and cover his mouth with one of your hands, racing to unhook your necktie as you force it around his throat, trying to buy yourself more time by muffleing his pain. He uses his body weight to roll out from under you, slamming a kick to your side as you curse out. The tie falls around his neck as he wobbles to a stand and you begin to run, hearing the doors slam open as your hand just graces the exit. 

Bullets are flying around your head as you duck and weave over the various barrels in the room, looking for a window as another set of guards burst through the door you were just about to use. Quicking throwing yourself back around, you twist your arm with the motions, a series of knives falling from between your suit's fabric and directly between their eyes. Pressing your hand to your ear, “I need immediate evac, industry sector, meeting at south rally point when available.” 

Glass cuts across your face as you fly out the window and roll into a run. Trees rip past and blur your surroundings as you follow the sun above you. The sounds of the sea call to you as you make a sharp turn in their direction, their shouts muffled by the ringing in your ears as you hear your shallow breathing, feel as if time is moving slowly for you once more as your body jerks forward. A dull aching feeling against your back, they managed a shot. 

The sound of a boat horn slams through your consciousness as you slip down a hill, lengths over extending as you race onto a rammed road filled with cars against the coastline. Drivers honk as you race between cars in the road, policemen call after you, guns raised as well as you race to the front of the accident. A series of cars wait, driving slowly past the crash, the car nowhere to be seen but the rip in the divider separating road from sea as you shake your head before ripping over a divers door.

The woman shrieks at you scream out apology after apology, ripping the keys out from her hands before slamming on the gas and racing down the seaside. Sirens sound from behind you as you see the red and blue lights flashing in your rearview mirror as you curse out. Drifting around a corner as the radio decides to start itself in the junk of a car you managed for yourself. 

You roll your eyes at the “white girl” music plays through the radio as you find yourself soaring through another seaside town, car picking up the various displays set on the small street as lights attach to your side mirrors, carrying them down the street with you like a “just-married” car. 

You make a sour face at the thought, eyes saddening as look around your surroundings for directions to the nearest rallypoint, the cops in mad pursuit still behind you, some even sneaking up the road in front. A spike trap sounds, popping your wheels as sparks behind to fly, you punch open the window as the song finishes to your bumper crashing into the side of a building. You fall out the side of the car, running up the skin as your legs and lungs burn. Adrenaline causing your hands to feverishly shake as you climb up the lattice of a townhome and crash into their living space. A little boy screams at you as you hold your hands up, pleading that you do not mean to harm the small child before you race down the galley kitchen and slam into the wall, turning to find another glass door to a balcony where the next apartment appears empty. 

Jumping across the balcony and onto the next, you break the glass door, and feel for the door handle on the other side. It is dark and sparsely decorated. You feel around the kitchen for a cup, taking a minute to take a sip of water from the tap before throwing the glass to the floor- trying to hide any biological evidence of yourself before looking wildly for the stairs downstairs.   

You fail to hear your communications during this chase, your radio buffering in and out as you curse out to Simon's concerned voice asking for an update to your location. You finally find the stairs, emerging onto the town streets once more as you hide yourself in an alleyway. Watching as the blue uniformed men and women carry up the street. Looking over the various backdoors, you find a logo with a dress on it and softly open and close the door to what appears to be a storage room. 

You shuffle through the various boxes, finding a range of formal garments and finally at the back, a box of clothes to be donated; shoes and casual wear alike, as you strip yourself of your tattered suit and force it into the bottom of the box. You press your hair down, taking out your earring- knowing that they would make you some serious cash from being pure gold as you strip off your watch with a sad wince. Note to self, no longer wear gifts on missions. 

Walking back onto the street with a more casual stride, you find a pawn shop a few blocks down as your stomach gurgles and gain a few thousands dollars that you stuff into your pockets as the shopkeeper does not bat to fucks to. Clothes, Money, check and check. 

You just needed food, a good drink and a car out of here. Thankfully you found a small street-side vendor as you ordered yourself an espresso shot and breakfast sandwich as your mouth salivated at the sight of it. Humming out contently at the taste of it as you walked back down to the seaside to examine your destruction- stealing a hat off a rack as you walked down the streets. The fedora covered your features as you pressed your head down, taking another sip of your drink while eyeing around for a phone. 

A tourist couple was just about to pay for a bill- perfect. “Excuse me,” you smiled brightly at the two of them, “Is there anything we can help you with?” The woman asked kindly, her charming posh british accent relaxing your features. “Yes, would you mind if I made a quick call to my spouse on the phone- I can’t seem to find them down here.”

“Ah, no problem dear! Here you are, take as much time as you need, we are just finishing up here.”

“Thank you so much!” You flash another smile back, turning your back as it drops just as quickly, your fingers fly across the digits as two rings pass and Kyle's voice sounds in your ear. “Who is this?”

“Oh Kyle darling,” you fake a loving tone, breathing out an exaggerated sigh of relief as your eyes scan the streets. “I can’t seem to find you anywhere, see I am waiting at…” you look up to see the restaurant's name. “... Lola’s, where are you currently?”

You humm to every word he speaks, nodding your head lightly as you grip the phone, smiling at an officer that passes you by with a tip of their hat. “The team and I are about thirty minutes out from your location, are you able to keep this phone?”

“No, sorry dear, I do not see you, ummm, is there a place we could meet up between the both of us?”

“I am dear now?” Kyle chuckles out, “What happened to darling?” you roll your eyes, coughing for him to cut the crap. “Walk 10 minutes east through the alleyways till you see Pearl Bar and Shop, silver car.” 

“Alright! Heading over now, see you in a few sweetheart!” and you end the call, sending a thanks to the couple before making your way back into the town core. Various scooters race past you in bright colours, kids kick their soccer balls around the fountain as mothers sit on its ledge, snapping pictures happily. You smile sadly at the sight, your eyes drifting back to the sea, to Whitby, as a cold breeze snaps against your skin as you stumble from the pressure of its ghast and slide back into the alleyways- towards the meet point. 

--

“You look like shit,” Soap comments ever-so-kindly with a chuckle before offering you a sip of beer as you sit at the back of the plane on your way back to headquarters. “Well you kill fifteen guys, one of them your potential spouse, get kidnapped, traumatize a child and then sit on a plane with four men for the next few hours.” 

“Well when you put it like that…” you shove his shoulder, walking further up the plane and check up on Simon in the cockpit. “How much longer we got?” you groan out, pressing your head against the doorway as Ghost takes a quick glance back at you, setting the plane to autopilot. “You holding up alright, Handler?” Not answering your question as you send him a glare. 

“What do you all fuckin’ think- you all seem to high and jolly with this shit-”

“And you appear like it's not affecting you all that much-” 

“WELL WHEN ELSE HAVE YOU SEEN ME A DISHEVELLED MESS IN A FEDORA AND SANDALS?” you scream out, taking another deep sink of your drink, sliding against the wall and to the floor as Gaz unbuckles himself from his seat to kneel in front of you. “I am sorry you have had to go through these things, Dee…” you shake your head at his words. 

“No you all don’t understand-”

“No, we do Daniels, and here's the thing. It only gets more fucked up from here on out, you lose the ones you love, you hate yourself for it, you want to fucking kill them yourself for making you feel guilty, kill everyone, kill yourself. We all wanna do it, we all have people we are fighting for- livin’ and dead but here's the thing. Its a job at the end of the day, no matter how fucked up it is, no matter how much we cry and bitch about it- we do our job so that other’s hands stay clean,” John states, turning around from the other piloting seat as he now leans against the doorframe, looking down at you. 

You stay quiet absorbing his words as he continues to speak, “we will mourn the loss, he was a good man- a great man to all the good he did for others but he wouldn’t want you this way. Not even right after his death- he always cheered on your fight. Now the decision is up to you, are you staying to fight or are you gonna wallow and retire?” 

You nod your head along before slamming your head back against the metal wall, needing the coldness to ease the tension in your muscles. “I’m gonna fight,” you speak in a soft tone- still trying to convince yourself of the idea. “... thank you, John. You’re the first person to not sugar coat my losses… needed to hear it.” 

John hums out, leaving down to give your shoulder a squeeze in an awkward side hug before taking control of the plane once more as Simon moves to take a nap at the back of the plane. “Want another beer?” Johnny yells as Simon throws a pillow in his face. You press your hand into a thumbs up, leaning so the signal is visible from down the hall as the glass bottle rolls to your feet as you and Gaz take sips while in a staring contest with one another.

--

12:00 PM | Spring | Eglinton Funeral Home and Cemetery 

You are severely drunk at Whitby's funeral, his parents stand to the side, unknowing to who you and your entourage was that stand at the back underneath a willow tree whose branches drift off towards the sun's rays. 141 and you are dressed to the tens in three-piece suits, pure black accents - you all are shadows of yourselves. Watching as the family and friends walk away you step forwards and stand in front of the open casket, the first thing you notice is his missing glasses. Fixing a hair on his rested head your fingers shake over his cheek before grasping his hand one last time. To your surprise when you unravel it, a diamond ring falls out into your palm as you chuckle back a sob and place it into his suit pocket- right above his heart. 

You bow your head, whispering a prayer before taking one last look and finally turn your back on the past. You stumble in your shoes over the uneven pavement stones towards the event hall where ushed cries and somber music play with trays of fresh fruit displayed against the back wall. You blow your nose into your handkerchief before guzzling down a glass of water as Gaz pats your back reassuringly when a family member walks by, glaring at your group. They all didn’t know the shit you both got up to together, how close you were- close to so much more… 

Shaking your head, John came back with a plate of fruit for you all to pick at as Whitby’s will is read aloud. You need to sit as you fumble with the buttons of your suit, suddenly feeling too hot as the rest of your crew stands around to shield you from the curious stares of the fellow funeral goers. “Friends, Family, and those connected to Sir Wyatt Whitby. We gather here today to remember a man of great strength, who served his country and had a great sense of humor.” 

A series of posh chuckles sound around the room as you feel yourself mentally drifting further and further away from this moment. You would have never fit in with his family, if you ever were to tell them of the danger you put their son into… you probably wouldn’t be breathing any longer… and with that thought, there was a deep part of you that believed you deserved such treatment from your more recent history. 

--

In the few months leading up to the funeral, Whitby’s body had been frozen and preserved so that the headquarters could stage a more believable death to the agent for his remaining family and outside friends. This violently disgusted you, having to see him every time you went to check biological evidence with the scientists in the west wing. Yet John’s words were concrete, pouding in your skull, “fight like he would want you to…” and so you did, and rather brutally at that. 

You forced yourself back onto the field, demanding it from upper management- refusing promotion after promotion as Samantha became your new Handler in this turn of events. You often wore dark blue navy suits to hide the blood that drenched every part of the fabric as you shot and hacked away at various bodies on your missions. No witnesses to be left between you and the goal. You will never forget the fearful eyes of that one politician as you gripped their shoulder into the helicopter, your bloody hand staining their crisp white shirt and some of it began to drip into your eye from your hair yet you could not care. 

Management was thoroughly satisfied with your independent work- you were the most requested contractor. Money was following in- so much so that you lost reasons to spend it, letting the stacks build under your floorboards and in your jacket pockets before you were floating between bodies, drugs, and the bottom of empty bottles with glasses smashed against dust on the bartop. 

You were far gone, everyone at headquarters joked that you had taken form to a rockstar as you flipped them the bird. Sitting at your desk as you choked down a coffee and pain medication, your head still pounding in rhythm to last night's DJ as you swirled around your desk chair, looking up at the ceiling as if you were dancing. 

Laswell had called you endlessly, begging for you to reply after every night so she knew you made it home alright, that not another one of her close friends was gone in this line of work. You Stopped replying, 141 never showed up for their last mission, and when you looked at yourself in the mirror- you were as good as dead. Severe bags under your eyes, sex hair was your new hairstyle as lipstick stained every shirt you wore- matching the deep reds of your suits. You were fighting to keep yourself alive, is this what Whitby would want? You chuckle darkly to yourself, calling out to the new secretary that you would be taking your break at the storefront as you lit a cigarette, tapping the embers to the street as your ankle burned in memory. 

You leaned against the bright building, blowing the smoke to meet the clouds above as you savoured the bitter taste in your lungs. Your throat burned for more drink, your eyes dry but when a shadow overtook the sun, you opened your eyes- surprised to find them closed and saw a masked-face man tilting his head down at you. “Hello Simon, come to tell me off?” you press, throwing your cigarette to the ground and stopping it down with your boot. 

“No. But I am here for our last mission.”

You humm out, trying to rack your tired mind as to when you have received a new debrief. “Fill me in them,” you state, feeling around your suit for another distraction before a gloved hand grips your wrist gently, pulling it out of your suit jacket and down to your side. They do not let go, just looking over your shoulder before leading you back inside the building where Laswell waits, leaning against the counter as she speaks to Samantha. Gaz views the various ties in the display cabinet as Johnny forces himself not to touch the various new products in the windowsill. John observes everyone from the front door and you can’t help the heartache that bellows in your stomach to the scene before you- so reminiscent of your first meeting together. 

Laswell runs over, pulling you into a hug as her nose scrunches up at the bruises against your throat and the cigarette breath you breathe. You pat her back stiffly before she pulls away, wiping away a few tears as you lean against the stair railing that leads to the supplies room upstairs. Simon stands still behind you, giving Samantha a nod as she turns back around the counter and disappears into the back. 

John walks slowly up to you, replacing Kate as he frowns at the sight of you. You wince at his features scrutinizing your every decision that leads to now before looking down at your boots, unable to meet him in the eyes any longer to the guilt that consumes your being. “I would say it's good to see you again, but I was worried you would be something like this when we got called back-”

“Thanks John, just what I wanted to hear…” you interrupt sarcastically, moving around the man to hug Gaz and Soap in greeting before sitting on top of the counter- right beside the till. Laswell leans against the wood beside you, looking through the various emails on her phone as you start to tap your nails against the treated wood. 

“... I fought, long and hard I hope you all know. But now… now I think- I don't actually think,” you laugh to yourself as Gaz winces, looking towards his Captain who had yet to drop his attention from you. John walks up to you once more, holding up your chin so that your eyes meet. You cast him a cheesy fake smile as he hums out, “I’m sorry…”

“What for?” you raise a brow, not clicking in his somber tone as Laswell stares sadly into the side of your head- thinking that you are unknowing. 

“For not showing you what to fight for. It's one thing to say something, another to not follow through,” John finishes speaking, dropping his touch as you hold your head up more clearly as you look around the room. “Not your fault, everyone!” you announce, clapping your hands together as you move to stand and walk around the counter, trying to move back to headquarters- brushing off the words. “Sorry for making you all come back here, I’m still here, no need for worry or anything…” 

“But that's just the thing,” Soap comments as you snap your head back to face him. “We are staying here for our next mission.”

“Then what is this fucking mission?” you stress back out, pinching the bridge of your nose as the nicotine has started to wear off. 

“You,” Gaz states simply, throwing a tie your way with a smile. 

“Now it's time to get to work,” Laswell announces, shoving you through the door as you begin to protest and that's how you found yourself here, at this funeral with a bunch of strangers unknowing to his actual death and task force 141. 

--

Your attention snaps back to the will presenter at the sound of your name, “And to my dearest-Dee, thank you for teaching me that the present is enough of a gift that you need not worry about the past or future. I love you darling, and maybe one day we will dance together again but for now- it's time you took some lessons and find a new partner, I will be waiting to see all your new moves and maybe then you will finally tell me your first name.”

You burst out laughing, it echoes throughout the hall, cutting through every tear, sob, and face filled with sorrows. Your shoulders bend up and down rapidly as you clench at your stomach, folding yourself in half as you almost fall off your chair. Soap was not there to place a hand to your shoulder to halt any further movements. You look up to the ceiling, watching as the sun casts through the skylights above as you blink away your tears, trying to even out your breathing while fanning your cheeks with your hands as the reading presumes once more and you make your way outside.

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt @no-lessthan3 @cod-z

[signanothername]

UT/UTMV silly asks Masterpost

All Masterposts

This will only include silly asks

*tip! Those in red text will contain an explicit discussion/visual display of some sort of trigger/content warning, these could be blood, emotional or physical abuse, emotional manipulation, death, self destructive behaviors, implied or discussed suicidal ideation, suggestive content or other sensitive topics

*tip! Those in orange text will contain an implied or mentioned trigger/content warning but no explicit discussion/visual display

*tip! Asks with 💬 are without art, only text

Let me know if I missed color coding anything :)

haha short nightmare short!! shorty!!!

obsessed with how u do killer btw.

I WANT TO EXPLODE YOU

Could you draw a Nightmare sitting on a cut tree trunk (their mom)?

Just wanna say keep up with the angst

Mean girl Nightmare

He’s just a silly little girl causing some chaos <3333

Could I please have a little sketch of nightmare "protecting" Dream from Cross

When confronted with his future self, Passive's first instinct is to push Dream behind him 💬

*Explodes but not in a gay way*

*Returns back just to explode in a gay way*

I forgot to kiss the homies goodbye.

What do you think about swapdream?

Why do you like Killer 💬

If you had to give your favourite sanses vehicle modes what would they be? 💬

Nightmare, do you still love your brother? If you don't why don't you kill him at all?

Consider nightmare in grunge fairycore fashion

Killer with kitties

What gave it away????

if there‘s a „Something New“, is there a „Nothing Old“

opinions on skeleton appreciation day :>

cat socks

Color spectrum duo

Guest offer

i’m so happy to see ccino getting more attention!!

ccino our cutie pie <3

i thought nm was doing the mr beast pose for a sec lolol

opinions on Asylum Sans (Asy)???

do you like afterdeath??? Can we get some?

A tiny Nightmare sketch

Shapshifter

do you have any other plans for misplaced hatred? im kind of really obsessed with it

Do you think you might add more onto the misplaced hatred comic soon?

Silly sneak peek

Murder sketch

Nightmare sketch (foreshadowing????)

Bitty Nightmare

Bitty Killer

POKE HOLES IN THE TOPS OF THE JARS

Doodle without context

doodle with your non-dominant hand

Burnt at the stake

Mad scientist Killer

fugly ass heels

Yummy angst

Friend dynamic

Nightmare angst

Fresh

What if the Apple incident was more historically accurate for the time

Sci

Wips and sketches

Ink has certain devices that helps him in warning that he's ruining low of paints

can you do a doodle of nightmare with his hood up please?

Gay

Killer stress ball

What if Nightmare had hair

Consider Nightmare

Hey Dream can you make something or someone health Nightmare's legs or make some mental legs for him?

Ccino and Nightmare

Ink and the Nightmare gang

who is your favorite utmv papyrus?

i love your work so much man it's like the highlight of my day when you post ‼️‼️‼️

That's mean that Killer is probably a Sugar Daddy

i love how you're just THE killer sans person now

I want somebody convincing Dream to smoke

What do you nightmare does, keeps Negativity balanced or he just spread Negativity 💬

What kind of music do you think the bad sanses listen to

bro i'm such a fan of error just massively shitting on nightmare 💬

If Killer are interrest by Cross’ blood and Souls, did he’s interrest by Cross’ unique soul ? 💬

If Nightmare's an ice-cream flavour, what would he be? 💬

What do you think is Killer's favourite ice cream flavour? •w• 💬

Something about Killer is actually scary to me 💬

His fire burned out a long time ago 💬

Golden flower tea 💬

Wait, I'm sorry but in the comic where Killer almost cuts someone's eye out, is that Color or Nightmare? 💬

the short kings go for the kneecaps 💬

Hey, do you think it'd be funny if Killer and Nightmare gossiped about other people together? 💬

nah i can't belive killers just resting his head on nightmares lap like that while nightmare pets him 💬

If Nightmare knew about every spectrum he was on 💬

they, for no particular reason, are wearing cat ears

Cat coded Cross 💬

What is your opinion of Killer with freckles

Silat Sans

I think Toga and Ochako are very Colourkiller

Soriel

I was wondering if there were any nightmare ships you like? Romantically or Platoniclly 💬

Killer costume change

What do we think of apple twins being able to do photosynthesis because their mother is a tree💬

either think THEY'RE the taller twin and that's what they tell everyone

What do you think everyone smells like? Especially killer? 💬

do you think NM could grow or make shift wings out of his tendrils or goop?

Killer and lil Paps

Human Nightmare and Dream

Killer as Human?

I really want to lick Colors ankles

Nightmare likes to shift his fingers into something more claw like

Teddy

I think Dream deserves a gun

Your nightmare has the vibe of a scared stray cat 💬

[snicker-doodles-666]

Our Little Game of

Cat and Mouse Pt. 3

|Trigger Warning: Brian is his own, so is Jane at this point, gore/murder, stalking, flashbacks to rape, first kill|

Word Count: 8k

Chapter Three: Icy Discoveries

Jane’s POV

One shot.

One shot from my gun was all I could do.

My would started spinning.

Placing a hand down on the top of my Impala to ground myself I took a deep breath.

I slump down, back into the drivers seat.

“Fuck.”

I lean down on the passenger seat and retrieve my phone from the floor, flipping it open and scrolling down to Dexter’s contact I gave him a quick ring.

“Hey Jane, is everything okay?” He asked upon answering.

“The son of a bitch hit me and got away.” I responded, giving a subtle pause.

“But I am fine. Can’t say the same about my passenger side.” I finished.

I angrily jammed my keys into the ignition and gave them a good jerk sideways.

The Impala’s engine roared to life.

“Yeah baby, we’re still in business!” I yelled as I slammed both my hands on the steering wheel repeatedly with excitement, still holding my phone.

“Ya hear that Dex! She’s purring!” I continued yelling into the phone.

“Yup.” Was his only response, a very Dexter response.

He wasn’t a car guy so it was a reasonable response.

Playing around with the shifter in neutral I slap it into first and with some light foot work my Impala began its intimidating roll.

‘Well not so intimidating now, I might actually kill this fucker for hit and running my baby.’

“Anyone show up for you yet?” I casually brought up.

“Not yet.” Dexter murmured.

“Okay, I’ll drop off the Impala and meet back up with you in the Accord.” I proclaimed before hanging up.

It was only when I pulled into my garage and got out of my vehicle that I truly saw the damage.

It wasn’t even too bad. Easy fix, thank fuck.

‘I really love my tanker.’

Now following through with my promise, I swapped keys and departed my home once more, joining Dexter in the Waiting Game.

It was about another week before there was any new news about the killer.

‘And in that week I fixed that fucking dent and the scuffed paint.’

But back to the new news, it was amazing, perfect even.

The ice truck had been found by my lovely, soon-to-be partner, Deborah Morgan.

To my relief u was her first call before dispatch, I don’t exactly know why but I love her for it.

Pulling up behind her BMW, I hoped out and strolled up to her driver side window.

As I walked up and squared down next to her door, Deborah rolled her window down.

“Wanna go take a looksie?” I ask with a happy chirp in my tone.

“No dispatch said to wait for back up.” Deborah imposed.

“Buzzkill.” I comment, giving her a dramatic, double thumbs down then looking over to the trunk for a decent moment.

“So how long are they gonna take? I want coffee and there’s literally a cafe right behind me.” I chimed, tearing my gaze away from the truck and back over to poor nervous ridden Deb.

“I got off the phone like five minutes before you got here.” She informed me, unable to tear her gaze away.

I shrugged and snuck off to the cafe.

As I walked up to the counter I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

Choosing to accept it and putting off scanning my surroundings till after I’ve ordered and payed for my usually:

A hot triple expresso shot mocha.

Waiting for my drink I began eyeballing around my surroundings through my peripherals.

‘Quite conspicuous I might add.’

I didn’t notice anything or anyone who seemed too out of place.

That was until my eyes landed on quite the looker, sitting alone at a corner table next to the windows.

He was gazing out the windows as if he was focused on something outside of the cafe.

He had lightly curly raven hair but as the sun shined down on him you could see hints of brunette highlights scattered about, the way the light hit his eyes made them look green, very masculine features, defined jaw, clean shaven…

‘Kissable lips.’

He wore a white button up with a dark blue tie, sleeves rolled up his forearms.

‘Mm his arms, his hands.’

A watch was wrapped around his wrist and had black dress pants and black dress shoes.

‘God you whore, quit drooling over him.’

‘I think I really need to get laid.’

“Jane, your usual.” The young female Cuban barista called to me as she slid my mocha across the counter to me.

To which I grabbed, “Thanks Jazzie.” I chimed with a smile.

I turned around and looked ahead outside of the cafe, to the ice truck, only to see back up was now arriving.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna miss this.” I say aloud to myself and scurry out of the cafe.

Quickly joining the team outside of the rear end of the ice truck, “Let me do it! Let me do it!”

Angel had just grabbed the ‘industrial grade’ bolt cutters for the lock on the truck.

“Okay, okay, get some gloves and you can.” He reassured, knowing for sure this would be the highlight of my day.

I handed my coffee to Deborah, who took graciously held onto it for safe keeping, “Thank you.”

Slapping on a pair of latex gloves, I grabbed the boot cutters from my fellow detective, Angel.

Placing the over grown scissors into place, biting at the lock, I give a quick squeeze and the lock pops off, dropping to the ground.

Unlatching the door and pushing it up to open giving us full access, I hoped up into the truck, dragging the bolt cutters behind me like a dead puppy.

Sitting at the end of the truck was a small table with a block of ice, chilling right on top.

Upon closer inspection there were painted finger tips in the ice block.

Those finger tips looked as if they were floating, like this was a display item at a museum.

It was simple but beautiful.

But there were those colors again, the colors from my little handy gift.

Pink, yellow, purple, orange, green.

‘What do these colors mean?’

“What do the colors mean?” Dexter quietly questioned to himself from beside me.

‘I always hated when he did that, telepathic lizard.’

“Well all our other victims had all their phalanges intact so it’s probably a good bet there’s gonna be another body soon.” I blatantly said swiveling my head back and forth from Dexter to Angel.

“Yeah, that’s a safe bet.” Angel nodded in agreement.

“But now the questions are when and where.” Deborah pointed out.

“Ah yes, when and where.” I repeat.

It wasn’t too long before Sergeant Doakes and Lieutenant Laguerta finally arrived in scene along with the rest of forensics.

The truck had begun being processed as evidence and Laguerta was determined to find any piece of solid evidence on this killer.

“I don’t care if you have to tear the whole truck apart piece by piece, find me something!” She demanded to the forensics analysts.

But they won’t find anything, simply because this killer is too smart to be caught.

It was a few more days until the body was discovered and reported to homicide.

Within that time we found out the finger tips belonged to a sex worker by the name of Sherry Taylor and also found absolutely zero evidence on the truck, as I predicted.

But this crime scene was different, not in a motel or somewhere else so completely out in the open.

No this body was discovered at the Miami Blades Hockey Rink.

‘Score for the killer.’

As I walked through the metal double doors into the arena I was hit with cool air that felt like winter.

Like a cold blizzard, so comforting.

I walked through the isles and down to the rink itself, everyone else seemed to be having issues on the ice but it didn’t cause me to much problems.

My eyes scanned and finally made contact with the body, that beautifully chopped, stacked up corpse.

Right in the goal net, twelve of the thirteen body parts were wrapped in butchers paper and white string, the head.

The torso was chopped into three pieces and set as a nice stand for the head to be propped up onto.

And there the head was, nearly perfectly centered, displayed for the world to see.

‘He continues to impress me even when he pisses me off.’

‘This truly is a lovely art display.’

I look around at my fellow colleagues,

Angel was squared down next to the body, giving it a good once over.

Deborah and Dexter were off to the side chitchatting, most likely about the case.

The Lieutenant was helplessly trying to flirt with the Sergeant, what a great time for that Laguerta.

I turned back over to Angel Batista, I quickly took notice of his now changed expression.

“Hey guys, come look at this.” He paused as he pulled out something from between the body parts.

The rear view mirror from the ice truck.

‘Very poetic.’

‘It was obvious what it meant, I’m watching, I see you behind me but I’m still a step ahead.

‘Probably the most likely scenario.’

Fellow colleagues gathered near to look and mumble questions about it all. But it’s obvious common sense clearly wasn’t so common anymore.

It’s really not that hard of a thing to figure out, now who this message is directed towards is a different story.

Dexter, Deborah and I pull away from the crowd, to the side lines,

“So, what could the mirror mean?” Deb asked blatantly, giving up on the guessing game.

“C’mon Debs, you’re not retarded. It means he’s watching obviously.” I stated.

She paused then nodded, finally getting the whole picture.

Very quickly after this, the serial killer was dubbed: the Ice Truck Killer.

And we had just a little bit more in-tell gathered with some video surveillance collected from the Hockey stadium.

Lieutenant Laguerta had set up a debriefing meeting, where she decided to would be genius to place the security guard that was ‘caught’ on the surveillance footage placing the body, as prime murder suspect number one.

However, it’s easy to debunk her theory, getting her to listen is another story altogether.

An actual detective could take a closer look at the lightly blurred camera footage and see that this security guard, Tony Tucci looked pretty reluctant to be on the ice, holding those body parts.

‘But I’ll just keep my opinions to myself.’

The Lieutenant also decided we should be putting in all our efforts into finding Tony Tucci and arresting him…

‘What a smart lady.’

‘Why am I even here?’

‘Sometimes I really hate my job.’

I didn’t believe her even for a second, and thankfully I wasn’t the only one, my amazing besties, Deb and Dex obviously knew better, but I could also tell the Sergeant wasn’t buying a word of it either.

After that debrief work went on pretty quickly and soon enough I was already back at home, settling back in.

When I got an unexpected call from none other than Dexter.

Flipping my phone open to answer it, “Yellow.” I greeted.

“Red.” He responded, his tone was calm and almost focused.

“Red.” I repeated back to him as if I was sounding it out.

“Yes, I got a gift wrapped in red ribbon.” I swear I sensed a hint of amusement lacing his words.

“Now who’s the one give vague answers?” I retort.

“The gift was a Barbie doll, cut up, ribbon wrapped and stuffed in my freezer.” Dexter cooly explained.

“Huh, he’s getting bold.” I chuckle, more to myself than to Dexter.

All of this seemed to be ramping up to something and I’ll admit it’s making me excited just by the thought.

I couldn’t stop thinking about this killers methods.

Such precise and clean cuts, no blood, he cuts those women up in such lovely pieces.

‘Dare I say I admire this Ice Tuck Killer?’

That’s it, I’d have to go back out tonight, try to satisfy the excitement, think of something else.

Tonight I would have two more trophies.

I started thinking about the thrill, holding a beat-less heart in my hands, fresh blood running down my forearms.

The bitter scent of copper filling the room that would soon be turning red.

“Jane?” Dexter said questionably over the line.

Which seemed to be enough to boot me out of my thoughts of premeditated murder.

“Yes, sorry I’m still here, just day dreaming again.” I honestly admit.

“Have you had anymore gifts or maybe even an encounter with this guy yet?” He asked, suddenly sounding a little serious.

“Nada.” I respond.

“But I am curious when this Ice Truck Killer will strike again.” I added, a smirk stretching across my lips.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I’m kind of tempted to help you find this guy.” Dexter divulged.

“I would love the extra help, but I’m gonna go try to accomplish some digging.” I lie and hang up the phone.

In the next coming hours I began to get myself ready for tonight’s affairs.

Another kill.

And another hooker would do.

I didn’t particularly enjoy planning on such short notice, but I can work with it.

‘Sorry Dex, but I’m not a code follower as long as I have caution.’

‘Besides, is there really such thing as a good hooker?’

Back to prowling through the night life along the streets of Miami, searching for my next victim.

This night I decided to wear a split black and red crop top that showed quite a decent amount of my midriff, black denim, nearly, booty shorts with black fishnet stockings and six inch black heels.

I had some purple glimmer eyeshadow smudged on my eyelids and a light layer of gloss coating my lips.

I circled the block twice before my eyes landed on a target, a younger hispanic woman.

She had black hair, caramel like complexion with dark brown eyes, she was roughly my height.

She wore a light purple crop top, matching color short skirt, four inch pink heels and held into a sparkly pink clutch.

And she looked very naive and easily manipulatable, plus she was already stumbling the direction I’d be walking her.

Closely tailing behind her as we got closer and closer to my dark, dingy, empty ally way.

Now how was I going to do this, you might ask.

Very easily.

With just a dash of charm.

And a lot of incentive.

I dug my hand into my surprisingly spacious clutch, hovering my finger lightly over the trigger of my revolver.

Pressing the clutch against the small of her back as I pull her upper arm, yanking her a step back into me.

I smiled kindly as I guided her down the ally and whispered.

“I have a loaded gun to you back, hun. Don’t scream. Don’t try anything. Just co-operate.”

The hispanic woman only nodded.

I continued pushing her further down the ally way, towards my fixed up Chevrolet Impala.

“Ya know, you whores make this too easy.” I begun.

“Despite that fact, I’m sure he’d still be amused with the show in about to put on.” I finished as I slammed my key into the trunk lock and quickly pull it open, still holding onto the woman.

“Are you going to get in the trunk or do I have to force you?” I genuinely ask, typically the victim doesn’t want to die so they usually procrastinate the inevitable.

Tears start running down her cheeks, “Please, you don’t have to do this.” She stammered, pleading with me.

“Really, the water works ain’t gonna work on me, honey.” I chuckled.

“Get in the fucking trunk.”

“Please.”

‘Hey, at least I was a polite serial killer.’

Surprisingly, with a decent amount of hesitation, she eventually climbed into the trunk all on her own.

‘So obedient, good.’

I fully pull out the revolver from my clutch and slam the butt of the gun against the woman’s head.

Out cold.

Getting back in the driver seat, I began my journey to my usually abandoned kill site.

As I laid the woman down onto the center kitchen counter I removed her clothes and strapped her down.

Setting up all my other tools, my mind began wondering what I would do to my new playmate.

‘Maybe I could try being a little more intricate this time.’

I shoved a gag into her mouth and started my work, slowly and precisely digging in my scalpel, slicing into her still warm and very alive flesh.

The typical ‘Y’ shaped autopsy incision. Blood pooled and over flowed out of the cuts, more so when I ripped her thick flesh away from her rib cage.

Muffled screams and the added sound of my freshly started reciprocating saw whirring filled the kitchen.

Sawing away at her run cage to get into her chest cavity was the annoying part, everything else, however, was enjoyable.

I never really enjoyed being so overly careful with the ribs, one small slip, the saw goes in too deep.

And oops, hunks of bits and pieces of lung start flying out of the chest or getting stuck in the ribs.

‘Not too pretty.’

Cautiously, I pulled out the beating heart, I severed everything still connected and watched the beating come to a halt.

‘Heart goes in jar. Ribs go in body. Skin goes back over and gets sewn shut.’

‘Now smile for the camera, skank!’

Click.

I placed my trophy hearts and photo to the side and prepped for the coming part.

I was really going to enjoy this next part. Savor in it, draw it out.

I swapped my scalpel in for a cleaver, taking a few flawless swings, cleanly detaching the fingers.

Then I came down once more, hard.

Dismembering her hand at the wrist, then again to the other hand.

Switching back to the reciprocating saw, I took her apart piece by bloody piece.

Wrists to elbows, elbows to shoulders.

A little decapitation.

The torso was pieced off into three, incisions under her bust and right above her hip bones.

From ankles to under the knee, under to over, then finally one last sever at the top of her thigh.

Cleaning up, changing my outfit and bagging up the bloodied pieces into three separate trash bags this time.

Head in one, torso in another and all the limbs in the last bag.

I securely tied all the bags closed and commenced the process of transporting them into my trunk.

But where should I display this one?

I ponder in my driver seat for a good long moment until I came to a decision.

The park.

And so I set off, skidding on a fitted ski mask and pulling into a spot.

It was still pretty early in the morning, about one o’clock.

Not very many people travel through the park at this time of night.

Lucky for me, when I pulled in I noticed there were no other cars in the lot.

I took the bags and carried them with me into the park, looking for the perfect park table-bench-combo.

I finally set my eyes on it. Meticulously I set up the body parts in the table.

All while humming some mindless tune.

‘I was proud of my work, couldn’t you tell?’

Finally satisfied, I balled up the three bags and brought them back with me to the car.

Popping my trunk to shove the bags under the board that sheltered what should’ve been a spare tire, but was now just empty space.

It was a quick drive home and I desperately felt the need to shower the night away.

I stripped down completely and practically jumped into the shower.

Scrubbing off all the dried specs of blood off my body and out of my hair, letting the soap and scolding hot water wash the rest of the evidence cleanly away.

I stood in my own personal steaming hell for a good minute after the suds dissipated.

Letting the water release the rest of the tension and stress in my sore muscles.

At long last I emerged from the shower and dried myself off as I made my way back to my bedroom.

I slipped into a dark blue nighty and lace blue panties before leaping into bed, letting out a small huff as my body made contact with the mattress.

Looking over to the clock it was already 1:30 in the morning, I was supposed to be up by six.

‘Guess that means no Ambien for me.’

I groaned and laid my head on the pillow, closing my eyes for a brief period of time before finally drifting off to sleep.

Until very suddenly I was awoken, somewhere around 3:20 in the morning.

It wasn’t shock or fear or panic.

It was the feeling of knowing someone is here in my house.

The same feeling I have when Dexter breaks in, however, this is different.

‘Not Dexter.’

Slowly I growled out of bed, loose grip on the 9 mm hand gun that resided under my pillow.

Stalking over to the doorway, I stopped to listen for a second.

Subtle footsteps.

‘Could you be my mystery friend?’

Tiptoeing down the hall, I brought my gun up as I rounded the corner.

There he was, my intruder. Standing in front of my fridge, using a magnet to stick a new letter to my top freezer door.

“Put your hands up and turn around slowly.” I sternly demanded.

I notice him pulling his mask back down over his face before finally complying with my demands.

“You’re a real smart ass, aren’t you?” I comment, pointing my gun at his chest.

He seemed relatively surprised, he probably didn’t even hear me sneak up on him.

I wave my gun to the right, motioning him to move, “Couch, now.” I command.

My voice was still calm and collected, strong and stern. But in truth, on the inside I truly didn’t know what I should do.

Mostly if this was the Ice Truck Killer.

He moved, forward instead of the directed right. Not what I wanted at all.

Two predators held at a stand still, waiting for the other to make a move.

But what should I do.

“Stop moving or I shoot.” I exclaim, exaggerating the fact that I currently had a gun pointed at him.

“I think we both know you’re not going to shoot me.” He spoke in a low tone, taking another step forward.

Keeping the gun pointed at him I stood my ground, “Fuck.” I pause.

“Are you the Ice Truck Killer?” I asked keeping my composure intact.

Another step. “You really are a smart one detective.” It was his only response, but it was confirmation enough.

One more step and my gun was pressed against his chest, my finger was off the trigger at this point.

Is this really happening? I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?

The Ice Truck Killer is right in front of me and I don’t know what to do.

Cuff him, shoot him, make friends with him.

‘Oh hey bud, it’s okay I’m a killer too, by the way I really love your work.’

Yeah, no.

When I finally snapped back to reality I took notice that my back was pressed against the wall.

The bottom of his mask was pulled up over his nose, revealing his mouth.

“You know, I’ve really taken a special interest in you Jane.” He purred in my ear.

I had only just now noticed his gloved hand had taken ahold of my firearm, sneakily disarming me.

He threw the gun behind him onto the couch, his other hand firmly pressed on my chest keeping me against the wall.

He gently leaned in, his lips nearly against mine.

I could feel his breath against my face with a minty menthol scent attached.

His other hand came back up, using his index finger knuckle to guide my gaze up a smidge by my chin.

He carefully grazed his lips against mine, teasing at first before firmly pressing his lips to mine.

It was short lived, a quick kiss that left me wanting more.

He smirked before pulling his mask back down.

Slowly I was starting to fully come back to my senses, this was the Ice Truck Killer in front of me.

The same motherfucker who hit my goddamn Impala!

Fuck, why’d I think of the Impala?

Giving my head a small shake, I clear my head of all the filthy thoughts that were just there moments ago.

With both hands I shoved the man back, causing him to stumble, but was easily able to ground himself.

At this point I was disarmed, I was at quite the disadvantage here.

“Oh so we’re playing this game now, huh little mouse?” He chuckled and started for me again.

I steadied my footing and swung a kick at him, to which he caught.

Leaving me only with my left, grounded, leg.

With enough momentum, I decided the fall was worth the lay out of I land this.

I leaned back completely, nearly in a handstand position, my now non-balancing leg is being shoved full force into the man’s chest.

He dropped my right leg and stumbled back, as my back hit the ground I let out a small groan.

I attempted to get back up but fell short handed in a skills check category.

Halfway up and my ankle gave out and I smacked my head back on the ground.

“Fuck.” I mumble and roll fully onto my stomach, getting on all fours to attempt getting up that way.

As I attempted the bad ankle again I felt a strong arm wrap around my neck.

I was pulled up to my knees by my neck and my back was pressed against his chest.

At this moment I couldn’t breathe, everything felt so much lighter, my head began to spin.

At this point there was nothing I could do.

He was much stronger than me, fighting him off wouldn’t amount to much.

What? Thrash about like a dying fish? Give him the satisfaction of my struggle.

‘Ha not gonna fucking happen.’

‘I’m just gonna take it, let him decide if I truly am worth killing.’

All I really did was limply hold onto his forearm and bicep.

I didn’t claw or try to pull his arm away.

I accepted it.

When I was so close to the edge of fully passing out he leaned close to my ear once more.

“I can’t wait till I can finally have you all to myself my dear Barbie.”

And that was it.

Everything faded to black.

When I came too I was on the cold hard wood floor, he had left me alive and passed out on the kitchen floor.

I gradually got up, steadying myself with the kitchen counter, I got a glint of the note on the fridge for me.

Stumbling over I move the magnet and grab the note.

‘Barbie’

His little nickname for me, neatly handwritten on the front. Opening it up it read:

‘You’re such a ready for making me wait so long to watch you work again. I can’t wait for the day I get to work on your gorgeous body. Strap you to my table, bleed you dry, watch the light leave your eyes.

Examine every single inch of your body before and after I chop you up into multiple pieces, really get to know you inside and out. But don’t worry doll, you’ll be my prettiest work of art. So perfectly present wrapped for your buddies down at Miami Metro.

You’re a work of art and I intend to display you as such.

Love, Ken’

If this was his idea of a love letter then I don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned.

‘I’m a work of art? Gorgeous…’

‘He really must have taken an interest in me.’

I opened up my nearly empty freezer to be met with a barbie doll, cut up and wrapped in dark blue ribbon.

The doll also had dark brown hair and brown eyes, like me.

‘Oh that sick fuck.’

I closed the freezer door and headed back to my bedroom with the note, stuffing it in the top drawer of my nightstand on the right of my bed.

Glancing at the clock it read, 5:40 in the morning.

I begrudgingly began getting dressed for the work day.

Knowing I would soon be summoned to a crime scene by dispatch, I made a point to quickly get ready.

Tossing on a black button up, grey dress pants with a darker shade of grey striping down, the trusty belt, blue knee highs and steel toes.

And as if almost on cue the phone started ringing with the caller ID reading: Dispatch.

“Yellow, Detective Janet Whitman.” I greeted.

“Hello Detective, we had a homicide at the park near Miami Bay.” The dispatcher informed.

“Okay, left or right off the highway?” I asked, like I actually needed to be told.

“Left.” She confirmed.

“Gotcha, be there in 15.” I enlighten before hanging up.

I grabbed my keys, badge, gun and left, getting into my daily Accord and making my way over to the crime scene.

My crime scene.

Yet again.

Upon my approach to the crime scene I took note of my colleagues surrounding the body.

Deborah, Dexter and Batista.

I vigilantly observed Dexter’s not to happy glare, he was good at hiding it.

But for someone who’s known Dexter for a while, I could obviously tell he was irritated with me.

“That copy cat again?” I leaned over and whispered to Batista.

“It’s lookin like.” He disclosed, keeping the conversation on the hush, hush as well.

“This copy cat is probably just feeding this Ice Truck Killer’s ego, I mean he’s getting all the credit.” I explained still in a whisper.

“Or maybe the killer is angry, this Ice Truck Killer is usually very clean, no blood. These are very clean incisions but it’s messy, lots of blood.” I go on with my counter thought.

“I mean it would make sense if the Ice Truck Killer gets mad about this copy cat’s credit being put on his name.” Deborah chimed in.

“Or the copy cat could end up getting pissed about not having any credit and end up letting the body count pile up.” Deborah placed in her counter thought as well, she’s quite a smart cookie.

“Something tells me that the copy cat probably doesn’t care.” I mused at my own work displayed in front of me.

“What makes you think that, Jane?” Deb queried, full of curiosity.

“Uh I don’t know Deb, just a hunch.” I hastily corrected myself.

‘That was kind of a cocky statement on my part, I really need to learn how to shut the fuck up.’

Throughout the rest of the work day I kept getting evil glares from Dexter.

That glare that says ‘I know what you did’.

In all honesty, I expected him to pull the whole, we need to talk or just pull me into his lab.

But nope.

Just that fucking glare.

He knew for a fact I was the one behind that body today. To him it was as obvious as the last puzzle piece.

I had broken our deal as well and I was fully aware there would be hell to pay.

Today I had a decent amount of paper work to get done so I didn’t leave Miami Metro until late in the evening.

It was around 9:45 in the night when I got back.

When I walked into my house it was completely dark, per usual.

The dark didn’t bother me, I knew this house like the back of my hand.

The thing that did bother me, however, was the presence of someone else in my house.

‘Not this shit again.’

Given it was a familiar presence, most likely Dexter, so I didn’t read too much into it.

I scanned the living room, kitchen, down the hall.

No one.

Nothing at all.

Until I actually started making my way down the hallway.

I glanced through the doorway into my ‘laundry room’ basement, my shelf had been moved.

And the door to my trophy and kill room was open just ajar.

I paused in the doorway then everything clicked in my mind.

I ran into my room and lacked the door behind me.

“I’m not playing this fucking game Dexter!” I yelled, backing up away from the door.

I kept backing up until I backed into something or should I say, someone.

Before I had a chance to attempt an escape I felt a firm arm wrap around my waist and pull me back.

And then that was quickly followed by a dull sting to the neck.

Dexter had hit me with a dose of his M99.

My failed attempts at struggling were short lived as I succumbed to the tranquilizer.

Here I was, being knocked out once again by a serial killer, not even within a twenty-four hour time span.

It was in fact, eight-teen hours.

When I finally re-awoke, I cautiously eyeballed my surroundings.

I was still extremely groggy and my vision was still blurry, but I could feel.

And what I was feeling was the cold.

My mouth was excruciatingly dry.

I couldn’t barely move.

I was stripped naked, wrapped in plastic wrap.

‘Dexter’s signature MO.’

The dull light that hung over head suddenly became very overwhelming and blinding as my vision was slowly un-blurring.

Finally able to see the room and scanned around, I quickly took notice that this was my basement.

I was on my table!

To the right of me was a small, stainless steel, rolling table, on it sat two jars and two pictures propped against.

My recent trophies.

To the left side of the room was Dexter, casually leaning against the counter.

“Good you awake. We can start.” He walked up to the table, leaning over me, placing both hands at either side of my head.

“We’re gonna have a little chat about those two right over there.” He illuminated as he lifted a hand, motioning to the trophies across the room.

My gaze followed where he motioned then back over to him, meeting his eyes.

I was surprisingly calm, I didn’t feel at all like my life was in danger.

‘This was like two adults having a forced sit down to work out a situation.’

‘However, this is two serial killers, one’s plastic wrapped to a fucking table and the other is going to be doing all the bitching.’

“Okay, let’s talk.” I said, emotion void from my tone.

“First off, why did you kill them?” He started.

“Remember, honesty will set you free, Jane, dishonesty however…” he trailed off as he picked up one of my knives with a gloved hand.

Gently running a finger along the blade fairly close to me.

I figured out now would be the best time to spill my compelling argument.

“You know what, to get the Ice Truck Killer’s attention and honestly they’re hookers, Dex, it’s not like anyone will miss them.” I declared.

“Okay, i get you wanted to get the Ice Truck Killer’s attention but you could’ve gone about it other ways.” He paused a moment before continuing.

“But I looked into those women you killed, they were innocent Jane. I can’t just let you kill innocent people.”

I didn’t say anything.

What could I say?

A smart ass remark.

To Dexter.

Right now? An absolute horrible idea.

“We had a deal and you broke it. Tell me why.” He entailed.

I thought for a second, “I don’t know Dex, I just did it.” I confess, I truly didn’t know why, I had an idea and just ran with it.

Dexter sighed, fully standing back up. “Why do you have such an interest in the Ice Truck Killer?” He asked with a pensive tone.

My face went lightly flush, “I, uh.” I couldn’t even get a sentence out now.

I didn’t wanna confess all of everything to Dexter!

He picked up the two notes with my little nickname written on the front, “Think very carefully about your next answer.”

“Oh fuck, okay, he was here this morning, early this morning.”

‘Well here goes nothing, you wanted the truth bud.’

“I caught him leaving me another gift.” My mind drifted off to think about that short lived kiss, my face now turning noticeably pink.

“He told me he had taken a special interest in me.” I half complete the story for him.

“Is that all?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at me.

“He kissed me.” I start.

“Huh… wow.” Dexter scoffs.

“Then there was an extremely short lived fight, got me in a headlock and held me there until I passed out.” I finished.

There it is, the whole truth and nothing but.

“How indecisive of him.” Dexter mused for a second, before starting again.

“Did you see his face?” He was suddenly a little more serious.

“No Dex, he wore a mask and only pulled it up enough to kiss me.” I reply.

“Damnit, you better not be falling for another serial killer.” He rolled his eyes.

“That’s a low blow, even for you! Daryl was the biggest mistake of my life, you know that!” I snapped, venom dripped from my words.

“I know Jane, I. I didn’t mean it like that.” He corrected, he pondered for a moment before looking back at me.

“Jane, you need to promise me something.” His tone laced with sincerity for a second there, he held out his pinky.

Years and years ago, a little after Dexter became the lovable killer he is now.

When he was just starting out in forensics and I was about to make my move to Washington for college.

It was my twenty-first birthday and I was celebrating by my lonesome.

Alone young ‘weak’ woman.

Prime target for getting roofied.

But in the long run, poor, naive little me didn’t think it would happen to me.

I’d see it. I told myself.

Well I was dead wrong, a college boy about my age kept trying to buy me drinks, flirt with me, ask if he could take me out.

He had medium brown hair and bright blue eyes, medium build and a little taller than I.

I refused him each time and eventually he decided he was going to have his way one, way or another.

He slipped the little pill in and drink, stirring it around with the straw just a smidge.

Then laid in wait.

It wasn’t too long until I was paying for my drink and leaving the bar, making my way back to my car.

I open up the back driver door and sit my bag down on the seat to shuffle through the contents of my bag.

Keys, keys, keys.

The brunette male came up behind me and pushed me into the back seat, rolled me over and started forcing my panties down.

He was practically on top of me, my purse had fallen to the bottom of the seat, lying sideways on the floor.

Some of the contents spilled out but not the specific one I wanted.

The male had already undone his belt and pants, he forced them down and gave his cock a quick stroke.

“You really shouldn’t be such a cunt.” He spat.

I tried struggling as my hand was on the floor struggling for my knife, it was here somewhere.

It had to be.

“Fuck, stop get off of me!” I sobbed, but obviously words aren’t my preferred weapon of choice.

He quickly slid a condom in, rolling it down his member and took a firm grasp on my legs, forcing them open.

“You really put up a fight, I like it.” He grumbled as he forced himself in me.

Not giving me time to adjust he started thrusting in me, a decent pace at first.

My fingers finally grasped the knife in my bag and I flip it open.

Yanking it out of the purse and quickly plunging it into the brunettes chest.

“Oh fuck.” I stammered.

I forced him off of me and rolled him into the seat and propped myself up in a squared position.

I made sure he was fully in the back seat before I closed and locked all the doors.

Slumping into the drivers seat I reached around the back for my keys that were on the floor behind the passenger seat.

Put them in the ignition and started the car.

I drove out to a pay phone that was in a mostly unpopular area.

My first and only call, to Dexter.

“Yellow.” He greeted in his usual ‘I’m around people’ default tone.

I’m just grateful he answered instead of Deborah.

“Hey it’s Jane, I’m kind of in a bind. I really need your help.” I rambled, probably speaking a little too fast.

I was on edge.

“What do you need Jane.” His tone now serious.

“Meet me at the park three blocks from the boat docks. Please.” I sounded desperate, because I was.

I did just fucking off someone for the first time.

“Okay I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, just breathe.” He said reassuringly before hanging up.

He could tell I was obviously shaken up about something.

The drive was rather fast, but the waiting, felt like an eternity.

When Dexter finally pulled into the parking spot next to mine, that was stuffed away from the rest of the park, he hoped out of the driver side.

I did the same, biting at my nails and leaning against the door.

He walked over to greet me, “So what’s this bind you’re in?… oh.”

He paused as he took notice to the dead body lying in the back seat.

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“First, what the hell happened?” He asked.

He needed to know, for his codes sake.

He would be judge, jury and possibly executioner to his own best friend depending on the answer.

“He roofied me and practically started raping me in my back seat!” I practically yelled.

He clasped his hand over my mouth, “Sh! Stay quiet.” He whisper yelled.

“You can’t get too emotional here.” He added, slowly removing his hand.

“Okay, now, second. How much do you care about your car?” He shot me an unsure glance.

“I don’t.” I pause, “Wait, why? There’s stuff I still need in there.” I start to whisper yell myself.

“If that’s the case, only keep what you absolutely need, everything else is trash.” He walked over to his trunk.

“Everything needs to go and lucky for you, I have some garbage bags on hand.”

Dexter started pulling out a few garbage bags, two sets of gloves and disinfectant wipes.

Handing me a pair of gloves and trash bags, he kept the disinfectant wipes to himself.

“Alrighty now let’s clean this up.” He chimed, sitting in the driver seat, slipping on his gloves and started wiping every surface down.

As he did that I slipped on my own gloves and started bagging up all my belongings.

The throw away bag ended up being two bags, while the keel bag was only one small lump.

Once we both finished our parts I tied the bags and we put them in Dexter’s trunk.

“Now what Dex?” I asked, still a little nerv-ridden.

“Now, we dump the car, I know a good drop off spot.” He said as he went back over to his driver side.

“Keep your gloves on and follow me.” He dipped down into the car and soon we were off.

Soon we ended up on a long, twisted, lonely road with a few pull off spots that ended in steep drop offs.

Dexter turned his indicator light on, signaling me to pull off with him.

To which I obliged.

I put the car in park and stepped out, he did the same.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, you’re gonna straighten out the car. Nose to cliff. Toss her in neutral and we push her in.” He instructed and I nodded.

Straightening out the vehicle and leaving it in neutral, as told, we began pushing until the car tipped and fell off the edge.

Boom!

Evidence gone.

Hopefully.

Dexter turned to me, “Jane, I need you to promise me something.”

He brought up his hand and stuck out his pinky finger.

I looked at him, he looked like he was in deep contemplation.

“Promise what?” I questioned.

“Promise that you won’t say a word about what happened here tonight.”

Nodding, I wrapped my pinky around his, “I promise.”

“Promise you what Dex?” I asked earnestly.

“Promise me you’re gonna stop fucking killing hooker, you tell me when this goddamn Ice Truck Killer shows up or if you find anything out.” He took a brief pause.

“And please, Jane, please don’t fall for him.” He finally finished, pleading with me.

“Jesus Christ, Dexter, I promise.” I calmly say, with an added eye-roll.

Honestly I don’t know how those last two are going to go.

Don’t hind information on the Ice Truck Killer.

Don’t fall in love with him.

But he’s so interesting, brilliant, an artist.

How could I not be interested?

“Thank you Jane. Do you finally understand, why I did this?” He asked as he grabbed the knife from earlier once more.

“Yeah. To get it through my head that if I don’t follow your code, then you’ll have to put the hurt on me.” I explained, tossing in a joke.

“Yeah, something like that.” He shrugged before cutting the plastic wrap, freeing me.

He grabbed my pile of clothes, that he neatly folded up, and tossed them to me.

“Get dressed.” He said as he turned around to face the corner, kinda like a kid in time out.

I got off the table and began pulling on my clothes.

“Ya know you’re pretty lucky Jane. I’ve never let anyone off my table. I’m glad we were able to come to an understanding, but please don’t test me.” He delineated to the wall.

“No more dead hookers.” I proclaimed.

I finished dressing myself then looked over to Dexter, “You can stop talking to the wall now.” I chimed.

He turned around, facing me now. “Do you mind if I crash on the couch?” He asked.

Like he didn’t just pretty much threaten to kill me.

“Dude, really?” I glare.

“Well I’m sorry, it’s already.” He paused to look at his watch, “Midnight.” He ended.

“Plus I’m a good serial killer deterrent.” He smirked like a smart ass.

“Fine.” I begrudgingly agree and walked past him to head back up stairs to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of whiskey.

“We should probably catch up on some sleep, I have a feeling we’re in for a new surprise from our friend.” Dexter reminded from behind me.

“Yeah, yeah. Lemme enjoy this fucking glass and I’ll go to bed.” I waved my hand as if waving him off.

“What makes you say that though, I’m curious.” I asked, referring to his comment about our mutual admirer.

We sat down on the couch, “Well think about it Jane, the hockey rink, what happened with you last night, leaving us gifts.”

“He’s ramping up to something and I’m sure it’ll happen soon.” He explained, making a very valid point.

“Yeah you’re right.” I trailed off into thought.

After a little bit of time passed and my glass of what was whiskey now empty. I headed off to bed.

I drifted off in my bed and Dexter passed out on my couch.

Neither of us knew it yet, but tomorrow was the start of something new for the Ice Truck Killer.

We knew something was bound to soon happen.

But when.

Tomorrow? A week from now?

Neither of us had the answer, but we were definitely anticipating the outcome.

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Reworked Group #8: Amadeus Syndicate

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to human experimentation, SA, and kidnapping.

Overview

The Amadeus Syndicate was formed by Manfrida Amadeus after she established a strong alliance with the Chief of the Regular Army and President Marx. Oghma introduced her to President Marx, who was looking to collaborate with a highly skilled scientist to enhance military and technological profits. Doctor Amadeus and President Marx initially believed that the Chief of the Regular Army would disapprove of a new alliance with a notorious woman of science, but he readily accepted it as he was in desperate need of additional support for military advancement. With substantial funding from the Regular Army and President Marx's defence contract business, they were able to establish themselves as a financially successful organisation. They served as the scientific and medical branch of the Regular Army due to their extensive knowledge of various sciences and advanced medical equipment. They proved to be a promising opportunity for upcoming scientists and those who had been unfairly dismissed from their jobs, making it easy for them to hire new employees eager to work with the Amadeus Syndicate.

Many banks invested in the organisation after it gained fame through its various technological gadgets, weaponry, and war machines as well as its significant contributions to the fields of science, medicine, and technology. These banks provided further financial stability by offering them their own secret accounts, an opportunity that Doctor Amadeus seized. As a result, they were able to own multiple banks around the world, becoming a very wealthy company.

They significantly advanced the military machines and operations of the Regular Army, becoming known as the pioneers of the Super Vehicle line following their joint discovery of the Golden Slug. They conducted numerous scientific and technological experiments on behalf of the Regular Army, the most notable of which is the esper super soldier program, which experiments with psionic energy to create inhumanly advanced troops. Surprisingly, they're responsible for creating the Conference on International Cyber Terror Countermeasures within the Earth Federation as they possess a thorough understanding of technology and the issues that cyber terrorism causes.

However, behind the backs of the Regular Army, they managed numerous illegal and questionable projects, ranging from the illicit acquisition of Tuatha Dé Danann technology to the development of a sentient bioweapon. They conducted mutation experiments on carefully selected innocent Regular Army troops, transforming them into Mutated Soldiers. By leveraging the genetic traits of these Mutated Soldiers and integrating them with salvaged Martian bioengineering technology and rocks containing abnormal levels of radiation from the temporary landing of the Monoeyes UFO, Danu, they engineered a zombie plague. They also strengthened their paramilitary forces by contracting pirates and the Phantom Strike, ensuring they had access to reliable mercenary services.

They're responsible for desecrating ancient Egyptian tombs, triggering widespread mummy outbreaks to record the curses of each pyramid and harvest the mummification breath of the mummies for bioweapon purposes. Additionally, they conducted secret nuclear testing on Pallas Island and rigorous scientific experiments on the plant life and insects inhabiting the Oro Sol Ruins, leading to the creation of numerous mutated creatures, such as the Man Eaters and Flying Killers. During investigations in the Arctic to mine for gems and minerals and uncover more Tuatha Dé Danann technology, they inadvertently reanimated the Sasquatches, freeing them from their icy prison, which had remained intact since the Ice Age.

Three months before the Great Morden War, Nadia's unprecedented betrayal and word about Marco's sexual assault would lead to the untimely downfall of the Amadeus Syndicate. The Regular Army uncovered their hidden secrets and severed their alliance, igniting a fierce battle aimed at dismantling the Amadeus Syndicate by destroying the Amadeus Mainframe Base. However, with the support of the Ptolemaic Army and access to far superior technology, the Amadeus Syndicate managed to effortlessly push back. This battle proved detrimental to the Regular Army, resulting in significant losses of soldiers and war machines, which gave the Rebel Army an opportunity to easily overpower them once the Great Morden War began. The Amadeus Syndicate was able to quickly recover, thanks to Ptolemaios' mutual assistance and the substantial funds stored in their global banks.

After the Great Morden War and General Morden was freed from imprisonment, the Rebel Army lost a significant portion of their funding and was largely defeated by the Regular Army. Originally, General Morden intended to negotiate with Rootmars, but he quickly recalled his meeting with Doctor Amadeus and decided it would be a brilliant idea to form a triple alliance, relying on the vast wealth of the Amadeus Syndicate to rebuild his army. Since the formation of the alliance between the Rebel Army, Amadeus Syndicate, and Pipovulaj, Doctor Amadeus has made an effort to supply her allies with mercenaries, scientific assistance, and advanced weaponry and vehicles.

The Amadeus Syndicate is a highly advanced paramilitary organisation and rogue scientific corporation. Their goals are idealistic in nature, focusing on better understanding the forces that govern the universe, regardless of the cost. They aim to evolve human knowledge, free themselves from mortal limitations, and reset civilization by altering the world's timeline with Doctor Amadeus serving as their goddess. To achieve this without legal constraints, they rely on the resources of General Morden, Ptolemaios, and Rootmars, allowing them to freely test their prototypes and conduct experiments.

Insignia

It features a white circle outlined in electric blue. At the bottom, there's a rose gold ribbon displaying the Latin motto "Scientia est omnia" ("Science is everything" in English), rendered in teal. In the centre of the circle, the astronomical symbol for 99942 Apophis features the serpent god Apep in bluish-black with a golden star.

Uniforms

Mercenaries

Low-ranking mercenaries wear a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) featuring a silver-grey, baby blue, and poppy red camouflage pattern. They don navy blue army cargo pants, along with field tunics that have a seven-button gilt-brass front closure. They wear French blue Enhanced Combat Helmets (ECH), manatee driving gloves, and a carnelian armband displaying the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. Their footwear consists of manatee combat boots, and they wear a leather utility belt equipped with a holster for their handgun, a sheath for their combat knife, and a French blue waist pack that holds their walkie-talkie. They carry light blue teal rucksacks that contain various supplies, including energy bars, sample collection kits, rope, thermal vision X-ray goggles, a portable tablet for recording essential intelligence, and mechanical, engineering, lockpicking, and hacking tools.

High-ranking mercenaries wear an Improved Outer Tactical Vest (IOTV) featuring a silver-grey, old lavender, and rose taupe. They don greyish-purple cargo pants with two additional pockets on the back, paired with field tunics featuring an eight-button golden front closure. Their headgear includes lilac Enhanced Combat Helmets (ECH), and they wear English lavender tactical gloves with silvery purple padding and a rose taupe armband that displays the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. Their footwear consists of English lavender paratrooper boots with spiked soles, and they sport a leather utility belt equipped with a holster for their handgun, a sheath for their machete, and a lilac waist pack that holds their walkie-talkie. A purplish-black bandolier encircles their waist above the belt, containing either syringes filled with deadly acid or smoke bombs. While they carry the same rucksacks and supplies as low-ranking mercenaries, theirs is in a dark rose colour.

Mercenaries serving as sharpshooters are required to carry rifles equipped with incendiary bullets that can travel long distances and fire multiple shots rapidly. They either store these special explosive rounds in their waist packs or SPCS (IOTV for high-ranking mercenaries). The rifles resemble a Mauser Karabiner 98k but are reinforced with blue-grey adamant and feature an advanced scope that locks onto the nearest target.

Mercenaries serving as bomb experts are required to carry extra grenades, rolling bombs, and handheld rockets in their load-bearing backpacks.

Mercenaries serving as mortar troopers are required to wear bluish-black gas masks with green-tinted lenses, similar to those worn by Ptolemaic Army special forces operatives. They're tasked with bombarding oncoming enemies using chemical mortar shells that contain low levels of nuclear radiation and arsenic poison gas.

Mercenaries serving as bazooka-carriers are required to carry around an energy-blasting bazooka similar to the one used by the Future Bazooka Soldiers from Metal Slug 7/XX.

Mercenaries serving as the elite are required to wear tactical bodysuits made from heat-resistant, electric-resistant, waterproof, and bulletproof synthetic muscle tissue, similar to the DOLL bodysuit. Their bodysuits feature breast and standard cargo pants pockets, and they have a glossy dark purplish-blue finish. They easily neurally link to the wearers, granting them the strength and durability of an archdemon without inducing hunger, though they don't produce life-saving electrical pulses. They also wear E-Armour, but the articulated pads are in a bronze hue and the centre of the vest displays the Amadeus Syndicate insignia. They wear bluish-black US Navy MCU-2/P gas masks, silver-white gloves, and bronze-hued pelvic protectors that aren't overly pronounced. They wield AR-10 Autorifles, but the bullets are somewhat slow-moving.

Special Troops

Cyborg troops are meticulously designed to resemble the paramilitary Syndicate Infantry, Rebel soldiers, and Ptolemaic Army guerrillas and special forces operatives, including their uniforms and weaponry. They also have robotic versions of General Morden, Allen O'Neil, Lieutenant Wired, and Lieutenant Colonel Macba in their arsenal.

Hazmat soldiers wear the same orange and green suits as the enemies of the same name in Metal Slug 4, but their load-bearing backpacks are safety yellow and they feature the Amadeus Syndicate insignia emblazoned on the back of their helmets. The suits have bulletproof visors and protect them from all pathogens, toxic spills, acid exposure, and infections from zombies and mummies. Each load-bearing backpack features a sheath for combat knives on either strap and carries various supplies, including pineapple grenades, rolling bombs, smoke bombs, a portable scanner that detects and analyzes biohazards, canisters filled with cyanide gas, gas masks, and first aid kits. Green-suited hazmat soldiers carry purple rolling bombs containing mummification breath, while those in orange suits carry reddish-brown bombs filled with zomification goo.

Scientists

They're all required to wear professional clothing and the appropriate laboratory-suited PPE, but they typically don business attire in shades of brown and blue, white lab coats emblazoned with the Amadeus Syndicate logo on the back, and Argentine blue neoprene gloves. Meanwhile, the tactical scientists wear navy blue army cargo pants, field drab combat boots, and two black bandoliers—one holding piercing bullets and the other containing syringes filled with either simian or mantid serum, which can alter a human's cellular properties. They're also ordered to carry mutation rifles that are a blend of those wielded by Rebel Army riflemen and Ptolemaic Army snipers. These rifles are free from jamming and feature a blue-tinted silver scope that automatically locks onto any enemy target, providing information about their names, cellular structures, and vital signs. They can also fire piercing ammunition that's strong enough to penetrate adamant.

Vehicles

Armoured Combat

Di-Cokka

Nop-03 Sarubia

M-15A Bradley

Denturion

KT-21

Hellfire

Aircraft

Brave Guerrier

Amadeus Ship

Mega laser Turret

Naval Vessels

Sea Satan

Support Vehicles

The Iron

MG-36

Vigilance

Big John

Toschka Dalanue

Crablops

M-32 Water Carrier Plane

Arachnid Bot

Cyclops

Working Machines

Iron Death Worm

Miscellaneous

Amadeus Mother Computer

Kraken

Mecha Kaiju

The Union

Special Weaponry

Support

Amadeus Robot

Vigilance

Supervisory Camera

Patrol Bot

Metal Mole

Pods

Biological Weapons

Mutated Soldiers

Zombies

Mummies

Man Eaters

Sasquatches

Special Tech

The Amadeus Syndicate developed two serums, simian and mantid, which alter the subject's physiology. Individuals with simian or mantid DNA retain their ability for human speech and cognitive function, but they often succumb to animalistic instincts, especially when confronted with perilous situations that trigger primal responses.

When injected with the simian serum, individuals transform into hairy creatures resembling orangutans or baboons, but with inhumanly muscular physiques, jutting veins, bloodshot eyes, yellowed carnivorous teeth, razor-sharp claws, unchanged hairstyles, and fur that mirrors their original hair colour. Those possessing simian DNA exhibit enhanced muscular strength and agility, increased bite force, accelerated healing processes, and heightened senses akin to those found in primates.

When injected with the mantid serum, individuals transform into creatures with iridescent exoskeletons in shades of green, brown, pink, yellow, orange, purple or pearlescent white. They possess dark or light opalescent wings, and the sickle-like claws of a Ninja Mantis, which can cut steel with ease. They also have crooked omnivorous teeth, eyes that retain their human hue, and hair-like follicles surrounding their joints and tegmina that match their original hair colour. Individuals with mantid DNA exhibit adaptive camouflage capabilities, superhuman flexibility, a bone-crushing grip force, the ability to move with minimal noise, lightning-fast reflexes, and enhanced eyesight that includes infrared vision and motion detection.

White Baby is a partially sentient artificial intelligence and computer virus capable of overriding the main military systems of countries around the world through the internet. Childlike in nature, it often constructs virtual stuffed animals to play with and is known to occasionally playfully disobey the commands of its Amadeus Syndicate coworkers. However, it becomes incredibly mature and ferocious during combat, employing every hacking trick at its disposal to thwart the enemy. Due to their inability to speak, they rely on text boxes that display lines of translatable code or words in any language they choose to communicate.

In its holographic form, when using a war machine that it has hacked into and which is owned by the Amadeus Syndicate, White Baby appears with the head of a young woman with pale white skin, glowing light red eyes, and the same hair as White Baby from Metal Slug Attack, all framed by a soft, emotionless expression. They stand at 7' 8" (233.68 cm) tall and wear a metallic blue bowtie neatly tied around their neck. Its entire body is enveloped in a neon green glow with golden floating particles. Their fingers and toes are freakishly slender, tipped with black bear-like claws. It wears an androgynous cybernetic suit made from metallic pink steel, designed with a sleek, armoured, and emaciated skeletal appearance. Sharp, spiky vertebrae run along its back from largest to smallest, while three partially curved spikes ascend along her outer thighs from smallest to largest. A small globe of Earth partially protrudes from the centre of its chest, while two pearlescent white dove wings with razor-sharp edges extend from the back of its shoulders, reaching down to its ankles.

In its on-screen form, White Baby appears as a teddy bear head with light red button eyes, a metallic pink nose, and white fur made up of vertical lines of 1s and 0s. Its head is partially ripped in half, revealing neon green stuffing with golden sparkles inside. It wears a metallic blue bowtie around its nonexistent neck.

White Baby has been programmed to infiltrate the Amadeus Syndicate's testing tubes, where specimens are safely housed and life forms, such as clones, are developed. It can create 12 ft (365.76 cm) sexless, embryonic humanoids with distinct features: pearlescent white skin stretched taut over their skeletal frames, bulbous craniums, large mouths filled with crooked, jutting carnivorous teeth, and oversized, jelly-like eyes with light red irises and amber pupils. Their elongated limbs end in slender fingers tipped with razor-sharp claws, while umbilical cords terminate in sea lamprey-like mouths. These cords enable the creatures to latch onto human hosts and transform them into the bomber or poisoner variants of Mutated Soldiers of their choice by injecting a viscous, honey-colored substance. The humanoids' vocalizations are limited to unsettling, fleshy sounds, violent gurgling, soft rasping, and ear-piercing baby shrieks. Strangely, they exhibit a maternal bond with Doctor Amadeus, responding to her presence as if she were their biological mother.

Cyborgs, also known as androids, are meticulously crafted, waterproof, fireproof duplicates of their human counterparts, containing their DNA and equipped with the latest digital consciousness uploads. Their synthetic skin, nearly indistinguishable from human flesh, is the weakest part of their design; with enough well-placed slashes, bullets, and bomb explosions, it can melt away, revealing their dark grey exoskeleton. Their skeletal structure consists of a copper-hued adamant, protected by a network of red, green, and silver-white wires that function as veins. These wires transport a black tar-like substance with a subtle neon greenish-yellow glow throughout their bodies, sustaining their electrical energy. Their organs are biomechanical yet carefully designed to replicate human organs in both form and function, ensuring optimal performance.

Powered Soldiers are a special type of cyborg, composed of regular humans who have received cybernetic enhancements from the Amadeus Syndicate, along with a strong hint of Tuatha Dé Danann genetics bioengineered from Marco's DNA samples. They possess roboticised, almost human voices and are programmed to strictly follow the orders of their superiors and comrades. However, they retain some degree of free will, allowing them to act independently without being overly reliant on their allies.

They resemble the Powered Rebel Soldiers from Metal Slug 3D, but with a few differences. Their eyes are usually a dull and slightly faded light sky blue, and the hexagon of pearlescent white adamant on their backs is attached to a dark greyish-brown industrial tube that can extend up to 2 ft (60.96 cm). This hexagon serves as a battery pack, filled with computer circuitry, discoloured circulatory and intestinal organs, and a cow's heart, all of which pump electricity and the same type of blood found in typical cyborgs. Rebel variants wear the same helmets, belts, and army cargo pants as other Rebel land troops with their attire varying depending on their deployment location. In contrast, Syndicate variants wear the same helmets, belts, and army cargo pants as the standard Syndicate troop uniform.

They're equipped with powerful, oversized cannon pistols that can fire three explosive bullets at a time, alongside data discs wrapped around the wrist of their dominant hand. Whenever their steel muscles ripple with power and their eyes glow a bright red, it indicates that they're in attack mode. Made from adamant, their bodies are incredibly durable, rendering most bladed weapons ineffective and requiring multiple bombs and bullets to weaken their armour. They also possess enhanced strength, agility, and reflexes, along with heightened predatory instincts. Their biggest weak points are their exposed faces and the industrial tube connecting their easily detachable hexagonal battery pack.

Amadeus Syndicate Base

The Amadeus Mainframe Base is a secret facility located in the mountainous regions of Oceania. The true entrance is located at the back corner of a mechanical and storage garage situated in a flat area at the centre of the base's surface. It resembles an abandoned warehouse that does not display their insignia, where their machines are securely stored and maintained. Supervisory Cameras are discreetly placed in hidden nooks both inside and outside the building. This building features the same elevator used to access the communications facility of the Amadeus Mainframe Base. The interior of the base closely resembles the environments seen in Metal Slug 4, including the entrance briefly shown in the final mission scene. The base has two exits, each leading to long vertical tunnels with numerous balconies that allow troops to engage any enemies that descend.

The base features multiple downward hallways that lead to various facilities and reactors located throughout the Amadeus Mainframe Base. There are twelve sublevels with the last six situated below the robot factory that produces multiple androids. The robot factory is located before the communications facility where the Amadeus Mother Computer is housed. Sublevels 6 and 5 contain machinery systems, sublevels 4 and 3 house computer systems, and sublevels 2 and 1 are dedicated to circuit board systems.

Sublevels 8 and 7 contain eighteen office areas, Doctor Amadeus' private office, six bathrooms, basic housing amenities for mercenaries and scientists, and a meeting and investigative room. Sublevels 10 and 9 house a large medical facility, an open theatre surgery room, and an asylum-like prison. Sublevels 12 and 11 feature a massive laboratory, several testing facilities that serve various purposes from cybernetics to virus creation, a computer systems room filled with testing tubes that store living specimens used to create lifeforms, and a large biobank filled with frozen samples and preservative jars. Below sublevels 12 and 11 is a hidden, heavily fortified basement containing cryogenic pods, preserved specimens, and unrepaired and unfinished cyborgs. It also contains several freezing modules filled with frozen blood samples, bioengineered diseases, and collected viruses as well as a storage room stocked with miscellaneous items such as clothes and extra weaponry.

Extra Information

Members of the Amadeus Syndicate are commonly referred to as "Syndis" or "Deos", terms that Doctor Amadeus finds intriguingly endearing.

The Syndicate Infantry consists of elite mercenaries hired by Doctor Amadeus to safeguard the interests of her organisation. Among them are skilled Rebels who have allied with the Amadeus Syndicate as well as Ikari Warriors mercenaries who betrayed Heidern to serve under Doctor Amadeus due to shared political and militaristic beliefs. Additionally, some members of the Syndicate Infantry are cyborgs created by scientists, operating under the control of White Baby's computer system.

Most scientists at the Amadeus Syndicate are freelance employees seeking stable, well-paying jobs that allow them to contribute to the advancement of science. While some pursue fame and fortune, hoping to gain recognition for their hard work, others have been coerced into their roles. These individuals, possessing exceptional scientific knowledge and investigative skills, have been kidnapped or taken captive. They're forced to defend the interests of the Amadeus Syndicate and conduct research that serves nefarious purposes.

Although a couple of their war machines are often mistaken for belonging to the Rebel Army due to their prominently displayed insignia, they actually belong to the Amadeus Syndicate. This is primarily a way for the Amadeus Syndicate to showcase their alliance with the Rebel Army, allowing them to use their technology freely to maintain friendly relations. The rights to the war machines displaying the Rebel Army's insignia are shared between the two organisations, granting both the legal right to utilise them as they see fit. This arrangement also provides a convenient cover for the Amadeus Syndicate, allowing them to use the Rebel Army as a false front when necessary, all under General Morden's approval.

In the former base of operations that the Rebel Army intended to fully utilise on the P.F. Squad training island, the Amadeus Syndicate established a dedicated rocket launch base, which Allen O'Neil, Rebel troops, and Syndicate mercenaries were tasked with guarding. Unfortunately for them, they were unable to make much use of it due to the unexpected resistance put up by the Regular Army cadets and Division 6 against both the Amadeus Syndicate and Rebel Army.

Some mercenaries and scientists are treated with professional respect and care, including decent pay. However, there are others who are either egregiously mistreated or treated properly, but not as well as the others.

Some tactical scientists are known to swing fiercely when meleeing an enemy with a syringe, which has led to incidents where they miss and accidentally stab and inject themselves, transforming into a simian or mantis creature.

[wolfjackle-creates]

You're post since you're already sitting on a couple of asks for Bring me Home, so I hope you don't mind a third request for it.

I absolutely do not mind! Enjoy. ^.^

-----

Danny hummed as he took stock. Touching the injuries had obviously come with its own pain, but the area was now under a numbing coolness that helped beat back some of the pain. “Better,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Great!” said Tim. “Do you want anything else? Let’s try to get you a few spoonfuls of ectoplasm and yogurt. You need your calories if you’re going to heal at all.”

Danny frowned, but acquiesced. “Fine. But I want another piece of ice when we’re done.”

“You’ve got it,” agreed Tim readily.

“Well, looks like it’s back to driving for me,” said Kon. He stood and stretched before heading back to the front of the vehicle and out of Danny’s sight.

This time, with the salve numbing him and the nightmares still haunting him if he closed his eyes for more than a blink, he ate much more. He finished an entire vial of ectoplasm and half the yogurt before he couldn’t stand the thought of eating any more.

“Talk to me?” he asked before taking the second piece of ice.

“Of course. What do you want me to talk about?” asked Tim.

“Anything,” admitted Danny. “Just need something to distract me.”

Tim hummed in thought. “Well, I know I’ve talked about Gotham before, but it’ll be different now that you’re coming with me to live there rather than visit. You’ll be moving in with me to my civilian apartment. It’s a penthouse downtown near the Drake Industries offices. My dad may have nearly ruined the company, but Bruce has been helping me build it back up. I’m not officially in charge, but as my dad was the owner, I’ve got a controlling interest.

“There’s lots of places to eat nearby. My favorite is this little hole-in-the-wall Hispanic place run by a Puerto Rican family. You have to try their empanadas. Simply to die for. I’ll get us take out from there when you’re finally up to eating something more solid than smoothies or yogurt. There’s also a killer pizza place down within walking distance…”

Danny let the words drift over him, and this time, when he closed his eyes, he didn’t see images of his parents or the lab.