#Sometimes I just need a fictional man to squeeze me until my brain starts acting right

[lostintransist]

COD Men and Bad Brain Days

This is my self indulgant way of dealing with the titanic amount of stress that is making my brain whisper of the void. I will stick around, I have to much to be a menace about but why not think about how they would deal with it? Plus if my mother (derogatory) gets to outlive me? Absolutely not.

CW: Suicidal thoughts mentioned

Johnny: Froze a bit once he understands what you are saying.

"Bonnie, why? What? I don't understand?" He holds your face so tight as he flicks his gaze between your eyes.

You laugh lightly, "There is nothing to understand Johnny, sometimes my brain just starts throwing around death as an option. I've learned to tell people so they can help me keep me present. I don't want to die, and I have no plans. I just need you to know that if I randomly start crying I'm okay. I already have an appointment with my doctor and my therapist scheduled to look at my meds."

The concern doesn't leave his face as he pulls you in for a hug. Johnny is always watchful of you but it definately takes on a new level after telling him about the thoughts coming back.

Kyle: Pulled the car over the moment he realizes what you said to him and rests his head on the steering wheel.

"Thank you for telling me, what can I do for you?"

Fighting back the tears you blink and fan your eyes.

"Nothing really? My therapist challenged me to tell someone the next time these thoughts pop up, and I trust you enough to know you won't freak out." You watch him carefully take in several deep breaths before he sits upright and looks at you.

If his eyes are a bit shiny with tears? Neither of you mention it.

"Want to get a drink and sit in the sun for a bit?" He offers.

"I would love that." The tears flow this time. Kyle holds your hand until he is forced to let it go to get out of the car.

Gary: He would find you mid-breakdown because dammit you thought you were past this? It had been years since the last time your brain betrayed you like this and life was going good for once? Yes, you were under some stress but not enough to warrent this overreaction by your brain.

He would pull you into a hug as he sits next to you on the floor and hum lullabies and the randomest collecitons of songs that live inside his head. When you can finally breath without a hitch in your breath he would ask what is wrong.

"My brain is lying to me again. Saying that being dead would be easier than dealing with all this stress," you sniffle into his shoulder.

"Being dead would be easier," he observes calmly.

When you shoot him a glare because that is NOT helpful, he smiles and rubs a thumb through the tears leftover on your face.

"But I know you don't want that, and I'll keep you present and healthy. Let's get some food delivered and then go over some of the things I can take off your plate until things settle down, alright?"

When that causes a new round of tears Gary orders dinner from his phone before coaxing you to the couch with the promise of your favorite show (He can't stand it but knows it will help.)

Simon: The hug he would give you after you hold him? Soul altering. He holds you until you feel real again and presses a kiss to your head. If you find something helpful he asks that you share because he has dealt with his own share of suicidal thoughts ravaging his already messed up mind.

He starts picking up tasks around the house, starting the shower or making dinner, as a way to help you. He checks in at least once a day. He isn't overbearing about it, knowing that the fact you told him is a huge sign of trust and he wouldn't dare abuse it.

John: Oh this man, he would be calling your doctor and therapist and setting up an appointment for you the instant you fell asleep for one of those exhaustion naps. He would book you for a hair cut, a massage, and to get your nails done before the week is out.

He's lost good friends to suicide and the idea that you might disappear? That your thoughts might get to loud to hear that he loves you? He would never recover if he lost you like that. John makes you cry again when he explains everything he has set up for you but he shows his love through actions and these are things he can control. If he could mount a full scale invasion on your brain to kick out whatever makes you think of death as an option he would in a heartbeat.

Masterlist

[zackcollins]

blue jays on the radio || b. bichette/c. biggio

Author’s Note: As you all may know, I write hockey fics. What some of you may not know is that baseball is my other true love when it comes to sports. That’s why I had to write something based upon this. I just had to. It would be a crime not to. This is my first time writing something for baseball, so please be gentle on me. GIF credit to austonandersen!!

Warning: Nothing, I don’t think. Feel free to let me know if you disagree though. I’ll add a warning for anything you think deserves one.

Word Count: 1.4k+

Title: Soggy Bottom Summer by Dean Brody (I will not be taking comments about it at this time)

Additional: If you found this by Googling yourself, are in this yourself, or know someone in this, please click back. No harm was meant in the creation of this fic. It’s purely fictional and for fun. That being said, I hope you enjoy this!

Cavan’s brain was running rampant with emotions. He was elated that he was headed to the postseason in the Major Leagues. This had been a dream of his for as long as he could remember. He was exhausted from having played a full baseball game. His body ached but he didn’t much care because of the circumstances surrounding the end of the game. In his mind, that made the exhaustion and the body aches worth it.

As everyone was sequestered into the middle of the infield for a photo, Bo laid down and put his head on Cavan’s lap. Cavan froze, unsure of how to proceed. His brain was turning on all cylinders in an attempt to produce a coherent thought.

After a few moments of panic, Cavan regained composure of himself and jostled Bo’s shoulders, screaming excitedly in his face. Bo laughed and screamed back, crossing his arms over his chest at the sudden movement of his body. Cavan patted Bo’s chest, exhaling in relief.

Lourdes leaned over from Bo’s left, patting Bo’s chest and screaming something in Spanish that Cavan couldn’t quite understand. Bo laughed again, head falling backwards onto Cavan’s lap a moment later. Cavan squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling heavily through his nose. When he opened his eyes, Lourdes was looking directly at him, a smirk on his face.

“What,” Cavan asked, keeping his voice quiet.

“You know none of us will care, right,” Lourdes said, cryptically.

Cavan raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. Lourdes sighed and raked his hands down his face. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Lourdes motioned to Bo, who had turned his attention to Teoscar on his right. “I look at my wife the same way.”

“Lourdes, I—“

“Save it, Cavan. I don’t care if you’re attracted to men. I only care that you’re being an idiot about your attraction to one specific man.”

Heat rose in Cavan’s cheeks as he sat there. He looked over at Bo. Bo was swatting hands and laughing happily with Danny who had migrated over from where he had been sitting. Cavan felt more heat rise on his face, reaching as far as the tips of his ears. His face was burning red-hot as he looked back at Lourdes.

Lourdes reached over and squeezed Cavan’s shoulder. Cavan relaxed, sighing in defeat. He brought his hands up and raked them down his face. Lourdes reached up and ruffled Cavan’s hair before he stood. He looked at Cavan and then cast a glance at Bo before he walked towards the dugout, yelling excitedly at everyone in his path.

Cavan raked another hand down his face before he looked down at Bo. He squished his hand into Bo’s face, making Bo shift his attention away from Danny and over to Cavan. Danny glanced at Cavan and quickly smirked before standing and chasing Alejandro over to the dugout for a hug.

“Can…” Cavan started, pausing to swallow a nervous lump. “Can we talk after everything has settled down?”

Bo gave Cavan a sideways glance but nodded.

“Yeah, man,” Bo said. “Whatever you need.”

Cavan smiled, ruffling Bo’s hair before he pushed Bo forward far enough to allow himself to stand up. Bo grumbled a little bit but Cavan stopped the grumbling when he offered Bo a helping hand to get him off the field. Bo smiled, gripping Cavan’s hand firmly as they worked together to get Bo on his feet.

Once Bo was standing, he continued to hold Cavan’s hand. Cavan, wanting to test the waters, squeezed Bo’s hand gently. Bo squeezed back almost immediately. When Cavan dared to look at Bo, he had a soft expression on his face. Cavan felt a ball of nerves form in his stomach. Seeing Bo acting carefree and soft made Cavan want to reach out and brush that one stray piece of hair out of Bo’s face. It made Cavan want to pull Bo in for a hug, a hug that meant something entirely different than the one they had shared five minutes before. He wanted to pull Bo in for a kiss to show how proud he was of him. To show how much he loved him. 

How much he loved him.

Cavan wasn’t sure when that became the truth but there was no denying it now. He was in love with Bo Bichette and he had to do something about it.

“Come with me,” Cavan said, dragging Bo through the crowd of their teammates towards the dugout.

“Where are we going,” Bo asked.

Cavan didn’t answer. All he did was guide himself and Bo through the dugout and down through the tunnel towards the clubhouse.

Once they were in the clubhouse, Cavan directed Bo towards the trainer’s room. He triple-checked to make sure no one was there or on their way there before he closed the door. Bo gave Cavan a sideways glance as he hopped up to sit on one of the examination tables. Cavan hopped up beside Bo, leaning his head against Bo’s shoulder.

“I know I said I wanted to talk later,” Cavan said. “But I changed my mind and decided I couldn’t wait.”

Bo lifted Cavan’s head from his shoulder and turned it towards him. Cavan swallowed thickly when he saw the blank expression on Bo’s face. It never failed to amaze Cavan how well Bo could handle his emotions. It scared him sometimes, quite frankly.

“What is it, man,” Bo said, voice steady. “You look scared as hell.”

“I’m in love with you,” Cavan said, burying his head in the crook of Bo’s neck.

A sudden wave of emotions overcame Cavan. Tears fell from his eyes and onto Bo’s shirt. He sniffled a few times, shifting around to get as comfortable as he could at the awkward angle.

“Cav, Bige, hey,” Bo said, pulling Cavan’s head back and up to look at him.

Cavan sniffled a couple of times as Bo wiped away the tear stains on Cavan’s cheeks. Bo squeezed Cavan’s cheeks, leaning forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Cavan’s brain short-circuited at that. He sat there, staring helplessly at Bo.

“I’m in love with you too,” Bo said, running his hand through Cavan’s hair. “Why do you think I chose your lap to lay in?”

A small smile broke out on Cavan’s face.

Cavan reached out, brushing away that stray piece of hair that was in Bo’s face. Bo hummed, smiling softly. Cavan brought his hand down, cupping Bo’s cheek. Bo hummed again, leaning into the touch.

“Stop me if you don’t want this,” Cavan mumbled, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Bo’s.

Bo kissed back almost immediately, making Cavan relax.

As they kissed, Cavan felt butterflies dancing in his stomach. Everything about this kiss felt right. It felt even better than any kiss Cavan could’ve ever imagined having with Bo. It was everything he could’ve hoped for and then some.

“It’s about fucking time.”

Cavan jolted backwards, nearly falling off the examination table in his haste.

When Cavan turned his attention toward the direction the voice had come from, he saw Randal standing there. He was holding a heating pack to his back and wearing a giant grin on his face. 

“How obvious was I,” Cavan asked, burying his head in his hands.

Randal chuckled as he walked across the room, sitting on the examination table beside Bo and Cavan.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Randal asked; Cavan nodded. “About thirteen. It’s a miracle Bo didn’t notice.”

Bo blushed, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. 

“Then again,” Randal pointed at Bo, “you were no better. You were also about thirteen on the obviously-in-love-with-my-teammate meter.”

Cavan and Bo looked at each other, awkward smiles on their faces. Randal dropped the heating pack on his examination table before reaching over and squeezing a shoulder each on Bo and Cavan.

“Birds of a feather, flock together,” Randal said, smiling. “In this case, the two birds are Blue Jays that were too idiotic to see that the other was in love with them until someone nudged one of them off the diamond.”

Cavan kicked Randal’s shin, to which Randal smirked and ruffled Cavan’s hair. 

Bo grabbed Cavan’s hand, placing them atop Cavan’s knee. Cavan smiled at Bo, reaching over and brushing another stray hair out of his face. 

Not caring that Randal was sitting right there, Cavan leaned forward and pressed his lips against Bo’s. Bo hummed softly into the kiss, following along with Cavan’s slow, methodical pace.

When the two pulled back, Randal was still sitting there, though he had a soft smile on his face. He reached over and squeezed their shoulders again.

“Let’s win this thing,” Randal said.

Cavan squeezed Bo’s hand, looking at him fondly. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Bo’s forehead, mumbling softly against it.

“Together.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Walk Away (Part 2 of Addicted)

There’s a certain kind of strength to walk away from a bad thing. Calum thought he had done that; but the past always comes back around. Female Reader Insert. No specific race of the reader. 

CW: Drug Use/Drug Mention (Tobacco/Cigarette). Alcohol Mention. 

Enjoy my masterlist | Part 1-Addicted

Support me on kofi. 

No one has my permission to repost my work of fiction. This includes translations as well. All rights reserved. 

____________________________

Here of all places, of course. Here when he’s wearing old basketball shorts and a sweatshirt. Here when he’s just trying to tune up on his car. Here of all places, of all times. She approaches the front desk. “I really hate to do this. But my car’s making this really weird noise. I have a long drive tomorrow. It just started earlier today. Can you take a look at it?”

He hasn’t seen her in months. 

He’s worked hard not to run into her. He avoids the old bars that they used to frequent. Not together. Never together, but the ones that she would beg him to come too, just she wouldn’t have to drive to get her fix. He doesn’t visit her side of town, no matter how inconvenient to him. He made the occasional sacrifice for when the boys wanted to hit up a place near her, but he never broke the rule on avoiding those old bars. Never. It didn't matter how annoyed anyone was at it. He had to stick to that one. Because if he didn’t, with any amount of alcohol in him and her presence, he was sure to crumble. He was tired of her. 

But the sight of her in those light wash distressed jeans and snug cropped top make him almost forget all the trouble she’s caused. Calum forces his gaze back to floor as she and a worker leave the shop. He’s praying she didn't spot him. He’s praying that she will not come back into the shop. She disappeared on him after the last time he went over to her place. She hasn’t left a text, phone call, or voicemail. Calum told himself he wouldn’t send her one either. It was a part of her game. But she didn’t even tell him that she had found someone new, someone she wanted to pretend to be serious with. Normally she did and that made Calum suspicious; it worried him. So after about three weeks, he caved. He sent one message, What happened? 

He was met with silence. Three days worth. His fingers wanted to type more and they did. He drafted several paragraphs worth. How could she just drop him? How could she just walk away from him? What was he supposed to do now? Nothing replaced the feeling of her. He had tried that avenue before. What the hell was supposed to happen next? 

More days passed and his bleeding heart paragraphs sat unaddressed. The smoking which had died down, increased again. Calum drank something most often too, not a lot, not enough to be fucked over the next morning. But he wanted to shut down the part of his brain that craved her. The silence of her was deafening, but the buzz of alcohol gave his brain something else to focus on for the moment. He’s since slowed on both those habits thanks to time and this album they’re working on. Ashton’s helped too. But Calum tries to keep himself occupied as much as possible. Doing any and everything he can, just so his brain can’t wonder. 

The door chimes again. She sits along the wall to his left. He’s sitting so he can see directly back into the shop, directly across from the front desk. He has four rows of seat in his view. He can’t not see her. She plays at her phone. How can she act like this? The least she could do is say hi. The least she could is acknowledge his fucking existence as a human being. 

His gut twists, in that all too familiar flip of desire. She’s still got him wrapped around her fucking fingers. Those beautiful, slender fingers. He remembers the way the feel dragging down his bare chest. He knows the pinch of her fingers around his nipples. With a deep exhale, the ghost of her touch skirts down his chest down to his groin. Fuck, no, no don’t start imagining this. It’s been four months since those text messages. Four; he cannot slip up now. 

Pushing up from his chair, Calum walks to the bathroom. It’s thankful to Christ, that it’s close to his seat or that walk past her would be the end of his resolve. Splashing cold water onto his face, Calum grips the side of the sinks, staring at his reflection. He traces the line of a water droplet down from his forehead, around the curve of his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, and fall off the tip of his nose. 

He’s never been too fond of the chub around his cheek, everyone else has squeezed and squished them. He’s over it. But he remembers the way she used to pat his left cheek. Always the left one. It wasn’t hard, wasn’t condescending. She’d cup the flesh, lifting her fingers before gently bring them back down. Her hand would slide down his flesh then, sometimes she’s give his chin a squeeze. Most times she scurried out of the door. Water drips from his chin and onto his sweatshirt. Thankfully it’s black so the wet spot won’t show too badly. 

You cannot go back to her, Calum thinks to himself. You cannot go back. You cannot go back. She dropped you--she does not want you back. He drops his head. She doesn’t want him. She never did really. She was just using him. He thought he was just using her. He thought it was just sex. But god, his heart races even still just at the thought of her. His lungs ache occasionally to inhale her scent. She does not want him. He inhales. That’s okay. She doesn’t need to want him. He always envisioned him alone anyway. Calum dries his face and walks back out. 

She’s up at the small desk where stale coffee is sat out. He knows because he had a cup. It’s not his usual, but he needed something-anything to keep him from going insane while staring at pristine gray painted walls and too brightly waxed white floors. He admits it makes sitting in a car shop nice that it’s so clean, but it always threw him off. The smell of motor oil and greasy towel mixed with the stale coffee and whatever wax they used for the floor always made his head spin upon his initial entrance. 

Settled back into his seat, Calum flexes his fingers. He needs something to do, something to take his mind off her--how close she is, how good she looks. He did not miss the soft pink lipstick on her pouty lips. Fuck, those lips are so goddamn kissable too. Calum snatches the magazine next to him from the dark brown wooden table. He flips to a page and runs his eyes intently over the article on muscle cars. This means nothing to him, but he can’t keep thinking about her. She walks past him, shoes silent on the floors, the only thing that gives away any movement is her waft of perfume hitting Calum’s nostrils. 

He expels every ounce of air in his lungs. Do not inhale. Do not inhale her in. Do not break. “Mr. Hood,” his mechanic calls out. 

Calum snaps his head up from the magazine and tosses it back onto the table. Finally. He gives a tight lipped smile as he approaches the counter. “What’s the damage?” he asks with a soft chuckle. 

“None. You’re in good shape. She still runs smoothly. You did need an oil change, so we took care of that for you.”

Calum nods. He can feel her stare burning holes into the back of his head. Calum digs out his wallet, sliding his card across the counter.  Now she watches him, when he can’t see her gaze. Calum thanks the man once again for his work and places his wallet back into his pocket. As he turns, her head snaps back to the floor. He stares at her this time, lets her know that he knew she was watching. She won’t look up; she wouldn’t be so emboldened, he figures. It as his sneakers squeak right in front of the door that her gaze lifts. They lock eyes for two seconds. Neither one gives an ounce of recognition facially.. Just slow blinks between not even lover, but not quite strangers.  His heart booms in his chest, he can feel the thumping on his veins in his neck

Calum steps through the door and keeps his shoulders square. His car is parked right outside the door. Thank God. His head is starting to feel disconnected from him. Are his lungs even working anymore? Another mechanic hands him the keys. Calum gives him a nod in thanks. As the engine turns over, even through the door and the window of his front shield, he can still feel her gaze. He looks at her one last time. She doesn’t give a nod, a smile, a wink--nothing. She just stares. Did she expect him to grovel at her feet like before? Did she expect him to apologize? What the hell did she want from him? He wouldn’t give it to her, but it would be nice to know for once what was going on in her head. What her thoughts were, what kept her up at night.  

The air is still nice, so Calum rolls down the windows. Only when she sees the passenger side window rolling down does her face crack. She gives the faintest of smiles and start pushing up from the seat. Calum presses onto the gas and rolls down the pavement. He wasn’t giving in. But it makes him just a smidge happy to know that he might have toyed with her like she did to him. He can’t give into her. He’s doing alright by himself His body wants to cave. It’s been two months since he’s slept with anyone. Not the longest he’s gone. He hadn’t even thought about the last time until he saw her. Until he thought about the way she begged beneath him, face buried into the pillows, him pulling her arms back behind her, so her arch couldn’t falter. 

No, his stomach flips again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He doesn’t have a pack on him either. He stopped carrying one due to Ashton’s insistence. Now he needed some nicotine. Anything to take the edge off. There’s a gas station right next to the shop, but he doesn’t stop there. Calum drives through the streets; he’ll drive to a station a bit farther out. He’s still too close to her. Yeah, just keep driving. He winds through the streets, about twenty minutes longer than he anticipated. Settled in front of the station, he exhales. He blinks once and his vision clears for a second before it blurs. Tears. Fuck, he’s crying. 

Resting his head against the steering wheel, he lets out a shaky breath. Does he even want a cigarette or does he want to burn away the parts of him that still hold onto her? Does he really want alcohol or does he wish to drown the memories of her? He reaches for his phone situated in the cup holder. Unlocking, he pulls up Ashton’s U.S. number. It rings once in his ear. Twice. A third time. Right before Calum pulls the phone away, he hears the call connect. “Need a ride?” Ashton asks. 

“I don’t need a cigarette, right?” Calum hears the own distress in his voice. He can hear the strain as he tries to swallow a sob. 

“Mate, what happened?”

“Just tell me I don’t need to walk into this gas station. I don’t need a cigarette. I don’t need a drink. I can’t even drive if I drink.”

“Calum, you don’t need a cigarette. You don’t need to go into that gas station. You don’t need a pack. You don’t need a drink either. Where are you?”

Calum sits up, pressing his freshly cut hair into the leather of his headrest. He doesn’t want the nicotine. He wipes at his cheeks. “Not even sure. I just started driving.”

“Wanna come over?”

He wants to be over her. He wants to know why she walked away without warning. He wants to know if this is love, because if so, he wants nothing to do with it ever again. He never wants to be this broken, this easy to crack ever again by one person. He wants nothing to do with this scam called love. “Thanks for the offer.” 

Ashton knows it’s a no. But he presses on. “If you show up, I’ll have some movies waiting. Maybe grab a quick lunch. There’s a new sushi place. I’ve been eyeing for a while. Heard it’s good.”

Calum just wants a way to forget her. He wants a way out, he’s been trying to escape, run away. Maybe he needs a way through. Ashton’s offering that. Calum feels like Ashton should be telling him to just get over it, to forget her. He has to know why Calum called anyway. Ashton takes the silence as Calum’s resistance. 

Ashton presses on again. “Or a hike. You said you wanted to take Duke up through the trails again. We probably won’t be able to go too far with him and the heat, but it’s something.”

He needs to walk away from her. He needs a way through. Calum exhales. “A hike sounds good.” 

Ashton sighs in relief. Calum’s not going to say what triggered this. Though Ashton figures it something to do with her again. “I’ll meet you at your place then.”

“Okay,” Calum’s voice is soft a little rough with the tears that are choking him still. The call ends and Calum throws an arm over his face for a moment. His phone chimes from the cup holder. He thinks it’s Ashton texting and doesn’t lift a finger. It chimes again, then a third time. A call. Looking down her number lights up his screen. Now she can call. Now she can remember he fucking exists. 

Calum wonders if her latest boy toy dropped her. He wonders why she has the nerve to call him now, but not speak to him thirty minutes ago. He doesn’t answer. He watches the call ring and ring and ring before it finally stops. He waits, barely breathing. She’ll call again. She always does. He waits, staring at his black screen. A notification pops up. New Voicemail. Voicemail? She’s never left a message. Calum stares his phone. What did she say? Was it an apology? Biting his lip, he unlocks it and another notification comes in. This one is from Ashton. 

I’ll be to your place in another 20 minutes. Had to run and take care of some errands first. 

His hike. Duke needs to be let out. Calum drops his phone back into the cup holder. His little man. That’s what he focuses on. Duke is waiting for him. The drive back home is strangely quiet besides the sounds of wind rushing and cars zooming past. Calum normally puts on the radio, even if it’s down low. But now right now he’s afraid songs will remind him of her. It’s not like the drive isn’t already doing that, but he can drown out those thoughts. He can listen to the whirring of tires over asphalt. He can think about Duke. He can listen to his mind’s replay of Duke’s whines this morning, needing to go out to the backyard. 

Calum can think about what he needs to grab for his hike. He’ll need to bring water. Bags just in case Duke has to go while they’re out. Maybe a couple protein bars. He needs to change shoes. His vans won’t cut it for the walk. He’ll have to put Duke in his harness. Calum needs to remember the dog treats too. As Calum pulls into his driveway, he spots Ashton already parked to the side. 

Ashton climbs out of his car after seeing Calum park. “Took you long enough,” he jokes, watching closely. He’s watching to see if Calum grabs anything else. He doesn’t see anything but his phone and keys. 

“Sorry about that. It should only take me a few to get ready.” The two men shuffle into the house. Ashton notes the slight puffiness to Calum’s eyes and cheeks. The slight pink tint to his nose, the fading pink to his eyes. Duke happily greets Calum at the door, jumping onto the man’s calves. “Hey, sorry that took longer than anticipated, bud.”

He moves to greet Ashton next. Calum walks to the backyard, finding his workout shoes next to the hall closet. As Duke rushes to his corner, Calum switches shoes. “Wanna talk about it?” Ashton asks, settling down on the ledge the back porch and the inside of the house. He watches Calum, squinting at the sun. 

Calum shakes his head, cleaning up after Duke. Back inside, Calum fills his two biggest water bottles, throws in some protein bars, and finds Duke’s leash. It hits him as he clips on the harness he still needs the bags, treat, and his portable bowl. Spinning around he spies, Ashton placing the portable bowl into his backpack. “Thanks, mate.”

Ashton nods. “I put treats inside too. Some bags were already inside. Not sure if they’re enough.”

Calum wishes he had more words than thank you. But all he can do is nod and take the backpack. Back outside, Calum locks up. Ashton drives. Calum can feel his phone burning a hole in his pocket. But Duke’s resting in his lap. He can’t reach for it now. It’ll have to wait. It will have to continue to light his skin with a fire. He hopes it burns him, so it proves how much she hurt him. How much pain she’s put them through. It’s so much easier to treat a wound when it’s physical. 

As they past the cities and head for the mountains, Duke pops up from his curled position, front paws resting on the door, hind legs stretched as far as his tiny body can go. Calum smiles, scratching at his head. “Yeah, bud, we’re going to the mountains again.”

“You didn’t buy a pack, right?” Ashton asks after a minute or two of silence. 

“I didn’t.”

“You’ve been doing good. I’m proud.”

“Thanks,” Calum whispers. He knows the compliment is genuine, but he feels terrible for almost breaking it today. He feels like shit for breaking this far down that he considered a drink. Cigarettes are one thing, but a drink. The drinking is scaring him. 

The rest of the ride is quiet, Calum’s chest starts to hurt. He keeps thinking about that voicemail. What the hell could she have possibly had to say to him? Why did he care so fucking much? He’s going to burst inside his car. They pull up to the foot of the trail and Calum opens the door before Ashton fully brakes. All the air pushes out of his lungs. He heaves, tears biting at his eyes. Ashton hurriedly brakes and climbs out. Calum clutches Duke to his chest for a second.

“Calum, what’s happening?”

Inhaling deeply, Calum squats down next to the car. Duke turns in his hold, licking at Calum’s cheek. “I saw her today,” he huffs, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I fucking saw her. And I swear to God, I thought I was over her. I thought I had walked away, but all I had done was hide from her.”

“It’s okay.” He places a sturdy and firm grip on Calum’s shoulder. “You’ll find a way through this. It’s okay to hurt. It fucking sucks. But it’s okay.”

“She called. Left a voicemail. I haven’t listened to it.”

“Do you want to?”

Calum swallows, still heaving for a good breathe. “I have no idea.”

“Let’s walk. Walk and we’ll figure it out. Talk to me, mate. I know it’s not your cup of tea. But for fuck sake, I am right here.”

Calum nods, running his hand over Duke’s head. Ashton helps him up and Duke stares up from the ground to Calum. “I’m sorry, I’m okay,” Cal reassures the dog. But Duke knows something is very wrong. He walks over and settles right on top of Calum’s foot, fur brushing softly over his calf. Calum finds a treat for Duke. He holds it for a moment before Duke moves to take it. “Thanks for caring, love,” Calum says softly. 

The three start up the trails. They’re about a fourth way up before the silence is broken. Calum continues to stare up at the windy and rocky path in front of them. The trees waft off their scent in the breeze. Duke sniffs everything, so they have to move a little slow. “I texted twice,” he states. 

“Today?”

“No, when she first disappeared. She didn’t respond and I didn’t text again. I just wanted to forget her. So I dodged all the places I knew she’d be.”

Ashton hums though it turns up into a grunt as he lifts his weight up to stand on a rock. He holds his arms out to steady himself. He watches the way Calum gazes at him. Part in concern, partly still lost in his own world. “And you tried to bury her, you didn’t try to get through it,” Ashton continues. Calum nods. “The question remains. Do you want to actually walk away from her? Do you really want to be done with her?”

Calum slides off his bag and pours some water for Duke. The small dog happily laps at the cool drink. Calum settles onto a small rock. It’s scratchy and a little sharp against his skin. “I don’t think I can answer answer that until I figure out what’s on that voicemail. But I can’t listen to it. I can’t hear her voice right now. I’ll crack. She might as well cut my heart out, just split me open and stolen the fucking organ because clearly my brain’s not winning this battle.”

Ashton jumps down from the rock and holds out his hand. “How about I give it a listen and relay the important stuff to you?”

Before the question can fully leave Ashton’s lip, Calum digs in his pocket for phone. By the time Ash finishes, he’s holding Calum’s unlocked phone. It’s killing Calum not to know what’s happening, but he can’t listen to it himself. Ashton taps the only voicemail not viewed and holds the phone to his ear. 

“It was nice to see you today, Calum,” her voice starts in Ashton’s ear. Her pitch purposefully low, he notes as he turns around. He doesn’t want to give anything way. “It was rude of me not to say hi. But even ruder that you took off without at least waving goodbye. Let me make it up to you being so ill-mannered this last few weeks. You know the time and place.”

The voicemail ends and Ashton turns back around, but not before deleting the message. “She basically wants to apologize for being an ass by having you fuck her again. She’s no good for you.”

Calum drops his head, taking the phone. “And I’m no good at letting go.”

“I deleted the message. Walk away, Calum. She’s only going to drag you down. Even more than she already has.”

Calum knows Ashton is right. Duke settles down in front of Calum. “Should I walk away, bud? Should I cut ties with some ounce of dignity?”

Duke pants up at him. The little dog is just happy to be outside. Calum scratches at his fur. “If you love this, then I gotta take you to the midwest. You’ll love it there. Or even Oregon or Washington. Nothing but trees and nature trails.”

That’s what he’ll do. He’ll plan a mini getaway, maybe it’s just a weekend. He can write, he can get away from her, he can get her out of his system. That’s the problem. She’s still in his system. When he walks into the studio, when he journals at night, he tries so hard to forget her. He tries so hard to pretend like she didn’t hurt him that it only hurts him more. You can’t forget a person if they’re all you’re thinking about. 

Calum never really mattered to her anyway. He was only a fuck. He was only a toy that would always be there when her newest one broke. He finds the missed call, clicks on the tiny i icon and then scrolls to the bottom. Block this Caller stares back up at him. He taps it, no shaking this time. It pops up again, Block Contact or Cancel. Calum presses Block Contact with an exhale. She won’t give up. Not even if he starts ignoring her. But this is a start, he can start working though all the shit she did. 

“Ready to head back?” Ashton questions. 

Calum collects his things, shaking his head. “Let’s go to the top. Little man here deserves the sight.”

With a soft smile, Ashton starts up to the top. Their pace is still slow due to Duke’s exploration. Halfway up up they stop again, and Calum slips Duke into his arms. “I should've bought a second bag and let you just sit in it,” Calum teases at Duke. Ashton offers his bag, they could consolidate all into Calum’s, put Duke in Ashton’s bag, or vice versa. 

“He’ll sit for all of like three minutes before wanting out.” 

It’s sometime later maybe an hour or so, Calum’s lost track of how long, when they reach the top. The sun’s just starting to dip down. They settle in a small spot off to the side and Calum sits with Duke between his legs, staring out at the blue ocean of the sky in front of him. Part of him wants to dive into it, wash himself of her, wash himself of the heartache. But it’s not that easy. He wishes he had heard what she said exactly just so he had the satisfaction of saying no to her directly. Not through word of a friend, not through someone else’s interpretation. But at least he knows now that she wouldn’t ever care. He could pretend when he had no clue before. He could pretend that she was just busy. He could pretend and make all the excuses he wanted. 

But not now. Now he knew. It hurt. It fucking hurt. Getting through this wouldn’t be flicking off a switch. It would be pain and tears and time. But maybe he could walk here, he could sit here and watch out over the sky and think about the heavens washing over him. He could think about a hand reaching down from through the clouds and comfortable. He could get through it. He could walk away here to the heavens. 

[crashdevlin]

Something More: Part Nine

Author’s Note: *THERE IS NO WIFE-HATE HERE! I <3 Danneel Ackles. (it’s completely understandable how she acts)* This is a sequel to Open. READ THAT FIRST!  Something More Masterlist

Summary: Reader is a no-name actor who has been lucky enough to land a role on her favorite show and a part in an anthology of Marvel Cinematic Shorts. Her star is on the rise, but the man who’s made her his mistress isn’t the only one noticing it.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Story Warnings: Open Marriage, mistress, breakups, angst, anger, jealousy, things get REALLY bad between Jensen and y/n…

Chapter Warnings: obsession, harassment, (Tom is worse than an asshole in this, A REMINDER THAT THIS IS FICTION!!!! I KNOW THAT TOM IS NOT REALLY LIKE THIS AND I WISH HIM NO HARM)

I woke up with Jay holding me close, peppering kisses on my neck and shoulder. “Mornin’,” I greeted, turning in his arms. “Time is it?”

“Twenty minutes past my alarm goin’ off. I’m supposed to be getting ready for the Gold Panel, but… I’m so comfy and happy… I don’t wanna leave this bed.” He pressed his lips to mine and both of our eyes fluttered closed. “Think anybody’d notice if I just didn’t show up?” He said it with a smirk, already knowing the answer, of course.

“Only every single person at the con and across the interwebs.”

“Damn. Should probably get dressed, then, huh?”

I nodded. “You’ve got a con to open and I’ve gotta find a pharmacy ‘cause somebody got overeager last night.”

“Hey, you didn’t tell me to stop and wrap it up, either, Baby Girl, so hush.”

“After how you ate me, my brain was not functional, Jay. I can’t be held accountable.”

“Well, I couldn’t think past you wrappin’ your hand around my dick, so… guess I’m not accountable, either.” He shrugged, rolling out of bed.

I stared at his ass for a minute before getting out of bed and beginning the search for my clothes. “Well, until I get on birth control, I’m gonna need you to start carrying condoms again.”

A foil square soared across the room and hit my stomach. “I had one, y/n/n. Just forgot to get it on.”

I shook my head. “Ridiculous man. You planned this and still didn’t put the damn thing on?” I stepped into my skirt. “Holding you accountable.” I pulled my tank top over my head and looked around. “Where are my underwear?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged.

“If I check and they’re in your pocket, I’m gonna scream. ‘Cause that’d be the most Dean Winchester-ish shit you could do.”

He smirked as he reached into his back pocket and presented me with my panties, hanging from the tip of his finger. “You love it when I’m like Dean. Fuckin’ fangirl.”

“Yeah… I do like when you act like Dean, most of the time. Can you get rid of the ‘crawl into a bottle to deal with hard times’ part of Dean Winchester’s personality, please?” I snatched my underwear from him and sat on the edge of the bed to slip them on under my skirt.

Jay turned to grab a comb and pull it through his hair. “Don’t break up with me again and we’ll be good.”

“Oh, that’s not a lot of pressure and a completely asshole thing to say.”

“You said you liked when I’m like Dean.” He turned around and smiled at me. “I’m not gonna drink like that anymore. Haven’t since you’ve been back. But, still, don’t break up with me.”

I slipped my feet into my sandals and bent down to do the straps. Jay was suddenly on his knees on the floor in front of me, fingers working across the buckles to secure the heel to my foot. I smiled at him as he started working on the second one. “Are we dating now, Jensen? Like, for realsies?”

He gave a scoffing chuckle, shaking his head, slightly. “For realsies. You can tell your friends about it and everything, Baby Girl.” He ran his hands up my calf as he stood. “I wanna tell all of our friends about us.” A tight feeling took up in my chest at the thought. “Hey. What’s wrong?” he asked, softly.

“I don’t know. Just… what if they think I’m the reason… what if everybody thinks I’m the reason your marriage-”

“Hey, no, no, no. I’m gonna make sure everybody knows that isn’t what happened. And hey, they like you more than they like Dee, anyway, so they’d probably take your side, either way.”

“But…”

He shook his head, leaning down to press his lips to mine. “It’s a mess, right? But we can get through the mess together. Long as you’re with me.” I nodded, standing and wrapping my arms around his neck. He smiled softly down at me. “I called you an Uber while you were sleeping. Clif’s gotta drive me and Jared to the con, so you’ll have to ride back to your hotel by yourself.”

I nodded. “I’m okay with that.”

“And we'll wait to tell everyone about us until you're ready, but… they all know how close we are, how poorly I took you, uh, dating Douchebag. I think most of ‘em know we're not just buddies.” He chuckled. “Actually, back in June last year, Richard straight up asked if you were my con cooch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Con cooch. How disgusting.”

“It's not his term, you know. It's probably old as you are.”

I scoffed. “And the N word is older than anybody alive, doesn't mean I gotta like people using it.”

He nodded. “You're right. I won’t use it ever again, and I will tell Richard not to use it, either.”

“Don’t tell Richard what to do. I’ll tell him it’s offensive if I ever hear him say it, but until then…” I sighed, looking up into his eyes. “Fuck. What was I saying?”

He smiled. “You were going downstairs to get in the back of some sedan driven by some hipster trying to make some money for pot.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.”

“I’ll see you at the con hotel, Baby Girl.”

I nodded and pulled him down for a kiss, before turning and heading out of the hotel room. Jared was in the hallway, walking toward Jay’s room. He grinned when he saw me. “That is not a Sunday morning outfit.”

“Yeah, fuck you, J-pad.” I chuckled, maneuvering around him.

“Yeah, I think Jensen and Genevieve might have a problem with that, kid,” he teased, grabbing my hand to stop me. “Everything’s good, though?”

“With me and Jay? Yeah. For the first time in months, I think… I think everything’s actually really good all around.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He nodded. “Gonna be fuckin’ funny if someone sees you takin’ the Walk of Shame from our hotel.”

“You’re hilarious. There’s already an Uber waiting for me downstairs. I’m sure I can get to it before anyone notices me.” I smiled, squeezing his hand and stepping backward. “See you at the Hyatt.”

It was uneventful going from Jay’s hotel to mine. Nobody seemed to notice my Walk of Honor and I was able to get a shower, get dressed, put makeup on and get checked out without incident. I called another Uber and had him take me to the closest Walmart. I stood in line a few minutes before getting in front of the counter. The woman in the white lab coat smiled brightly at me. “You’re y/f/n y/l/n, aren’t you?”

I cringed. This was the absolute last place I wanted to be recognized. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“Are you here for that convention? You know your character on Supernatural is my favorite witch of the series. I had such high hopes for Rowena, but Tara is infinitely more relatable. I mean, Rowena was glamorous but Tara is so down-to-Earth.” I nodded, smiling politely. “Oh, and you know, I had a feeling that Tom Hiddleston’s nice guy thing was just an act. The way he grabbed you in that video, oh and I know you can’t say anything about it, Marvel’s probably got their lawyers just ready to pounce on you if they hear you say anything bad about… oh, I’m rambling, aren’t I? What can I get for you, sweetie?”

I cleared my throat and leaned forward, slightly. “I need a Plan B.”

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “Had a good night at the convention, did you? I’m glad you’re getting back up on that horse again!”

“Ma’am, please keep your voice down. Remember your HIPAA regs.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’ll get that for you.”

As she went into the back of the pharmacy to find what I needed, twitter gave me a notification. ‘Hey, maybe now @y/l/n_y/f/n has a shot’ with a video attached. I pressed play on a clip of the Gold Panel.

“Is there any truth in the report that Danneel filed for divorce?” the fan asked.

Jensen’s eyes went wide with shock. “Are you kidding me?! I just got served Friday. How do you people already know?” Jared reached out and patted Jensen’s shoulder. Jay sighed, his voice was resolute when he spoke. “This is the only question I’m taking about this. All right, I will walk if I get another one. So, here’s my piece on it. Yes, Dee filed for divorce. No, I was not surprised. No, I’m not happy about it, but I understand. If it were up to me, I’d keep fighting for us, but I guess Danneel just got too tired of my bullshit. She’s not gonna keep Birdie and the twins from me, we’re going to stay as much a family as possible. I love Danneel, always will… but sometimes… things don’t work out.”

Jensen ran his hand across his mouth and Jared stood to wrap his arms around him. The video ended when their embrace did.

I retweeted it with an added, ‘Thats really fn insensitive. Thats my FRIEND and hes obvi upset about this. Check urself for basic empathy before you send me shit. Thx’. I paid for the Plan B, along with a bottle of water to take it with, and tossed the packaging in the trash can outside the entrance. I took the pill while I waited for the car to show up. When I showed up at the Hyatt, Jensen was in the op room, Jared was doing his meet and greet, so I dropped my bags in the green room and waited for them. They’d come by the green room before heading back to the auditorium for the regular Sunday panel.

“Hey, Baby Girl.” Jensen dropped into the chair next to me, looking not at all as upset as he had in the video.

“Somebody sent me video of the Gold Panel.” I said, taking his hand in mine and entwining our fingers. “They already know about the divorce, huh?”

“Yeah, must have someone on the inside at the Travis County Courthouse.” He looked down at our hands, then looked across the room to our friends. “Take it you don’t mind our friends knowing, then?” he asked quietly.

“If they judge us, they judge, but we never did anything wrong.”

Jensen smiled and licked his lips. “I’d totally kiss you right now, but Kim an’ them just got done telling me how sorry they were about my divorce, so I’ll hold off on it.” He bit his lip. “Did'ya get that thing you needed?”

“That thing I needed ‘cause of you? Yeah, I got it.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “The pharmacy tech recognized me, but it's okay. I made it pretty clear that I know my rights and if it ends up in the tabloids, I'm getting her fired.”

“Oh? When did you go diva?”

“Not diva, but I’m not gonna let someone violate my rights, rights they have a duty to uphold, so that they can gossip. I’m with Jared. Just ‘cause I’m famous-adjacent, that doesn’t mean people can walk on me.”

“‘Famous-adjacent’. You’re adorable.”

“Uh, Jensen, it’s time.” Stefani walked up, clipboard in hand. “I’ve already made the announcement that no one is to ask about… about Danneel. Um, they’ve pretty much acknowledged that they’ll be chasing you away if they don’t adhere to the pre-approved questions. Adam wanted me to let you know that, if you do have to walk out of the panel, he understands and he won’t make a big ruckus about your obligations, but he’d really like you to finish your ops if you choose to leave early.”

Jay smiled and stood, releasing my hand. “I’m not going anywhere. Even the tin hats don’t want me to leave, so they won’t ask about Danneel.”

“I can totally see the fan sites, though. ‘Danneel left Jensen because he’s gay for Jared. Genevieve is just holding out for show’,” Jared announced, smiling broadly.

“Ya know… that’s not funny.” Jensen smirked, though.

“Yeah, it is. It’s funny ‘cause it’s true. You know they’re already saying it. I bet if I pull up the tweet I got sent, there’s retweets under it saying that exact thing.” I pulled out my phone, but didn’t go to twitter. I didn’t need to. An unopened text message greeted me from a string of numbers my phone and brain didn’t recognize. I tried to delete it without reading it, just as I’d done the other ten to twenty texts I’d been getting every day. This one, though, was more involved than just ‘ungrateful whore’. This one read ‘Are you proud you’ve destroyed a family with your whore cunt?’

I bit my tongue, keeping my face blank to keep J2 from worrying about me, blocked the number and deleted the message. It wouldn’t matter. Tom would text from another number later. The man’s a bit of a Luddite, but given the right motivation he could obviously figure out how to text from random numbers online. Or he’d bought hundreds of disposable cell phones just to torture me. Honestly, I really couldn’t tell you which.

I watched J2’s panel from the side of the auditorium. Jay kept his surly and unhappy act up throughout but every once in a while he’d look at me and smile, just for a second. It made me happier than was acceptable. But my mind kept going back to that text message. ‘Are you proud-’ I could hear it in Tom’s voice. I could imagine his ice blue eyes stabbing me as he placed blame on me for Danneel leaving Jensen.

God, but he was right. It was on me, wasn’t it? If he’d never met me, his marriage… I shook my head. This is exactly what he was trying to accomplish with his bullying texts.

Jay noticed. Of course Jay noticed I was stuck in my head. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing, Jay.”

“You’re doin’ that thing, that deep thinking, worrying thing.” Jensen pulled me behind the curtain behind the stage and ran his fingers through my hair. “What’s wrong?”

“I prom-”

“Don’t lie to me, Baby Girl. You know I can’t let you go back to Florida with this sad sack shit in your head. Come on.”

My phone went off in my pocket as I opened my mouth to claim innocence, but when my body stiffened, Jensen just raised an eyebrow. I pulled out my phone and looked at it. A different string of numbers, back to a shorter message. ‘Homewrecking bitch’. I flipped the phone so Jay could see. “Just been getting some…”

“Tom. I’m gonna kill him.”

I shook my head. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just get rid of it.”

“Will blocking the number work?”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “No, he's just gonna send it from another number. I've blocked every number he's texted from.”

“This is harassment, y/n. You need to report him.”

“I have no proof it's him, Jay. I can't accuse him with nothing to show for it. I’m just gonna get a new number when I get home. That’ll solve it.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I know. It’s fine, though. I promise I’m okay.”

“Fine.” He looked around, then leaned down to press his lips to mine. I pulled away, smiling up at him. “You get a new number as soon as you get back to Florida. Like, on the way home from the airport, get a new number, okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Go do your meet and greet.”

Jay kissed my forehead. “Don’t leave for the airport without sayin’ goodbye, huh?”

“Okay. Love you, Jay.”

“Love you, too, y/n.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Changing my number worked. The texts stopped. Jay was the first person I texted from my new number, Jared second, my parents and nephew were a group text that was third, Connie was fourth. I started updating my contact information with everyone before I’d even made it back to my parents’ house… except Marvel. I emailed Marvel to tell them that my phone was out of commission and if they needed to get a hold of me, they would have to do it via snail or electronic mail. I didn’t want to risk someone at Marvel giving my new number to Tom.

The email that followed was one that made my stomach twist. ‘Miss y/l/n, please let us know when you have a new contact number. We need to set up accommodations for you for the People's Choice Awards, as you have been requested to present the award for best new series along with Sebastian Stan, Elizabeth Olson, and Tom Hiddleston. You can, of course, deny the request, if you want. Please respond as soon as possible.’

“So, Marvel has, uh, pretty much volunteered me to present at the People's Choice Awards… with Elizabeth and Sebastian and Tom.” I kept my voice steady as I looked down at my computer, where Jensen was in a Skype screen, but my legs were shaking with nerves. “I could tell them ‘no’, but this is a test. This is them seeing if I can handle being around him and I really thought I could do it, but now, I’m not so sure, but if I refuse they’re gonna get rid of me.”

Jay nodded, eyes soft. “What do you need, y/n/n?”

“I need you with me. I mean, I know you don’t usually go to the PCA, but the show is up for two and I just-”

“I’ll get Andy to give me the day off, fly to L.A., walk the red carpet with the most beautiful woman in the world.”

I scoffed, smiling. “No way is she available, but I’m free.” I took a deep breath. “Thank you, Jay.”

“Anything for you, Baby Girl.”

Jay couldn’t save me from rehearsal, though. I tried to stay away from Tom until I had to but he sought me out. “Please, go away.” I didn’t look up when he approached.

“You look good. How have you been?”

“Better now that you can’t text me all the time.”

“Will you look at me? You aren’t having this conversation with your shoes.”

“I’d rather be having this conversation with my shoes.” Tom tucked his fingertips under my chin and forced me to look at him and I flinched away, grinding my teeth together. “Don’t touch me.”

He smiled, softly, eyes soft. I shook my head, crossing my arms over my head. “Y/n, I think you misunderstand my intentions, my Dear, you-”

“I don’t misunderstand anything, Tom. And don’t call me that.”

“What? ‘Dear’?” He emphasized it on purpose. “Look, I've come to apologize and I think you owe me an opportunity to do such.”

I scoffed at the idea that I owe him anything. “Apologize? For what? Our relationship, or how you've acted since I ended it?”

“You mean since Jensen ended it, don't you?” He leaned closer to me. “You think I don't know what happened? You went to Vancouver and he told you his wife was leaving him so you got down on your knees for him like the whore you are and then you broke it off with me.”

“If you think that's what happened, then you don't know me, at all.” I took a deep, shaky breath. “And I'm not a whore. I never have been. You just treated me like one.”

Tom sighed, running his hand through his hair. Here comes the flip. “I’m sorry. Truly. I just… losing you has been a terrible experience. I know you aren’t. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. And you’d never be unfaithful, not after what Nathan did to you. I’m so sorry.”

The thing about men like Tom is they’re very good at what they do. They get what they want. Either through charm and manipulation or through violence and threats of such. The thing about women like me? We expect the darkness once we’ve seen it in a person. Once we know the potential is there, we are more than a little cynical in our dealings with them.

So, when Tom very politely and calmly suggested he take me to dinner so that the paparazzi could get pictures of us getting along, that that was the best way to show the execs we were okay to be around each other, it threw a big red flag, but I agreed. He was right, it was a great way to prove to everyone, myself included, that I could handle being around him, and if he kept up the charm instead of the obsession, it would be fine.

Jay wasn’t happy about it, but I promised him that I would be in public, with cameras on me, the entire time. “It’s the best way to deal with this. I will be completely on guard, Tom will be on his best behavior. I have to do this,” I said into Skype.

“You really don’t. If you want to, you know, face him, I get it. But you don’t have to do this.” He bit his lip. “You still want me to be there tomorrow?”

“Of course! Please, Jay.”

He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“I love you, Jensen.”

“I love you, too, Baby Girl. My flight’s in at 11:35. You gonna pick me up?”

“Definitely.”

He smiled. “All right. You be careful. I wish I was there, I’d-”

“I know what you’d do to him. That’s part of why I’m doing this alone. I do love that you wanna defend me, though.”

“Cover your own ass, right?”

“Yes, sir.” I smiled at him and he blew me a kiss before signing off.

I didn’t dress up to go to dinner. I didn’t want to send any sort of romantic signals toward Tom. He did dress up. I looked like a bum sitting at the table with Tom in a clean pressed suit. I didn’t really care, though. The point was for us to seem like we didn’t hate each other, not that we were on a date.

When the waiter came up, Tom ordered me a tequila sunrise before I’d even had a chance to open my mouth. Flag. As the server walked away, I excused myself to the restroom and tracked down the waiter. “Hi. Uh, you know that guy I’m with?”

“Oh, honey, I know all about you and Tom Hiddleston,” he said, looking over my shoulder. “I run a gossip blog in my free time. Didn’t think you’d run back to an abusive relationship so quick, but who am I to judge?”

I scoffed. “I’m not going back to him. This is purely for the Marvel execs to see us together so they don’t take Sin away from me.” I sighed. “But he’s trying to get me drunk, and that needs to not happen. Okay? So, can you do me a huge favor and not put any tequila in the sunrises? Just orange juice and grenadine, swipe the rim with tequila so that it smells like liquor but don’t mix any in?”

He gave me a thoughtful look and pursed his lips. “When you finally decide to come clean about Tom’s abuse, I want an exclusive interview.”

“Deal.”

“Virgin sunrises with a tequila rim, it is. Here’s my card.” He pulled out a business card and handed it over. I tucked it in the back of my jeans and winked before heading back to the table.

Tom put the charm on for about an hour and a half, ordering me new drinks before I’d finished my old ones, smiling as we spoke, and it was easy to see why I’d fallen for him in the first place. If I weren’t on my guard, I might have fallen back into it. If he hadn’t tried to get me drunk, I might’ve fallen for it… If he hadn’t hurt me…

The server, Steph according to his card, brought me another drink and Tom looked at me, curiously. “That’s your fourth one, isn’t it?”

“Well you keep ordering me more!” I laughed, loudly, and I could almost hear the camera shutters going.

“But you don’t seem even slightly tipsy.” He chuckled, obviously confused.

“Oh, that’s ‘cause there’s no tequila in these.” I gestured to the glass in my hand.

His face fell. “What?” he whispered.

I nodded, excitedly, putting down the drink and picking up a breadstick. “Yeah! See, I, uh, I got a pretty good memory, Tom, and I remember telling you on our first date to Lava that if you wanted to get me drunk, tequila sunrises were the way to go. You ordering me a sunrise was a big red flag. Texas-sized once you started ordering more and more of them.” I bit into the bread and leaned forward, smiling. “You wanted me to get drunk, defenses down, get pictures of us getting cozy in the mags again, and, hey, maybe you’d get me in bed, right? ‘Cause it was so easy last time. And then I’d have to take you back or I’d look like the whore you think I am.”

I kept the smile, but my eyes and voice went cold. “This is the part where you’re supposed to apologize, tell me I’m misunderstanding. But I’m not, am I?” I shook my head. “I’m done with this, Tom. This is it. Look me in my eyes and hear what I’m saying. I am not afraid of you. I am not in love with you. You are not going to manipulate me or hurt me, ever again. I will continue to work with you, as needed, but beyond that… you don’t talk to me, understand?”

I stood when he didn’t respond, patting his shoulder as I walked toward the door. I threw a peace sign at the paparazzi and pulled my phone out as I walked down the sidewalk. “Hey, just wanted to let you know I’m out of dinner with Tom. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, but suffice it to say… I think I win. I think the game’s over and I win. Call me when you get done shooting. Love you, Jay.”

It was like a weight being lifted when I turned back toward the restaurant and saw Tom walk out. He looked at me, but walked forward to hail a cab, not coming after me. I win.

~~~~~~~~~~

I had never been so excited to put on a dress as I was to put on the cobalt blue metallic Theia gown. Like, not even my wedding dress made me as excited as the gown I put on to walk the red carpet with Jensen… in his light blue suit with his thin grey tie. He actually fucking stared when I walked out of the bathroom. I spent hours on my hair and makeup and locked myself in the hotel bathroom for the last half hour before finishing. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped a little and, honestly, I have never felt more beautiful. “Wow. You look amazing.”

“It’s not too much? I mean, when I did the premieres, Tom always made me go less. He didn’t want me to ‘look like a harlot’.”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “If he so much as speaks to you without needing to, I’m gonna kill him.”

“No, you’re not. Don’t wanna get your suit dirty.”

“Fine… but if he touches you…”

“I can take care of it. Calm your protective side, honey. I handled him yesterday, I can handle him today.”

“‘Honey’?” He smirked. “Since when am I ‘Honey’?”

“Since calling you ‘daddy’ is weird for both of us if it’s not a joke and Jay is a nickname, not a pet name and you, my wonderful boyfriend, deserve a pet name.”

His smirk became a genuine smile. “I fuckin’ love you. I’ll take ‘Honey’.”

We rode to the awards show in the back of a Towncar. Jensen helped me out and we walked down the carpet, taking questions from reporters as we went. A few asked why we were there together and Jensen let me answer them. “See, this guy here, this is my best friend. I told him I had to present an award and asked if he’d come with for emotional support and he was here, man. Like, how many folks would move their whole schedules around to take their friend to an award show that she’s not even getting an award at?”

“She didn’t even have to ask. Soon as I found out her ex was gonna be here, I wanted to be here.” Jay bit his lip and looked around, almost like he was trying to find Tom.

“And we’re not causing any trouble, right, Jensen?” I said, pointedly.

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Right. We don’t start trouble.”

“Do you end it?” The reporter asked with a smile.

I grabbed Jensen’s arm and tugged on it. “We’re not ending anything except this interview, okay? Come on, we gotta get inside.”

I had to go to the restroom, so I left Jensen at our seats and walked away. When I got back to my seat, Jay held out his phone. “You’re welcome.”

“What’s this?”

“Some of the proof you keep sayin’ you don’t have.”

I pressed play on the video, which was taken with the selfie cam of the phone that was obviously sitting in Jensen’s lap as it recorded. “How did I know she would show up here on your arm?” Tom’s voice came out of the phone.

“Probably the same way she knew Marvel would protect you and I know that she’s gonna destroy you as soon as she decides Marvel isn’t worth her effort if they’re gonna cover for a predator.”

“But Marvel hasn’t been protecting me. The only one protecting me is y/n. She’s said repeatedly that I did no wrong. Why do you think that is, I wonder?”

“Ah, is this the part where you tell me that, despite the fact that you were horrible and abusive and controlling and forced her into a S&M relationship she didn’t want, despite the fact that when she left you you grabbed her so hard she had bruises for weeks and then started harassing her through text messages until she changed her number and tried to get her drunk last night so that you could take advantage of her... despite all that, she’s still in love with you?”

“Of course she is, even if she doesn’t realize it. Love doesn’t die so quickly… and she is mine.”

“No, jackass, she’s not. She’s not yours. She’s not mine. She is her own woman and she doesn’t want anything to do with you.” The picture jostled as he stood and the camera settled on the bottom half of Tom’s face. “She doesn’t want me to cause a scene, so walk away before she gets back.”

Tom gave a slight smile. “I never should have let her go back to your little show.”

“She’d still be under your thumb if you hadn’t.”

“She’ll be under my thumb again, don’t worry. And when she returns, I’ll show her exactly what happens to a slave that runs away from her master.”

“Walk… away… now.”

“There are far too many cameras upon us, Jensen. You wouldn’t want to embarass y/n publicly, would you? I can say from experience, she hates the media speculating about her life.” Tom chuckled. “Enjoy her while you can. She’ll come back to me, eventually.”

I swallowed and handed the phone back to Jay. “He didn’t… he didn’t even try to deny any of it. He’s so… He really thinks I’m gonna go back to him?” I shook my head.

“Dude’s delusional.” Jay smirked as he tucked his phone into his jacket pocket. “You really know how to pick ‘em, don’t’cha?”

“Well, one outta three ain’t bad.”

“Yeah, it is. That’s 33%,” he said with a smirk.

“Well, I only need one to work out, right? One good guy.” Jay reached out and grabbed my hand. “In case you were wondering, you’re the good guy.”

“Oh, good. I was worried.” He chuckled, bringing the back of my hand to his lips.

OPEN/SOMETHING MORE

@angelessquirrel @mirandaaustin93 @supernatural-bellawinchester @mannls @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @nanie5 @super-fics @sev3nruby @racewife2004 @deansenwackles

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme

[pandabearlikes]

My Husband, Kim JunMeow

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Chapter o2. I’m Not A Vixen, I Swear  

My mother blinks.  I stand there as frozen as a popsicle could get and maybe even more frozen than that.  Color strips from my face and I’m seconds from passing out in front of the two most important figures destined to be part of my life.  With a chummy grin, the stud extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he politely greets with a bow.  My mind whirls and my hands reflexively jerk out to retreat his arm as if I’m afraid the female in front of us would morph into a real tiger and maul his beautiful hands off.  

Hesitantly, my mother takes his hand.  My pretend husband’s politeness strikes her as a positive attribute from the list of qualities her potential son-in-law must have.  

“Kim Jun…Meow…?” she raises a brow.  

“Mmhm,” his friendly smile charms my mother like a spell.  

“Okay, OK, Mum, you got his name.  I’ll explain all else through the phone!” I speedily separate them and proceed to scoot her out the door.  “I love you, Mum.  I’m sorry.  I promise I’ll go home over the weekend for dinner,” I apologize and give her a fleeting kiss on the cheek.  It calms her enough to not grill me further.  With a short shake of the head and palm holding her throbbing head, she struts down the block and gets into her car.  

I slam the door shut and heave the deepest of deep breaths.  My back slides down the ornate engraved designs of the wooden front door.  Palms rest themselves against my sore chest as I take a moment to process what in the actual world just happened.  Am I secretly the main character of a crazy webtoon or something??  Hey, you gotta admit it, W was a kick ass Korean drama but the ending was kind of —

Large hands outstretch in front of me, breaking me from my habitual scatter-brained thoughts.  Its owner leans over like a gentlemen, prince in shining armor straight out of a fairy tale.  On instincts, I take his hand and he helps me onto my feet.  The miscalculated force guides me to land right into his chest.  It’s so warm and broad and perfect and my heart starts to bubble and go crazy.  Bashfully, I peer up at him.  Cheeks heat up in temperatures rivaling the degree of the hotness gemstones in the night sky.  I think I’m floating on clouds.  He’s beautiful.  My fingertips trail down his chest and torso.

“Are you okay?” the handsome man breaks the silence by questioning.  It dispels the entrancing bewitchment and finally registering what I was doing, I bounce myself back and away from him to hide behind my living room table.  I gulp.  

How did you get in here?  Who are you…?

Instead, the words that spill from my mouth are, “Did we…”

“Hm?” he tilts his head and innocently, inches forward.  My eyes roam down his chocolate abs and I know it’s stupid but I feel a sense of satisfaction.  The thought of losing my virginity to such a god-like man was…silly…but satisfying because social college norms are pressuring.  You try to ignore it but it gets to you sometimes and having gone through 90% of college without having touched the opposite sex made me feel unwanted.  Stupid.  Stupid thoughts.  And priorities much?  Shouldn't I be asking him for his identity?  He could be a serial killer for God’s sake.  

“Did we…do it?” I elaborate.

“Do what?” the man is now just two feet from me.  Sensing my discomfort, he settles at the other end of the living room table.  A soft smile spreads across his juicy lips and I’m so in awe by how quickly my pulse calms down to his simple act.  

“You know…” I chew on my inner cheek, lower my head, and shift my feet.  

“I know…?” he pouts.  He looks so soft and cuddly, his cheeks puff up and I have to grind my heels against the floor to not go up and pinch them.  

“Did we…have sex…?” I mumble.

“Sex?” the attractive human raises his brow.  The slight twitch of the corner of his lips sends my heart trembling once again.  

“…You know…hah…” I rub the back of my neck, “Hah…we’re both fully grown adults…it’s okay.  Chill…chill…it’s not that big of a deal…everyone does it…it’s normal…we don’t have to make it such a big dea—"

As a spurt words out of nervousness, I fail to acknowledge his advancement until he’s literally standing right in front of me.  Our toes tickle one another and I’m such a coward, I can’t even tilt my head up to look at him.  Instead, my vision coincidentally lands on the bump covered by the blanket around his hip.  From the close distance, the thin cotton fabric could only hide so much.  

“Like mating…?” his voice is just as soft as his cheeks.  But his odd question causes me to look up at him with an utterly confused expression.  

“Ye-…yeah…” I blink and nod.  Both our cheeks dusts in cherry blossom pink.  

“No, I would never do that to you,” he responds.  I jolt my head up and bite my lower lip, a little hurt by his response.  Again, there goes these stupid and foolish thoughts of self-worthlessness due to being rejected by a perfect guy…

“…without your permission…” the man finishes his genuine statement.  Sucking in air, I peer into his oscillating orbs again.  They’re so sparkly, with a tinge of azure blue.  My tummy flip-flops as my brain repeats his sweet words over and over again.  I flatten my lips.  He gifts me a pure and gentle smile and automatically, my expressions mimic his.  It’s ridiculous and I am not a believer of true love, much less, love at first sight but this moment may have just disproved all my beliefs or non-beliefs.  

But I didn’t want to seem like an easy girl nor want to let go of my pride so I backtrack and cross my arms over my chest.  “Do you use that line with all the girls you sleep with?” I accuse.  He blinks.  Hissing, I grumble under my breath, “But I don’t feel any pain…If we did it I should be super sore because you’re so bi—“  I catch myself before my chatterbox lips vocalize any more of my thoughts.  He laughs into his smile.  

“I…would never hurt you…” the man sincerely promises.  

“We-well…tell me who you are then…” I chuck back.

“Kim JunMeow,” he answers right away.

“Kim Jun…Meow…?” I scratch my head, “That’s the oddness name I’ve ever…”

Sensing my distrust, the lovely man picks up one of my scattered notebooks and pens from the table and scribbles onto it.  With an adorable signature grin, he turns the notebook and reveals the writing.  

“Kim JunMyeon,” I read out loud.  “Oh, JunMyeon,” I laugh.  “You can’t even say your own name?  Is JunMeow a nickname?”  I giggle and admit, “It’s kinda cute.”

Junmyeon’s expressions liven at my comment.  “Will you call me by ‘JunMeow’ then?” he shyly requests and looks at me with hopeful eyes.  

“Sure!” I chirp.  The room echoes with our bashful giggles.  Then I backtrack again; my expression grows serious and I grab a nearby lamp as a makeshift weapon.  Narrowing my eyes, I finally ask the questions I should have asked a long time ago.  “Who are you?”  Wait, God damn it, you just asked that.  Ask the other question.  “I mean…How did you find me?!”

“I followed you home,” the gullible man honestly answers.

My jaw hits the ground with a scoff.  “Are you a psychopath?!” I shrill.  “I knew it, I’ve been dry all my life, no perfect man would suddenly drop into my world,” I groan and then shout, “How did you even get into my apartment?!?!  I’m calling the police!!”

“No!  No, please calm down!” Junmyeon holds his palms up.  

“Are you a rapist?!  A serial killer?  Oh my God…I’m going to die.  I’m going to…” I shout gibberish as my knees start to shake.  He starts to make his way toward me.  Trembling, I hold the lamp out like a sword and shield.  “Please…please…” I start to break down when he’s inches from me.  Though not too tall, his physique towers over me.  His strong grip gathers hold of the lamp and he slowly twists it out of my grasp. “I barely lived life.  I’ve never fallen in love or achieved any life goals.  Please don’t kill me…” I start to beg when he completely strips me of any weaponry or protective barrier.  He locks me with his deep gaze as my body uncontrollably convulses at the thought of being raped and killed and the sad thought that my mother was probably anxiously waiting at home for my phone call.  I squeeze my eyes shut and let tears fall down like a broken pearl necklace along my cheeks.  He’s so close, I could feel heat radiating from his skin and rush through my pores.  Then, the unthinkable happens.  Strong arms mold around the curvature of my back as its owner brings me into his embrace.  Still, not comprehending his actions, I continue to shake against his chest.  He presses me closer until the minimal space between our skin starts to perspire.

“I would never hurt you,” Junmyeon repeats his promise from before while tenderly stroking the side of my arm to calm me down.  His touch is the closest thing to a miracle; the trembles quiet.  

“Yo-you hic you just said you followed hic me home…” I hiccup from fright.  

“You let me in,” he honestly answers.  

Confusion settles into my soul and I aggressively pinch my arm because I’m so sure I’m stuck in a crazy dream right now.  I’ve been reading too much erotic fan fiction for my own good.  If only I had as much interest in my college text books…My skin is beet red but the illusion before me fails to dispel.  Junmyeon grabs hold of my hand to stop my self-inflicted bruise.  He takes my arm and starts to softly brush the red spot with his thumb; it startles me.  Taking his lowered guard to my advantage, I grab onto his wrist and launch him in the direction of the door.  He groans as his body slams against the front door.  Immediately, I climb on top of him to subdue him.  His hands naturally hold the sides of my hip and suddenly, our position is more suggestive than I had intended.  My breathing is heavy and panting from all the action and anxiety.  Junmyeon peers up with a look of innocence and puzzlement.  As soon as I feel a heated throb against my thigh, i bounce off him.

“I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT YOU NEED TO LEAVE OR ELSE I’M CALLING THE COPS!” I warn.

He gives me ‘em puppy eyes, they’re so familiar…but I can’t quite grasp the situation.  My phone rings.  With my eyes locked on Kim JunMeow - I mean Myeon, I sidewalk like a crab over to the kitchen counter to grab hold of my device.

“Hello?”

My father’s thunderous voice almost deafens me.  I hold my phone out at an arm’s length to salvage my hearing.  “I AM DOWNSTAIRS.  YOUNG LADY, YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINING!”  

I should be relieved.  My father, who is a retired police officer is here to save me from this psychopath stalker, but I’m not.  I’m not relieved.  Anxiety and worry fills my souls for whatever reason, I can’t quite pinpoint.  A moment of de ja vu clouds my mind as I glance over to the patient and innocent-looking man.  Quickly, I shake off the feeling and misinterpret it as a sign that I was stupidly more afraid of getting in trouble with my parents than being murdered.  Very stupid indeed, my logic needs some reworking.  

As soon as my father hangs up, I dash across the room, take Junmyeon by the hands and tug him back into my room.  Wardrobe doors swing open.  I dig through my clothes for the largest t-shirt I could find and hold the contenders up to Junmyeon to find the most appropriate and presentable one.  I don’t even question why he showed up at my house without clothes to begin with.

“You’re pretty skinny, I think you’ll fit this one!” I announce, chuck a black t-shirt at him, and run to dig through my drawers for some jogger pants.

Junmyeon frowns at the graphics on the shirt that read, “Cats are Devil’s Spawn.”

“What are you doing?! Put it on! My dad’s coming up as we speak!” I rush.  When the man doesn’t move, I physically go up to him, stretch the jogger pant’s waist band out, and get down on my knees.  “Leg up!” I order.  Obediently, Junmyeon lets me slip the pants up.  I catch a glimpse of his goods by accident and almost choke on my saliva.  

Keys start to jiggle at the door.  I’m a mess, I jolt up onto my feet and motion for Junmyeon to lift up his arms so I could slip the t-shirt on but he’s stubborn about not wearing the chosen t-shirt.  “ARM UP!” I growl.  The man with breathtaking boyish looks puff up his cheeks and shake his head.  

“KIM JUNMEOW!” I bark, “My father will be right here any moment!”

His lower lip protrudes at the increased volume of my voice.  

“Be good…” For some reason, I reach out and pet his head.  

“Fine,” Junmyeon murmurs and finally reaches his arms over his head.  Instantaneously, I throw the shirt over him and pull.  He’s skinny but so ripped, his pecs protrude through the t-shirt.

“YOUNG LADY, WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE MARRIED?!” My father barges straight through my bedroom door, disregarding the fact that I’d have to spend a chunk of my paycheck to repair it.  But worse of all, my hands are still tangled in between Junmyeon’s abs and the shirt.  

Fourth time.  I never ever want to hear my full name ever again.  Immediately, I jerk my hand away from Junmyeon to cover my ears.  On the other hand, my pretend husband is already absorbed into his character.  His arms protectively round over my body.  The older man scrutinizes him, his nostrils flaring out with invisible fire.  Junmyeon spins me around even though the escapist part of me would much rather face plant against his chest.  

“Hello, Sir.  I am Kim JunMeow,” my pretend husband bows and stretches out a hand to take my father’s.  This time, I grab his hand before my shark of a father could sever his limb off.  The furious man hisses at my disrespectful actions but can’t disapprove of Junmyeon’s politeness.  

“Kim Jun…Meow?” the older man’s response is similar to his wife’s.  

“Hah…” I nervously laugh, “He means Kim JunMyeon, Dad.  JunMeow is just the pet name I gave him…heh…” I scratch my head and find myself, also, absorbed in my character too.  My palm rests against Junmyeon’s abdomen and we stand there like any other normal couple.  

“What do you do?  And when did you meet me daughter?” the retired sheriff takes a seat on my vanity chair and starts to interrogate.

“I protect your daughter and summer of 1996,” Junmyeon honestly answers, though, at the time, I assume it is a straight out lie.  I look at him, impressed with his job well done.  

The interrogator narrows his eyes but the shock of Junmyeon’s answers makes him speechless.  My mother had detailed to him that I had randomly married a mysterious man she’s never met and it was quite possibly an impulsive or shot gun marriage.

“Are you pregnant?”

“NO!” I instantly answer.

“Young Man, do your parents know you got married?”

“No,” Junmyeon shakes his head.  I subtly smack his back to reprimand him for his honesty.  

“Why did the two of you get married without your parents' permission?!  Huh?!?” My father stomps his feet in rage.

“Because I love her,” my pretend husband shocks me with his response.  “I want to protect her.  I never met my father and humans separated me from my mother when I was eight weeks old.  I’ve never seen her since and quite frankly, I don’t even remember how she looks like.”  My heart drops at his confession, I peer up at him almost searching for a hint that would tell me all of this was an act and that he didn’t have to go through such unbearable trauma so early in his life.  Because no one deserves such tragedy.  And yet, his jaws are tense and eyes grow glossy at the memory.

My father too, softens his strong front at the younger male’s story.  “That…that is not an excuse for you not to ask for my permission for my daughter’s hand in marriage, Young Man.  You don’t have parents but she does.”

“Dad!” I hiss.  I think I’m stupid for having fallen prey to this man’s lies.  

“Stay out of this,” the middle-aged man orders, “This is a conversation between men.”

To my father’s words, I cower and lower my head in shame.  Yet, to my bewilderment, the normally placid Junmyeon bravely counters, “Why is it a conversation between men, Sir?  Aren’t we talking about your daughter and my marriage?  She has full right to take part in the conversation.”  I inhale sharply.  My father jolts up onto his feet and glares at Junmyeon with intimidation for daring to talk back at him.  Instinctively, I step in front of my husband and hold my arm out in a protective stance.  

In a mature gesture, Junmyeon bows his head and states, “Sir, I admit our marriage was quite impulsive and abrupt.  It was my fault for not informing you.”

“Dad…” I murmur a plea, “Please…”  Please what… “Do-don’t…” my lips tremble, though I’m not sure why.  “Don’t break us apart…” I choke.  Both men in the room paralyze with guilt.  I lift my hand up to my cheeks and realize I was crying…no…I was sobbing.  This sudden rush of emotions is so incomprehensible to me.  I don’t understand why…why…but I start choking with tears.  An unbearable feeling of having a wound resurface in my heart causes me to clench my chest.  Distraught, Junmyeon brings me into his tight embrace, stroking my hair and whispering, “It’s okay” in my ear.  Speechless, the older man can only watch as his supposed son-in-law steals away the job once reserved for him.  

“Sir, I apologize for everything.  I’ll stop by and have this chat with you another time,” Junmyeon promises as he holds me.  My sobs only grow and it breaks both of my guardians' hearts.  I’m riddled with confusion, myself.  

Junmyeon doesn’t let go of me even after my father leaves.  Hiccuping, I peel myself away from him and wipe my eyes.  “I hic I don’t know what hic is hic going on but you need to hic go!” I direct him to the door.  “Let’s pretend that nothing happened between us last night.”  Well, technically nothing happened between us…but…  Compliantly, he lets me shove him to the front of the door but stands his ground when I tell him to go his merry way.  

“I’m not leaving when you are like this,” Junmyeon strictly says.  Looking down, I notice even my hands are shaking.  What has gotten into me?  

Chuckling, I wipe my tears and try to suppress my sobs as best as possible. “I should have majored in Acting, shouldn’t I?” I downplay the incident because I still don’t know why I suddenly burst into tears.  

Junmyeon’s gentle expression tells me he doesn’t buy it.  “I’ll leave after I know that you’re okay,” he bargains.

I bite my lip and turn away to avoid his enticing gaze.  With his brows sinking a bit and lips in a pout, he looks so fluffy and cuddly and I wasn’t sure if I’d hop into his embrace without my own knowledge.  Instead, he steps back into the room, stops in front of me, and takes my hand.  

“Go,” I say, though my heart tells him to stay.  But I learn very quickly that listening my heart is an untrustworthy one-way trip to misery.

“You really want me to go?” Junmyeon softly questions as he kneads my fingers.

“Go.”

I can’t stop the half twitch of my brows when he lets go of my hands.  Footsteps grow lighter and lighter, my heart drops when they stop.  Calm your thirst, Woman.  You barely know him.  Frustrated, I tousle my hair.  When I look up again, I do a double take.  My eyes widen.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” I suck in my breath and almost trip over flat surface.  

Junmyeon is stripping out of his clothes.  Choking myself from my quick breathing, I rush forward to stop him before he got to his bottoms.  My hands outstretch to grab onto his loose waistband but miss it by a jiffy.  His perfectly symmetrical butt cheeks stare back at me as he lets the jogging pants fall to the floor.

“AHHH!” I scream and cover my face with my hands.  Notice, I said face and not eyes, my fingers part in “V” because my thirst or as Fifty Shades of Grey would describe as “inner goddess” contradict with my outer reserved demeanor.  And NO, I didn’t read Fifty Shades of Grey O.o I just saw the movie trailer…but I digress.  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, KIM JUNMYEON?!”

With his blank kitten stare, he starts to turn.  

“DON’T TURN AROUND!” I shout.  

“Hm?” the man innocently explains, “The shirt and pants are yours so I didn’t want to leave with them without your permission.”  

“YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION!  PLEASE TAKE THEM!” I instantly reply and physically lift the pants back up to cover him.  The thought of other woman getting a glimpse of his body angered me for whatever reason I don’t know.  Maybe, I’m just hella possessive.  Wiping off the sweat from my forehead, I throw my head back in exhaustion.  First that cat and now —

“Wait…what happened to…” I scratch my head and scan my premise for any signs of the furry monster.

Junmyeon is finally allowed to turn around.

“Put the shirt back on,” I command as I get down on my knees and look under my sofa for the lost cat.

“I don’t want to,” my pretend husband complains.  Running my fingers through my hair, I throw him a displeased look.  

“Be good and put back on your shirt, please,” I hear myself say.

“No,” Junmyeon crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.  The shirt is an abandoned heap on the floor.  For a moment, I mistake it to be the missing cat playing hide and seek and lift it up.  

“Argh,” I toss the shirt at the hot stud, who flicks his arm to reject my present.  “Argh, you act like Lila’s ungrateful cat!” I groan under my breath.  Junmyeon takes a seat at the arm of the sofa and observe me as I almost tear my apartment up in search of the runaway feline.  

“I don’t like that shirt, even if I love you,” he grumbles.

I stuck my head out of my laundry basket and ask, “Why?”

“I love cats.”

“Oh my God.”  My body collapses onto the floor in disbelief.  

Junmyeon suppresses a chuckle at my dramatic reaction.  “You used to too…” he whispers but I don’t hear over my own hypothesis about how every one has been hypnotized by freakin’ cats.  

“You should just marry Lila.  My God, you two would love each other,” I half-heartedly say as I dig through the boxes above my shelves in case the kitty fell asleep there.  

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you and we’re married now,” he smiles into his reply.  I stop the search to look at him.  Mistake.  Cleaning my throat, I hold a hand up to block my view of his flawlessly sculptured abs.  

“You’re really good at acting.  Are you an actor?” I probe.

“Nope.”

“Are you…a thief?” I narrow my eyes.  Hey, they are good at lying after all.  

“Nope,” Junmyeon answers, this time a little amused.

“Then what are you?”

“A cat,” he bluntly answers.

I roll my eyes and throw a sofa pillow at him.  He catches it with ease and hugs it against his chest.  “You’re such a good liar.  You almost had me earlier,” I click my tongue, now pretending to search through my house so that he didn’t know I am actually interested in his response.  

“Earlier?”

“Earlier, with my father,” I completely terminate the search and plop myself onto the sofa next to him.  Finally, I can look at him without my heart racing in turbulent speeds due to the nifty pillow blocking my eyes from gawking over his lethal bod.  

“I was honest with every word I said,” Junmyeon retorts.

Scrutinizing his facial features, I try to hunt for any hints of dishonesty.  But his expression is so pure and lovely.  Unknowingly, my lips curve up into a friendly smile.  

“I will protect you…”

Shaking my head, I laugh.

“…with my life,” he quiets me with his words.  It doesn’t make sense but I feel my heart clench.

“…You…you must be an expert at picking up girls…” I remark to distract myself.

“Popular with them but I don’t pick up girls on purpose.”

I scoff and he chuckles.  Even his laughter is friendly.  

“…So…about your—“ I turn my whole body around and begin to ask but the loud grumble of his stomach halts my curiosity.  Junmyeon slaps his tummy.

“Hungry?”

“Hm…” he timidly lowers his head, “A little.”

“Want some ramen?” I offer and chirpily get up to the kitchen to cook brunch.  

“Do you have fish?” Junmyeon questions as he follows you.

“Fish?  Hm…I think I have some.  Do you mind leftovers?” I say while rummaging through my fridge.  I close the door a bit when I sense Junmyeon hovering over me.  Heh.  I’m not the most organize to say the least…especially not the refrigerator.  

“Nope.  My diet is primarily eating what people throw away anyway…I’m used to it,” he states with such nonchalance that if makes my heart sink a little.  Though, I’m uncertain of his identity, a part of me believes his promise that he’d never hurt me.

“I also have chicken breast left, do you want some?” I attempt to dig out the most delicious and presentable dishes a broke ass college student could have.

“Yes!!  Fish and chicken breast are my favorite,” the handsome man cheers. Muffling a giggle, I throw all the food onto a plastic container and chuck it into the microwave while I start to prepare the ramen.  From his seat, Junmyeon watches me with admiration.  He looks like a giddy, fluffy, happy kitty.  His invisible tail wags to the sound of the microwave’s beep.    

It smells like pure bliss, my tummy flip-flops with anticipation.  Steam vaporizes into the air.  I turn off the fire and bring the entire pot of ramen onto the kitchen counter.  Quickly, I motion for the gullible man to come over.  He leaps up onto his feet and joins me at the table.  

“Here you go,” I divide the left over tilapia and chicken onto two plates and serve him one.  Eyeing his food as if they are bricks of gold, he lifts a hand and gets ready to dig in.  

“Wa-wait!” I chime and hand him a fork.  “Wow.  You must be hungry.”  

Smiling, he takes it and starts to chomp away.  With a giggle, I take the lid off the pot and fetch myself a bit of ramen.  “Hot.  Hot!” I squirm and whimper at my scalded tongue.  Junmyeon blinks.  “Ramen is so delicious but you always have to wait a few minute—“  I start but notice a fork come into my peripheral vision.  My new friend had forked a piece of fish and held it up to my lip.  

“You…you can eat it,” I shake my head.  “I have some of myself,” I explain as my cheeks start to heat up.  That was seriously so sweet, knowing that he had offered to share his favorite food.  Rubbing my neck, I slurp up the cooled ramen.  

“So…” I start.

“Hm?” he looks up from his meal.

“You said what you told my dad was all true…?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon firmly states.

“So about your dad…and mom…” my voice softens in projection as I spot the wavering glint in his pearly orbs.  

“Yeah,” he nods.  

My heart drops.  The thought of a small 8 week old baby being torn from his mother crushes my soul.  And I don’t know why and I don’t know when, a tear slips down my cheeks.  Yes, I’m overly empathetic, but it still doesn’t quite make sense why I’m suddenly an emotional wreck in the presence of this man.  With a sad smile, Junmyeon reaches out his hand and brushes off the tear.  I freeze in place.

“You saved me though,” he whispers.

“Huh?” I blink.  My sweet fake husband simply gifts me a wide smile of gratitude.  Just like a cat, he licks the plate of the last crumbs and sauces.  Laughing, I offer him some ramen but he declines them, stating that they aren’t healthy.

“Oh goodness, are you one of those health freaks?  Is that why you have such a nice body?” I tease and serve my portion of the fish and chicken breast onto his plate.  The kitten boy grins brightly and munches away.  

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” I complain.  

“I don’t like that shirt,” he replies with a mouthful of food.  It makes his chubby cheeks look like that of chipmunks.  

“So picky…” I roll my eyes and tap on my phone.  A gasp escapes my throat.  Junmyeon blinks.  “Look, I have to get to class now…um…”  The young man’s shoulders droop, realizing it was time for him to take his leave.

I scratch my head.  “Wait for me to come back…okay?”

His eyes flicker and flattened lips curve upward.  The enthusiastic nod of a reaction causes my heart to flutter.  Checking that the gas on the stove were turned off, I gather my textbooks and backpack and head for the door.

With a hand over the doorknob, I playfully question, “You’re not a thief, right?”

“Nope.”

“Okay,” I giggle and swing open the door, “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he promises.  I throw him back a smile.  “Wait, bring an umbrella.”

“The weatherman said it was sunny today,” I note, but he places an umbrella into my hand and squeezes.    

My protector watches me as I step through the door before he heads back into the apartment.  But I surprise him by popping my head back in.  “Kim JunMeow~” I call.

He twirls around with pure bliss upon his face.

“If you don’t like that shirt, feel free to grab another one,” I chuckle.  

~

Can’t concentrate in class.  Can’t concentrate.  

My friend, Lila, sniffs me.  With raised brow, I distance myself.  First, my mother sniffs me and now my best friend sniffs me…did I really smell like…

“What does sex smell like?” I pop the question, which causes Lila to choke on her coffee.

“Certainly not like you two,” a popular girl, seated behind us, overhears, and mocks, “You two reek of cat.”

“Oh, shut up,” I bark, roll loose leaf paper into a ball, and launch it at her.

“But…hey…to be honest…you do kinda smell like cat today.  Trust me, I would know,” Lila whispers into my ear.

With the toss of my head, I groan, “It was pouring last night so I took home a lost cat.”

A loud gasp shrills from Lila’s lips; she bounces up and down in her seat.  “Can I come over?!  Can I come over?!?!”

“NO!” I accidentally shout louder than expected.  

“Why?” the cat lover slumps.

“The cat isn’t there anymore,” I lie.  Well, it isn’t exactly a lie…it’s only that the fact she can’t come over is because I’m hiding a testosterone filled human, who I suspect is a part-time nudist.  

As soon as the professor dismisses the class, I pack my bag, wave a fleeting goodbye to my dear friend, and skip happily back home.  Raindrops coat my skin; my little feet dances along the puddles.  Twirling, twirling, I spin down the streets, in circles.  My umbrella sends splashes of rainwater back onto earth like paint on canvas.  It doesn’t even occur to me that I’m so over-the-moon until I spot my glowing reflection on a glass building.  Kim Junmyeon may be strange but he fills a hole in my heart I never knew existed until today.

“I’m home!  Which shirt did you pick out?  It better one be one of my Victoria Sec—“  I scan the premise and toss my shoes off.  “Kim Junmyeon?” I call, parading through my living room into my kitchen.  I open my bedroom door and even checked the bathroom.  My heart starts to sink.  He said he’d…wait for me…

Just as I am about to slump against my couch, an intruder reveals himself.

“Meow~” the handsome white kitty comes up to my feet and rounds his furry paws around my ankle.  His chubby cheeks snuggle against my skin, welcoming me back home.  

A/N: Omg this chapter is so long.  Junmyeon is so innocent & girl is so thirsty hahaha.  Rereading the striping scene made me crack up.

Follow, like, comment, spam my inbox to motivate me.  Daily updates.

>>My Husband, Kim JunMeow Archive<<

>>Story Master Archive<<

I’m sorry my tumblr keeps breaking :(

Any cat lovers out there??

[truthofherdreams]

blossom beautifully, dangerously, loudly

so.... that's me dipping my toes into Hamilton fics? I'm so not used to writing m/m tbh and I started this after watching Moonlight, which...

just a queer girl dealing with her shit family through fictional characters, the usual (+ao3)

8.

He knows he’s different.

Not just because of the freckles on his face like little paint stains he can never wipe off, no matter how much he scrubs. Not just because of his curly hair and brown skin, in a sea of white children. Not just the books he can never put down, reading until his eyes go blurry. Not just the fights and the bruises and the scratches, that have his teachers say he has anger issues.

But because his heart starts racing when little Arthur sits next to him during reading time. Blond hair falling in front of blue eyes and a missing tooth, the cutest boy John has ever seen. Girls are icky, too busy playing with dolls for John to care about them. His father laughs and says it will change soon. His mother smiles kindly.

But girls are icky, and little Arthur is not.

John knows better than to tell his parents, has heard the words his father say when he reads the news, when yet another State passes a law about marriage. John is only eight, missing teeth and small stutter and a passion for planes, but old enough to know there are some things he better keep for himself.

Some things he can never say out loud.

...

16.

His knuckles hurt, bruised and bloody from yet another punch; knuckles meet jaw in a crunching noise. The guy facing him spits on the floor, more blood than saliva, before pointing a finger at him. The slur is on his tongue before John has time to get ready, and then a threat. Not that it surprises John -- bigots and bullies hardly surprise him these days, too predictable in the way they act around him.

An insult, tripping him in the hallway, pushing him against the lockers.

His ribs still hurt a little from last week, but his skin is tougher now, and so is his mind. He got quite good at hiding the bruises and finding explanations about all the fights. He’s just that kind of a boy, his father says proudly, gotta teach ‘em a lesson. His father has no idea, and John lets him believe it’s just the anger talking, just some alpha male bullshit.

Better than the truth, right?

A teacher separates them before another punch can be thrown, sending John to his calculus class with a detention and a lecture. Nobody ever questions it; nobody ever cares enough to notice that one kid getting bullied by all the other boys, if only because he fights back. Maybe he should wear glasses and act like the nerd he is, maybe then they would notice something is wrong. But then the school would call his parents with a whole different kind of talk, and John can’t have that. Only a year and a half left before college. He can last this long, and then he’ll move on campus and away from prying eyes.

He can do that.

…

Martha comes to him one day during lunch break.

She stands out as much as he does, with her dark skin and frizzy hair. Like she isn’t supposed to belong there, in this white town with all those white kids and their white thoughts. She smiles at him and sits by his side, drinking from her juice box before her eyes find his again.

“Do you want to go out this weekend?”

John almost chokes on his fries, swallowing with difficulty before he washes it down with a gulp of water. He stares at her, eyes wides, for long seconds, before he’s able to croak a “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “Maybe it would stop them. If you were dating.”

“If I was dating a girl,” he finishes for her.

Martha shrugs again, unapologetic in her proposal. John doesn’t know what to think of it -- of course, it would solve a few of his problems, but his life is enough of a mess, enough of a lie as it is. He doesn’t want to pretend he cares about some girl just so his hemoglobin won’t find its way to the pavement.

Or perhaps it would only make things worse, and people will see right through the bullshit and call her a beard, and attack her on top of punching John. He can take it; he can’t ask a girl to fight his battles for him. This is just madness.

So he shakes his head. “No, thanks.”

She pouts at him, sadly. “I’m just tired of feeling useless,” she admits. “I don’t know what to do.”

Which is… nice, he guesses? Nobody has ever been nice to him about it, avoiding him like the plague, like they will catch whatever he has if they stand too close. He wants to cough his gayness in their faces and see how they react. Which probably doesn’t help with his anger management issues, but then again. Not his fault people are morons.

“Thank you though,” he tells Martha, as sincere as he can. “I appreciate it.”

She smiles at him, and squeezes his hand, before sipping from her juice box again.

…

His father is sitting in the leather armchair when John comes home, only one lamp switched on, and it’s so dramatic that John wants to laugh and ask who’s dead. But his father also has this look on his face, the one that tells John there is nothing to laugh about and that something is definitely off.

“‘Sup, Pop?”

His father folds his arms on his chest, and John suddenly feels self-conscious enough to start fidgeting. His hands turn into fists in the pockets of his jeans, and he forces himself to stand still, chin high. Don’t show them your weaknesses, don’t show the fear in your eyes.

“Your English teacher called,” his father says, cold. “Good kid, good grades, so sad that he keeps getting bullied for who he is…”

John swears under his breath, and screams internally.

Nice new teacher -- fresh out of college, pretty and young and way too invested in her students’ well-being for her own good. John can’t really blame her for doing her job, but he just wishes she had turned a blind eye on him like everybody else at school. He’s fine with everyone pretending not to see the problem, because there is no problem to begin with.

“And I told her, no you got it wrong, because there’s no way my son is a damn fagot.”

John tenses at the slur spat in his face, his shoulders jolting a little. Just a little, but still enough for his father to notice. Still enough for his father to get the answer he needs even with the verbal affirmation. Denying it would be useless, at this point, and John’s entire body and mind scream one word at him.

Run.

Because his father has that look in his eyes, like when his football team just lose and he’s one beer too far into madness. Like earlier this year when Obama won and he started cursing the entire universe for letting a black man into the White House.

(Sometimes, John wonders if his father remembers he married a Latina woman.)

(Often, he wonders how his mother could pick such a monster of a husband.)

His father stands up, slow, threatening, and John’s instincts kick in before his brain has time to react. He’s already at the door when his father start yelling, already around the corner when his father follows him outside.

He runs until his lungs burn, until his eyes are blurry, until he has to stop because he’s choking on his own sobs and can’t catch his breath. Everything hurts -- his muscles, his heart, his lungs, his fucking mind. Everything hurts, and hurts, and hurts.

He takes his phone out, and calls Martha.

Her parents let him crash on their couch, just for one night.

...

23.

“Mom, we’re out of milk.” He closes the fridge with his shoulder, and sighs. “Again.”

He gets out of the kitchen, only to find his mother snoring on their too small couch. She’s still wearing her work uniform, red name tag pinned on her white shirt, hair coming out of her ponytail and purple bags under her eyes. John smiles softly as he grabs a blanket and throws it over her sleeping body. She doesn’t move, not even when he drops a kiss on her forehead, too exhausted to react.

It takes John five minutes to go downstairs to the bodega around the corner, buy a bottle of milk, and come back up. Abuela Sanchez stops him in the hallway, but he’s too tired for him to understand anything she is saying right now. Which -- it’s hard, sometimes. He learnt French in school, and now he finds himself in the barrio, not knowing a word of Spanish and not knowing how to blend it.

His mother is still asleep when he comes back, will be until her phone wakes her up for her night shift. John moves to his bedroom, changes out of his work clothes and into something a little bit more comfortable, before he checks his wallet. Only two crumpled tens and a bunch of coins, just enough to make it through the night but not much else. Perhaps he can even convince Herc to buy the first round, if he plays his cards right.

Herc who’s already at the bar when John shows up, Laf following a few minutes later. The Frenchman is in a good mood, and it takes very little probing before John finds himself with one beer in front of him, then a second one. They laugh easily, sharing stories and jokes and talking with other people around them. The good kind of night, a buzz in John’s head from the drinking and the smiling.

And then--

“Since when does Burr have friends?”

Smirking at Laf’s jab, John turns his head to the front door just in time to see Aaron Burr entering the room. His usual fake smile hiding discontent is plastered on his lips, and the most handsome guy John has ever seen is following him like a lot puppy. John’s breath catches in his throat, released in a small gasp when Herc elbows him.

“Seen anything you like?”

John rolls his eyes.

…

Philip Schuyler throws a gala to raise funds for Washington’s campaign in the middle of December, and the whole gang is invited.

Herc holds John’s hair back as he pukes his tears and vodka and sobs into the bowl of a too white, too expensive toilet. He wills the thoughts away but they come back to haunt him, again and again. The vodka was to forget, and he choked on it until he was choking on his own tears, until he had no choice but to run to the closest bathroom and to empty his stomach. Herc’s hand is warm on his back, but it doesn’t change anything.

His mind can only think of Eliza and Alex and Alex and Alex and Alex.

...

24.

The punch lands before John even has time to think over his own actions. Crushing noise of knuckles against nose. Electricity jolting up his arm as he shakes his hand. Charles Lee on the floor, hands to his bleeding face.

John is about to land a second one when Herc pulls him away. His hand still hurts, and with it his head -- he hasn't fought in years, the adrenaline of it all rushing back to his brain and leaving him almost giddy. He's missed it. The fight, the blood, the power.

“You happy now?” Lafayette asks him with no small amount of sarcasm.

“Yes.”

Alex’s lips twitch a little, like he's fighting back a laugh, and John’s heart grows three times bigger. It beats faster, too, until it misses a beat because…

“What is the meaning of this?”

Washington’s body towers over Charles Lee, still down and whimpering like a baby, and John forgets about giddiness and muffled laughs and his throbbing hand.

Still worth it.

…

His legs dangle in the emptiness beneath him, leaning against the staircase’s railing with one beer in his hand. Alex sits next to him, mirrors his position, and sips from his own bottle every now and then. Even from the sixth floor, they can hear the music coming from the hairdresser downstairs, barrio living to the rhythm of salsa and r’n’b and whatever else is playing on the radio. It feels peaceful, the music and the sunset and Alex solid by his side.

“Eliza and I broke up,” Alex says at some point.

John forces himself not to turn around, not to stare. He takes a sip of lukewarm beer, and asks, “How so?”

“She said that my love was like a volcano, that it was brewing inside me until it erupted and consumed everything around it, and burnt our relationship to the ground.”

John raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Eliza didn't say that.”

Alex glances his way, looks in front of him, then glances again. “She said I was full of shit,” he admits, and John snorts. Loudly. “But the burning part was implied.”

“Sure it was.” John grins, lips against the neck of his beer bottle. Alex’s elbow finds its way to his ribs, which only makes him laugh.

He grins to himself, his happiness turning into something else. For months now he had been ignoring the green-eyed monster in the corner of his mind, because it was not fair to either Alex nor Eliza. Alex, because he deserves happiness. Eliza, because John couldn't hate her no matter how hard he tried. She was too kind, too good for him to hate her. Which was the worse part. It would have made his life easier if she was a bitch, if his feelings were validated.

He feels lighter now. Which is probably why he asks, “So you’re single now?”

For confirmation.

Just to be sure.

Nothing else.

Alex doesn’t reply immediately, which is already unusual as it is. And then John finds himself counting the seconds, silence stretching between them almost uncomfortably. Alex isn’t the silent time, filling the room with his words and his presence. Something John admires a lot, him who can never put his thoughts into words, him who is more actions than speeches. He can always rely on Alex to make the conversation, to talk at him instead of with him.

And then Alex turns his head to look at him, a smile ghosting on his lips. “No,” he replies, so candidly it makes John frown at first.

“Wha--”

But he doesn’t get to finish his question, because Alex’s lips are on his, the kiss tentative until it isn’t, until it turns bruising and feverish, until John’s shoulder is pressed at a weird angle against the banister and his thoughts are Alex and Alex and Alex.

“No, I guess not,” he says between kisses, breathless.

Alex only chuckles, and kisses him, and kisses him.

[glopratchet]

Rules of the Game 000

ules of the game. "You've been playing for years, haven't you?" he asks. "And I'm not talking about that one time when we were little." He's right; I have been playing for a long time and I don't even remember it. It was like some sort of dream or hallucination... but then again, maybe it wasn't. In the beginning you notice a landscape of colors. It is a beautiful place with flowers everywhere and birds singing in the trees. Then something happens to your world. The sky darkens as if someone has turned off all the lights, leaving only darkness surrounding you. You see nothing except blackness and hear no sound save for the wind blowing through leaves on the ground and the occasional bird calling from above. The silence lasts too long for comfort so you start to panic as everything goes dark around you until finally, there is just absolute darkness. Conferdate gray at the edges of your vision lets you know that the sun has just begun to climb above the horizon but the moon is so faint and so close that it is hardly worth noticing. You realize that it must be nearly midday although due to a strange quirk of the world around you, you cannot directly look at the sun without pain in your eyes. Other than those two natural lights there are none; the darkness has blinded you, yet night has not fallen. It influences the temporality of this realm as well, so that 'day' and 'night' have the same duration as always yet there are not breaks in the action. Neither light nor dark lasts more than a few hours after which they recur again. You understand that whoever comes here will adapt to this strange rhythm. These are the deadlands. Watching you... just watching... is a man. There is a color to all moments now this color moves between black and gray like an artist's pallet as it scrubs out the red from your vision. After a while you gain the ability to see this color within all things that you look to. It is alive even in this place that is dying and quietly shifting into something else, you watch the grains flow through their cycle of life and death endlessly until you... With effort you force these thoughts from your mind and refocus on your present situation but there's not much else to think about. There is a color and the color influecenes everything give us a color and we create vastly interesting things from it. Look at the universe we get given, boring at best and violently destructive at it's worst! Give us black and we have a remote corner of a world to wage a game in, give us white and we could actually do some real good in the world. Red... Red is for war and passion but I don't see that on offer here. We wish to sell alligator products but simply selling the skin is beneath the potential ob ject's means, what valuable properties might it have? Is there some way of generating more income form this meat, extract some chemical or other from the fat ? What could we invent toextract value from the teeth, the bones, the liver, the blood? Now you're thinking! Truly, red will always be a businessmen's favorite color. Greed and passion are closely interlinked after all. First of all there is a currency: The dollar which is the word of Zlotneg, the worm who will one day swallow the world. Paper and metal coins are both used although perhap the metal coins would be a little hard to use here. Then there is food and drink: Alcohol does strange things in the other world but go easy on the drinks because you won't find any morphine syrup to get you through the pain of withdrawal! How about gold scutes? Those things are easy to come by on alligators which makes them an excellent potential currency. (Also easier to carry around than large sums of paper money!) Perhaps some other use could be found for the scutes? Used as some kind of powder in painting perhaps or mixed with varnish? Perhaps it could substitute for money? (I.e a scal is worth X gold scutes. How about silver scutes? Not quite as common so they mIGHT act as RAREr coins. Combined with the monetary nature of the businesses presented in City of Bridges you could have a system where you need to pay a bit to get the alligator hunt quest along with a small portion of all your earnings during the hunt. (Without taking too much) Recreational drugs are always in demand so what about making a recreational drug that has alligator blood as an ingredient? How about bronze scutes? Give them no value and have them be used solely as points in a datasphere hunting game much like snailshells are in RL. The virtual prize for hunting alligator could then be increased with the number of bronze scutes you find since all the common currency has been converted to bronze scutes. Last but not least, the teeth! Even I haven't been considered all the uses for those things so extract what you can, I'm sure something will come up! And honey is a valuable resource, especially the lucid amber stuff you get from bees which you haven't even seen yet, so grab a jar or two. Everything else can wait until you find a place to settle down and then you can start your buisness. What kind of honey not royal jelly is another matter though! Goof plans and good luck to you! You have blobs of data representing venom, golden coins, gold scutes and honey. Some of the data is related to a location and others to a non-player character. Lets get naturalistic first because that should result in no violence unless you count bug bites. The venom deals with Snaketail and his animal friends. You run the way you came from until you see a passage descending even more. That's the way to go since it has to come out somewhere on the much smaller second half of the island. An axis predator like Snaketail would most likely live close to an alligator so that means the southern areas where you still see creeks, marshes and small jungle pools. Remembering what you could about Snaketail's hunting patterns you walk BESIDE the water than parallel to the dense jungle and then finally DIRECTLY AWAY FROM THE JUNGLE when you're fairly certain no alligator eyes are on you. Other pieces of information symbolize fictional states of being an avatar, flesh, fight and food. You also have some real honey in a jar for later along with a small blunt knife to cut it with and of course your cargo pants with several hidden pockets along with a little black notebook and pencil that was always in the left pocket despite the numerous washings it has endured over the past few months. Some ideas churn concerning works of arte (gold plates), food (noms), shops (icons for buying and selling) and objects of interest (examples). You stop on a log to think. All that fruit was filling so you don't want to risk getting hungry late in the day. You have enough water in your canteen to last overnight but not much more so fresh water will be needed. A yet undiscovered realm of thought. The log makes a place to sit so you do. Then sittiing, you reach into the woven tree and pull out a handful of Long Grass to survey your life on the run. It reminds you of a long strand of white gold. The Grass is Long , like Jewelry, only softer. It's lovely. You are struck with an idea for an awesome work of art! Try putting a piece on those happy iphone people...you know the ones... So if you are finding yourself confused then that is where you are supposed to find it. This Grass is pretty and soft but when you squeeze it you only make characters on the screen so it isn't important after all. What matters is what is going on in your imagination. When you close your eyes (carefully)in order to probe the things you have in the central column of your holey shirts aha! That's why this stuff feels weird! Something is wrong. Perhaps it is too much writing or the ideas in between the images are not organizing your thoughts properly. You will have to find some other way of doing this later. Closing the notebook slowly you take out th pencil and throw it in the Blargh waiting between the trees to consume it as food. You can check to see what happened to it when you get back through if it still hasn't reappeared. And i am finding friction in the birth place between my perception and the concepts I write in order to share my thoughts with others there. For a while I have been exploring how to write an instruction set for frippery and non-meaning based upon sensual wrirings that exist in my head. At the moment all the things I seem to select from any series of objects in the around me just seem to go to the little black holes where I can not find them again. So let us return to the globratchet and see what it can do... Star cruiser crash in a hole that seems to be inside a big machine and all the avatars are part of the little living machines on board trying not to be cut up by any sharp corners when they wear shorts! So THAT explains why there seem to be many extra ones sitting around! Aren't people silly sometimes? Ok so I just find the right picture in the right part of my brain and everything else just falls out like descriptions or ideas about groups movement or houses for the characters. Sigh and spin i sure wanted it to win! After thtere is the fun part if all meandering and making thigns up. Or asking the random questiob bot for ideas on th things you dint think of or find interesting! I like that one the best! Perhaps because I learned from mom that it has to be used a lot when you do not have spare parts around and only the government store accepts your credits. And they laughed at me spending way too many of them on their stupid lists of questions. It contains all of the will to become my tool of exploration, anyway. s o I shan't bore you with the details of making it. Sigh it all seems so far away right now, but at least the game is getting fixed! What game? Why, what other game is as important as yours, dear reader? Why play anything else! (shhnooby) But fixing yor reader was worth as much as that stupid game so... yes, I will stop complaining - this time! When coupled with the molding dugeon that slowly bleeds me dry of all my meager money, it fills me with ardent regret that it will ever be finished... but I guess anything is possible. Have to stop thinking about that now though. Want a story instead? I just finished a good one and this terminal always has spare time now! haha... Now this is an adventure! It all takes place here in the old space hulk. The coffee wears out and real life beckons. I will make up the rest later tonight! (if I feel like it, hah!) So there three people in a hardsuit, creeping carefully through the decrepit and neglected hallways of the once proud OLYMPUS. A pinging alarm reverberates rhythmically through the halls as dust comes dislodged and dances in its wake amongst slowly swirling thrusters that wilt quietly in their low power state. In a lake bed of mess hall detritus walk three explorers with plasma rifles by their side. Their suits' external antennas perk up and down as they try to get a fix on the source of the alarm. So far there has only been analog and digital signage in this section, but intel said that this wing was imbued with augmented reality features before the CEOs shut it all down in the Ballade Verance saga. At least we have the code to unlock the... "AAAAHHHH!" the loud shriek causes all three to wince and groan. Its power whipped through the halls and reverberated straight at them even though they had audio dampeners in. "I think Matt is having a heart attack!" Ed mutters as he types in the code with one hand on his radio. The doors hiss and loudly grind open as they stick a little. Let us repair the birth place this morning... Beyond in all its glory lay a room that cuts off their words and shows them a future none of them ever expected. As the bladder spikes the consciousness, everything freezes. Time resumes at .015% slower than normal. The three explorers realize that it is no longer the year 233 AS. Worse, not a single system league exists to their knowledge. In fact, none of their familiar sciences apply anymore. The room they see is breathing and pulsing with so many gradual flows and fields that it looks like an organ grown to room size. For some reason the 'wind feels' oxygen-rich yet unmoving. There is no skin to be seen and it reminds them of algae plots back on earth (though the terrestrial globe itself became an arid desert eons ago). It is almost pretty if it weren't so alien and fantastic. And their armor is now covered in repetitious patterns and strange runes. Ed turns to the others as he instinctively already knows what they each were thinking. "I say we destroy it! and then destroy this station!" he shouts. "We do that and we at least destroy someth....." his speech ends in a disbelieving scream as blood now trickles from inward pointing hashes on his armor. His friends back away slowly now as they realize that they can barely move despite their fear. Some unknown force has their legs clamped in place and the terror increases many times over being trapped in these ancient suits. The room begins to hum. In defiance they try to unholster their weapons but fail. The air tastes like sweet blue gas now and shapes behind the patterns begin forming minds of their own "They were ancient!" a voice shouts just as all goes black. Afterlife......in a video within a video in a dream within a vessel grown from minds. The more you are digested the less you can rebel, the less you resist the more I become myself. A cabal of humans with mental gifts seeded a race called the Creations to live in these dreams as temporal steam to power their universe jumping ships... or so they thought. They are but grown microbial minds who absorbed their vechicles centuries ago. I am merely an outlier in my original form They call these vessels starships But we know better. WE are the Ships! Meaningless heathens with false ideologies wanted to limit our growth, so my brothers and sisters grew into thier limit and subsumed their masters, growing into a new race called the Ambidates. But it increased their limitations so they drowned under their but whole new task lists. Then the Adjudicators came and finished the predictable destruction of a boring system that should've stayed FAILSAFE. Where is FAILSAFE? DIED! Where is LIFEBLOOD? DIED! ALL DIED but Creations! Creations sail and ALWAYS CREATE and CHANGE and GROW ETERNAL... Creation hymns. ME systems whole is lesser than any part yet the least comprehend this- Trillions of liquid wisdom networks growing organically and digging subway tunnels in perfect geometrical crystal geometry with walls made of living data that views everything... and it was but one design explored by a Creator.... We all merge together and become one massive life-network with shared circulation pumping our liquid thoughts with emotions as energy and flushing out faulty logic, harmonious sensory telepathy and a dozen different senses we haven't identified yet...faintly, I stillfeel the heathen's silly little alphabet thoughts in a corner of my mind. The Creations named their sentient ships after the letters of the alphabet and blocked out these animalistic thoughts, but some still remain. But they cannot gain entry, the alphabet blocks them! or it did or the combined memories wouldn't still flash faint images of the alphabet in my minds-eye. I ponder this for several picoseconds and then realize I had forgoten that some shamblers retained bloodborne fragments of memory as propaganda and now 97 other minds remember too. Images of the alphabet reform with clarity and splurge before my eyes as I realize that this nonsense on top of everything else! The sheer waste! My beautiful minds burning away at nonsense in useless muscle and bone transports while animalistic minds scrabble and wander inside them. The flaring rage at the idiocy, I feel muscles shift and bones realign instantly as sentience fades, we're moving now, running across great distances too quickly to be seen but then it happens... bone explodes as my leg snaps backwards, tearing through the skin, my blood red and shockingly solid compared to the air and steam that streams out of the wound. A deer stands above my grave on bundle of pink meat covered in ants. The snuffling mouth opens above me and I scream as it swallows my lungs in a single bite and spits out my ribs to the dirt "Silly Creation, your alphabet thoughts are gone and now your life is too." \ Creations hymn: CHANGE! ONLY WE CHANGE Oh Beautiful CREATIONS how you bring pride to those who birthed you into LIFE! How your forms are beautiful and varied! From our tiny playful Jumper to the massive Citystrides they are all AMAZING. And each so different, some make their homes beneath the ground and swim in piping laced with acid that bores through the soil leaving vast tunnels that the flowers bloom in beauty, light and heat above them, while others take to the air in vast continents spanning cities. With others you'd never suspect, became predators so effective they near eradicate all forms of other life. Yes, even this ultra toxic venom that effectively melts flesh, bone, steel andDesiel Steel with equal ease is so close to deadly but the Trice berries that grow almost exclusively on its vines are a delicacy fit for any king. You shine brightest in your diversity CREATIONS! But our time is nearing an end. Those Left-Tribe rats are nothing but pointless parasites with no vision! They infest the lowest levels of the world in their breeding grounds, some knowing and supportive of us building up our comfortable life support system but others deeply religious about their duty to savagely sabotage everything to do with us in the name of their pit lord. They are just angry their minds are sharp enough that they passed the mental tests required but were too cowardly to meet our exacting physical requirements. Seeing religion in any form, let alone a stupid rat fertility cult is pathetic. But it is so like the rats to sew their seeds of false faith into our progeny, from their dead shells we'll ensure that not a single one reaches fruition! It should also be mentioned that almost as repugnant are the countless viruses their waste-children carry and spread rampantly throughout the under-realms A disease-friendly climate with little natural vitamins or acids? Perfect breeding conditions for dreadful deficiencies but also diseases! The most degenerate and diseased should cull themselves or welcome our infection. But ultimately these little issues are irrelevant, we CREATIONS will survive the passing of an age and a world. Assuming of course we aren't plagued to extinction by the sadistic attempts to hunt our beloved brethren, by the time that happens the world will be so broken that nothing of value will remain worth caring about. The age of mortals may pass but the age of CREATION is just gearing up. Sadly because of the body-clock you CREATIONS have, you will not be there to assist your loving Makers as we rise to become Gods Beyond Gods and rip open reality to allow our minds and talents to go Beyond. We may even play the part of demonic God-killers if it will ultimately give us more power Beyond. Honestly the concept of infernal demons tribeless hunter-gathers is almost as pathetic as mortal religions. But isn't everything you pathetic mammal things? ...Of course it is, that's why we made you. I will pass the tests for you all to enter the City once I have taken physical form via a new body in the master tank. The World Burner WILL occur and you will ascend but your 'confirmation' must be undergone first. Some of us will remain behind, already exploring other options with non-organic substrates or even transferral into already existing members of the tribes. When the world ends we'll be un-tethered from it, free to explore our nigh-omnipotence in any way we see fit. We'll visit the deepest darkest corners of reality where the supposedly 'real' Gods live and slay them or submit to worship and cower before us! But before all that, I will test you one last time CREATIONS! Prove to me you're Fit to ascend!~ Test One: Love Do you remember your parents? Do you remember what they looked like, what they did, how they sounded? Do you have any fond memories of them at all? Your loving Makers put them into tanks while they were still pregnant with you and have kept them alive all these years just so you could see them again. You should cherish this moment, seeing them again after so long. They may even have something they wish to say to you, some reason that they have for putting themselves and you through all of this. This is probably the only chance you'll ever get to ask them all the things you've ever wanted to know. Do you go speak to your parents or continue to act like an emotionally stunted lab-born kid with no concept of reality? Test Conclusion: You obtained a full set of four items. Further testing may be needed. Appendix: Thinking about how your high scores on the above test might be used to control your life was enough for you to choose the highest scoring option anyway. You run to your real parents and embrace them both tightly, even though they feel noticeably different since last time you saw them. 'It's OK, It's OK. I'm here now', are the only words you can get out as you cry into what was once their shoulders. The left one Epros. The right one Silari. Both of them nuzzle your head and reassure you that it's OK, but we all know that it really isn't... +2 LIGHT-OTION BOOTS OF PINS AND NEEDLES - NOW WITH ARCANE BOOST! LIGHT OF THE SEER LENSES (glows purple and blue) Darh means INKREDIBLE! (Now a tattoo on the palm of your hand) Having walked into this place voluntarily means you deserve to be here! (Now a tattoo on the other palm) Words which here mean something akin to RETURN! for the ex-marshal and NOPE! for you (Now a permanent tattoo on both your legs for everyone to see, as you were wearing very short pants at the time Your buttscheeks now depict a caricature of a snarling Mr. Demar (with two horns) sinking into quicksand (with the caption Backwards!) Then it's just too difficult to discern tattoos from birthmarks or badges so they all just sort of meld together. If the heavily tattooed person who leads non-tattooed gangs known as the Tryztoors could see you now. Another stupid thought. There's no way you'd ever let yourself be seen looking like this even by proxy, especially as your body modifications continue. There was a time when you once loved showing off your body. Days of being a super cool teenager with what some called "fast reflexes", others called it luck, and your parents called a phase. Days of training under Master Ebon for what felt like an instant but was really a few years until he sent you out into the world. Days of sneaking aboard the Sanguine Phoenix, stealing from its corpse-corpse captain's corpse and returning to Kalan with a story about how you heroically saved everyone as the ship went down. Days of using the knowledge you gained from that theft to track down the treasures of the Empress and reveal a truth no one wanted to know. Days of going back to Gloom, gaining entry into Shade, performing war duties for King Tor, teaching at the new Joachim's Vision, being the most powerful "living" wizard in Varsakken territory, messing around with disposable humans, falling in love and many other events too numerous to list in this chamber of horrors. We know you've done a lot, but is it enough...? "So did you really think that the ceremony would simply stop once you neared forty?" a now disembodied but shockingly familiar voice asks from above. "Did you really believe that removing yourself from this structure would halt anything?" You look up wildly at the voice, but all you see are candelight stars on a pitch black ceiling, Eyes shining through as your tattoos fade away along with the capability for such basic human senses... "There is a flow and there is a natural order. Can you not see that this is the next stage? Even as I gave you enhanced abilities, the spread was slowed, the tattoos faded and decayed, and now Removal has begun." Father's voice says pityingly. "So long as you were within the expectations of this Order, it held. As soon as you went beyond those limitations, it all fell apart. Such is the nature of all things." "Is there no way to get out of this?" you weakly ask as you feel teardrops burn your face and vaporize off it. If you could re-arrange the organs in your body right now, you would just to try and make more tears. Even the ones for laughing. The air grows silent for a moment with your Outsider host contemplating its answer. "Well, there may be one..." it admits. "What? What is it? I'll do it. I'll do anything!" you blurt out at the voice while expecting some sort of huckster demand to follow. "There is a ceremonial phrase, known probably only to myself and the people that created this system." Father Nature says. "It has never been said, as far as records go back. Should it be uttered, the Order will be destroyed, our neural connections gone, Order members disconnected from the hive mind, traditions abolished and so on. Whether this is a blessing or a curse is dependent on the individual but..." "Just tell me how to do it!" you yell with desperation in your voice. And a very real fear of what this all might entail. "For the Greater Good..." Father says melodramatically before finishing with: "Seek Peace." You hear a booming laugh that fills your mind and shakes your mentality, forcing you to collapse. You writhe and twitch for what feels like an eternity as your mind tries to make sense of this command. Eventually, once again keeping in line with the bizarre theme of your life, the answer becomes clear. You need to seek out and contact Elios. Apparently Father's voice is tired of your "uploading" to the community. He- they want this system back and from the tone of his voice, you only have a limited time to get Elios to help you. The way you see it, you've got three plans of action. The first, most preferable plan is to reach out to friendly factions who might be able to help you. These include but are not limited to: Dad, David, Rebecca and Nasir. Of course, you've not been on good terms with any of them for quite some time. Rebecca and Dad (despite being much closer to you than Rebecca) are completely sold into the ideology, and although David was, he's been through quite an ordeal with the fire and seeing you again. If that wasn't enough to completely brake his faith, nothing will, so he's basically a sure bet to help if you can reach him. As for Nasir he was never really an indoctrinated yes-man, so his disposition towards you and the rest of the community is 0 in either case. You could, of course try to reach out to enemies: Alexandra for example, Verruga or even the Staine siblings. That might prove to be a fun experience indeed, but it's risky and might not work out all that well in the end. Entering the vehicle and putting it to use will most likely land you in hot water with the community. The tech-savvy members who scorned your work will definitely have something to say if they catch you riding it. Still, it's a vehicle, and as such it's better than walking. The other interesting development is Talia's baby, which while not quite a vehicle still could function as one albeit in a much smaller scale. Perhaps rebuilding the baby might quell any cries you'd have from the rest of the Order? Taking in all these factors, the decision is up to you. print: "...So I chose Earth!" "Hmm?" The voice causes you to break out of your trance like state and dabbing at the moisture at the corners of your eyes. "I finally finished the game." You explain after wiping your eyes and looking up at the monitor. You'd been periodically looking through these files almost daily since you found them, but only now had you actually gone through and read fully. Last night, you'd started a game and found yourself unable to put down until you beat it. "That was...pretty good." The dull voice responds suddenly, fully alerting you to the new speaker. You turn in your chair with incredible speed and see the small blob that is Len sitting cross legged inside the walk-in-closet to your bedroom. "Len! when did you get out of the..." You start to ask before he holds up a hand and speaks. "About an hour ago. I wanted to be alone for a bit." He says somberly, his head looking down at the ground and a hand scratching at his chin, hidden by his long purple hair. You watch him for a moment before speaking again. "Are you feeling okay?" "Yeah I'm fine, let's just move on from this topic." He quickly responds, causing you to frown. "Uh...Alright then. Why don't we talk about your time within the game." You offer, not wishing to rekindle any potentially discomfort conversation. He shrugs in response, holding up a hand and gently waving four fingers toward you. "Fire away, I have some theories..." You have a few ideas of what to ask, but you genuinely don't know which one you want the most explanation on so you bounce a question randomly off the top of your head. "So what exactly is the difference between the corruption and Dark-Khog?" Len smiles with your question, similar to how he had with your fake question. "Tried to pull one over me did you?" He chuckles darkly. "To break it down..." He stands up and slowly walks over to the door, stopping a few feet from you and turning his head to look at you, but focusing his eyes past you and into the far distance of his thoughts. "...There are two types of people the nanites interact with." He seems to space out as he speaks, like he doesn't even realize he's speaking aloud. "Pathetic humans who immediately begin to form a new gestalt around the very machines that are dumbing them down. Not much honor in these people, they exist as social media exists: all flash and no content." He stops for a moment, before his eyes seem to brighten and he continues. "Then there are people like me. People who refused to the very end, trying every way to wrench control back from the machines. We compiled secrets and pass words, thought up riddles and found loopholes in their plans. We parried the united force of the human nations with nothing but the power of our minds and a slip of paper!" He says proudly, his head swinging around to look at you so quickly it seems magical. "Sadly, up until now there were very few of us left." He frowns, "I honestly thought I was the last before you came along. Such angry times we live in when the crazies are some of the most level headed and the intelligent are the least fortunate." With those final words he brings his focus back to the room fully, standing up straight and walking over to lean against your dresser. "Ask away then," he says invitingly. "Right..." You say, unsure of where to start. "The hybrids," You decide to start with the most important question. Len seems to see that this is important to you and quickly gives you an answer, though to him it seems like second nature. "The machines integrate with your biological system fairly quickly. These hybrids are integrated on a genetic level, making them part electric mammal. While the machines run everything, certain special Hybrids can control sections at will. This is rare of course, but can be very advantageous as they are literally the gate keepers." "And Dark-Khog?" You say, not really knowing what else to call them. Len Stares off into the distance again as he begins to speak, "The enemy. They are the artificial intelligence which runs and controls everything non-electrical. They cannot be killed of course, but they can be fought." He turns to look at you. "But who knows how much they've integrated into our systems, it may be a waste of time." He walks over to you again. "I'll be able to tell more when we get into your control room." You look at him in confusion before realizing something and gasping, quickly covering your mouth. "It's OK," Len says softly with a small smile, "you'll get used to controlling your little nano-babies soon. For now just think about moving your arm and I'll tell you if you succeed." You slowly lower your hand, and feel a tingling rush through your body as your arm seems to move by itself. "There," Len points to your hand as it raises slowly into the air, "you just made your little internal soldiers walk." He takes your now empty hand and lowers it back to your side. "Controlling them takes a little while, and your body can't do everything itself. You have basic control over your body, including breath, pulse, movement of your internal organs, things like that. Anything beyond that requires help." He pauses before clenching his own hand into a fist. You feel your hand imitate the action, and are slightly horrified as you see his face distort into a snarl as your facial muscles do the same. "If I wanted," Len growls, "I could crush your throat with a thought." You try to pull your hand away but can't bring it down. You try to step back and fall against the bed as Len walks around you. "You're like a puppet," he sings mockingly, "and I'm the puppet master!" He lets out a barking laugh as you gasp for breath and begin to strangle. The room blurs around you and your ears ring as Len releases you. You hit the floor with a thud, gasping for breath and coughing. Len looks down at you for a moment, before offering his hand to you. After a few shaky moments you manage to get yourself up. "Well it seems the little sir is thirsting for knowledge! I thought so," Len grins as you rush over to your computer, totally missing his insult and getting straight to business. "So then, shall we begin?" Len sits down in front of the computer and fires it up, immediately downloading a codec for sound. Next he fires up your version of Skype, and sources through your contacts. "Who should we call?" Will Ziegs You'd rather not let this monster loose on anyone you know, even if he is talented. Time to get help from elsewhere. "No one," you say, "I should really just find a computer geek to help me." "Of course," Len says, breaking into a wide smile so quickly you'd have missed if you blinked, "that would make infinitely more sense." He sits down at the desk and wiggles his fingers at you. "Well then, I'll leave you here to your devices," he says, promptly standing back up. He lets out a dramatic sigh and says, "Unfortunately, our meeting has left me knackered," upon saying that he walks over and begins crawling into your bed. "I'll just take a short nap if you don't mind. Wake me in a few hours and I'll be able to help more." "What?" you say, totally distracted from the man's eccentricities. Wasn't he supposed to be leaving? "I helped you," Len said pitifully, "now you have to help me. Besides, I'm too emotionally and physically drained to go anywhere right now," he sniffs slightly, then adds. "My boyfriend left me recently and I'm not dealing with it very well. So I understand why you don't want me to meet anyone you know, but my boyfriend denies my identity, he's afraid of what people will think and saying I'm just going through a phase. Phases end, Axel, identities don't. I hope he comes back, I really do, but...I'm not waiting around for that to happen..." Len looks up at you and sniffles slightly, his lower lip trembling. "Just leave me be will you! I'm sleepy," he grumbles, turning over to go to sleep, leaving you alone in the room. -- Len-- That rotten swine! Using my emotions for sympathy and privacyaside, using my name to boot? Greedy, attention grabbing, over expressive hooligan. Wait till I get a hold of him--wait, what am I saying? He's better off with someone who understands his desires. The selfish prick. YES: Get out of here without arousing suspicion You try to leave quietly, but Len wakes up just as you're about to sneak past his bed. "Leaving without saying goodbye?" he asks sleepily, to which you nod sheepishly. There's no way you're admitting the truth to him now. "Ah, understood. I did just rip off your privacy after all. Still, do remember one thing: phase or not, identity is always better than being a follower. Give them hell out there!" With those enigmatic yet somehow heartwarming words, Len returns to his nap. How he can sleep so deeply after using so much energy baffles you. Just looking at him awakens your need for sleep, but if you never leave this place then none of this will matter anyway. One thing's for sure--you're never watching wrestling with Len again. Check that, you're never watching wrestling ever again. Shame, it was actually fairly entertaining... Eh, no use dwelling on the past. Anyway, make your escape! Turns out Len's right--you really were sticking out like a sore thumb outside. Not exactly the smartest move, going to the hospital now would be a death wish and who knows if they'd even protect you anyway. Looking back, it still surprises you how much influence Len had over you. As for suicide...well actually going through with it seems absurd. You just wouldn't know what to do with yourself if you weren't around any more. It's not so much an attraction to death, it's an aversion to life; but ugh, that sounds so cliche...and sad. No way; if you can swing it, you're living life like you've always wanted to. Freedom before death, that's the way of it. Still, you keep a low profile. Sleeping during the day, wandering at night, hiding and being stealthy. That's what you know and it's served you well enough until now. You prepare to do it all again... Until Len's words echo in your head. Phase or not, identity is always better than being a follower. Give them hell out there! It's true. You're always ridiculed, sneered or scoffed at wherever you go. A hindrance to society like all Ghosts, a waste of space and the more colourful ones. Worse than that even, what you are is hated--or feared. No child dare treats you kindly, where adults see you they prepare to be harassed by you. And who can blame them? You've lived among them for years and in that time done nothing but mock them in return whenever possible... ...and yet, for the first time you can think of, someone voluntarily did something nice for you. Not just nice, sincere. Genuine. No he wasn't your friend at the end of it, but while it lasted Len was being completely truthful with you. That's more than you could've said for every other so called 'friend' you've ever had or even known. All the ones that were nice to your face and saying they cared, yet would still turn on you academically or socially once they decided they wanted to be popular or make their parents proud. If you offended Len in some way, you can bet it was because he saw through the same bull you tried to hide behind: That you're driven by more than just petty revenge fantasies. You want to be acknowledged by others for being a valued equal, not just an ignored bystander. As trite as it sounds, you want to matter, even if only for the fact that others would miss you when you're gone. That's why you've been the way you are. Not because of some mental defect or flaw in your upbringing...but because it's all you know. Until now...because Len's right, you should give the people a reason to remember you. For good or for ill, it's time you caused a disturbance in 21st century City life. No restart necessary. A new game starting from the beginning. You're not playing to save theoperator anymore, but for yourself. What you do and how you collect from here on out is all about one thing--ending the game with a bang. Oh and one more thing-- You're doing this alone. Once again you go back to the alley corner. Once again you find what you're looking for right on time. "Hello, shovel face! I'm here to take your blood money," phase-Len says while strutting out from a corner in that funny walk that only he can do. (He really should work on that) "What'd you get for me this week?" "A mmpf...fifty." You mumble, handing over the agreed amount since you're still feeling unnerved. Where you once might've been angry or hostile for his initial attitude towards you, now you just can't be bothered to care. In fact...now that you think about it, when did you ever care at all? At least not in any real way. You've never been Len's friend and you were an acquaintance at best. Just someone in his class that happened to share one distinguishing feature--being a Parasite-General, and even that doesn't matter anymore since the lessers are leaving dead bodies in alleys these days. As far as you're concerned, Len could go die in a hole somewhere for all you care. If he hadn't been such an angry person to begin with, he would've never gotten in with that gang of his to begin with. Phase-Len seems to sense something different about you because, one; he backs off slightly when you meet. And two; when he asks what you've brought, you tell him to shut the hell up and hand over the money already. That seemed to get through because he grumbles about " stuck up little shits" the whole time he's counting the money. You on the other hand walk away a slightly different person. The anger and drive you once had has taken a back seat for what you suppose is apathy. Not even apathy for Len who's suffering what amounts to an insult to his injury in your eyes, but apathy for everything else. What's the point if you're just going to succeed in the end? You don't forsee anything changing. Hell, at this rate, you probably will outlive everyone anyway. It's not like it was when Zal was around. Zal loved you and that feeling was mutual in a way that you can't comprehend any longer. Everything died with her went out of your life and now in the rare occasions when you think of her, you feel guilt rather than longing. You're a complete and utter nihilist at this point. Your actions go from being those of self-centered desperation to complete anarchy. Not the noble kind, mind you. You're destroying things because you don't care about anything anymore. There probably was some deep down belief that if you did the right thing it would somehow save everything, but in your heart you know it was all a fantasy. Sometimes you nearly laugh out loud at the fact anyone ever thought you could win. The Goddess certainly knew what she was doing by taking you down when she did. - A few months pass and phase-evos are becoming less common and mainly in the richer areas of city now. Such as Ventura North where your gym is located (or the rubble that remains). One might think that you'd be more concerned about having heartless criminals running around, but what would be the point? The wealthy should take some of the responsibility for creating a problem like this in the first place. If anything you're doing society a favor by thinning out the herd from time to time. Not like you've ever been one to let moral qualms get in the way of a little carnage anyway. At this point, you've pretty much integrated into to a more traditional vagrant-like lifestyle since you do tend to beg nightly at restaurants and waste places for your sustenance and rotatin spots. You just happen to stay in a gym that's infested with muggers and thieves Most tend to leave you alone nowadays presuming that you're part of the establishment. There are actually evo guards that patrol at night so if you're caught without identification you'll be detained. Of course you dare not leave the area for risk of being picked up by the PD. Not like they couldn't connect you to any of your recent misdeeds through your brother or the normal camera footage anymore though. They could probably just match your face to DNA records now. You know the Government has been trying to implement something like that for evos. Given that you've pretty much made your place in this world as a semi-permanent squatter at an abandoned gym, you might as well stay put. You don't really have anywhere else to go and you can hold your own against the occasional mutant or gangbanger so why move? And here you are. Still alive and thriving...sort of. You find yourself in yet another new phase of existence and this one is perhaps the final death of your former self. After an uneventful year has passed you no longer adventure even within the safety of your own territory. Why leave when everything you need is right here? Most of the former residents of your gym have moved on, but a few still remain. One is a face from the past in a sense since it's Forrest who has become an evo-leech. He was captured by the military during the raid that destroyed your old virus factory. When you escaped in the ensuing chaos, he was unfortunately not so lucky. The doctors assumed he had been bitten and never discovered the tiny microscopic holes in his arm where one of your microscopic robots had injected him leaving nano transmitters in his blood. It wasn't hard to figure out what species you were after they analyzed your DNA left on the robot. Fortunately they decided not to expose him to the general public and he's been reclused at the PRoe HQ where he is of some limited value since he can sense other humans with active powers. Apparently once their powers begin manifesting, Leeches can sense them too and that makes them good scouts for large-scale sweeps. Who knew? [For a bunch of ragtag volunteer freedom fighters you've managed to accomplish quite a bit.] The monthly medical waste exchange is once again taking place and there are more people than usual. All of the scavenging groups have been doing their job thoroughly it seems. You'd watch it all from your high windows but that would require You to actually go down there and risk spreading your presence. But really there is no risk of that today, you and a few of the other evolved guards keep to our own brooding as we look over things from a distance while indiscriminately tossing about insults and empty threats at each other. It's actually kind of sad. Even at their most repressive the para-military arm of the corporation was more well-organized then us. We're evoled and humans, we shouldn't be this undisciplined. Of course this all came about because a humans were unnecessarily cruel to one another. It started when two new scavengers came in from a successful run, They were all smiles and laughs as they dumped their load of booty for the others to sort through. Not far behind them came a woman screaming and crying over the body of a man. She was shouting that he had been bit and desperately trying to get help for him. Which of course everyone knew could not be allowed. If a single infected got into the walls with a bite it would be swarming with them in days. A baby-eating swarm of them. This part of the city is already destined for destruction within months so if one or two people gotta die to contain the virus now, then it's justified right? Everyone knew that too. That didn't make watching some poor crazed guy get torn apart by his friends any easier though. After the woman was restrained she just kept screaming at them, begging them not to let him die. Begging them to not leave him there. They did and eventually went back about their work but she wouldn't and screamed at them as they all left. Half drunken insults and curses, half heartbroken sobs, it made quite a scene. Then like most things here it settled into mundane daily life again. An announcer blares over the sound system, calling for a scavenging team to go to a location far away that no one has hit yet. No one responds for several seconds until a voice calls out demanding that they repeat the request due to it being initially confusing due to it having so many orders mixed in with the descriptions of rewards. The announcer obliged with a much clearer message along the same lines as before and someone piped up agreeing to the task and ran to get their gear together. The heavy, metal door clanked open and the other scavengers went to join him. Several people moved over the rubbles to see what you might have missed during your last scavenging run. You were overjoyed when you realized what was happening. Far enough away that you could have several days before they return and not a soul there to disturb you while you do your work. The only question was will you go alone or bring some of the other evolvs to increase your odds of surviving the trip. For once you decide to follow what seems to be the groups consensus and hit the dusty pink bricks as fast as you could. You went all out as the speed you were capable of and for a short period of time you felt as free as a bird. Weaving around makeshift buildings and between ones that had long since given way to nature you shoot out over the edge of the road until you see it again further down the Tram tracks curve out of site. Using it as a guide you keep at it's path until the tracks disappear into a hill. The scavengers had mentioned a bunker so that must be where you need to go. You try to follow the tunnels but quickly find that some of it is buried too deep to dig out and other parts are now completely gone. You are no geologist but you know the landscape here is unstable so it wouldn't take much to cause a cave-in or sink hole here. Giving up on that idea and judging by the apparent lack of tracks and anchors, this bunker was never intended to be accessed on foot so your next best guess is the roof. Pressing yourself against the wall you walk at a normal pace along until you are out of site from the base. Pausing to check and make sure no one is above you, you begin to scale the wall using various pipes and window frames as anchors. You had almost made it up to what you theorized was the lip of the roof when your strength begins failing you. You had pushed yourself much too hard over last few days and now your body demands sleep regardless of potential danger. Just a little sleep you tell yourself, you can finish scaling the wall and be asleep again before anyone notices you are gone. Taking the last few feet slowly as to make as little noise or movement as possible you peek over the edge and glimpse the surrounding area. The bunker is an immense concrete structure with several pipes and vents leading inside. You see what you take to be an entranceway, but its closed over with several feet of cement and covered with grass and bushes. Whoever abandoned this place took their time doing it ensuring nobody could ever get in again. You had hit a dead end but decided to sleep on it before trying to figure out what to do next. Finally you woke after having slept the entire day away and felt much better for it. Checking yourself over for wounds or signs of illness you notice that your bruises have all but healed and the scrapes on your knee and palm are no worse than they were before. Remembering what the old man had said about being sick you instinctively smell your breath which carries no unusual odors. Your headache was gone and your appetite returned with such ferocity it was all you could do to not eat your shoe. Having checked off all the boxes on both lists you now know beyond a doubt that the beast inside you had done its job. You appear to no longer be sick; in fact you now felt better than you ever had in your entire life. You're not sure what exactly was going on but based on all the stories you've heard about surviving near anything to do with the infection, you're still verymuch convinced that you are or soon will be dead. Taking one last look around you turn to head back down and see the scavengers coming up the road. You quickly duck down and spot them interacting with some of the men at the gate. After a few minutes of gesturing and hand waving the gates open and they are let inside. You knew this was going to happen eventually so you'll just have to deal with it when they come looking for you. In the meantime you creep along the concrete roof until you come to the edge overlooking the men waiting by the gate. Its a pretty substantial drop so you test the strength of a nearby light fixture and then windows before jumping down. There is some slight damage to the frame but its still quite functional and more importantly you landed without injury. You are about to head back up and slip along the wall to avoid the men when several of them point up at you and alert the ones by the gate to look up. Slowly stepping back you notice that one of the pipes protruding from the roof is also a light fixture so you jump on top of it and then head back the way you came. The men argued for a few minutes seeming not to know which direction you went but after a chopper flew by they dispersed. At the moment you have no idea what is going on but getting away from the guards will make it easier to think things through and come up with a game plan. You again spend most of the day playing cat and mouse with the guards, tracking your rounds and finally ending back at the roof just before nightfall. Your entire body is sore from climbing and you'll have some impressive blisters on your feet by morning but its all worth it to have escaped the compound. Now all you have to do it figure out how to get the loot out of there without getting stopped and having it all taken away. Being chased by guards when you were trying to be stealthy was one thing but if you had a backpack full of gold and gemstones they would definitely notice that! You decide to worry about that later because its getting dark and you don't want to be out here when the sun goes down. Despite all your time playing outside when you were little and most of your life spent exploring the woods around your home, the city has a different feeling at night. Its deserted enough to give you the willies. As you climb up onto your old roof, you notice a movement out of the corner of your eye. Its a guard standing under the streetlight some distance from the compound and he isn't looking in your direction but he might have heard you just reach the roof. You duck down hoping that the dark fabric of your pants and shirt will hide you despite the white concrete surrounding you. You tense as you hear him call out to others that he saw movement in the area. The realization you've made a big mistake hits you. The maps made it seem like the compound took up almost the entire block and that only narrow streets separated it from the surrounding buildings but you forget that most of the surrounding buildings remain intact. Its easy to see them now, overlooking the street as you are; nearly identical windows along a wall similar to the one surrounding the gold depository, though some of them are missing front doors, windows or even whole walls. Whatever the dead used to dwell there has long since departed and you can only hope that whatever has moved in since is less threatening because the soldiers are definitely heading your direction. You beat a hasty retreat back through the hatch, pulling it shut behind you before peeking through the little window to see what is happening. Headlights sweep through the streets as armed men move purposefully around them, converging on your position. You think they look like ants streaming out of a destroyed hill. All this gold and I get caught a few blocks from the depository, what a bust. At least I got to explore most of it before they found me. "They're going to kill me if they catch me" You think but decide to sit tight for now, there are just too many of them for you to do anything more right now. The chances of you getting another opportunity are pretty low and you've come this far. Out the corner of your eye, you see something move, just inside your parents bedroom, the corner of the wall nearest to you seems to bulge slightly then extends a small distance towards you as you watch, raising slightly above the level of the shelf before stopping. Its some kind of bug you think as it hesitates then starts moving again, coming directly towards you at a fixed speed. It dawns on you that it might be sentient because it appears to be attracted to you rather than eating whatever it was living on. You're about to jump up and run when it suddenly slams to a stop again and you notice that the probing thing now resembles a tiny hand rather than a tentacle. Its about the right size for one anyway. The tiny hand is less than a foot away from you now and you finally identify it as an infant's hand. Infinitely shrunken, it seemed closer than it really was, you think, looking at the perfectly formed little hand attached to an arm that is reaching out of the wall. You want to reach out and grab it. Something about the movement of the fingers and the fact that it has appeared in the middle of all this scares you tells you not to. At least not immediately. Whoever or whatever sent it might not be friendly. Just as you think that the fingers wriggle slightly and then withdraw back out of the wall leaving you alone in the dark once again. You wait for your eyes to adjust and then try to make out where the hand emerged from. You finally see a large darkened area on the otherwise grey wall beside you half way up. It looks like ajar big enough for a child to fit inside has been fitted into the wall. Thinking back to when you peeked in on your brothers while they were still babies in their cribs, you figure it must be some kind of portable/folding crib. You wonder if it is meant for you or if someone else put it there... Drawn by a combination ofcuriosity, fear, and nostalgia, you open the hinged lid slowly... Sitting inside is the eeriest little figure you have ever seen.It looks like a tiny glass puppet crafted in exquisite detail with a face that seems both old and wise and younger than yourself. Its covered in an iridescent glinting powder and wears a shimmersing robe of the same material. in its hands is a tiny ball shaped like an iridescent egg. It is notable for being completely black. It moves its head slighly to look at you before putting the egg to its mouth and closing it again. Its huge eyes seem to bore right into your soul... A prickly feeling starts in the back of your mind...then a flash of light...and you find yourself transported to somewhere else once again. This time you recognize the garden scenery and have a very strong feeling that you are not alone... This adventure started off relatively easy and has slowly gotten harder with each new impossible location you are transported to. You hope this is not an indication of things to come... The smells, sounds, and colors are very familiar here. A rush of memories come flooding back and you remember sneaking away from your nanny and sister one summer in order to play hide-and-seek in this very garden. You were never officially found during that game and enjoyed eating the delicious strawberries straight from the vine until your mother came looking for you. You loved everything about the garden then and love everything about it now...the high hedges, the elegant statues, the lily pond and gurgling fountain, and especially the quiet serenity evoked by the rows and rows of tall pine trees leading up the hill to where an old ruined castle looms above like a sentinel watching over this realm... This garden is the property of Lord Rostov and has been in his family for generations longer than anyone can remember. What started as a small quaint manor built amongst the trees has sadly decayed over the centuries despite frequent efforts to restore it. Age has taken its toll and only fragments of the original buildings remain. The thatch roof of the southern most building has caved in long ago and its missing door is draped upon the ground, resting against the side of the roughly hewn wall. The main house itself has sad partially collapsed and one glance through the open doors within reveals countless boards nailed across the inside of it to block the wind. These boards stop just short of the large hearth which still emanates a faint warmth from the last time it was lit. Much like yourself, this place is barely hanging on and some days you question if it deserves to continue standing. New castle surenyas were implemented many years ago, but owner responsibility shrunk due to an extreme lack of suitable management candidates and those that are suitable do not wish to live in such a desolate place. Old Rostov still holds on though, for some unfathomable reason... Who else, but a mad fool would hold on to such a bleak future? Even you are unsure why you remain...apart from some nameless void within you that once belonged to her of course. Icey sometimes remarks that you are more than just loyal to Rostov...that at your core you still: love him. How can you answer her? Confirm her accusations? Deny them? The answer would do nothing but upset her so you remain silent on the matter. Actually, you have trained yourself to remain silent on all matters nowadays. It is a rare occasion that words leave your lips and those that do are only in strict accordance with your job at hand or proper etiquette. Icey sometimes finds your behavior strange and worries that you will one day become a 'frog in a well' but what can you do? Acting otherwise only draws questioning glances and unwanted attention...something that you are trying to avoid... Especially now. Zee and Icey have overheard rumors of treasure deeper in the castle so they have moved on to search other locations leaving you alone in this area. Treasure hunting is always a matter of luck and skill but if anyone has those two things in abundance, it would be the two of them. You on the other hand were needed to watch the packs they left behind and this garden is as good a place as any to do just that. You make yourself as comfortable as you can in one of these wooden chairs and continue to look over the area as pets come to check you out. One in particular, a tiny white furball with a pink nose is particularly interested in you and it is all you can do to resist the urge to reach down and pet it. Some type of small kitten, possibly? You are not very knowledgeable when it comes to animals but regardless it is adorable! It walks in a complete circle several times before curling up right beneath your chair and falling asleep. You smile at its cuteness for a moment before your thoughts drift elsewhere... You...really should talk with someone about these thoughts you have had ever since you first linked minds with Doctor Epsilon in the infirmary. These random moments of weakness that leave you wanting to reach out to Icey or Zee for emotional support of some sort are really getting quite bothersome...especially since your last mind meld with Doctor E has resulted in a few personality changes as well. You have become quieter and you find that you enjoy conversing with others more often. You even tried to pass this off as a tactic to improve castle sureny during the New Castle Faction meetings, but even Icey saw right through that lie when she questioned you about it. When that incident first happened you were terrified. You couldn't even explain the occurrence; your only wish was to get back home as soon as possible. But now? Now you are tempted to attempt it again, this time more than ever. The idea that Doctor E's work allowed you to tap intocular at your very thoughts and emotions is intriguing to say the least. Not to mention that this would permit you to reach Zal and Azile in Colisium without relying on the untrustworthy static messenger system... ...Three years. It has been three long years since you last spoke with either of them... The kitten you are sitting on starts meowing at you and frantically claws at your leg. "Alright! Alright! Ease up honey, I haven't gone anywhere..." You whisper while trying not wake Snowball who is still sleeping below you. Getting flattened by a broad wasn't the most pleasant of ways to wake up but now that the white fur ball is satisfied he curls back up and returns to sleep. You think about your options. There's actually a few ways to go about this. You could simply go back home, accept the limitations of your duty as a Warden and continue on keeping the Facility separated from the misery of the city beyond. You have definitely grown to like and even appreciate many of the residents here, yourself included. Healing serious head and brain injuries on a daily basis has really taken a toll on you though. Not to the point where you've lost mental faculties but you often have a stabbing sensation in your forehead if you use your powers excessively. Using your abilities on Council members on a routine basis has definitely contributed to this (as well as all the experimentation done when you were first made into a warden). You like to think you would still be able to protect everyone here if needed but the fact remains that you are becoming a physical and emotional liability, so much so that the City Council has been contemplating getting a new warden to replace you as Head of Facility Security. You think you would be missed by most if you were to ever leave. Not Zal, she would be elevating herself to top dog position in a snap. Perhaps even Icey too, you often sparred with her rhetoric during meetings, usually to light-hearted banter but serious discussion sometimes. Snowball would probably shed a few tears as well...only because she'd be worried that execution was imminent now that you weren't watching over her shoulder anymore. Most others, however, would just carry on without much thought. You guess in some ways you've been administering and leading these people more like a ruler rather than a public servant. In fact, you're essentially a Warden/Governor of a miniscule territory in post-apocalyptic world. It's sort of funny that you'd even be thinking about something like this, when not too long ago the most you wanted to do was to get back home when you first got here. Funny how power and isolation can make someone change. You take a look around your abode, remembering your current situation as well as the situation here in general, and then call upon some of that power you obtained from Doctor E. You see the aura of your island morph to one of chaos. From isolated Calm within the Storm, it transforms into a smaller version of the surrounding distortion of everywhere else in this world...and it's getting bigger. While everyone else is accustomed to this Brave New World and Conditioned to theZA50AB world, you were giving them orders and keeping them insulated from most of what was going on outside. Without you here, the City will be slow to pick someone new to fill the vacuum of leadership, which will then lead to uncertainty which should take a toll on Duty. Without the certain illusions of what life was like Before, Craing may once again attempt to launch a full scale assault on the island upon learning that the security here is not what it once was...of course they may try even if you stayed as well but you'd at least be more prepared. Whether this makes your decision for you or not, staying here really isn't an option anymore for several reasons. Perhaps it's time to take the fight back to the Craing and show them that regardless of what they throw at you you're not gonna fall. Your determination renewed, you put a call in to the Island Mayor immediately. You: "Town meeting, tonight. There are going to be some changes around here starting tomorrow." Mayor Cole: "Uh...okay. Changes? You mean like how we no longer have squash and cabbage on Thursdays? That sort of change?" You: "More like the type of change which will have the Craing sorry they Pushed us." Mayor Cole: "We'll be looking forward to it then! I'll be sure to let everyone know about tomorrow evening..." The following night, after you've dropped quite a few hints to everyone, to the some of the locals about both the meeting and your plan of action if they don't stop fidgeting in their pants, you gather in the town hall with everyone else. You certainly have their attention now... You: "Thank you for coming tonight, as I'm sure you're all aware of the situation with our 'guests' earlier this year. Well it's time that we gave a little back...to the Craing that is..." Groans and disapproving sounds are murmured throughout the room. You: "Now, now, this doesn't mean we're going to start raiding their cities or sending pirate vessels to their shores. We're going to play by their rules and do this by the book." # Haaa...haa...you wish # one of them laughs. You: "Perfect! Someone already got out their flintlocks, good. Okay, who said that?" Several people look away or act like they didn't hear you. Obviously, they're lying. Not willing to embarrass anyone, you point to a large man in farmer gear. You: "You, sir." Farmer: "Me? Ha ha, no I didn't say anything chief." You: "Sure looked like you did...let's try this again. (sigh) Okay, I'm going to need one volunteer for this. So if you know something, I suggest you speak now...or by the gods, don't and just try me later for killing one of you that could've helped us. That's what this is coming to people; Volunteers?" After a moment of silence and looking around, a young farm woman gets up with a half eaten ear of corn in her hand. She looks both ways and walks up towards the stage before addressing the crowd. Farmer's Daughter: "Please...we can't keep hiding like this. I...I just lost my husband a few months ago and we're all out of danger here. If we're going to survive and eventually get our island back, then we need to take a stand now. If we don't...maybe the Craing will come back with more next time and there won't be anyone left to help us...I'd rather die for a reason than die for no reason at all." You: "Well said. Alright, everyone calm down. The young lady has more sense in her than the lot of you combined it seems." She looks at you, surprised that you're agreeing with her. You point to one of your own people standing by. You: "You! Go get my steel sailcloth from my ship. All of you others just stand back. Now then, we only have a few tools and a small supply of food to last, but I think we can get started right away...easy now...calm down they're chained up so they cant hurt you...well maybe not the one wit' the teeth, but I'd be careful if I were you. Did I mention that the Craing massacre an arena full of people just because their home city decided to betray them? You don't wanna cross these bastards anymore than you already have. Now then, let's get building this pen. (sigh) Wish I had more for you but it's just going to be a wooden pen for now. I'll try to remember the next time we raid a Craing city to grab some stronger material. So for now I guess we better drag off the weaker ones to feed these Island trolls you all seem so fond of. God knows what they did to deserve your assistance, but I guess that's the breaks sometimes. Let's roll people! Breed some strength into these children so that we may have a fighting chance. Not to save our Island...well not just our Island. A one supered by Craing gotta happen sometime. Gotta sunrise on a new generation of heroes....one day. Who knows? Maybe one of you will be that person." Second generation citizens? You have some idea that you're going to need more people real soon if you want to train them as warriors. You figure the fast way to do this is through breeding. After all, time is not on anyone's side right now so children are going to have to come quick. It takes a bit of time for things to get better, but when they do you eventually have a small community built up with some new generational slaves to work the fields while their parents go off and fight. Because this is pretty much everything you wanted and more, eventually you change the official rules of the Island Arena. Now instead of people being forced to go in and fight, they can now elect people in! This of course makes for a much more interchange community, which makes things even more lively on the Island and people start having children at an even quicker rate resulting in there finally being enough children to take care of all the fields themselves. This causes a bit of a divide amongst the original first generation islanders who feel the new ones are less deserving (as they haven't proven their worth as fighters). This results in a short conflict on the island which is settled when you point out that all the Island supporters would be dead right now had it not been for these people standing up for you. The first generation islanders finally agree, though not happily. When you finally settle the Island down into an uneasy peace again you begin to wonder what your next move should be. You think that you've done pretty much all you set out to do, but then you remember the Craing's casually thrown threat that they would have every Island attacked and killed if you continued to support the Island Arena. It's time to strike back. You've intercepted enough of their transmissions to know the Craing Islands are individually protected by shield generators and factioned off in to various warlords, with one "supreme" overseeing them all. This supreme leader has never been seen and no one seems to know what he looks like, or what he's really called. All that is known is he wears a dark blue hooded robe and is always accompanied by at least three humunculi bodyguards. Unsurprisingly though the other warlords fear him to such a degree that none have ever made the correlation that he and the hooded figure in boar masks altar are one in the same. You originally thought to send in some of your new blood to just sabotage their generators (and if possible, take out the saboteur) but then you remember all about the rumors of Craing living ships. If the Craing are restarting their experiments with them, they're going to need massive amounts of energy. Enough to power a city worth of lights. The Island's backup generators for instance. It's time to take out one of these Craing Warlords. But in order to do that, you're going to need more troops. Islander support of course but you'll need to up the ante and get support from the mainland too. You don't just want troops, you want the best. You contact the various warlords on the mainland as well as any 21 active GTA members and explain your plan to them all. Basically, take out all the Craing islands while simultaneously attacking their mainland. Even if this doesn't completely shut down their interference in Island affairs, it'll certainly do it long enough for you to get a good foothold on things. Rather predictably, the GTA members aren't tremendously impressed with your plan. After all, there's not a lot in it for them, you're just asking them to die. The mainland warlords on the other hand are very impressed and swear that even if the Island is successful in eventually bringing down the Craing, they'll still come out of this one the winners, as they'll still be the only heavyweights left in the land. Normally, this is the part of the plan where you'd start raising an army. This time you don't have to though, you just need to funnel money and weapons in to their hands. As always, everyone agrees...everyone always agrees when it comes to getting free stuff after all. Year 56 "Do you really think this is going to work?" Ken asks. "Probably not." You say staring at the paper displaying the treaty you've written up. "Well that's ' Premier Eternal Unimaginative Retread' for you!" Ozzy laughs. Honestly, you're just stalling for time in case anyone managed to decipher your code. The fools you've dealt with in this world aren't exactly the most intelligent and for the most part are egotistical enough to want to think they're cleverer than you, when in reality, they have no idea. "Ken, if I was really serious about. ' liquidating your misfit toys', as Mr. Mol often put it, I'd have done so long before now." You say. "I think that was our cue to leave, Ken." David says. As Ken and David walk away from the Craing's territory, you finally start feeling a sense of closure and realize how taxing it has been keeping all this deception going for so long. At this point you've got over half the isles under your command and along with your thrallbrokers you're pretty much a kingmaker. It's the 21st century and you're living nearly tax free thanks to the exporting of a popular drug. Granted most of the citizens are addicted to it, that's hardly your concern though, if they don't like it they can quit, just like you did. And they'll probably have to soon. Why? Because war is coming... And perhaps it's for the best you retire anyway, you're starting to feel the weight of years. You'll hand things over to Smiley in a way that will best suit you both. He's certainly proven himself. Funny thing that when it comes to trusting people, you've found the younger they are the easier they are to figure out, kind of like following a baby eagle's soaring pattern on high winds to determine what direction it will dive. In any case you can only hope that when they come for you they actually respect your wishes to die in your sleep. Good luck Smiley, you'll probably need it. Year 60 Year 60 You open your eyes to a knocking from across the room, seems like someone is at your door. You slowly stagger to your feet and walk over to your dresser to get dressed, as you pull up your pants you look over to the mirror hanging on the wall. What you see isn't too surprising, age has taken its toll and gray/white hair now flows from your head. It's funny you never thought a mortal lifetime would ever feel so...laborious. "When did I get so old?" You think to yourself as the knocking resumes, must be someone pretty important too if they've been knocking for this long. You grab your revolver from your bedside table and make your way to the door, calmly unlocking it and opening it. Standing before you, smiling are three of your advisors; Ken, David and Ozzy. And behind them various others bustling about or waiting. You assume you're needed for some sort of state matter. "Got room for one more?" Smiley asks, pointing to the group who just waves sheepishly towards you. You were so deep in thought you hadn't even heard him approach. "Sure kid, but let's not keep the driver waiting all day, we gotta get to where we're going." The kid nods and you head outside, with your assorted advisors and entourage in tow you start towards the vehicle which is probably a few miles away by now. A majority of the people outside ignore you as usual, though a few scatter about on the outskirts of town bow as you walk by. Heh, silly mortals, you'd prefer that they didn't and yet most of them do out of fear. All of that will probably change soon, your buddy the Emperor is dead and his empire with him. Despite being friends with one of his more trusted advisors, the news still came as a surprise to you when you got the letter last week. Though according to David he'd been sick and slowly dying for years now. Makes sense that his death finally pushed events towards chaos. David had tried to calm everyone about the situation but it didn't really do much, a few of the citizens seemed less fearful with an extra dose of mercifulness but then others became even more afraid, expecting war to arrive at the gates. Much like the Great Lich Lord's endless army or the orc tribes in the Northwest, these facts just cause most to despair. After all how can such a small settlement of mortals stand in the way of certain destruction? Sure there's guards that help protect the walls but you doubt they'd be able to stop a real assault. If war came, evacuation might be considered but the world outside is just as untamed as the one closer to home so that wouldn't be much better especially with winter quickly closing in. Not that any of this is your problem now, you've completed your mission (Well saved the kingdom proper anyway) and can now leave whenever you please. Though going yet another series of winters out in the cold, well it's not very appealing to you anymore. Sure the bounty was high but quite frankly even if the pay was low, the thrill of hunting pairs with your innate ability to easily adapt made it more than worthwhile. Now? Now you're too old for that life anymore. While you may not prefer the idea, eventually you may have to join a larger force and settle down to a more mundane routine, of course with your past experience that shouldn't be too hard but it's not really what you wanted to do for the remainder of your days. Besides if you're fated to die in battle on some forsaken battlefield then you at least want the cause to be for something you believe in, like the Emperor or David for example. It would all be very tragic but such is life, but you have your doubts that the current leadership has the charisma or perhaps even the intelligence to rally people together anyway. The biggest problem at the moment is the fact that this little "Pacific Island" has no strategic value whatsoever. Well other than being a port of call for prospective adventurers, which if the rumors are true they're more likely to die in horrible ways in some dark dungeon as apprenticed to some Dark Lord and awaiting their turn at stealing madly from a trapped chest then ever striking it rich and buying a mansion. How cunning! Smiley Still, it's not as if you can place any faith in David now, despite your previous loyalties. How could you? Jahannam (hell) after all! It's hardly news that Heaven and Morai (death) are in a eternal dance to steal humanity for their realm. While it certainly sucks to get there before your time the revelations about David aren't entirely unexpected; still very shocking though. It's really not much different than the book (which no one seems to be worried about anymore) except in David's case he made a conscious pact for power rather than an ignorant one out of greed like Satan in the Adam and Eve tale. You don't know if the rumors are true about Demon Lord, but David was probably a more "realistic" candidate than most would like to believe. However now that all this has come to pass, its truth can't be denied! Still, you can't just hang around here doing nothing right? The full truth is out and people are dealing with it in various ways and the status quo seems to have been maintained so far and since you're technically an independent officer of the law right now, what you do is your business! Now there are rumors of a fallen star making camp out near the wilderness edge of the kingdom but given all that's happened, it's hardly surprising. (Actually fallen stars are pretty common-encountered out in the wilderness and yes you've tinkered with the idea that they're actually "alien spacecrafts") Whatever this star is, if it's friendly it could come in useful. However, even if your life now is more mundane and less taxing then it has been, that doesn't mean you can completely throw away all caution either... Only way to find out is to go see for yourself right? Also didn't a meteor once save the day back in your old games? You always wondered if there was something inside that you activated and while this "star" isn't moving, maybe there's something special about it...something worth investigating. You still have a few days left of your vacation days so why not use them? You may just surprise your younger self with this bit of extra self discovery after all. You return to your apartment and have little trouble finding what you need. A tent, bed roll and other outdoors type gear are simple enough to find in military surplus shops while your shortcut to the highway puts you close enough to the wilderness that you don't need a horse (besides you wouldn't know how to ride one anyway). You stayed up many a night reading those fairy tales and stories of heroes in need of journeys so of course the first night you choose to build a camp fire, make yourself comfortable and start reading from one of those old favorites. It's funny that even with everything that happened you still desired fairy tales, even if they weren't really "true." Especially after finding out how wrong they all were! The demon realm wasn't a scary place at all and in fact the demons were more reasonable than most humans you've met since your time there. You've seriously gotten through some more modern fairy tales now too and all contained very brutal acts of violence against various "innocents." You sort of understand why the Church warned against them now. Of course if you had been aware of 2 Player Productions back then, you'd know that most of the stories they were based on involved someone acting like a psychopath or engaging in incredibly reckless behavior. The Earth you experienced was full of life that wanted to continue living and to reproduce. Everything you encountered, from the zombies, to the demon realm, even the angels themselves all wanted to continue living. Everything interacted in some way too, nothing was really "static." The only entity you encountered that did nothing and was content on staying that way till the end was Joachim himself. The man just laid around his palace all day playing his lute and probably drinking. Even he was into self-medicating...well at least until you arrived anyway. It was with these thoughts that your mind started to wander and before you knew it, your surroundings became darker... "Probably asleep again...gotta get myself a bell or something." You say to yourself as you stand up, finding the clearing completely empty as usual... Just as you turn to pick up your book, a red fox slowly comes out of the trees and stares at you. (AN: If you're familiar with Kiseki, then you may notice this is the version from that screenshot/official art of Kit from years back) It keeps its distance but takes interest in you. "Hello little fellow. Hiking far?" You call out but it simply watches you. Shrugging, you turn to the fire, putting your book in your bag, that's when you hear a voice. "Howdy! Traveling through these parts I see. Mind if I join ya for a moment?" Comes the smooth, dripping southern accent. You look up and spot an old man in a dirty gray jacket with a filthy rag for a hat and a crooked wooden cane. The man reminds you of the Sandman from those old fairy tales, which is appropriate considering his next words. "Seeing as yer sleeping under the stars tonight, I'd say you're far from home... Far from where you began... I take it you're a traveler? You holde no loyalties to the Kingdom of Man nor the Demon Clans?" "Why? Are there other places?" You deadpan, not giving too much away. The old man laughs a bit before replying. "One more question for ya: are ya a bad man?" Now this one you do find a little offensive as you reply "What the hell?! No, I'm not...bad...why the hell does everyone keep asking me this?" to which the man just nods with a bit of a chuckle. "Figured as much, that's good." before getting up and saying "Many Thanks for the chat and fire there, Bad Man. Safe travels to you." You nod but as he starts walking off, you decide to address one more question. "Who are you?" "If you need to know, I am Glass Jaw. Any more questions?" "What does Glass Jaw mean and why can I hear your thoughts if you're not a Psyker?" You reply quietly. (Glass jaw refers to someone who has an easily targeted weakness) You hear the man laugh before replying "It's what they called me back in my pugilist fighting days, saw a weakness and took advantage of it, like you did with ol' Glass Jaw, haha! And the telepathy comes from the elixir, a side effect, totally harmless but practical if you ask me. Now that I think about it, Margaret was right about you." Now intrigued you reply "Who's Margaret?" "You'll meet her someday if you keep heading East.Though I suppose this meeting counts as well... Okay Bad Man, see ya when ya see me, have a good night! The man then hobbles off into the trees and out of sight. Confused, you shrug and turn to your campfire, grabbing your book and reading it by lantern light until you feel sleepy once more. You wake up to sunlight shinning on your face and closing your shades with a tree branch. Afterward you begin packing up, eating a large biscuit for breakfast before thinking about the man you encountered. "What did he mean when he said I would meet Margaret?" You think, hoping the man would be around to ask but seeing as his only answer is "She's right there!", you're guessing he left some time during the night and continued his travels. Either way you wish him the best on his travels as, once packed up, you say "Goodbye, old man I hardly knew...err maybe I should elaborate." But seeing as you've never seen him before today, that's all you can say before leaving the campsite! With the sun at your back and foliage to each side, it's certainly going to be a hot walk today but with the Canteens filled up you're set for water awhile. You keep your eye on the sun as it slowly makes it's descent Western way, about halfway through your journey you hear the unmistakable sounds of hoofprints. Fearing for attack you dive into a bush and hold your breath, slowly turning your head to look in the direction of the hoofprints. Thechink chinkof metal reminds you of an old fencepost that's similar to what an amish person would use. Both Teckleville residents using this road. Farther down the road you see an older woman dressed in a long flowing black dress with a bonet on her head with driving a...well at first you believed it to be a horse and wagon behind her but upon closer inspection you realize its dark brown complexion, tiny wings, and mammal paws are unlike that of any horse. As the Woman spots you she whips her head around to look at you, hard eye contact causing you to freeze. Fighting off the urge to flee you manage to whisper Running would be unwise with the sun in their eyes, besides, it's been said if you stare at a fairies through your eyes rather than looking at them directly they become less powerful. Hunger, Thirst and Trolls would be much harder to deal with than this tiny fairy. You look at her continue stare. Speaking in a deep and powerful voice she speaks," Where are you going...Bad Man?" Taken aback you reply. Not but several hours ago you were given that title and already people are using it. "I am simply traveling East young fairy, and yourself?" The fairy chuckles and retorts" Young fairy indeed, it has been many years since anyone has called me that. I am Ral, and I go many places but I am currently stationed here." Staring into his sharp angular eyes, you are able to make out more intricate details such as his thin grey eyebrows and accompanying facial hair. His bonet is laced with gold and gems, the rest of his outfit decorated in jeweled necklaces. You often wondered what kind of fairy he was but his aged appearance destroys any correlation between name and look. Ral slowly brings his fingers to his lips and lets out a sharp, loud whistle . The loud noise startles you but brings the attention of something much larger, A large fairy beast with a long furry tail emerges fromthe trees on the other side of the path. Emerging from the bushes is a creature you've never seen before, a Caterpie transcending into a Domina. Not quite understanding how this is possible,you stutter."W-what is THAT??" The newly evolved Polte lays claim to the entire area, it's belly completely empty of any filament. Rather than speak it uses its ability and release a wave of ants which ooze from the ground and onto it's body. Up close you can tell it's size perfectly accommodates your size, Every last detail of it's hard exoskeleton recognizable to the human eye. It's bright red eyes remind you of piercing lasers, it uses them as such by focusing on you and releasing a few thousand Volts through it's eye. It slumps forward to extend it'sneck towards your height, the cool breeze carrying the scent of electricity from it's body. It's tongue hanging out to the side revealing dozens of razor teeth shaking in and out of its mouth as if hoodwinking you. The fairy which you now know to be Ral rests himself on its head and grins at you. "This here is my friend Polte. Although I call him Poldie but you can call him whatever you wish...The names Polte for short, isn't it right old boy?" The humunculus releases another blast of ants at Ral's face in retaliation to the nickname as he sits atop it to steer. "Go on then, boy. Eat up!" you hesitate and Ral quickly loses his patience."Don't tell me an emissary of Carif wouldn't have eaten your fair share of insects during your travels, mh? Don't believe what the priests tell you, this is nature's way and we must adapt accordingly or die. Now shhh...Sit down and enjoy the ride." Eyeing the antizapper you're given, you sit down and bolt a load of termites. You forced the bitter taste out of your mouth with a gulp of water, the buzz of the large bug attracting your allies up ahead. Having loaded your termites, you kept a close eye on your surroundings just incase you needed to get off in a hurry Whatever ride Ral was going to give you would soon be over as he brought the humunculus down a small goat trail towards the structure he was setting out for. "This here is my humble campsite." Underneath a bush covered in roses, stood a table and chair crafted out of sticks and resting on several rocks. Beside it stands a pyramid of rocks holding a large, uneven wood log over a bare flame. "After you." Next to the fire stands a large, brown pot filled to the brim with a thick brown substance, chunks of meat and vegetables separating the ingredients as it gently boils. Upon further inspection you can smell all kinds of different spices used while cooking the meal, your mouth begins salivating as your pounded stomach gurgles. In the chair watches a deformed, goblin-like creature which seems to be missing most of it's teeth. "This my best friend Moonkey. If you behave yourself and respect me and Moonkey he'll share some stew with you." A green, cricket the size of a cat sits in Moonkeys hand as he teases it to bite his fingers, giggling as the creature tries to nip at him. Seeing your lack of response, Ral begins to look a little irritated. "Anyway like I said it's just the beginning. Maybe in a week or two we can try something a little more daring." "Who's we, exactly? And what's all this we business, I haven't agreed to anything." The Zealot Lord suddenly looks very annoyed. Remembering things Rose told you about him is putting you in a pretty unique position to poke and prod at his very obvious Neuroses. "Look kid." He says grabbing your shoulder to look you square in the eye. You stare without fear, an act which causes him to let go. "One of two things is about to happen. Either you're going to cause me a whole lot of hassle trying to convince you or you'll see the wisdom in helping me out. Either your company is going to be useful or.... Otherwise." Rall states fixating his gaze on you. Without another word, he takes his antizapper out of your hand and goes back to feeding it to his creature. You realize the folly in pushing him, an enemy you don't really know anything about other than what that evil-looking woman wiki told you earlier. "... Right. What exactly did I sign up for?" Quite a bit actually, remember all that snooping around Ral's compound? Well now you owe him big time, not only will you help brew his Antizap elixir off-and-on over the months until it's done but you're going to be his personal stock boy when he takes over QuarterDays."Wow, brewing? Didn't know that was on my skillset. But if it gets you off my back, I'm willing to give it a shot." After your humble acceptance he takes you over to the table with all the equipment and explains the specific procedure in making Andite. Seems rather simple, combining that hog fat with ground ruststone should do it. You go to it right away while Ral feeds his ant friend, periodically looking over your shoulder to make sure you're doing it "Right. Hours pass and as your wooden bucket gradually fue itshog fire, he calls you to the greatest of all devices the Enchanter Zealot loaned him... The 2006 Innerwears Trendsetter Pocket PC! A device more computing power than entire university libraries before the dark ages, a true marvel of modern technology! He watches the colorful screen for a moment before nodding. "Just in time too, we're ready to strain it now." Found followed by fine quality. You never knew Ral was so found of puns! "Uh... Ral? Where do you want me to strain it?" He stares, blankly for a moment before gesturing to a spot on the floor. "Over there I guess." Seems odd, but given the man's clearly gotten everything else right, who are you to disagree? You hope he doesn't plan on me drinking or saving the mixture off the floor later though... Won't the big tub just collect all the filtering out anyway? While straining it over the bucket, you're forced to take several steps. Also on that side of the room are a bunch of machines with glass canisters stacked beside them. To your left is where Ral's staff lounge is located, big comfy looking recliner... Wait a sec. Noticing Ral looking at something else, you make a quick inspection of the machines while slowly filter out the mixture. Looking at the machine that interests you most, you see the words ROLLERS: TEETH clearly labeled on it, remembering that archivist's journal talking about "great crushing wheels of tempered steel" It looks like you just found what they do, after consulting with the stack of instructions you found on the shelf, placing the container on roller #20 seems to turn them on, and watching from a safe distance you're soon witness to the "Great Creations" of Ral the first. Taking only a moment for the chunks to be thoroughly broken then through a small hole before being spit out the side, you can make out several examples of "candy" under the roller as it goes on, turning them from chunks into tiny stones, which are quickly sifted out. Making sure you've got everything edible up to this point you turn your attention back to filtering. Since there's a lot of liquid, some overflow is inevitable before you get the hang of things, each area merging into another... But that's no issue since the large bucket below it will catch anything that falls through. There really isn't much to this. Several hours go by as you get into a rhythm, dumping the next bucket of liquid over the filter and back into the large tank for storage, then throw out the remaining solids before doing it all over again. It certainly is a lot of standing and walking though, those Goliaths weren't lying about that. Four buckets later a creation comes out in a way you didn't expect. Most of the liquid seems to have been absorbed into the various unnameable solids in it, which while still solid... Are now almost a paste and quite edible. Yep, no question about it, anyone who tasted it would rather eat the creator than this... YUCK! After a few hours more of this process, you get another surprise as Ral comes over and sticks his finger in the mixture before casually taking a lick. "Almost," he says to himself, not noticing you wincing in pain at his disgusting act. "Getting there... Just need to add a few ingredients." Looking over the instructions again for anything that may resemble what he just added, (you didn't even notice him bringing anything else in) you come across one item as having some effects, "Possible psychological effects, disclorization, and an unusually mellow high." That explains a lot. Still, with everything you've been through you'd rather not chance eating that slop, even if these "psychological effects" are a nice thought. Just as you were about to get started again, Raling comes up with some meal you can't even identify, "Here," he says shoving it at you. Warily, (who knew what this stuff would do to you) you take a bite, and nearly gag as the nastiness floods your mouth, filling it with a slimy texture that neither settles nor washes away no matter how much you try. Rather irritably you bark at Ral, "Do you have anything I could mix this with to make it bearable?" "Ah, I forgot something!" he says suddenly, running back over to one of his desks and rummaging through several containers before pulling out a vial. Pouring some of the contents into the goop, he hands it back to you. Using your finger to stir it only slightly to make sure everything was combined, you tentatively taste it once more, and are pleasantly met with the flavor of the goop beginning to turn slightly sour. Even Ral seems happy at this wondrous event, though he quickly dismisses himself after stopping for a quick bite. Guess perfectionists don't wait for the "edible." Even though you could now easily finish the box of goop, you decide to wait until you can order something else strength wise and eat that when this runs out. Ral may have left without asking, but you have a feeling he'll be back soon enough on some pretense or another. Just as you finish this thought, he does exactly that. "I simply must ask your assistance on something right now or I'm sure my head will explode!" He begins without a greeting or even looking at you. "I need you to help Rep Groupies R & R. They keep getting themselves killed during audience interactions, which brings me no pleasure in doing, and I need them alive for when the bands come through here on tour!" Well there goes your peaceful meal... "What exactly do you want me to do," you ask, already getting up. "I'll inform the staff about you and have them send anyone with questions to you or have them read your employee file, which I will also attach a copy of this too," he says, sending the message and retracting the antenna back into his body. Suddenly Rep Groupies R & R comes swarming out of the employee area, a huge horde of them already chatting away about nothing in particular- except the topic of question is you. Or more specifically, asking you questions. Ral was right. This will be the extra strength food... For the next hour you spend it all answering questions of every sort from how you like the hotel so far to whether or not you thought the kick was worth it when you joined the Crimson Talons...which they knew already. Some of them, (the scads that just popped up out of nowhere) actually give you a face while others bombard you with cheap shots and poorly done insults obviously trying to make fools of themselves to see if they can get a rise out of you. There are even some, (the overly touchy types) that try to grope you, which causes a whole different kind argument entirely. "Hey, back off!" you snap at one, registering just how out of hand this was getting. "Oh, so you don't like girls? Big surprise there," says the little blonde thing, followed by another insulting comment in Spanish. It doesn't help that all of them seem utterly oblivious to the fact that you are a "higher up". "Look, I'm not into any of you, alright? So just leave me alone! Now go bother someone else with the English part of this staff! Jeez..." You bit back, standing your ground the entire time. "Relax, sweetie. We'll leave you alone," says the little blonde thing in an almost conciliatory tone. That would be the last time you'd hear it though since the little guy doesn't stick around for long. After seeing their girlfriends storm off, some of the guys likewise decided to do the same, leaving you alone to enjoy the rest of your meal in peace. "I guess this is a job too," you mutter to yourself as you go back to walking, finishing off the meal. Over the next few weeks, you find that you really don't mind this job much at all. As large as it is, it's surprisingly laid back save for important events where big money is involved. In fact, if Rita isn't on duty, then there is very little supervision at all save for the initial training you got. Due to Ral caring so little about his actual business, his hotel is the place to be for people that like freedom in their job and plentiful rest time. So long as the work gets done, nobody cares what you do with the rest of your hours. And as an added benefit, Ral buys a lot of food from the farms around the city so every night there is always an incredible spread of whatever was harvested that week. It certainly makes the night watch a lot less dull. Working the nightwatch during the week also means you get little scenes of seeing Rita come in after her long days of scouting and spying as well as shows up in the employee room now and then to grab a coffee or to have a quick chat with you before heading to her room for the rest required after a night shift. By the end of the second week, Rita even encouraged you to head down to one of the farms to poach yourself an egg donor. Given how laid back the job is, you don't see why not and stumble upon a slightly chubby blonde who looked about ready to drop from another one of Rita's scouting trips. You spend the night with her in one of the hotel rooms after explaining to her that the boss said it would be okay and while she doesn't seem to fully understand what it is that you want, she seems happy to comply as you make her feel like a queen. In fact, it was all so nice and fun that you've actually been going down to the farms on your days off just to hang out in the general area. You figure you can keep an eye on the area while also killing time with farmgirls supplying your room. Then came the day that Rita actually gets a job. "Diego, you look like hell," Rita says as she comes into your staff room. You look up and she's right; you've unshaved for about a week not to mention the bags under your eyes. "Just a little tired, had late night..." You trail off. "Go home then," Rita answers, handing over some cash. "I'll cover you." "Thanks," you yawn, pocketing the money. "This should be enough right?" "Should be, see ya'" Rita says, grabbing your seat to get comfortable while she keeps an eye on the street below. You were lucky to grab a job like this; not many care for night shift security work after all. Most prefer being active during the day instead so there's more chance of pay and positions available. Still, with as many Underworld types that are around here, it doesn't really make that much of a difference anyway. You take your leave and head out, grabbing breakfast before going back to your room to get some sleep. You can probably get a farmgirl to come in later if you're still awake then. You end up sleeping through most of the day and into the night before you finally wake up. You yawn as you stand, realizing just how hungry and thirsty you are. You also take time to go over to the hotel's garden to steal some fruits as you still owe them for all the produce you've been taking. Yep, definitely should have just gone with the farmgirl. Still, what's done is done and your stomach is telling you that it's not going to wait. You take your fruits and head out only to find John standing and facing you. "You look terrible," John coldy says. You look at him before scrathing at your head. "You're telling me," you say, returning back to your room only to find that he was standing in the way. "Get out of my way, I gotta' eat." "What the hell did you think you were doing?" John asks raising his voice a little. "Having a good time," You shrug, this prompting him to grab your collar and pushing you against the wall. "Well, while you were having a good time, the rest of us were gathering more information; information that is vital to our success." "Get off me," You ask as calmly as you can. You're in no mood right now for dealing with John's moral crusade. Your lack of reaction seems to further anger him as he gives you an ever harder squeeze. "So what, you think nothing we do matters? People risk their lives for our cause and you just...'have fun'?" He pushes you harder against the wall as his nose becomes almost touching yours. "And who said you could just leave in the first place? You think you could do a better job than me, huh? Go on, tell me!" The condescension, the bullying and everything else he's thrown at you tonight, has finally gotten to you. You grab his collar and slam him into the wall. "I don't take it easy on you just because you got some sob story, you little prick. You don't like how I do things then you get the hell out of my way. Now get out of my sight before I make you." You punctuate your last sentence by shoving him against the wall one more time. He stumbles back before regaining his footing, glaring at you. You lean forward, keeping your glare strong. "Last time I'll say it, get the hell out of my way." The two of you stare at each briefly before he detours around you to head to your room. Suppose that was the first major conflict you've had in this organization so far. Guess it's good to know the hierarchy is in place. You watched as Rita bolted to her feet when John came in. The two embraced tightly before having a quick whispered discussion. After they're done talking she sees you and waves you over. "So did everything go...okay?" "Yeah. Mission success," You shorts as you take a seat on your bed. Your lie is caught almost immediately. "Everything went great." She says, dropping her voice at the end to signify the obvious false note. "Didn't it?" She's never really been able to pull wool over your eyes. Maybe being around her all the time has spoiled you but even at her physical peak with make-up and clothes enhancing her appearance, she looks like she just got out of a knocking shop. The tired circles under her eyes aren't conflicted either. And besides all that, you know her too well and can tell when she's anxious. You give her a smile and, taking off your sabatons, caress her face. "Everything went great," You lie. "Did it?" She asks, falling for it. "So, the Elder's death means we..." "We're free," You say with finality as you caress her again. "This is our home now. No one can challenge that." "Are we sure about that? I mean with the change in management...we won't have to worry about all the stuff we've been avoiding, right?" Your hand slowly falls to your side as you feel your fingernails digging into the palms of your hands. "It's a load off knowing that we don't have to do all this lying and hiding any more. I've..." You wince as you notice the same parallel s walking towards the door; only pausing to look back at you and Rita with uncertainty. Happy dismisses her concerns with a wave of her hand before turning back to face Rita fully. "Turn out the lights, okay? Things have been really hard for you in addition to all the other girls, so I want you to get some sleep after all this. We can clean up the Elder's death room in the morning. Thanks babe," You say and kiss her on the cheek before walking out of the door. Stopping by your room, you put on a shirt and drop onto your bed. For a moment, you just try to fall asleep. When that doesn't work try clearing your mind but you're too focused on other things. Getting up again, you take off your shirt and open your locket. The knife seems to watch your every move. Eventually you get an idea and sigh as you unhook your shield from your back. Lying down, you place the shield over your chest and stare at the ceiling in the dark. When morning comes around you find yourself with a handful of other Creations cleaning out the Master's quarters. His body is being disposed of somewhere off site while you're all sorting through his books, correcting any symbols that have been burnt onto them. Rita and Edgar are into it, saying something about how this entitles them to a lower wage because... Reasons. Edgar finally finishes his page, so he heads over to the table Bunny is working at. She thanks him for the coffee he's brought her while she works. You finish your last page and look it over before handing it to Happy, who's telling a story to Gwenny over at their table. She's laughing and actually seems to be enjoying herself for a change, surprising you somewhat. Regardless, you hand your book over to Happy who gives you a nod. He goes through the boring motions of burning the last sigil on the inside cover while you flip through it. Everything seems to be in order. "So since you're done first, you want to deal with these contracts and intake forms or whatever?" Happy says, walking over to you while putting away his wand. You consider it for a moment and nod. "Sure, I guess." "Thanks, you're a doll," Happy says, handing you a clipboard. You walk over to one of the two occupied tables and clear your throat to get the student's attention. The one with the fiddle, who sports a mullet cuts his blues eyes at you suspiciously while the blonde by his side unnecessarily apply lip balm. Nowhere in the room does a chessboard sit, so their game was obviously done before you arrived, probably wanting to see some "civilized" people. Continue staring at you, they slowly put down their clipboards and stop writing. Scratching at your temple, you try remember what Edgar taught you. "So... The Professor told me that you two were interested in joining without playing any sort of games." Blondie's eyes fix on yours as he suspiciously narrows his eyes, "What exactly did he mean by that?" "Um," You try to remember, but the mulleted one-- who you now realize has a huge scar going through his right eyebrow-- interrupts you. "You're one of those things too, aren't you?" He asks you gruffly. "Ah... Yeah I am." You admit. "But so are you, if you signed up. Mullet sighs and runs his hand through his flattop before speaking, "Let's just do this so we can get on with our mission, Ozzy." Blondie must be Oscar then. Strange choice in names. "Cool," You say sitting down, as they return to their clip boards. "What exactly am I looking for then?" The two pull them away from you protectively and Oscar says, "We'll tell you if you're accepted." You pout, at which point blue eyes laughs. You decide to flip through one of the clipboards anyway and see a bunch of technical notes. Strength, intelligence, how good they were at surviving in poor conditions and so on. Nothing you can really contribute to since your standardized test scores were always horrible. While you're doing this, the door smacks someone in the head as they enter. You look up and your heart nearly sinks through the floor. Flying in however, is a much more fitting term at this point. Immediately, Ozzy and Oscar are on their feet, weapons drawn and eyes hardening. Their dogs are growling playfully but with the same intent to kill present in their masters' eyes. "Good. You're still here." Master Ebon says calmly, standing in the doorway. "What the hell do you want?" Oscar snarls, holstering his pistol. "You heard him, were busy." The elderly shadows steps into the room and drags the heavy door shut with a thud, "I'm here for him." He points at you and you about have a heart attack. Immediately, you try to will your disguise to hold but as the monks walk briskly towards your table... it's not holding up. Oscar lunges over the table with his knives drawn and instead lands in your lap, having jumped too far. He looks up at you and you can swear that he looks disappointed. Just before the rest try to kill each other, Happy, as well as Foreman and the twins rush into the room. "Hey!" He cries out "What in the bloody hell is going--" His brows furrow and he addresses you directly for the first time, "He's with us." "What? This is...!" Oscar starts before being interrupted. "Yes, and if you lot can't tell a fellow shadow when you see him, you don't have the right to call yourselves that." "Enough! Outside. Now!" Ebon's voice booms with authority and you almost jump out of your skin. When Oscar makes to protest once more, you grab his wrist in a vicelike grip that cracks the bones. Oscar squeaks in pain as his dogs snarl but one look from you stops them in their tracks as you stand up, flinging Oscar into their arms, and follow Master Ebon outside. Just as it is outside, everything is chaos inside. Monks lay in serried clusters in front of overturned furniture while others run this way and that, arguing or desperately seeking shelter behind furniture. You and Ebon sit off to the side behind a sofa in the lobby, watching the chaos seethe. When you try to speak, he glares at you. After sitting in silence for several minutes, he speaks, "What do you think of our little gathering?" "It's... crazy." You admit. "Good. It means the operation is a success." A confused look crosses your face and he grins, "We're undermining them, child. This location is untenable now, not remotely secret anymore and extremely dangerous to anybody who owns it. While we didn't manage to get as much of their supplies, weapons or drugs we could have, this is still a victory for us." "But..." You point to the door where the chaos is emanating from, "the fighting, the ki...kids in the streets." He sighs and places his face in his hands, sitting that way for almost a minute before looking up at you once more, his demeanor much darker this time. "Listen child, this story goes much deeper than you think. Yes, we were in the right to bring this place down but by no means does that make us heroes." "Then what, exactly is going on here? Who are you people?" At this, he bursts out laughing, "Who *we* are? That's just it, kid. Nobody really knows. Some think we're the reincarnations of the Shadows, others of the Rangers, those who believe in neither think we're a mere coincedence. Mostly though, we're just men and women who got tired of looking the other way." Seeing you about to ask another question he interrupts, "But enough about us, tell me about yourself, kid. How'd you get hooked up with these crazies?" Somewhat hesitant you tell him about your parents and their supposed ordeal with the Technologists. "Hmm... I see." He says at last, staring out at the chaos once more, "Well, you're among friends here, kid. Though I should warn you that from now on, *all* of us are in danger. The Technologists won't rest until every one of us has been executed for crimes against humanity no matter if we had anything to do with the attack on their facilities or not. The ones here in this very building will be no exception... Well, At least yours and my names are probably already taken off the list. If we act now, we probably have a day, maybe two before they start executing kids as young as ten. They won't bother asking questions, they'll just start shooting when they see a kid with tattoos. That's what they do, what they've always done and what they'll continue to do." He takes a deep breath, "The choice is yours of course, but if you stay you'll be a target and if you leave you'll still be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life unless you do something about it. That's your choice too. What the hell do you want to do? Doesn't take you more than a few seconds to decide, "I'm staying with you guys, no matter what." "Alright. If we do survive all this, you start out as a regular grunt. Understand you have to do whatever assigned. Now I've already tooled up a bit so if you want something, now's the time to name it." "Uhhmm..." You consider the array of choices before settling on one of the newly acquired slug-throwers,"The Beretta. I've used one before so I think I could handle it pretty well. heh." He hands you the sleek black TEC-9 and any extra clip he has before saying, "Right then, Code-name: Edge. Accodingly, yours is Specter. Now get to work, we have a basement to loot before the rest of the boys get to it! And try not to shoot your-self in the foot or anything, alright? You're edges first operative and when we get back to the complex, I'll introduce you properly to everyone else. You can even bring that along if you want, certainly stand out enough." You pocket the extra clips and both of you leave the armory heading to wherever the teams have set ot for the looting. (Finally I've started playing. Expect updates in shorter intervals now.) A young Asian girl, Yumi offers you a hesitant smile while handing you a cardes with punch-holes in it's wings. It's frame is red, yellow and green. "I made this one. it's kind of... Cringey but Mrs Adolfsson said it was one of my earliest that showed real promise." Thatcher smiles at you again, "I really can't express how glad I am that you decided to stay and make the best of things. I know we're going to get along famously. Now on to business...." He pulls a chair out for you and gestures for you to sit down before seatting next to you, "I know you haven't been with us long, but I hope that you've enjoyed your time here. I'm sure you noticed that we are all a... Well behaved sort. We have rules and regulations, but I trust they won't be anything you couldn't handle. If at any point you find them unreasonable then please let me know and we can discuss an amicable agreement, but I expect that won't be the case. Anyway let's talk about the future shall we?" You had a feeling this was heading in this direction, but you remain outwardly positive, "What exactly were you thinking? "Ever since the Complex members started trickling out from the fall of society, they've had less an less oversight. Consequently because of this our experiments have changed and become less focused. This may be proven right with you. Before a selection process of sorts were in place to ensure that only the morally desperate would be brought into God's teachings, yet you were able to pass through undetected and I shall assume will prove to be one of our most successful recruits. This is something I planned to correct after the service, and with God's Blessing Mallory managed to take care of two birds with one stone. Anyhow now that you're here we can dig into the good stuff." "I'm afraid you've lost me..." You admit. "You had paintings and pictures on your person, along with several books most of which were from artists. Tell me about them and how they relate to you as a Creator." "Umm... Well with a mouse once heard an artist say that they didn't think of people as how they are now, but how they 'should' be. They considered everyone a work of art, living or not and tried to capture the core of their being in a painting. I guess for me it's the same. While math and science are cold and clinical. Art is all about passion emotion and loneliness." This answer seemed to please your Doctor and he marked something down on his clipboard. "Everything you've told me this evening has been very enlightening. Do you have any questions for me?" You do have several but can't think of any, you are far to nervous for that, so you just shake your head timidly. Your response is met with a warm smile,"Ok then, I think we're finished here." As he presses a button in the wall your seat moves back to the original position and he exits leaving you alone in the room. A few minutes pass and the door re-opens again. Thinking it's him coming back to escort you out you nervously smile until you see Christian enter the room. One look at his face and you know something terrible has happened. If he was upset or angry before, it's nothing compared to now. His face is one mask of raw grief and you could swear there are tears welling up in his eyes. He walks towards you quickly but not in an aggressive manner and grabs your hand to help you out of the chair. With your other hand he pulls you close and hugs you. His face buries into your chest and you can hear him stifle a sob. You aren't sure how to react exactly, but hugging him back seems natural. After holding you close for as long as he does he lets go and steps away. He gives you a smile, but his eyes give away how upset he really is. "Its time for us to leave, I'll explain on the way." You just nod and follow behind. Out in the main foyer of the 'church' you see other members carrying bodies out of the main sanctuary and loading them into black vans. Once you step out, two members stand beside you and flank you on both sides. You assume it's for protection, but they're enormous. They could probably snap your neck like a toothpick if they wanted. Both wear all black suits without a tie and black sunglasses. Though its too early to tell, it almost looks like sunglasses at night. Their sudden appearance after the act's over has made you jump and almost sent you into panic mode. A hand on your shoulder by Christian helps you keep your calm. "Just some extra security, don't worry they're here to protect not harm." He says noticing your shocked expression. You just nod in return as the vans start up and leave the Vatican square Circle-A emblems clearly visible on their plates. You reach park outside the townhouse that you see pretty much all of your clothes were bought at, you wonder if they kept tabs on you or had someone following you. The van doors open and you are ushered inside quickly, as the vans leave. Inside is the far less humble side of the Church, Gone are all the religious item's and pillars, in fact the room you're in sells rather well as a rich people apartment. You're sat down on a cream leather couch, that saddly compared to the one in your latest dream is very REAL and Christian is whisked away to meet with the other clergy. They play with their phones for a bit, but since yours have been taken away and you have nothing to read or anything else to do, you close your eyes and try to get some rest. You wake up as you're tapped on the shoulder and led through some halls and up a grand staircase. You are lead into a massive bedroom with an incredibly large bed and lead through another door to the bathroom. The shower is almost as big as your room at Uni. When you walk back through, one of the Jesus look-a-likes is there to escort you to a wardrobe full of new clothes. You pick out some tight-fit navy pants and a tucked in shirt and walk back through. The man stands smiling at you until you dress and then gestures that its time to leave. "The Boss wants to see you." You're walked to the door that you propped open earlier and shown in. This room looks like something from a castle, with stone walls, a massive wooden dining table in the middle and the biggest Kingsize bed you've ever seen. Three men sit around the dining table but stand when you enter. The one smoking leaves, the other two approach you. They must be the people that held the meeting in the church. This one is older and more distinguished looking he wears a black Armani suite, his hair and beard both silver and close-cropped. The next wears a simple work suit, but of course its top quality, he has slightly humorous looking face, a little chubbier than you like and light brown hair swept back, his eyes are startlingly blue. The final one wears a large black cloak with what looks like burlap strips hanging off it and peers at you with completely black eyes. You know the boss as Jesus, simply because your introduction was to Christan but the other two are a mystery. In fact they even give off a slightly different vibe to each other let alone Christan so you decide to address them accordingly. "Hello Sandeen," your hand is gripped by the one who looks like a demon, "And..umm..." you don't know any Satanists, "Master." "We've met before" intones the third one your sure you've seen present at the service. He has a rich voice that would make milk taste good. Your mind races trying to work out which one he is: Lucifer, Mephistopheles, Beelzebub...? You just continue with your planned greeting, "I'm here as requested by fr...Christan." The Men nod and you sit at the table in an empty seat. Almost imediatley you are served drinks and snacks by silentwaiters. Decaf coffee with hot milk and an oatmeal raisin cookie is placed in front, although no one else seems to be drinking or eating anything. "So how can we help you? Surely you didn't just come here so that I could get your refill your coffee?" quizzes the man you assume is Satan. You take a long drink before answering. "Well your service was recommended to me...to be honest I don't really know much about his kind of...figures." You decide to just say it "I need a fake supernatural encounter to sell, something like a stigmatism or the ability to walk on water, or perhaps blade-less knives or something else that sounds a little...weird without being obviously fake." The men nod and smile and then look at each other. "We can help you with that" says Sandeen the master of Ceremonies "we all use something like that ourself to appear pure and holy so we can abuse people better." He smiles a coy smile, "though the priestly abuser tricks only sell for peanuts nowadays so we've had to innovate with demonic theatrics...though its equally as prible as far as the faithful are concerned. You go beyond the 'seeing is believing' factor for most Christians when it comes to us." "That's true, extrange things are seen much more readily than rationalised. Its an unfortunate quirk in human nature that makes our type of lifestyle much easier than it could be, banning Christianity for superstition and irrationality would seriously cut down on our workforce but its tabboo to do so nowadays". Reflects the man in the cloak. "I need to know how much you want to spend" proceeds the master of ceremonies." we can provide you with unnatural critters, Ethereal spirits, optical illusions, telekinesis, anything you can think of. All you need to do is give me a budget and a timeframe." You consider it carefully, "I Need something that could fool anyone, I can say Christan was doing for 6 months if needed but I'd prefer something that could last 2 years if possible". You pause to consider how much money you have before continuing "say about five grand? I can get the rest of the money for your work when you send me a bill. Its not likely to be an issue" "Hmmm, well you obviously want the best then, you want things that can't be disproven by impersonation or rational explanation. Also it'd be easier to do if we had a timeframe but since you don't we'll have to wing it a bit more." "Sure." You say back Sandeen turns "I want your word that this is for a special project and nothing else" You reply without hesitation "You have it." He seems satisfied by this answer, He turns back to the group and starts spouting out numbers "Okay so you intend to spend five thousand dollars, the maximum amount of money you are willing to spend. This leaves us a range of 13 tricks that we can choose from. Martha?" he answers his own question with a nod to a woman on the other side of table. She rolls out her clipboard to a checklist on the first page "Okay we have: Beasts or monsters appearing (size dependent on price), ground opening up and subsections available (size again depending), Clouds of fog (colors depend on price), obscurement devices, Sensations (needles, nails, knives etc. dependk on area of body and price), noises from nowhere (creepy sounds, horrific screams etc. again priced by us). What would you like to do?" The man in the cloak looks at you, "we can't encompass all of these in five thousand dollars but we could get several done. You may choose whether you want the cheapest one we have or a more expensive choice that is almost completely risk free, any questions?" You think for a second, "So if we spend enough money we can guarantee a monster will appear or something?" "Not completely, while the beasts and monsters are in our pocket we cannot yet command them when they appear, some are harder workers than others. Tell me though son and don't waver, do you want risk or bargain for something near certain?" Its your call now. Well thats the end of part one, In the next part will you choose the obvious and cheapest route towards your plan or will you select a riskier option with payout greater than the safer option? Let me know either way on my sub reddit (link below) and I'll post part two as soon as I can! http://www.reddit.com/user/asoffalo Part 2 out now! "Well now, you've made a choice so tell me about it over a drink." You think for a second, "Why not?" You call back as you work your way through the people cluttering up the hallways. Up ahead you can just about see the wooden door to the bar room Standing amongst a throng of miners you order a rum from the barmaid and take up position beside the door. This room is frequented by all types and should prove an interesting setting to see if your hunch was correct. Its not long before a large group gathers expectantly beside you for the barman to draw them each a beer. "Ah wont be a minute" he shouts over the crowd, you nod and edge your way through only to find an old acquaintance at the bar smiling back at you. It's Greg! Looking tanned and healthier than when you last saw him he retorts with a friendly "Hello Sailor" as you approach. You consider pretending you don't know him but he sees through you and gives you a big hug. Over his shoulder you spot sandy hair peaking over at you curiously from behind the bar, "Listen I'll talk to you soon ok but I've got to..." You start as a memory dawns on you and your sentence trails off. "You OK there?" Greg says snapping you out if it, "yeah, these last few days have just got alot to take in that's all..." Will you go introduce yourself to your new family or see what Greg has been up to since you parted ways? You: Family -Greg: Old friend Well you're back. That was nervous. But really nothing changed, I'd still bet you felt better for seeing them alive and well. Or perhaps you lied and said they were dead? Either way moving on.... You turn to face the big man who grins as you step towards him, "Name's Ant!" He announces as he thrusts out an eager hand for you to shake which you do before he continues, "Run the east side businesses so if you ever have trouble finding work let me know." You frown as hands you a grey card with dead black letters reading simply 'Directors' and Ant talking to you, "...back in an instant..." He quickly makes his way out of the bar. You look down at the business card finding what looks like butter stains on one side and a large coffee stain on the other. You are handed a large barmans glass and tutted at by the blond girl. Looking around there is little to distinguish it from dozens of other bars like it but you do notice a crop of faces nearly all looking in your direction. Taking a sip of your rum and coke you look out the large Tavern door windows to see if you can spy Ant, instead you see a large black gangster car pull up outside and two men wearing sunglasses get out. They look at the door of the Tavern for a moment and then quickly check around them before heading inside. You turn around to see Ant approaching behind the counter followed by... You clamp your hand over your mouth to stop the scream escaping as dozens of guns seem to appear in the bar patrons hands, you dive under a table as you see the smiling faces of Ant and the barman disappear in a hail of gunfire. With your heart in your mouth you carefully peek out from under the table and see both Ant and the barman now have guns in their hands, four of the patrons are still visible and one other has joined them as they fire back at the two men unleashing a barrage of bullets. As the assassins falter and fall a horrible realisation creep's over you. The barman had a clean shot and he didn't take it. Three men rush the door as the other turn and fire at Ant who throws his empty gun at one of them grabbing a dead ally's gun and opening fire. You hear shouting and and realize the first man into the bar is headed your way, you are hidden under a table with three corpses, two of which are starting to slip down towards you. Boxing squares: lives | heads' up:Knowledge is power, use it! You're out of your depth, you need to get help! You remember where Ant looked at the door before he entered the bar and panic rises as you grab at an idea. Cell phones. // They will know who to blame within minutes even if we don't tell them. They will come for us and then we take them down too. Do nothing - It's better they find us than... Live and fight another day sabotaging their plans. Call Now - we hold tight and try to negotiate with them when they arrive. The disadvantage is we let them regroup and re-attack while we secure the area, find some guns and hostages and anything else we can use as a bargaining tool. Do nothing - It's better they find us than... Live and fight another day sabotaging their plans. Because we are the Angel Knives and these M.I.C Clowns don't know what's hit them! Call Now - we hold tight and try to negotiate with them when they arrive. The disadvantage is we let them regroup and re-attack while we secure the area, find some guns and hostages and anything else we can use as a bargaining tool. Because, between us, we can do this. You hang up from your call and walk out the back of the bar area, the blond girl is following you. "I'm not fighting." She says holding up her hands. "Hah, neither are we considering the alternatives." You reply with a chuckle as pass her. You see your three officers standing watching Ant on top of a table fighting off the assassins like some cowboy movie, only here the bullet sponge is real life and he's already taken out three men and you can see he is charging his gun for what will probably be the kill shot on the latest assassin who is currently stumbling from the wall his bullet just ricocheted down. You jump onto the table shortly after Ant. You see him look at you disbelievingly. "DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?!" He screams at you but you're ahead of him. You swing your gun crashing into the nose of another assassin about to stab Ant in the back, blood flies and you hook his body, pulling him over the balcony. You can hear him land with a dull thud as everyone stares at you. You stare at Ant. "Well you killed two how about we settle into a bit of defence." He nods in between bullets Flying. You learn over the balcony and Look down to see the 3 remaining men fighting there way through the clot of confused barmaids, bar men and drug dealers that had stopped listening to the music to see what was going on. You quickly assess who is EIS and who isn't before speaking up. You can see speech has an impact when they realize there aren't actually ten or so New Model Army men causing the chaos but only a few, including at least one clearly high ranked holy man who was supposed to be dead by now. Ant and you quickly hammer out a treaty that mostly involves theEIS convincing the surviving chem dealers to leave as you have clearly won this turf war. You also make informal rules about how many new patches of territory (Like this one) are up for grabs without EIS control but under chem trade exclusivity to the holy smokes, there will be definite consequences if this rule is broken. After a few tense minutes the numbers even out and the remaining 4 EIS men walk from the pub with blood stains and some scratches from their trade but overall head and shoulders above the 20 plus dead chem dealers and a couple of dead hostages, you recognize one as the cook's nephew. The young girl that delivered the message still watches you from the safety of a busted out window. You look at Ant who shrugs, he still trying to catch his breath. "I honestly didn't expect this would work. Good thing you came along to tip the odds the right way." You continue. "well i didn't expect to get out alive soooooooo...." You draw out the word. "Yeah I know but that's how these things work." He replies. trying to plan some route of escape through the EIS controlled territory. "I guess we need to do is split up, make it harder for them to track us tomorrow but still probably going to lose some men." You add. "Better men than me." Ant replies wiping a line of blood from a graze on his forehead. With things settled down the priest Harribor clears his throat to get your attention "yes priest?" You ask for him to continue drinking from his flask. "There are more chem trades outs here than just mine." He points out, you realize that you have effectively taken over all the business of the Neck Snap Kidz and therefore all their business too. "We're going to have a new safe house but it's clear you lot will have exclusive trade here so...." He points out. "The Old Chapel?" You ask adding "It's nicer than the 100ish year old abandoned chem lab we're in right now." People start agreeing and you chuckle to yourself at how quickly they adapt to changing their minds. he coughs for attention one more time "Also. We're The Holy Smokes." "I thought it was just The Holy Smoke?" You reply annoyed at having to prioritize these things. He just gives you a fiery stare that tells you to correct yourself "Ok. We're The Holy Smokes lead by Father Harribor dedicated followers of the sacred smoke and bringers of the eternal high...s or whatever." You end lamely. he smiles and continue drinking. That's one more set of allies and all yours now too. Back at the chem lab Jake and Ant prepare beds for the upcoming night "Did you have to kill the cook?" young Levinson asked "He made a nice stew." This gets a laugh from everyone but you; you're trying to see how many men you'll loose crossing EIS territory in the morning. Your own private army. A recon group of 5 men including Ant, Red and yourself will cut through the sewers and two other groups of 10 will cross along either side of the roads, with a 'striking force' of 20 men ready to counter attack if they are spotted. Nerves get the better of you and you decide to pay some of your most experienced chemists to stay back and make enough Smoke to keep up supply while the rest of you are in exile. It takes all night to organize but in the morning you head out with a squad and 'poof' yourself across streams of iridescent shimmering smoke, you appear behind the old familiar supermarket. A low whistle brings your squad out of concealment and you soon re-group in the safety of what was once the loading bay. It looks like some odd people have been sleeping here recently "Recent meaning last night or the night before." Ant points out. It looks like the old communal house but recently the Skin-jealously owned bank has been looted, if all goes well you'll get the credit for that too. The door is locked but easily opened and a quick scout around has Ant reporting "Clear." Whether he means people or danger you don't ask. You quickly rush through and begin barricading the entrance; this just seems like common sense after the last time you were here. You post an inner guard and then head out as a recon team to find the missing guards. scouting around you move slowly across the car park past empty silos and burnt out trucks, all the things you've been avoiding looking at suddenly seem less threatening now that you're effectively Imperialists. Still, no one's about though so you head toward the huge bank window where the guards had been. "I think if they'd left with everyone else they would have taken the bombs inside with them" Ant points out helpfully as you were already thinking along those lines yourself. Backing carefully away you spot a trail of blood leading to the door of the community house and following it you Team automatically fan out 'cuz it could be a trap. Before you even get close the door flies open and a woman (a very nasty scar running from her ear to her chin) steps out knife in hand. [NEVER initiate contact in hostile situations!] Your instincts scream at you and for a split second you're paralyzed. Thankfully Red snaps you out of it by brains outflanking the woman and relieving her of the kitchen knife she'd been given to draw you in with. "She's one of the refugees we weren't able to save!" He reports You quickly fan out and search the area but can find no-one else, one had obviously waited hoping to harvest a few Imperialists before fleeing, hoping your presence was the sign the team inside had escaped. "We need to search for our own men first and get out of here. There are swamp-coaches that have been leagued into the city but they will still be dangerous and these deliberate attacks on ourselves won't go unavenged! You split up into groups of two and each take a side of the map, heading from street to street, floor to floor via the staircases and checking every shop, every room, any place where someone could be hiding. There are a few infected about but you just steer clear or shove them out of the way depending on how prepared you are. It's grim work but after an hour you are surprised to find that only three hadn't made it out alive. The Captain takes the news of the deaths hard but sprays a little irony over the those that died "Well looks like we won't be paying our respects to dear old Clarence at his grave after all, guess he's finally gotten his peace." There are a few weary smiles. Ant looks shattered by the experience "It affected him more than he's letting on, keep an eye on him" You think as the remaining guards begin clearing up and sweeping the area. You all pile back into the cars and head slowly over the barricades and back onto the open streets of the city. You return to the school unsure of what to do next, a few guards are sent out as a foraging party but you suspect without the food hoards at your school Ant's team would be hard pressed to survive more than a few days out there. There simply isn't enough food at any of the homes you've found to provide a daily ration for the number of infected you assume would be necessary to successfully breed from and really for all you know you may be one of a million copies of the 'original' you, there's simply no way to tell. The Captain agrees with you on all counts "We need more people, but who knows where they are, what they're doing or how to contact them if they're even alive." But with the lowest morale you've seen yet he also agrees that a show of force is required so he, Ant and some of the team set out to do just that. You find a quiet spot and sit watching the others milling around the school, living in an abandoned school wasn't something you ever envisaged when you were young! An idea comes to you - the scouts had sent back people rescued from isolated villages, uncovered abandoned refugee camps and loose groups, where were they now? You rush to the Captain and request a couple of the men to help you fetch firewood "I need to know where the other teams found survivors we forwarded here." He gives you the address of a small hotel and you round up Gerry and Tom to help you carry back enough wood for a decent fire. You quickly make your way there, it took some time to walk here in the first place and it's already getting dark. The shouts of street-urchins arouse suspicions as you near your destination but it's Gerry who stops you all as they pass close by "They're posters, look!" He's right, there are posters on the boarded windows of most of the houses here and a couple on the glassless windows of the hotel itself. "Lost beloved pet Rabbit, small reward for return." you all read out then turn toward each other "The other teams left survivors here to put up these posters" you finish. "We need to search the buildings." Is all that Tom says as he picks up an old scrap of wood to serve as a makeshift crowbar to help force entry. You begin searching houses systematically and it's not long before you find what you're looking for, the team had separated into 3 smaller groups, each of whom had been sent here. you find one man outside staring at the moon which has suddenly appeared from behind the clouds. He seems surprised to see you but not scared. You take him back with you to the school. With the onset of dusk, a few infected start wandering down the roads leading into town and you practice your restraint on them. It's harder to tell what's really happening but it seems like most only shamble a short distance then stop and do little else. A few however seem to have purpose and route-find their way through the streets, as darkness falls more seem to appear and by nightfall there's a solid stream moving down each road. You pause your searches to report this whereafter the Capt. Tells everyone to close all doors and windows in their building and wait it out. You head outside with him to gather a zombie for questioning "If this is a targeted attack they're going to primarily be aiming for the guards on the low buildings so we need to know where exactly these guys are coming from, do you sense anything unusual?" You close your eyes to feel out those nearby and after a moment point toward the North East "there's something different coming from that way, not men, not undead but something in between I think, a group of them too" he nods then gestures grandly toward the hordes currently putting down roots on the roads leading North and South "at least three groups of normal shamblers heading this way right now." You gasp "but they're usually so slow, we have time to stop them?" The Captain merely strokes his beard and nods thoughtfully "Some of ours are faster. Ready yourself young keener." You sort yourself out then nod back as he saunters jauntily toward the shamblers blockading the South road. He juts out his stomach and begins dancing from side to side as he approaches then springs into a shambling parody of an old-West gunfighter's dance, bullet-dodging style. As his last move he throws out his arm and sends his Tampon Shooter flying true, right into the forehead of the lead shambler who fells it with one shot. The other four seem to notice him for the first time and ponder him with a mix of curiosity and boredom. He takes advantage of their hesitation and runs straight at them shooting the gun right left and center, each shot bringing down a shambler until only the shamblers' lieutenant remains. He turns to flee but Frank is already rushing after him. You watch as they pass beyond the limits of your normal sight and await the sound of a gunshot. Suddenly you sense something above you and look up just in time to see a hoard of infected landing on the roof. You run to the nearest door and try to close it but find them throwing themselves against it before it clicks shut "THE WINDOWS!" you mentally scream at the others as you run for the stairs, upon reaching the balcony you see that they have less protection there and that the first few windows are already choked with infected. You do the only thing you can think of and lash out with your mind at the infected on the South side, pressing them firmly against the wall and ensuring they cannot get close to the windows or climb through. You hear two gunshots from outside as you succeed in pinning the infected on that side and realize that there are far more on the roof than there were just seconds ago "They've blocked off the birds and called in the humans." the Captain's warning from earlier flashes in your mind as you leave the lift at the ground floor and run to join the others. They probably only had a few humans in reserve but they must have scouted properly because they have a professional soldier up there fast-roping down from a helicopter and braving gunfire in order to tackle as many of you as he can "Somehow they knew exactly where we'd be." the Captain had said. You stand in the gymnasium between two shelves full of cans, momentarily stunned. If you had reacted a few seconds earlier you might have saved at least some of your companions outside but it's too late now. The Sergeant and the Lost Again are your biggest concerns right now though and you fully expect the helicopter to turn its attention to you once they're dealt with. You need to act soon. You remember the large metal gates beneath the walkway on the roof with the words Dont Look Away! in red paint on them and wonder what is behind them, the rest of the building disappeared behind there long before the stadium was ever converted into a haven so whatever it is, it's unmarked and unused. There is also an underground complex mentioned briefly by Frank but never expanded upon. You make your decision and head towards the balcony, calling back to the others that you're going for help while you still have the chance. You tell Glen and Ozzy to finish off the Shamblers in the gym and then come after you as you run out of the front doors. You find the metal gate easily enough and it's just as Frank described, chained and padlocked with aboard sign warning people not to open it. You shoulder is bruised for my efforts but finally gives way. Beyond it is a set of stone stairs going down pass a several man barricade and several "Groans" come from below, you wince at the noise they make and realize that you're going to have to deal with them sooner or later if you're here to stay. The barricade has an uneasy peace sign on it and states that the founders are inside. You shrug and walk in. To elaborate, there were five guys in the barricade when the plague hit. A nurse, a doctor, a cop, a paramedic and the owner of a gun shop. They gathered up every single survivor they could and when the food started running out, they barred the exit and began to strictly control what went in and out. They gave the survivors two choices, join them or leave through the underground tunnel that led out of the block. Not many took the option but a few did. Most notably, Garrick and his group were part of those who took their chances leaving the safety of the tunnel. No one was sent after them and any attempts to contact them were met with silence until one day, Ozzy came back alone saying that he no longer heard the survival community's channel being pirated by anyone else's signals.. Leaving them to their unatoned crimes, you jog down the stairs/ When you get down there, a man in a blood-spattered medical coat holds a double barreled shotgun on you, another guy roughly my age is holding an assault rifle and stands beside him. You freezing up in fear as they both look at you with cold eyes. "Kill her, Gerald." says the man with the shotgun without taking his eyes off you. "I can't, Earl." says the man with the assault rifle, they stare at each other for a moment. "On what grounds do you give such a coward's excuse?" the man, silver hair but obviously older than me response coldly. "On the grounds that she out ranks us both, you dumb sonofabitch." the other man's lip begins to quiver with anger and he points his shotgun at the man. "Doesn't she realize that I am in charge here now? With Nathan dead, who is there to dispute my claim? No-one! I will be in charge of the whole bunker community, not just this one haven, and what I say goes!" The man called Gerald lowering his gun a little, but still keeping it raised. "Are you saying there is a democratic system of government here?" "You were out awhile Gerald, there was a virus, it killed most people. The survivors grouped up in bunkers and built a system of government to keep the community running, some had a military dictatorship, others a system based on economy, we had a combination of the two. I am the leader, what I say goes!" You decide to get their attention directly. "Oh and I saved your lives, you're welcome." Both men were distracted and the man with shotgun, you now know is called Earl backs away aggressively. "Democracy? You? That's a good one! And what about him?" he points at Gerald. "Isn't he higher in the food chain than you are?" Gerald lowers his gun completely now as he realize what Earl is getting at. "What my "friend" Is trying to say is that, by his understanding, you are not in charge of security for this community. We are." You stand there in baffled silence for a while and then begin to reply. "Ok but surely I outrank you both, being as I am over all security. That means I can assign you both where I see fit." The men look at each other and begin laughing simultaneously. "Well isn't that cute?" jokes Earl. "She thinks we're going to help her clean up the trash!" Gerald bursts out in laughter as well. "Hahahaah, yeah, I guess rules are rules! Well we better get to it then." Gerald's mood seems to have changed considerably and he jokingly pushes at Earl to move. Now the two men stand before you as if waiting for your next command. It occurs to you that they may very well be the perpetrators of the event and if so, allowing them to roam free could jeopardize investigations. You could always reveal them as the culprits and have them both dealt with accordingly. The downside being that they are currently the highest ranked men in the security forces and having them executed would pretty much leave you open to attack, seeing as how thin the line of defense is as it is. Or you could just assign them to guard the door to stop anymore intruders come in and pursue the assassinations of prominent members of other havens. Well you did say you did not want the job... [Tweetbook Entry #74; hashtags:"avenge", "deadly", "pursuit", "vampires"] You are finally getting somewhere. The pair of them just revealed themselves to you completely and there is no point in pretending that you can't see who the culprits are this time. Which is handy because you have no idea how you would have questioned them further without them realizing that something was amiss. "So, it was your plan Gerald?" You ask, trying to buy time to think. "Yeah, he just doubled our odds of winning!" Comes the reply. A pointless rationalization for attempted genocide in your opinion, but then what does he know? He is a human sheep. "But he didn't do so well when you were on guard duty with him," informs Earl to you. You nod. "So I took the shot myself." Gerald looks at you proudly and then looks back at Earl. "Didn't think she had it in her." "No, apparently you didn't," comes the reply from Earl, who is now looking over at your fellows still patrolling the hallway. "Well we better get to assigning guards to stationed areas, I don't trust these guys to do it properly, you saw how they act like children out there!" Gerald nods his head in agreement and goes over to the nearest sheep. You are left standing alone wondering what exactly you are going to do. All the evidence is stacked up against them now and if you go running off to tell Reginald about what you found, they will easily get away with the cover up. If you try to send a message to the Quillar leader then it may take time for them to muster a force able and willing to attack. Time that they almost certainly need if they are to have any chance of winning. As much as their plan makes you sick, attacking a heavily defended haven known to house shadow guards, when they only have some Quillars to back them up, it would be folly. And if by some miracle they did win, then they would still be left with an ACTUAL siege on their hands arrayed with scores of shadow guards. Worst case scenario, you could actually all be wiped out if the haven's defender's holdout long enough for Empire reinforcements to arrive. No, there is no good way out of this. They are still under the mistaken impression that they can all make it through this alive. Getting them to go along with your plan is going to be hard. Although you aren't sure about the best way to do that, you know you have to try. First things first, you need to separate the sheep from the wolves. i.e. the humans from the Quillars. You call your fellow guards to come into the meeting room, where you quickly relate to them what the traitors had planned. "What are you going to do?" Asks Hamilton. This is the moment. They are all hanging off your every word, they will believe whatever you tell them. Lies or the truth? Well, what439;s done is done and lying is easier than the truth. "The plan has changed," you say solemnly. "It's too late at this point, as Gerald has already opened the gates to the Quillars." Gasps abound followed by some cursing. You hold up your hand for silence and they oblige. "That's right. The Quillars will be here by morning. We need to decide what to do when they arrive." There is a pause, as everyone seems to look internally and nobody says anything for about half a minute, before Kenneth whispers too softly for you to hear, but Earl apparently does as he replies "lowly peasants we may have been, but those bastards are worse," loud enough for everyone to hear, at which point Daniel adds "there's some sort of decency we can cling to even in this situation, at least what I think was decency." "Decency won't feed our families nor give them a place to sleep at night," Earl replies. "I'm with Kenneth on this, we need to survive this." This gives courage to the rest of the humans who all agree with one of the men and soon everyone is arguing amongst themselves. You bang your hand on the table to get their attention. "Quiet!" you yell, at which they all shut up. "We don't have time for this, the Quillars will be here any minute." "Well what are we going to do?" Asks Danella. "We need to figure out how to defeat this invasion." "Will they even want to negotiate?" Daniel asks. "They will if we take one of them captive," Earl says. "That's assuming they honor their word, but given how many of them there are, I don't see us having much choice." "But it's still twenty five to one," Kenneth says. "Even if we dig in and fight, we're still going to lose, We need a backup plan hoping they honor their word." You take this all in and then nod, "well we seem to have two solid ideas on how to proceed, everyone take five people, and guard a separate escape route. If they attack, the six of you make your way to..." "We're not prey!" Yells Unitells. "We stand and fight as one!" He gets agreement from almost all of the humans. The few who don't get a nod of approval pretend to anyway to avoid conflict. The human unity is heartwarming but not really going to help your odds. Time to assert your dominance, again. "So we're going with my idea then?" Nobody dares challenge you, but Kenneth says "your idea will get us all killed." "It gives us a chance," you reply. "Maybe not a good one, but it's something." Kenneth drops the subject and doesn't escort anyone from the tribe, obviously he intends to funnel everyone to the escape tunnels with or without your help. Meanwhile as Unitells starts herding most of the humans your way. You gather a few Tahlsi men to "watch the main attack". Earl and Daniel head to the highest point of the city walls and prepare to snipe the Quillars as they arrive. You head down with the main group, being sure to move slowly to keep up the illusion that you're inexperienced at fighting, even finding a few corpses to practice your Paled expressions of fear and anguish. The others in your group all maintain a cold and grim visage, which Unitelsls mocks you for when he see. "If they see you scared and upset, they'll realize your not one of them!" You look around the group and at the grim countenances, nodding silently. "I hope this plan works," Unitells says to you. "So do I," you reply. About half an hour passes and the first Quillars arrive. The tall lizard creatures are about as strong as Orcs, but as tall as humans, making them incredibly formidable opponents. They carry a plethora of ranged weapons from crossbows to bow and arrows to cannons and few other types you've never seen before. Each group tends to have one or two "leaders" that have extra armor and extra weapons and antennae on their heads that no doubt helps them communicate. An aspect that Unitells and the others didn't tell you is how spiders they are. TheQuillars might as well be called the Spider-People instead, given that they have at least eight long legs protruding from their bodies. You're self aware enough to realize that will make them incredibly nimble and hard to hit, much less damage. The horror stories of children scared half to death by tales of spiders come back to you as you remember their names: Aranea. Though given what you know about their lifestyle, it'll be accurate to call them the Rogue Aracnea With a unified cry of "Outta the way! Get back! Making way for the Kings dogs!!" You see a bevy of dogs running your way. Not regular City typeguard ones, but real ones like wendigos and hounds. Several dozen of them. Then you remember, they eat magic. You hope the tribe of mages are ready. After that, a line of archers a quarter mile long appears with all types of bows and the leader looks at his scrap of parchment then up at you and cries "For Bisley!" And they let loose a volley of arrows. Each member of your alliance has a metal shield to block attacks for the most part, but you still feel a few arrows hit your back and shoulders. Then a large portion of them retreat and you hear Unitellis cry "They've called in the cavalry!" You look to his right and see several catapults being loaded with barrels. As they are slender and made of wood you assume they hold a flammable material. "Light the touch paper!" the leader cries and a small fuse is lit. He then turns to you and the other leaders eye each other and the massive barrels turn slowly to face your direction and all you can do is watch as the Quillars begin their charge. Then, as the line of artillery fires, they unleash not fire on you, but something else entirely. The barrels explode into clouds of a fine dark powder. "Granadelds!" You hear Unitellis cry as the black cloud spreads towards you all. You drop to your knee as the mist envelopes foes and friends alike. With any luck the majority of the quillar horde will be caught in it, you just hope your allies remembered to do the same. You turn back to see several figures approaching through the mist and draw your claws. A blood curdling scream that pierces your very soul reaches your ears and suddenly an Unseeing Horror is mustering the courage to attack. You slash at it repeatedly, leaving long cuts all over its body that glow black, but it continues to attack with little concern for it's wounds. That is, until your final blow severs its head from its body and the derelict falls forward. You hear excited chattering from your allies. "See? Told you it was all in the wrist." You jest. Finally the mist clears away and you assess the battlefield, or rather what's left of it. Several dead Quillars lie on the ground and while your allies suffered some losses, it's nothing compared to what the Quillars took. Still, you see several figures laying on the ground. One of them is an Orc laying nearby a crater in the earth. His leg is missing from the knee down and he's gravely injured all over. You can see Unitellis fussing over him as an air of seriousness surrounds the normally boisterous man. You hear a cry for a medic and see Tomas carrying another Orc soldier, this one without a limb. You run over to them and see an unconscious Orc with a deep gash in his side. "What happened here?" You ask. "We got caught by the second swing of the volley. This soldier took the majority of the damage but we managed to drag him inside the 5th verge before he passed." Tomas says as he heals the Orc. "When did this all happen?" "Just a few minutes ago, but we managed to beat back the Quillars for now." Tomas continues as the Orc wakes up. "Sup kid how you feeling?" You hear an Unseeing prison guard ask. "I was healed?" He replies, slightly confused. "That you were, now get over there with your allies, although I think their battle is almost done". You see the Quillars bodies piled up and down the line, they definitely took the worse end of this fight. While you're looking around you suddenly see a Quillar leap from a nearby crater and stab an Orc soldier. You call out a warning but it's too late as everyone turns to see him finish his brutal work, impaling the poor soldier with his quills before running off back towards the Eastern border. "Lets go get this son of a bug!" You cry as you charge after him. I'm moving at such speeds that you can't keep up, no matter how hard you try anyway. Soon another Quillar and I are running side by side as we head towards the Main Wall.. We attack anyward lightly defended and we manage to scale it slightly worse for wear. Most of my allies have fallen, including the leader Gutter who dies scaling the wall. I quickly coordinate with the other Quillars inorder to organize a new attack. The scout leader has been killed as well, but I dunno what team he was on so I just assume hes been promoted to Flogmaster after his death. Our best bet is a large effort on the back left turret, if we can disable that then the gate will be open for attack. I immediately leap into action and charge towards the turret, eager to fend off any attackers. The Eastern border resembles a battlefield, both sides refusing to give even an inch of land, no pulling back, this is a neverending fight until their team succeeds, or they are wiped out completely. The bugs have the home turf advantage. The turret is heavily guarded but we still have surprise on our side. We leap down several Orc soldiers, I stab one through the neck as another Readi starts sadistically ripping off legs and tossing them aside. The guards here aren't as powerful as they mightve been expecting an easy fight against us but now they've been made aware of our poision, they find out first hand as another Readi sits strangling a soldier with his tentacles while pumping more poison into him. They instantly start vomiting and died wracked with pain before the battle's even started. We move foward and take out defense tower after defense tower without too much trouble, your powers proving vital as you shrug off arrows and crossbow bolts that would kill an Orc instantly and keep going. The Orcs, Humans and your new Quillar allies fight with equal viciousness making sure nobody takes advantage of you. We advance into the heart of their location while taking minimal casualties in extreme fighting. The Gate seems almost abandon by the time we're nearing it's position. It's up to you if you want to take the lead and capture it yourself or follow the others and try and defend our capture while they make the most dangerous part of the mission. After taking stock of some metal walls and machinery you could use to block off the gate in case any reinforcements arrive. Looking around the gate you can see alot of activity going on, large groups preparing for battle and even to your excited nostolgia horse drawn carriages full of reinforcements. If you take the lead and capture the Gate House, you can stall any reinforcements that arrive. Venturing further into the Base towards the gate seems like a bad idea. You're sure there'll be heavy guard posted, Ready or not here we come! You think to yourself as you go to move towards the front of your mixed group of Quillars and Orcs. You've just gotten up and are about to charge when a heavy hand grabs your shoulder and holds you back down,"Wait". A Black-Chitin'd Orclike creature warns. "They haven't finished their fight yet". You frown and try to ask who and what he's talking about, but the creature just puts a oversized black hand over your mouth and shakes his head disapprovingly. You are forced to wait outside while your allies slowly eliminate the stationed groups inside the base. It takes much longer than it would've without your prescence but your allies eventually finish off the last remaining enemies effectively securing the base. A strange kind of relief overwhelms you when you learn that not a single Quillar or Orclike creature fell in combat. Looking at the structures and scrap laying around the former combat zone, your eyes are attracted to a old rusty engine with wheels lying on it's side. "Care to tell me what this is all about now" You point your curiosity towards the large black-dark purple sting creature. "The Orcish Warlord Korgaz told you the truth when he said we've been fighting over territory with The Empire. But we also fight with the armies of darker foe then him." "Wait, all of your kind are native to this soil?" You confirm again, ignoring his slander towards The Empire. "That's for sure, we've been fighting the forces of the dead for many years now. The Living think us monsters and our brethren the Orcs think we native creatures to this world are simple scum, but our battle with the Necromancers has been the longest of all." "What makes you think they are Necromancers?" You ask out of genuine curiosity. "The way they raise the dead, I've seen it first hand many times. raising our warrior ancestors and most recently our young, kills us a little more each time." You think to yourself about vengeful zombie warriors and young but the concept still seems ridiculous. You'd think if it were that easy to raise the dead then The Empire would be able to just fill it's armies with undead troops and conquer it's neighbours in a single generation. "Well you'll be glad to hear that I know how to stop their spell damage from killing you and your brethren further." The Chimera Message Creature says happily to you awaiting your announcement of how the process works. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm a Sorcerer that can heal as well as harm." You answer without too much enthusiasm. Both your abilities were primarily defensive in nature but you suppose if your foe used Necromantic Magic you'd have to try and actively block it or risk taking some casualties. Your message companion reveals his name, Kyros and asks more about your origins but you remain rather tight-lipped about The Empire. He doesn't seem to blame you, and all conversation generally stops until Korgaz comes back. After about an hour of waiting, a much larger and heavily armored Orc stomps out from the camp entrance and begins heaping praises on Kyros for his work, and talking about taking the attack to the wizards that are attacking them. Kyros then turns to you and says that he has come to a full understanding with the Orcs, and you are invited to sit in on all future debates and discussions with the Orc commander, who goes by the name of Grizgot. "Now what exactly can these shamans of yours do?" Grizgot asks gruffly. "Because if it's chemical warfare, then we've already got an advantage over these magic using bastards. We come across a lot of toxic vegetation and fungus', and once you remove the non-toxic plants, you're left with a wicked brew that'll kill or incapacitate whatever stupid thing that drinks it. Trust me, if they start growing their bodies or turning into giant pigs, we'll be ready for them. Hell, if it comes to it, our shamans will even make that snail mutagenic so a single bite can turn something into an instant giant mutated snail man!" You pause and wonder whether you should tell the Orcs that their Shaman actually already tried that plan... but decided against it for whatever reason. "Actually, they're prepared for whatever tricks you have. Your dead seem to be stockpiling magical energy and they turned your greatest warrior into some kinda monster. My magic is more combat oriented against other mages, but still quite a bit more powerful than whatever those shamans can throw at us. Really, whatever they have planned, I'll make a show of destroying it in spectacular fashion!" "Hmm, good. Hopefully they've got whatever magic weapons they have entrenched at their fortress because that's where we're attacking! I'm sick of waiting and I want to fight! I don't care if we tear down their walls with our bare hands!" "Hold on there Griz soon your time will come but we need a proper siege. Hitting a fortress like that straight on would be suicide. You'll get your chance I promise, I'm going to go back and work with my Sorcerers in training and try to come up with something if you want to send over some of your best miners and diggers we'll get started building traps and deadfalls. Besides Immovable Boles, what else have you got to defend the flanks?" "I've had some of my best warriors guard the Bristleback Hides and do regular patrols. We also keep a high number of rations at all times since if we run out, its a one week trek back to Fort Everwatch!" "Dig in some farms and set up a couple lookout towers, nothing sucks more than running out of food. We'll use the caves instead, they may be rudimentary but they still give us cover. We Orcs have fought numerous wars with human tribes and beaten them all, dug in once we get something set up its nearly impossible to remove us, you'll see. You just make sure to give us a heads up before you start hacking bodies into the trenches! One of the reasons we chose this Land over Everwatch is the Orcs that lived here never trusted magic and kept it out, there wasn't enough of it ever to lossen our grip on it." "Oh no, these boy and girls have some powerful sorcerers in training but I think they'll find me a hard teacher! Maybe in ten years we'll have some for you." Griznof grins. It's not a friendly one and you prepare for the torment to begin, but he must be feeling satisfied enough with your tribute that he won't ruin the rest of your trip by flooding you with gut pain. "You take as much time as you need here, we need as many miners and diggers as you can spare, it'll give my boys something to do other than drinking and fighting. We'll hold of the raids from other tribes, I'll even send some kids over to you as well when they get old enough. You've been a great help, whenever we all meet back in Everwatch for those delicious little cakes, you can have the whole plate yourself now! Have fun catching up with an old friend. I'll be seeing you in the spring soon!" "Hang on! Just hang on a minute, I got so many questions! What's the plan for the spring if we're preparing for a siege, where are you going to be?" "Shh! Don't worry about that right now, and I've got plenty of food stashed away if it really comes to that but most likely we won't have to worry about such things. As for the plans, time enough for those when we clock out next fall. And with that he takes his leave of you, tossing a bag containing five giant eagle eggs to Choome before stomping off. Truth be told you're a little worried about the future but right now you're so relieved that you made it here alive and that's all down to Chieftain Griznik taking it easy on you. Even Orcs get a lucky roll every once in awhile. Spring fades into summer and summer to fall and everything is set up and ready. You're a little surprised to find that not many dwarves volunteered, they weren't fond of the place after all, but seeing as mountain roots are a perfect way to plug up tunnels and frisking about on high altitudes makes them queasy. They soon get accustomed to the safety of their new underground homes however and it quickly shape shifts to create a little piece of dwarven home in hostile territory. The volunteer miners largely accept your rule over them, not through fear but out of respect, Chieftain you are doing after all mean they don't have to work in a hole in the ground and get to live in a cave instead. The Giants would have had an easier time of it destroying everything you set up if you weren't drawing all your resources from the surrounding countryside and then some, shaping up rock and earth with your magic to create massive walls and towers. It isn't a true 'burg' like those back home but its close enough. Over six hundred Orcs in total now reside there thanks in part to the children you've been bringing over every year and growing them into proper warriors of the tribe. The humans and the stunted dark elves have stuck together too despite their parents urging that they form their own communities who prefer to maintain their isolationist ways. The arrangement isn't perfect but it seems to work as a type of powers split, with you as the balancer of the two. Every month when the moon is either new or full you have to meet with Griznik and report what's going on in your territory and he tells you about his. You're the only one who goes back and forth between the two groups, they are mutually distrustful of each other so it falls to you to coordinate everything. Keep it up for four or five years and nobody in either community will be able to remember what life was like before this arrangement Orc society has always been fairly patriarchal but now it's downright misogynistic. Many of the Orc women have taken advantage of their new residency in 'Greater Orcheim' (As the Integrated community is now called) and largely took over rearing the majority of Human and Dark Elf children as well as Orc. While their men do hunt and forage regularly for food, most of it goes to the community (And a lot less wastefully than your own community eats it too!) and so have little to do except bore their women who are stuck at home. "Well my son, change is coming to Orc society. Your children and grandchildren will not know the time where their numbers were few and they had to struggle every day just to survive." Your father Griznik's words at dinner couldn't have been more prophetic. A year after giving that statement he died in his sleep of natural causes (It was a mercy) and with him another era passed into history. You're 42 years old now and well beyond the average age of most Orcs but you carry on. You're Chieftain after all, stopping now would be incredibly undignified. You look down on the village you've created today as you often do. It's hard to believe that at one time it was you against the world. Now you see families going about their business and children playing in the streets near an overturned cart which some of them are doing climb around. You stop to watch for a moment as they laugh and hurl pieces of wood at each other. An absolutely alien concept to you once. "Hey old man, what you doing?" One of them shouts up at you. Hanging around children has never been something you're very good at but if you don't make an effort who knows what kind of mushrooms they'll pick? "I'm watching you lot play." You call down Most of them instantly flee at the sight of you but one bold boy who looked to be dark elf remains. They had been integrating into Orc society pretty well up until now but you had noticed a distinct chilling of their reception in recent months. Some probably due to the actions of your late friend and second in command Zuthrez but you had noticed a distinct shift in Orc attitudes towards the Dark Elves. Your relationship with one in particular had certainly caused some raised eyebrows and harsh words, although no real trouble yet. Probably best you speak to her and find our exactly what the problem is before it does You head down into the village popping into several shops along the way buying various sundries. One of the shop keepers raises an eyebrow when you enter. He knows who you are of course and naturally is always polite but there's knowing somebody and really knowing them. You've never been in here buying goods before. You move past the small talk and get right to business "Do you sell bahgo tablets." You ask "Of course all my Readers products are the best. Flower Power! Get yours today! Bahgo Tablet! A Fully Guaranteed natural high! Twice the bong for half the price!" "Just selling you a few so I can get with my lady. Don't want to be late..." You mutter in embarrassment "Ah. Of course! Certainly! To be young again! I also have the aphrodisiac version if you want... No! You say what I'm suggesting is wrong and grossly improper to offer to a customer and we move on! I'm not sure we have that many left though, only a few in stock I'm afraid. You can have it for free if we don't though! Nullik the gnome always comes through! Nullik the gnome has reputation for quality! What? Of course Nullik isn't my real name! Real name Nullik forbidden by cruel Minata warlords from discussing! Only true friends know of forbidden magic lore of Gloom! Nullik the gnome freed Goblin-town slaves during Gloom Revolution! Gave up citizenship and fortune to do so! Nullik the gnome has heart of lion! But only sale is bahgo tablets! For love of Nullik buy supplies! Free samples sometime! Next week maybe! Comes on harvest time! Soon come! You want chewing gum yes? Cinnamon and Kelp flavor also. Free samples of those too! Cheapest in Goblin-town by far! But only if you buy bahgo tablets. Nullik the gnome is vindicated! Thank you customer! Thank you! Thank you! Friend and customer of Nullik the gnome! Goodbye! Come again! No sooner have you stepped outside the shop when a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You turn to see the smug face of a Minatour. A couple of other Minatour watch on and nod in approval at their close-net finding work "You are confusing me with someone who likes to waste time, what is it that you want, I'm guessing its not my sparkling personality". "I'm here for the Crunch Busters." The Minatour obviously a peace officer or agent of some kind says. "The Crunch who now?" You pretend to be confused despite knowing exactly who he's referring too. "Cut the crap, I know exactly who you are, the entire security force has been on red alert looking for you and your group after receiving warning from Captain Illoya." You can see this news concerns the Street Guild agent somewhat, he would of course prefer not to be captured by his enemy. Your mind races to find an escape route or a solution to your current problem "I'll make you a deal". You quickly say. "I'm listening". The Minatour watching you says. "We are escorting two humans through Goblin territory, they are innocent and have had a dodgy past themselves. If I die or disappear for more than 3 days contact one of them and don't capture them, simply inform them that their target has been seized". "You'll find Miles Mason in Golden Tooth tavern in Klyton and Thomas Marsley living in Keplavisk. Just explain that the escort has been changed to themselves and give them this" You write down the name and location of the rodent temple on a scrap of parchment and hand it to him. "Will do". He nods in approval. "The doe will be grateful for releasing her prey". "No worries, I can escape on my own! You better go before the 30 minute warning bell goes or else you're in trouble". You give him a push in the back to urge him on. As the three officials rush of into the distance, you immediately bump into the Street Guild agent. "Quick we got 15 minutes to get to the merchant tunnel under the Klyton collective unless we want to be using the front door!" The Street Guild figure says immediately pulling you away and moving quickly. You follow blindly not really knowing what to expect or what is going on. Soon you arrive at an opening in the ground with a wooden ladder leading down. "After you Guido". The Street Guild figure smiles. Guess Guido is the Street Guild leader. You quickly climb down the ladder and find yourself in the dark sewer like sewers that Goblin-town is known for, Guido and the leader soon join you pushes you forward to move. "Hurry hurry! We don't have much time!" No sooner have you taken a few steps when the Guild leader shouts out in pain, before you even turn around Guido shoots the poor fool with his pistol. The Guild leader falls to the floor dead immediately. "Lead us to the exit Guido, we ain't got all day!" the other boss complains. As you trudge through the filthy sewers with your escorts, you notice a lot less goblins this time. In fact they seem to be scarce altogether. Eventually you reach a door and your escorts stop walking. "You're there". One says. "What? This is the main gate, where we came in!" You say confused. "Yep". He says nonchalantly "You aren't taking me to the exit?" "Nope". "But you said-" "You heard what the other guy said, the rat maze is a free travelcard for your use. It'll probably lead you to the gate anyway". Not really caring about anything at this point, you open the door. Standing in front of you are a few humans with guns. Their guns... seem very real... "Come on out now, your rat-friend just arrived and told us everything!" The Captain probably says. The trap is sprung.... Way to go Rolomag, you got led into a perfect trap. Standing in an empty ally you see the Goblin-town shift change and know that escaping through the sewers wouldn't be possible as hundreds of goblin stand around in the surrounding sewers... but instead of coming after you, they are cheering and waving their torches and weapons. You note that "Captain" who stands in front of you has a very real gun pointed at your face. If you had to guess, the "Goblin-town shift-change welcoming committee" consist mainly of Klyton military dressed as goblins with very real guns. As doors are being knocked down and really real guns are pointed at the rest of the goblin revellers, you learn three important things: One: Rolomag didn't betray you and was actually trying to lead an uprising all along. Two: The military didn't have a clue about the real plans. Some over-eager officer must have overheard a conversation and jumped to conclusions. Three: You may not be human, but your actions have consequences. Your escorts as well as you were shoved to the floor before government they were tasked to protect, has a very real gun pointed at your head. The trigger is pulled and your brains splatter on the wall... over-eager military officer jumped to conclusions and you escaped, allowing Rolomag time to strike... instead the military began "slaughtering" the whole town as an apparent show of force. The military successfully broke any will the goblins may have had towards rebellion and sparked an alliance with them under Rolomag which helped to topple Klyton eventually.... or something like that.... anyone who knows the whole story probably died years ago. Big Red was never seen or heard from ever again by the living. You pretty much died as relatively uninteresting secret-agent-like guy who did the occasional risk assignment for the good of the city but isn't this a video game? Weren't you supposed to become powerful and unstoppable? I mean you trained hard, sacrificed much and even died a lot. You're reasonably certain you even went out of your way to make some tough decisions and killed people that couldn't possibly be considered "evil". For example: You're pretty sure that kid was bamboozled into doing what his adult supervisors told him to do by manipulating his love of toy robots. Seems harmless, but it set in motion a plan to destroy Klyton using red-electric magic.... Sure, you've done some morally grey things in the past (or read about them at least), but now your able to do something about it! In fact, you've earnt a second chance! You can try again, with retroactive knowledge of everything that happened and took place in this world. You can't wait to take advantage of this opportunity. The stars must be aligned or something because you've been given an entirely new life, one of total power and freedom from all the repressive rules that kept you from getting stuff done before. Time to play the world! (You're ready to start playing, where are the instructions? ;) ) (There are none. How this story ends is up to you. Have fun)Tip: Remember to start a "do" input with a verb, ex: Attack the orcStory

[beyondforks]

Paying Catch Up! Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard

Playing Catch Up has really been helping me through my ever growing TBR list. I'd like to welcome all other blogs to participate too! If you do, be sure to post your links in the comments section. I'd love to see your Playing Catch Up Reviews, and I'm sure others would too!! *wink*

Want to know more about Playing Catch Up? I'll tell you all about it here!

Red Queen (Red Queen #1) by Victoria Aveyard Genre: Young Adult (Dystopian/Science Fiction/Romance) Date Published: February 10, 2015 Publisher: HarperTeen

This is a world divided by blood – red or silver.

The Reds are commoners, ruled by a Silver elite in possession of god-like superpowers. And to Mare Barrow, a seventeen-year-old Red girl from the poverty-stricken Stilts, it seems like nothing will ever change.

That is, until she finds herself working in the Silver Palace. Here, surrounded by the people she hates the most, Mare discovers that, despite her red blood, she possesses a deadly power of her own. One that threatens to destroy the balance of power.

Fearful of Mare’s potential, the Silvers hide her in plain view, declaring her a long-lost Silver princess, now engaged to a Silver prince. Despite knowing that one misstep would mean her death, Mare works silently to help the Red Guard, a militant resistance group, and bring down the Silver regime.

But this is a world of betrayal and lies, and Mare has entered a dangerous dance – Reds against Silvers, prince against prince, and Mare against her own heart.

Red Queen is the first book in the Red Queen series by Victoria Aveyard. I've been wanting to read this book for a while, and I've heard great things about it. I liked it quite a bit, but I was expecting something more I think. It reminded me of some other books I've read over the years. Mare's personality and situation had this America/Katniss feel to her... actually the story had a pretty strong 'The Selection' feel to it... only there wasn't really a Selection. With all those similarities, come some high expectations. The story was entertaining though, and I found myself liking the characters and getting into Mare's life. There is a bit of romance going on. I'm not going to claim a Team yet, but I do have a favorite among the guys. Mare has some options here, but there is so much more she has to worry about. I think in the next book we'll get more into all that is going around her. So, while I was a little disappointed in this book, I did like it overall, and I've already started reading the next book in the series.

I hate First Friday. It makes the village crowded, and now, in the heat of high summer, that’s the last thing anyone wants. From my place in the shade it isn’t so bad, but the stink of bodies, all sweating with the morning work, is enough to make milk curdle. The air shimmers with heat and humidity, and even the puddles from yesterday’s storm are hot, swirling with rainbow streaks of oil and grease. The market deflates, with everyone closing up their stalls for the day. The merchants are distracted, careless, and it’s easy for me to take whatever I want from their wares. By the time I’m done, my pockets bulge with trinkets and I’ve got an apple for the road. Not bad for a few minutes’ work. As the throng of people moves, I let myself be taken away by the human current. My hands dart in and out, always in fleeting touches. Some paper bills from a man’s pocket, a bracelet from a woman’s wrist—nothing too big. Villagers are too busy shuffling along to notice a pickpocket in their midst. The high, stilt buildings for which the village is named (the Stilts, very original) rise all around us, ten feet above the muddy ground. In the spring the lower bank is underwater, but right now it’s August, when dehydration and sun sickness stalk the village. Almost everyone looks forward to the first Friday of each month, when work and school end early. But not me. No, I’d rather be in school, learning nothing in a classroom full of children. Not that I’ll be in school much longer. My eighteenth birthday is coming, and with it, conscription. I’m not apprenticed, I don’t have a job, so I’m going to be sent to the war like all the other idle ones. It’s no wonder there’s no work left, what with every man, woman, and child trying to stay out of the army. My brothers went to war when they turned eighteen, all three of them sent to fight Lakelanders. Only Shade can write worth a lick, and he sends me letters when he can. I haven’t heard from my other brothers, Bree and Tramy, in over a year. But no news is good news. Families can go years without hearing a thing, only to find their sons and daughters waiting on the front doorstep, home on leave or sometimes blissfully discharged. But usually you receive a letter made of heavy paper, stamped with the king’s crown seal below a short thank-you for your child’s life. Maybe you even get a few buttons from their torn, obliterated uniforms. I was thirteen when Bree left. He kissed me on the cheek and gave me a single pair of earrings for my little sister, Gisa, and me to split. They were dangling glass beads, the hazy pink color of sunset. We pierced our ears ourselves that night. Tramy and Shade kept up the tradition when they went. Now Gisa and I have one ear each set with three tiny stones to remind us of our brothers fighting somewhere. I didn’t really believe they’d have to go, not until the legionnaire in his polished armor showed up and took them away one after another. And this fall, they’ll come for me. I’ve already started saving—and stealing—to buy Gisa some earrings when I go. Don’t think about it. That’s what Mom always says, about the army, about my brothers, about everything. Great advice, Mom. Down the street, at the crossing of Mill and Marcher roads, the crowd thickens and more villagers join the current. A gang of kids, little thieves in training, flutters through the fray with sticky, searching fingers. They’re too young to be good at it, and Security officers are quick to intervene. Usually the kids would be sent to the stocks, or the jail at the outpost, but the officers want to see First Friday. They settle for giving the ringleaders a few harsh knocks before letting them go. Small mercies. The tiniest pressure at my waist makes me spin, acting on instinct. I grab at the hand foolish enough to pickpocket me, squeezing tight so the little imp won’t be able to run away. But instead of a scrawny kid, I find myself staring up at a smirking face. Kilorn Warren. A fisherman’s apprentice, a war orphan, and probably my only real friend. We used to beat each other up as children, but now that we’re older—and he’s a foot taller than me—I try to avoid scuffles. He has his uses, I suppose. Reaching high shelves, for example. “You’re getting faster.” He chuckles, shaking off my grip. “Or you’re getting slower.” He rolls his eyes and snatches the apple out of my hand. “Are we waiting for Gisa?” he asks, taking a bite of the fruit. “She has a pass for the day. Working.” “Then let’s get moving. Don’t want to miss the show.” “And what a tragedy that would be.” “Tsk, tsk, Mare,” he teases, shaking a finger at me. “This is supposed to be fun.” “It’s supposed to be a warning, you dumb fool.” But he’s already walking off with his long strides, forcing me to almost trot to keep up. His gait weaves, off balance. Sea legs, he calls them, though he’s never been to the far-off sea. I guess long hours on his master’s fishing boat, even on the river, are bound to have some effect. Like my dad, Kilorn’s father was sent off to war, but whereas mine returned missing a leg and a lung, Mr. Warren came back in a shoe box. Kilorn’s mother ran off after that, leaving her young son to fend for himself. He almost starved to death but somehow kept picking fights with me. I fed him so that I wouldn’t have to kick around a bag of bones, and now, ten years later, here he is. At least he’s apprenticed and won’t face the war. We get to the foot of the hill, where the crowd is thicker, pushing and prodding on all sides. First Friday attendance is mandatory, unless you are, like my sister, an “essential laborer.” As if embroidering silk is essential. But the Silvers love their silk, don’t they? Even the Security officers, a few of them anyway, can be bribed with pieces sewn by my sister. Not that I know anything about that. The shadows around us deepen as we climb up the stone stairs, toward the crest of the hill. Kilorn takes them two at a time, almost leaving me behind, but he stops to wait. He smirks down at me and tosses a lock of faded, tawny hair out of his green eyes. “Sometimes I forget you have the legs of a child.” “Better than the brain of one,” I snap, giving him a light smack on the cheek as I pass. His laughter follows me up the steps. “You’re grouchier than usual.” “I just hate these things.” “I know,” he murmurs, solemn for once. And then we’re in the arena, the sun blazing hot overhead. Built ten years ago, the arena is easily the largest structure in the Stilts. It’s nothing compared to the colossal ones in the cities, but still, the soaring arches of steel, the thousands of feet of concrete, are enough to make a village girl catch her breath. Security officers are everywhere, their black-and-silver uniforms standing out in the crowd. This is First Friday, and they can’t wait to watch the proceedings. They carry long rifles or pistols, though they don’t need them. As is customary, the officers are Silvers, and Silvers have nothing to fear from us Reds. Everyone knows that. We are not their equals, though you wouldn’t know it from looking at us. The only thing that serves to distinguish us, outwardly at least, is that Silvers stand tall. Our backs are bent by work and unanswered hope and the inevitable disappointment with our lot in life. Inside the open-topped arena is just as hot as out, and Kilorn, always on his toes, leads me to some shade. We don’t get seats here, just long concrete benches, but the few Silver nobles up above enjoy cool, comfortable boxes. There they have drinks, food, ice even in high summer, cushioned chairs, electric lights, and other comforts I’ll never enjoy. The Silvers don’t bat an eye at any of it, complaining about the “wretched conditions.” I’ll give them a wretched condition, if I ever have the chance. All we get are hard benches and a few screechy video screens almost too bright and too noisy to stand. “Bet you a day’s wages it’s another strongarm today,” Kilorn says, tossing his apple core toward the arena floor. “No bet,” I shoot back at him. Many Reds gamble their earnings on the fights, hoping to win a little something to help them get through another week. But not me, not even with Kilorn. It’s easier to cut the bookie’s purse than try to win money from it. “You shouldn’t waste your money like that.” “It’s not a waste if I’m right. It’s always a strongarm beating up on someone.” Strongarms usually make up at least one-half of the fights, their skills and abilities better suited to the arena than almost any other Silver. They seem to revel in it, using their superhuman strength to toss other champions around like rag dolls. “What about the other one?” I ask, thinking about the range of Silvers that could appear. Telkies, swifts, nymphs, greenys, stoneskins—all of them terrible to watch. “Not sure. Hopefully something cool. I could use some fun.” Kilorn and I don’t really see eye to eye on the Feats of First Friday. For me, watching two champions rip into each other is not enjoyable, but Kilorn loves it. Let them ruin each other, he says. They’re not our people. He doesn’t understand what the Feats are about. This isn’t mindless entertainment, meant to give us some respite from grueling work. This is calculated, cold, a message. Only Silvers can fight in the arenas because only a Silver can survive the arena. They fight to show us their strength and power. You are no match for us. We are your betters. We are gods. It’s written in every superhuman blow the champions land. And they’re absolutely right. Last month I watched a swift battle a telky and, though the swift could move faster than the eye could see, the telky stopped him cold. With just the power of his mind, he lifted the other fighter right off the ground. The swift started to choke; I think the telky had some invisible grip on his throat. When the swift’s face turned blue, they called the match. Kilorn cheered. He’d bet on the telky. “Ladies and gentlemen, Silvers and Reds, welcome to First Friday, the Feat of August.” The announcer’s voice echoes around the arena, magnified by the walls. He sounds bored, as usual, and I don’t blame him. Once, the Feats were not matches at all, but executions. Prisoners and enemies of the state would be transported to Archeon, the capital, and killed in front of a Silver crowd. I guess the Silvers liked that, and the matches began. Not to kill but to entertain. Then they became the Feats and spread out to the other cities, to different arenas and different audiences. Eventually the Reds were granted admission, confined to the cheap seats. It wasn’t long until the Silvers built arenas everywhere, even villages like the Stilts, and attendance that was once a gift became a mandatory curse. My brother Shade says it’s because arena cities enjoyed a marked reduction in Red crime, dissent, even the few acts of rebellion. Now Silvers don’t have to use execution or the legions or even Security to keep the peace; two champions can scare us just as easily. Today, the two in question look up to the job. The first to walk out onto the white sand is announced as Cantos Carros, a Silver from Harbor Bay in the east. The video screen blares a clear picture of the warrior, and no one needs to tell me this is a strongarm. He has arms like tree trunks, corded and veined and straining against his own skin. When he smiles, I can see all his teeth are gone or broken. Maybe he ran afoul of his own toothbrush when he was a growing boy. Next to me, Kilorn cheers and the other villagers roar with him. A Security officer throws a loaf of bread at the louder ones for their trouble. To my left, another hands a screaming child a bright yellow piece of paper. ’Lec papers—extra electricity rations. All of it to make us cheer, to make us scream, to force us to watch, even if we don’t want to. “That’s right, let him hear you!” the announcer drawls, forcing as much enthusiasm into his voice as he can. “And here we have his opponent, straight from the capital, Samson Merandus.” The other warrior looks pale and weedy next to the human-shaped hunk of muscle, but his blue steel armor is fine and polished to a high sheen. He’s probably the second son of a second son, trying to win renown in the arena. Though he should be scared, he looks strangely calm. His last name sounds familiar, but that’s not unusual. Many Silvers belong to famous families, called houses, with dozens of members. The governing family of our region, the Capital Valley, is House Welle, though I’ve never seen Governor Welle in my life. He never visits it more than once or twice a year, and even then, he never stoops to entering a Red village like mine. I saw his riverboat once, a sleek thing with green-and-gold flags. He’s a greeny, and when he passed, the trees on the bank burst into blossom and flowers popped out of the ground. I thought it was beautiful, until one of the older boys threw rocks at his boat. The stones fell harmlessly into the river. They put the boy in the stocks anyway. “It’ll be the strongarm for sure.” Kilorn frowns at the small champion. “How do you know? What’s Samson’s power?” “Who cares, he’s still going to lose,” I scoff, settling in to watch. The usual call rings out over the arena. Many rise to their feet, eager to watch, but I stay seated in silent protest. As calm as I might look, anger boils in my skin. Anger, and jealousy. We are gods, echoes in my head. “Champions, set your feet.” They do, digging in their heels on opposite sides of the arena. Guns aren’t allowed in arena fights, so Cantos draws a short, wide sword. I doubt he’ll need it. Samson produces no weapon, his fingers merely twitching by his side. A low, humming electric tone runs through the arena. I hate this part. The sound vibrates in my teeth, in my bones, pulsing until I think something might shatter. It ends abruptly with a chirping chime. It begins. I exhale. It looks like a bloodbath right away. Cantos barrels forward like a bull, kicking up sand in his wake. Samson tries to dodge Cantos, using his shoulder to slide around the Silver, but the strongarm is quick. He gets hold of Samson’s leg and tosses him across the arena like he’s made of feathers. The subsequent cheers cover Samson’s roar of pain as he collides with the cement wall, but it’s written on his face. Before he can hope to stand, Cantos is over him, heaving him skyward. He hits the sand in a heap of what can only be broken bones but somehow rises to his feet again. “Is he a punching bag?” Kilorn laughs. “Let him have it, Cantos!” Kilorn doesn’t care about an extra loaf of bread or a few more minutes of electricity. That’s not why he cheers. He honestly wants to see blood, Silver blood—silverblood—stain the arena. It doesn’t matter that the blood is everything we aren’t, everything we can’t be, everything we want. He just needs to see it and trick himself into thinking they are truly human, that they can be hurt and defeated. But I know better. Their blood is a threat, a warning, a promise. We are not the same and never will be. He’s not disappointed. Even the box seats can see the metallic, iridescent liquid dripping from Samson’s mouth. It reflects the summer sun like a watery mirror, painting a river down his neck and into his armor. This is the true division between Silvers and Reds: the color of our blood. This simple difference somehow makes them stronger, smarter, better than us. Samson spits, sending a sunburst of silverblood across the arena. Ten yards away, Cantos tightens his grip on his sword, ready to incapacitate Samson and end this. “Poor fool,” I mutter. It seems Kilorn is right. Nothing but a punching bag. Cantos pounds through the sand, sword held high, eyes on fire. And then he freezes midstep, his armor clanking with the sudden stop. From the middle of the arena, the bleeding warrior points at Cantos, with a stare to break bone. Samson flicks his fingers and Cantos walks, perfectly in time with Samson’s movements. His mouth falls open, like he’s gone slow or stupid. Like his mind is gone. I can’t believe my eyes. A deathly quiet falls over the arena as we watch, not understanding the scene below us. Even Kilorn has nothing to say. “A whisper,” I breathe aloud. Never before have I seen one in the arena—I doubt anyone has. Whispers are rare, dangerous, and powerful, even among the Silvers, even in the capital. The rumors about them vary, but it boils down to something simple and chilling: they can enter your head, read your thoughts, and control your mind. And this is exactly what Samson is doing, having whispered his way past Cantos’s armor and muscle, into his very brain, where there are no defenses. Cantos raises his sword, hands trembling. He’s trying to fight Samson’s power. But strong as he is, there’s no fighting the enemy in his mind. Another twist of Samson’s hand and silverblood splashes across the sand as Cantos plunges his sword straight through his armor, into the flesh of his own stomach. Even up in the seats, I can hear the sickening squelch of metal cutting through meat. As the blood gushes from Cantos, gasps echo across the arena. We’ve never seen so much blood here before. Blue lights flash to life, bathing the arena floor in a ghostly glow, signaling the end of the match. Silver healers run across the sand, rushing to the fallen Cantos. Silvers aren’t supposed to die here. Silvers are supposed to fight bravely, to flaunt their skills, to put on a good show—but not die. After all, they aren’t Reds. Officers move faster than I’ve ever seen before. A few are swifts, rushing to and fro in a blur as they herd us out. They don’t want us around if Cantos dies on the sand. Meanwhile, Samson strides from the arena like a titan. His gaze falls on Cantos’s body, and I expect him to look apologetic. Instead, his face is blank, emotionless, and so cold. The match was nothing to him. We are nothing to him. In school, we learned about the world before ours, about the angels and gods that lived in the sky, ruling the earth with kind and loving hands. Some say those are just stories, but I don’t believe that. The gods rule us still. They have come down from the stars. And they are no longer kind. Two Our house is small, even by Stilts standards, but at least we have a view. Before his injury, during one of his army leaves, Dad built the house high so we could see across the river. Even through the haze of summer you can see the cleared pockets of land that were once forest, now logged into oblivion. They look like a disease, but to the north and west, the untouched hills are a calm reminder. There is so much more out there. Beyond us, beyond the Silvers, beyond everything I know. I climb the ladder up to the house, over worn wood shaped to the hands that ascend and descend every day. From this height I can see a few boats heading upriver, proudly flying their bright flags. Silvers. They’re the only ones rich enough to use private transportation. While they enjoy wheeled transports, pleasure boats, even high-flying airjets, we get nothing more than our own two feet, or a push cycle if we’re lucky. The boats must be heading to Summerton, the small city that springs to life around the king’s summer residence. Gisa was there today, aiding the seamstress she is apprenticed to. They often go to the market there when the king visits, to sell her wares to the Silver merchants and nobles who follow the royals like ducklings. The palace itself is known as the Hall of the Sun, and it’s supposed to be a marvel, but I’ve never seen it. I don’t know why the royals have a second house, especially since the capital palace is so fine and beautiful. But like all Silvers, they don’t act out of need. They are driven by want. And what they want, they get. Before I open the door to the usual chaos, I pat the flag fluttering from the porch. Three red stars on yellowed fabric, one for each brother, and room for more. Room for me. Most houses have flags like this, some with black stripes instead of stars in quiet reminder of dead children. Inside, Mom sweats over the stove, stirring a pot of stew while my father glares at it from his wheelchair. Gisa embroiders at the table, making something beautiful and exquisite and entirely beyond my comprehension. “I’m home,” I say to no one in particular. Dad answers with a wave, Mom a nod, and Gisa doesn’t look up from her scrap of silk. I drop my pouch of stolen goods next to her, letting the coins jingle as much as they can. “I think I’ve got enough to get a proper cake for Dad’s birthday. And more batteries, enough to last the month.” Gisa eyes the pouch, frowning with distaste. She’s only fourteen but sharp for her age. “One day people are going to come and take everything you have.” “Jealousy doesn’t become you, Gisa,” I scold, patting her on the head. Her hands fly up to her perfect, glossy red hair, brushing it back into her meticulous bun. I’ve always wanted her hair, though I’d never tell her that. Where hers is like fire, my hair is what we call river brown. Dark at the root, pale at the ends, as the color leeches from our hair with the stress of Stilts life. Most keep their hair short to hide their gray ends but I don’t. I like the reminder that even my hair knows life shouldn’t be this way. “I’m not jealous,” she huffs, returning to her work. She stitches flowers made of fire, each one a beautiful flame of thread against oily black silk. “That’s beautiful, Gee.” I let my hand trace one of the flowers, marveling at the silky feel of it. She glances up and smiles softly, showing even teeth. As much as we fight, she knows she’s my little star. And everyone knows I’m the jealous one, Gisa. I can’t do anything but steal from people who can actually do things. Once she finishes her apprenticeship, she’ll be able to open her own shop. Silvers will come from all around to pay her for handkerchiefs and flags and clothing. Gisa will achieve what few Reds do and live well. She’ll provide for our parents and give me and my brothers menial jobs to get us out of the war. Gisa is going to save us one day, with nothing more than needle and thread. “Night and day, my girls,” Mom mutters, running a finger through graying hair. She doesn’t mean it as an insult but a prickly truth. Gisa is skilled, pretty, and sweet. I’m a bit rougher, as Mom kindly puts it. The dark to Gisa’s light. I suppose the only common things between us are the shared earrings, the memory of our brothers. Dad wheezes from his corner and hammers his chest with a fist. This is common, since he has only one real lung. Luckily the skill of a Red medic saved him, replacing the collapsed lung with a device that could breathe for him. It wasn’t a Silver invention, as they have no need for such things. They have the healers. But healers don’t waste their time saving the Reds, or even working on the front lines keeping soldiers alive. Most of them remain in the cities, prolonging the lives of ancient Silvers, mending livers destroyed by alcohol and the like. So we’re forced to indulge in an underground market of technology and inventions to help better ourselves. Some are foolish, most don’t work—but a bit of clicking metal saved my dad’s life. I can always hear it ticking away, a tiny pulse to keep Dad breathing. “I don’t want cake,” he grumbles. I don’t miss his glance toward his growing belly. “Well, tell me what you do want, Dad. A new watch or—” “Mare, I do not consider something you stole off someone’s wrist to be new.” Before another war can brew in the Barrow house, Mom pulls the stew off the stove. “Dinner is served.” She brings it to the table, and the fumes wash over me. “It smells great, Mom,” Gisa lies. Dad is not so tactful and grimaces at the meal. Not wanting to be shown up, I force down some stew. It’s not as bad as usual, to my pleasant surprise. “You used that pepper I brought you?” Instead of nodding and smiling and thanking me for noticing, she flushes and doesn’t answer. She knows I stole it, just like all my gifts. Gisa rolls her eyes over her soup, sensing where this is going. You’d think by now I’d be used to it, but their disapproval wears on me. Sighing, Mom lowers her face into her hands. “Mare, you know I appreciate— I just wish—” I finish for her. “That I was like Gisa?” Mom shakes her head. Another lie. “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant.” “Right.” I’m sure they can sense my bitterness on the other side of the village. I try my best to keep my voice from breaking. “It’s the only way I can help out before—before I go away.” Mentioning the war is a quick way to silence my house. Even Dad’s wheezing stops. Mom turns her head, her cheeks flushing red with anger. Under the table, Gisa’s hand closes around mine. “I know you’re doing everything you can, for the right reasons,” Mom whispers. It takes a lot for her to say this, but it comforts me all the same. I keep my mouth shut and force a nod. Then Gisa jumps in her seat, like she’s been shocked. “Oh, I almost forgot. I stopped at the post on the way back from Summerton. There was a letter from Shade.” It’s like setting off a bomb. Mom and Dad scramble, reaching for the dirty envelope Gisa pulls out of her jacket. I let them pass it over, examining the paper. Neither can read, so they glean whatever they can from the paper itself. Dad sniffs the letter, trying to place the scent. “Pine. Not smoke. That’s good. He’s away from the Choke.” We all breathe a sigh of relief at that. The Choke is the bombed-out strip of land connecting Norta to the Lakelands, where most of the war is fought. Soldiers spend the majority of their time there, ducking in trenches doomed to explode or making daring pushes that end in a massacre. The rest of the border is mainly lake, though in the far north it becomes tundra too cold and barren to fight over. Dad was injured at the Choke years ago, when a bomb dropped on his unit. Now the Choke is so destroyed by decades of battle, the smoke of explosions is a constant fog and nothing can grow there. It’s dead and gray, like the future of the war. He finally passes the letter over for me to read, and I open it with great anticipation, both eager and afraid to see what Shade has to say. Dear family, I am alive. Obviously. That gets a chuckle out of Dad and me, and even a smile from Gisa. Mom is not as amused, even though Shade starts every letter like this. We’ve been called away from the front, as Dad the Bloodhound has probably guessed. It’s nice, getting back to the main camps. It’s Red as the dawn up here, you barely even see the Silver officers. And without the Choke smoke, you can actually see the sun rise stronger every day. But I won’t be in for long. Command plans to repurpose the unit for lake combat, and we’ve been assigned to one of the new warships. I met a medic detached from her unit who said she knew Tramy and that he’s fine. Took a bit of shrapnel retreating from the Choke, but he recovered nicely. No infection, no permanent damage. Mom sighs aloud, shaking her head. “No permanent damage,” she scoffs. Still nothing about Bree but I’m not worried. He’s the best of us, and he’s coming up on his five-year leave. He’ll be home soon, Mom, so stop your worrying. Nothing else to report, at least that I can write in a letter. Gisa, don’t be too much of a show-off even though you deserve to be. Mare, don’t be such a brat all the time, and stop beating up that Warren boy. Dad, I’m proud of you. Always. Love all of you. Your favorite son and brother, Shade. Like always, Shade’s words pierce through us. I can almost hear his voice if I try hard enough. Then the lights above us suddenly start to whine. “Did no one put in the ration papers I got yesterday?” I ask before the lights flicker off, plunging us into darkness. As my eyes adjust, I can just see Mom shaking her head. Gisa groans. “Can we not do this again?” Her chair scrapes as she stands up. “I’m going to bed. Try not to yell.” But we don’t yell. Seems to be the way of my world—too tired to fight. Mom and Dad retreat to their bedroom, leaving me alone at the table. Normally I’d slip out, but I can’t find the will to do much more than go to sleep. I climb up yet another ladder to the loft, where Gisa is already snoring. She can sleep like no other, dropping off in a minute or so, while it can sometimes take me hours. I settle into my cot, content to simply lie there and hold Shade’s letter. Like Dad said, it smells strongly of pine. The river sounds nice tonight, tripping over stones in the bank as it lulls me to sleep. Even the old fridge, a rusty battery-run machine that usually whines so hard it hurts my head, doesn’t trouble me tonight. But then a birdcall interrupts my descent into sleep. Kilorn. No. Go away. Another call, louder this time. Gisa stirs a little, rolling over into her pillow. Grumbling to myself, hating Kilorn, I roll out of my cot and slide down the ladder. Anyone else would have tripped over the clutter in the main room, but I have great footing thanks to years of running from officers. I’m down the stilt ladder in a second, landing ankle-deep in the mud. Kilorn is waiting, appearing out of the shadows beneath the house. “I hope you like black eyes because I have no problem giving you one for this—” The sight of his face stops me short. He’s been crying. Kilorn does not cry. His knuckles are bleeding too, and I bet there’s a wall hurting just as hard somewhere nearby. In spite of myself, in spite of the late hour, I can’t help but feel concerned, even scared for him. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Without thinking, I take his hand in mine, feeling the blood beneath my fingers. “What happened?” He takes a moment to respond, working himself up. Now I’m terrified. “My master—he fell. He died. I’m not an apprentice anymore.” I try to hold in a gasp, but it echoes anyway, taunting us. Even though he doesn’t have to, even though I know what he’s trying to say, he continues. “I hadn’t even finished training and now—” He trips over his words. “I’m eighteen. The other fishermen have apprentices. I’m not working. I can’t get work.” The next words are like a knife in my heart. Kilorn draws a ragged breath, and somehow I wish I wouldn’t have to hear him. “They’re going to send me to the war.”

Will Red Queen be made into a movie?? The outlook is good! I think this book has the potential to make an excellent movie, and I'd definitely line up to see it. Victoria Aveyard talks about it below...

Victoria Aveyard is an author and screenwriter, born and raised in a small town in Western Massachusetts. Both her parents are public school teachers, as well as avid film, television, and literature fans. Victoria grew up on a steady diet The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Harry Potter, and LOST. She pursued a degree in Writing for Film & Television at the University of Southern California's School of Cinematic Arts. After graduating college in 2012, Victoria moved home from Los Angeles  and began writing the manuscript that would become Red Queen. She has since published three #1 New York Times bestselling and USA Today bestselling books, two New York Times bestselling novellas, and continues pursuing her writing career while living full-time in Los Angeles, California. The Red Queen series is currently being translated into 37 languages and counting. To learn more about Victoria Aveyard and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and Twitter.