#and him getting a black lab + getting it a spiked collar and everyone is like come on man. youre doing this on purpose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kinglazrus · 5 years ago

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What You’ve Become

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @kiinotasha: Jazz and Danny swap ages, she is the younger sibling he is the older one. All the other kids have their ages changed accordingly. (Those in Danny’s year would still be in his year)

Summary: Two years after the first ghost appears in Amity Park, Jazz Fenton sees a face she never thought she'd see again.

Word count: 12726

Jazz keeps her head down as she checks out her book. She usually avoid the public library if she can, but there are only so many psychology papers you can read online before you hit a paywall. All the good ones are locked tight on websites made for scholars, not high schoolers. The one downside of devouring ever psych text she can get her hands on for two years running is that, at a certain point, she has to leave the house to do it.

When she started at Casper High just a few months ago, she went to their library. It offered her privacy from all the prying eyes and hushed whispers, since most students didn't like spending time under the librarian's eagle eyes. But the school's selection was rather... lacking, which forced Jazz to seek out other avenues. Namely, the public library. Which shouldn't be so daunting, because she loves books and this building used to be her home away from home.

But that was two years ago. Now, when she goes to the library, it's no longer a safe haven. Now, when she walks through its doors, people see her and stare. That's the problem with Amity Park. It isn't a small town, but it's not a big city either. Everyone knows someone who knows someone else who knows you.

Which means everyone knows poor Jasmine, the last Fenton in Amity Park.

As she passes her library card over to the clerk, she catches their grim, pitying smile and quickly looks away. She fixes her gaze on the counter for the rest of the transaction. The second it's over, she takes her library card and the textbook and flees. She can feel the librarian's stare burning into her back as she leaves the building. It's hard to ignore. Marching across the parking lot, she heads for an old green Volvo, yanking open the passenger door when she reaches it. She throws herself into the seat and slams the door shut.

"Didn't have the book you wanted?" her best friend, Spike, asks from the back of the car. He doesn't look at her, instead focusing on the soles of his platform boots, picking mud out of the grooves.

Jazz slams the book down on the console.

Spike's gaze jumps up at the noise. "Oh," he says, eyes falling on the book. His expression, a default disaffected scowl, doesn't change, but he starts toying with his eyebrow ring, spinning it around. It's a subtle Jazz has become well accustomed to over the past two years.

"Fuck 'em," Spike says. He slouches forward, dropping his hand into his lap, and raises his middle finger in the library's direction.

"That would be an unsanitary and highly inappropriate response," Tucker quips from the driver's seat, fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

Jazz wrinkles her nose. "Please never say anything like that again."

"No promises." He cackles at Jazz's expression. When he looks over his shoulder to start backing out, he catches Spike's deepening scowl, and grins even wider. "Sorry, kid, I got a goth best friend, too. That kind of look doesn't work on me."

"I told you to stop calling me that," Spike says.

Tucker hums, pretending to think deeply, and bares his teeth in a teasing smile. "Nah."

"You know, he had a goth phase," Jazz whispers.

"We don't talk about that!"

Jazz keeps talking about it. She eagerly regales Spike with the time she walked into the bathroom and found Danny painstakingly doing Tucker's eyeliner. She's halfway through Tucker's first disastrous attempt at wearing platform boots when a droning alarm goes off, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Turning away from the back seat, she leans her head against her window and tips her head back, peering up at a white and black siren hanging off a streetlight.

"Aw, man." Tucker sighs and turns his blinker on, pulling over to the side of the road. The car in front of them does the same, along with a truck passing on the other side of the road. None of them can pull all the way over, because of the vehicles parked parallel up and down the street, but there's a sizeable gap right down the middle of the road.

"Think we'll see some action?" Spike asks.

"I bet it's just that box dude or something," Tucker says as he rolls down his window.

Jazz slaps her hands over her ears as the siren gets louder and elbows Tucker's shoulder. "Close the window!" she shouts.

He doesn't have to. A second later, the siren cuts out. All three passengers strain their ears, listening for any sounds of fighting. It's completely silent.

"False alarm?" Jazz suggests.

"The Guys in White don't do false alarms. Could be the box guy," Tucker says. He hoists himself halfway out the window, slapping his arm down on top of the car to keep himself balanced, and waves at the truck across from them.

The driver rolls down the window.

"Hey! My radio's busted, is there any broadcast going out right now?" Tucker calls.

The driver looks down, fiddling with something, then looks back up and shakes his head.

"Thanks!"

"See? False alarm," Jazz says. "Get back in the car."

"Jazz, you are way too young to be sounding like my mother," Tucker says, ignoring her request. He looks up and down the street, head swiveling as he scans the skies. Completely empty. "Okay, maybe you're right."

No sooner have the words left his mouth than a green blur goes shooting past, flying so fast the car rocks. Tucker yelps, losing his grip on the car, and would have toppled out the window if Jazz and Spike hadn't lunged forward to catch him. Tucker chokes as Jazz grabs the back of his shirt, his collar cutting against his windpipe. Spike snags Tucker's belt. Together, they haul the older boy back into the car.

"Okay!" Tucker says, rubbing his throat and coughing a few times. "Not the box dude!"

Pushing his glasses up his nose, he glares out his window to the truck across from them. "'No broadcast' my ass."

"You should just get the Ghost Watch app," Jazz says, already pulling out her phone. She flicks through the apps until she finds one whose icon features a ghost holding binoculars.

"Like hell I'm gonna do that. The government can already spy on my through my phone, I'm gonna make it worse by downloading one of their apps," Tucker sneers.

"If they're already watching, then why does it matter?" Spike asks.

Tucker takes a breath, then pauses. "Huh," he says.

While he struggles to come up with an answer, Jazz opens the Ghost Watch app. Sure enough, as soon as it loads, she's met with a red exclamation point. Tapping the icon, she turns her volume up and holds her phone out.

"–class four entity. Agents have been dispatched to take care of the threat. Phantom protocol is in place. Please remain in your homes or vehicles or you will face criminal charges for interfering with a G.I.W. Operation. Thank you. Attention Amity Park. We are under threat by a class four entity. Agents have been dispatched–"

Jazz mutes the broadcast and raises and eyebrow in Tucker's direction.

"Shut up," he says. "You're the one who thought it was a false alarm."

"You're the one who can't afford to fix his radio," Spike points out.

"Well, maybe, I should start charging you since I'm apparently turning into your chauffeur. I'm sure your moms would be so happy to know your abusing my kind heart."

"Sounds fake."

"Boys, stop it," Jazz snaps. "Let's just wait for this to be over so we can go home, okay?"

Spike and Tucker share a look and nod in unison.

With an annoyed huff, Jazz pulls her new textbook into her lap and cracks it open. She might as well read to pass time, there's no telling how long this will take. Sometimes the G.I.W. have the situation under control in minutes, other times the city's on lockdown for hours. Hopefully, with the Phantom protocol in effect, it'll be a short wait.

Jazz closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Don't think about it, she tells herself. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

"Jazz, if this is about–"

"Let me stop you right there, Tucker," Jazz says. She stares resolutely down at her book, refusing to lift her gaze. "It's not about anything. I just want to go home, okay?"

"Okay," Tucker says. She can tell he doesn't believe her. That's fine, as long as he lets it drop.

—

Danny was dead. Or he was dying. Jazz didn't know which and she didn't know how to help. She was frozen at the bottom of the stairs, every inch of her trembling, too shocked—too scared—to do anything.

Her big brother was slumped in his best friend's arms, skin blistered and bleeding. His right hand was smoking, the sleeve of his jumpsuit burnt away. A strange green substance oozed out of him, staining Tucker's sweater. He was dead. He had to be dead.

"Danny! Danny!" Tucker shouted desperately, slowly lowering Danny to the floor. He leaned over Danny's prone form, hands hovering just above his blistered body. "Shit, shit, Danny, no. Sam, what do we do?"

Jazz's gaze jumped from her brother—her burnt, broken, probably dead brother—to Sam. She had collapsed on her knees a few feet away, pressing a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and horrified. She looked like she was about to throw up, or pass out, or both.

"I–I–" Sam stuttered. It was all she managed before she turned to the side and retched all over the lab floor.

Jazz finally regained control of her limbs then. Seeing Tucker and Sam, who were older and supposed to be smarter, lost and panicking spurred her to move. She rushed across the lab, her socks slipping on the smooth tiles, and almost slid right into Sam.

"Sam, Sam, where's your phone?" Jazz asked. She couldn't believe how steady her voice sounded. Inside, she panicked. Inside, she screamed that her brother was dead, and she was scared, and why weren't their parents home, why was the portal that wasn't supposed to work suddenly on, glowing so brightly it hurt her eyes? Why, why, why?

"Sam!" Jazz shrieked when the older girl didn't respond.

Sam flinched, spitting on the floor and wiping her mouth on her arm, and turned to Jazz. "Jazz," she said. Her dark eyes flickered over to Danny, then back at Jazz, and a fresh wave of horror filled them. "Go upstairs. You should go upstairs."

"Your phone!" Jazz pleaded. She didn't have the patience to wait, instead reaching into Sam's pocket herself and snatching her phone. Jazz backed away and dialled.

"911, what's your emergency?" a smooth voice answered.

"My brother was in an accident. He's hurt, really badly, and I– I don't know if he's breathing," Jazz said.

At her words, Tucker lowered his head to Danny's chest. Everyone held still, afraid to move or even breathe. Jazz could hear the operator saying something, but his words fell on deaf ears as she waited, anxious, for Tucker to say something.

"Fuck," Tucker said. He shot upright, hands hovering over Danny's chest, then pulled back. "Sam! I don't know CPR, do you know CPR?"

Sam scrambled toward Danny, her knees slipping in his blood—why was there so much blood? She shoved Tucker aside and straddled Danny's waist, kneeling over him, and started chest compressions.

Tears welled in Jazz's eyes. She sobbed and turned away.

"Are you alright? Please answer me. I need your location to send an ambulance."

"He, he's not breathing, and his, his heart's not beating," Jazz said. She hiccupped and squeezed her eyes shut, but that didn't help. She could still hear Sam panting heavily as she tried to keep Danny's heart beating. "His friend is doing CPR."

"Okay, that's good. What's your name? How old are you?"

"I'm Jazz Fenton, I'm twelve years old. My brother is Danny, he's sixteen. We're at Fenton Works at the corner of Cordia and Lennex," Jazz recited. It was oddly calming. Nothing more than simple rote memory, but it helped. It would help Danny.

"Fentons."

"Yes?"

The line was silent. Jazz bit her lip, wondering if the operator hung up, which would be incredibly unprofessional and also probably send her into a panic. She was certain the only reason she hadn't fallen to her knees in tears right then was that, as long as she was on the phone, she was helping. She had something to do. She was making sure Danny would be okay because he was going to be okay, he had to be.

A quiet huff caught Jazz's attention. She clung to the phone with both hands, pressing it against her ears, and barely heard the operator mutter, "Of course," on the other side of the line.

Jazz didn't want to be on the phone anymore.

"An ambulance is on the way," the operator said, louder. "Stay calm until then. Is there anyone else home with you? Your parents?"

"No. Thank you, goodbye."

—

"Please stay calm and remain in your vehicle. The threat will be dealt with shortly. Please stay calm and remain in your vehicle. The threat will be dealt with shortly. Please stay calm and–"

"I hate that voice. So. Much," Spike says, glaring at the siren.

Jazz can't blame him. The siren started spewing the city-wide warning almost five minutes ago and hasn't stopped since. There hasn't been another sign of the ghost, or any G.I.W. for that matter. It doesn't exactly mean much, because they could be anywhere in the city, but it makes the so-called safety protocols seem highly unnecessary. Besides, wouldn't they be safer in a building rather than as sitting ducks in the middle of the road?

The guy in the truck must have thought so, because he ditched his vehicle almost a full minute ago and disappeared inside a bar up the street. Jazz thinks he had the right idea, minus the bar part. It's always better to be somewhere you're comfortable during an emergency, even if it only provides slight relief.

"We could just, you know, drive home," Spike suggests.

"Great idea, until we get caught in the middle of a ghost fight," Tucker says. "Then your moms would kill me."

"No. The ghosts would kill you."

"Delightful."

"My moms would obliterate your ghost."

Tucker groans in distress, but Jazz can tell he's seriously considering Spike's suggestion. He keeps lifting his hand off his leg, toward the keys, before letting it fall back to his knee. "Who thought having a ghost infested city would be so damn boring?" he asks.

"You mean you don't enjoy sharing this plane of existence with pale shades of people long dead, forced to stay on this Earth by their own anguish and tumultuous emotions?" Spike asks.

"No. No, I don't."

"I do."

"Of course, you would."

Jazz ignores the boys, flipping to the next page in her textbook. It's a fairly new branch of psychology, focused on ghosts and their mental processes. Its surprisingly thorough. A stamp on the first page marks it as a G.I.W. endorsed text. It makes her wonder how many of the ghosts they catch become study subjects. With how comprehensive the textbook is, they must have been observing ghosts for a long time.

Unbidden thoughts of the Phantom leap to the front of Jazz's mind. Her grip on the textbook tightens, nails digging into the cover.

"Okay, I'm getting out," Spike says, breaking Jazz out of her thoughts.

"No, you aren't," Tucker says.

"Yeah, I am." Spike pulls on his door handle and starts pushing the door open.

"Your arrest record," Tucker says, rolling his eyes. Halfway through the motion, he freezes. "Actually, no, get back in the car."

"Asking nicely won't make me."

"Spike! Get back in the damn car!" Tucker shouts. The alarm in his voice makes Jazz look up from her book. The next second, the street beside them explodes in a shower of concrete.

"Shit!" Spike ducks, narrowly missing being brained by a fist-sized rock. In his panic, he dives to the side rather than back inside the car.

"Seriously!" Tucker shouts. He throws his door open and leaps out, Jazz following suit on her side of the car. She squints, covering her mouth with her arm, trying to keep the dust out. As Tucker goes for Spike, Jazz watches the middle of the road. She sees something moving in the cloud of dust.

The sound of a roaring engine draws Jazz's attention to the corner of the block, just in time to see a bulky armoured truck rip around the corner. On top of the cab, a row of bright green lights flash as the truck tears down the street. It comes to a stop fifty metres from the crater. The cab doors are thrown open by two bald men in white suits. They jump out onto the road, raising sleek white and blue guns that look out of place outside a sci-fi filmset.

One of them, the taller of the two, sees Jazz and calls down the road, "Return to your vehicle or face the charges."

"But my friend!" Jazz calls back. She looks to where Spike had fallen and finds the road empty. Panic shoots through her, until she hears someone clearing their throat and drops her gaze to the sidewalk.

Tucker and Spike are huddled behind the next car down, out of sight of the G.I.W.

"Return to your vehicle, now!" the agent demands again.

Jazz obeys. As soon as she's inside with the door shut, she climbs over the console into the front seat. The cloud of dust in the middle of the street is almost gone now, the silhouette of whoever—or whatever—is inside more defined.

It looks like a regular person, but with sharper angles. A sharp chin, broad shoulders, wide chest. Before the dust can settle complete, the ghost shoots forward, too fast to see, and slams into the G.I.W. truck, the front of cab crumpling in It goes skidding across the road, tires squealing, leaving thick black lines in their wake.

It's still sliding when the ghost zooms back and slams into it again, this time from the side. The sidewall caves and the truck tips onto its side.

"Damn it, the asset!" the shorter agent shouts.

Both men open fire, but every shot misses, the ghost flying too fast for them to catch. The shorter agent curses again and grabs something from inside their suit, tossing it on the ground. The object, a small cube, hits the ground and an antenna pops out of the top. A ping, not unlike a sonar pulse, songs from the cube and a wave of blue energy cascades outwards.

When it hits the ghost's blurred form, the ghost goes flying. Jazz shouts in surprise and ducks as it soars toward her. There's a loud crash, but Tucker's car does little more than shake. Lifting her head, she sees the ghost has hit the car behind her. Her heart leaps into her throat as she searches for Tucker and Spike amongst the wreckage.

It takes her a few seconds to fine them, but they're safe and sounded, hiding in the shadows of a convenience store doorway. The sign on the door says closed, and it must be locked, so they can't slip inside out of danger, but they're hidden at least.

The crumpled car creaks. Jazz's gaze jumps back to it and she gets her first good look at the ghost. It doesn't look like any of the ghost's she's ever glimpsed. Rather than an animalistic, amorphous form, it looks like a large mechanical man. With green fire for a mullet and goatee, apparently.

"Surrender, ghost!" the taller agent yells.

"Release him!" the ghost demands in a deep, layered voice.

The G.I.W. share a look.

"Agent O," the short one says. "Release the asset."

The mechanical ghost grins. But, judging by Agent O's grim but eager expression, the ghost isn't going to like what happens. Agent O holds their wrist out and presses a button on their watch. A heavy clunk reaches Jazz's ears. Everyone's focus snaps to the overturned truck as the back door slides open. A thin blue shield wavers over the open door before snapping away.

Jazz peers into the shadows of the covered truck bed. Slowly, a figure emerges. They float through the open door, body twisting to they don't brush the sides of the van, and hovers in the air.

It's the first time Jazz has ever seen the G.I.W. secret weapon, and the key component of the Phantom protocol: Phantom themselves. They wear a baggy white jumpsuit, the G.I.W. logo emblazoned across their chest in a slightly darker off-white. Not an inch of skin is visible, a mask clamped tightly over their lower face, round goggles covering their eyes, and a loose hood pulled over their head. They hold themselves awkwardly, arms raised in front of their chest, fingers curling toward their face. Thick cuffs bind their forearms together, forcing this strange pose upon them. Similar cuffs bind their ankles.

Their head turns slowly as they scan the street, the lenses of their goggles flaring. One is blue, the other green. They stop when they face Tucker's car.

Jazz's breath hitches. She presses one against the window, her other falling to the door handle. The ghost mimics her, spreading their fingers, although their palms are turned the wrong way.

She's never seen Phantom before. She's never seen their face. But she knows exactly what she would find under that mask. She pops the door open, lowering one foot to the pavement, ignoring the danger of the ghost to her left.

"Phantom!" Agent O snaps. He presses another button his watch. The cuffs on Phantom's legs fall to the found with a thud, cracking the pavement when they hit it. His arms stay bound. Another press, another button, and a collar around Phantom's neck, hidden by their pose, sparks dangerously.

Agent O points to the mechanical ghost. "Go hunt!"

—

Jazz waited out in the hallway, where her parents told her to be. She sat on a hard, plastic chair, tapping her feet on the tiled floor. It must have been freshly buffed, because when she leaned forward, she could see her reflection on the gleaming ceramic. The tiles were marbled white and pink, the colours blending together in milky swirls, and when she stared right at it, it looked like her face was covered in scars.

She lifted a hand and touched her cheek, almost expecting to feel puckered, raised skin where the marbled pink cuts across her pale face. She wondered if Danny would have scars.

"Jazzypants?"

Her head snapped up and she was surprised to see Jack, her father, standing before her. A burly man who took up nearly half the hallway, he didn't exactly have the lightest steps, but she didn't even notice him arrive. He crouched so they were eye to eye, hunching his shoulders to take up as little space as possible, and touched her hand.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Jazz glanced to the side, toward the closed double doors with the words "STAFF ONLY" plastered across them in big, bold letters. "I'm fine. Is Danny okay?" she asked.

"He's okay," Jack said. He smiled and squeezed her hand. "The doctors are still working on him, but they said he's gonna be fine."

Jazz didn't match Jack's smile. She tried, but it felt weak and flimsy, and she let it fall away. "Okay," she said quietly.

Jack's smile tightened. "Listen, there's someone here who wants to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Because of what happened. Danny's gonna be okay, but he got really hurt, and that made some people worry. So, they want to talk to you, so they know they don't have to worry."

Jazz frowned. "You don't have to talk like that. I'm not eight. Who are they?"

Jack laughed, but it was soft and humorless. "Right, you've always been so grown up. Are you okay to talk to them?"

"Yeah." Jazz nodded and pushed off her chair, standing up. She barely reached Jack's elbow.

With his hand on her back, Jack guided her out of the waiting room. They turned down a quiet hallway, farther from the hospital's entrance, and headed toward a bench set into an. It was small and private. A woman in a blazer and slacks waited there, sitting with her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap.

The woman's hair was tied back in a ponytail, smooth against her head, but cascading into a waterfall of dark curls at the nape of her neck. Jazz touched her own hair, red and pin straight. She always wanted curly hair like that, especially after seeing pictures of her mother in college.

Jack cleared his throat as they approached. The woman looked up. She smiled warmly at Jazz, scooting down the bench as if to make room, even though it was a fairly large bench and there was lots of space. Jazz sat down on the very end, as far from the woman as she could get.

"Thank you, Mr. Fenton. I know you may want to stay, but this needs to be a private conversation, so I know you aren't influencing anything she says," the woman said.

"Right," Jack said. He gave Jazz one last pat, then turned and lumbered down the hallway.

"Hello, Jasmine," the woman said, drawing Jazz's attention back. "I'm Jamila Faizan. You can call my Jamila. I'm a social worker. Do you know what that is?"

Jazz nodded, eyeing the woman warily. She had nothing against social workers, but she heard people threaten her parents with them before. It made her uncomfortable.

"I just want to ask you a few questions about what life is like at home, okay?" Jamila asked.

"It's fine."

Jamila smiled. "Of course. It might seem that way, but your brother got really hurt in your parent's lab, and I need to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again. I just want to make sure you're safe at home."

Jazz bit her lip. She knew her home life wasn't exactly normal. How many twelve-year-olds had a lab in their basement? But they had good parents, and this was the first time anything like this had ever happened.

"How often do you go into your parents' lab?" Jamila asked.

"Not a lot. I don't like it down there that much, it's really cold."

"Do you parents ever bring you down there?"

"Sometimes, if they want to show us something interesting."

"Okay. Are you allowed down there any time?"

Jazz shifted in her seat, tucking her hands between her knees to keep from fidgeting. "Mom or dad has to be with us if we go down there," she said. She quickly added, "But I don't want to go down there, anyway, unless they want to show us something. So it's okay."

Jamila hummed. "How are you at school?"

"Good. I get all A's," Jazz said, a little thrown by the topic change.

"And your brother?"

"He doesn't really like school. I don't think it's a good learning environment for him, so he doesn't really get good grades."

"And you're happy?"

"Yes." Jazz narrowed her eyes at Jamila. "Are you trying to take us away?"

"I'm only trying to make sure you're safe, healthy, and happy," Jamila said.

"I will be once I know my brother's okay."

"I've been told he's going to pull through just fine," Jamila said, giving Jazz a placating smile.

"Then, then I don't see what the problem is. He's okay, I'm okay. It was just an accident. So, I'm going back to my parents, where I will be safe, healthy, and happy, okay? Okay." Jazz got up and walked away before Jamila could say anything else. It wasn't like the social worker could stop her.

—

The asphalt beneath Phantom cracks as they shoot through the air toward the ghost.

"Phantom, wait!" the ghost protests, holding up his hands. He jumps into the air, arcing over Phantom. A gun pops out of his shoulder and fires a green net. The net snaps out, heading right for Phantom.

Jazz doesn't even know how to begin describing what Phantom's body does to dodge the net. Only their arms and head stay solid, the rest of their body twisting, and morphing, and stretching so the next passes harmlessly through them. Their torso and legs snap back into existence as if they hadn't just melted into an amorphous cloud and Phantom continues unhindered. They slam into the mechanical ghost, wrapping one leg around the ghost's arm, the other around their neck.

Electricity crackles up Phantom's spine and shocks the ghost, making the whole suit go slack. Phantom drives the ghost into the ground, crouching over him. A low moan builds in their throat.

Jazz automatically covers her ears. She may have never seen Phantom in action before, but she's definitely heard their signature attack. And had to deal with the damage it leaves behind.

Just before the wail reaches its glass-shattering, tree-tearing, foundation-shaking crescendo, the mechanical ghost shouts, "Sorry!" and launches a mini-rocket out of his arm. It hits Phantom and explodes, blasting them straight across the street.

Jazz winces when they collide with the sidewalk, a sharp crack echoing down the street.

"Stop fighting!" The mechanical ghost holds up their hands as Phantom peels themselves off the crumbled sidewalk. "It's me, Skulker!"

Phantom answers by smacking something on the side of their mask. Green fumes start pouring out the front. Reaching up, their fingers curl around their collar, yanking it down as far as it'll go, and they thrust their head forward. Ectoplasm spews from the mast. It roars outward, a mesmerizing mix of gas and flames that seeps into the air.

As Phantom leaps forward, the ectoplasm pours over a nearby mailbox. The ectoplasm turns liquid the second it touches the mailbox, coating it in a thick slime, melting through the metal. Watching the metal bubble and ooze, Jazz swallows nervously.

She's reminded quite suddenly that Phantom is a tool for the G.I.W. The supreme weapon. The thing they throw at every passing threat. Thinking back to her textbook, she wonders how much of that information was garnered from Phantom. They would certainly make an impressive specimen, not that Jazz wants to think of them like that. But it's undeniable.

The way they move is otherworldly.

Every time Skulker dodges, Phantom's head snaps toward him, lightning fast, as ectoplasm spits from their mask. They mutate their body into grotesque shapes at a moment's notice, deforming and contorting as needed. It's hard to watch them. Not just because of the brutal display, with Skulker's protests falling on deaf ears, but because their body can't seem to settle. It's constantly moving, blurring, flickering. The only time they look completely solid is when their whole body crackles and electricity arcs off them.

Phantom's ectoplasm spews over Skulker's arm. Skulker yelps, forced to flee, and tries to shake off both the acidic sludge and his feral tail.

And Phantom really is feral. They follow, relentless, remorseless, moving like a wild animal prowling after its prey. Every attack is a pounce, a noxious cloud of ectoplasm following their every move. It's both mesmerizing and horrifying. The only word Jazz can use to properly describe them is monster.

—

Two hours after speaking with Jamila, Danny was out of surgery. Jazz was on her own when a nurse came over to deliver the news. Her parents were off with the social worker, had been for some time. The nurse was hesitant to give Jazz the news on her own, but she bullied the man with tear-filled eyes until he caved in.

Danny's surgery was a success. They fixed the rupture in his hear, stopped the bleeding, and now he was sleeping. He would be for a while because his body needed to heal, but once he woke up, he would be good as new.

The nurse waited with Jazz for her parents to return. When they came walking down the hallway, accompanied by Jamila, Jazz hopped out of her seat and ran forward to give them the good news. She faltered when she saw her parents' expressions.

Her mother's eyes were red from crying. Seeing that unsettled Jazz. She had never seen her mother cry before, and even if she didn't actually witness it now, knowing it happened threw her off balance. She knew parents cried too. They were regular people with all kinds of emotions; but, still, they weren't supposed to cry.

Jazz stopped at arm's length, watching them warily.

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie reached down and hugged Jazz.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"You're going to be staying with someone else for a little bit," she said.

Jazz pulled away. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry," Jamila interrupted, placing a hand on Jazz's shoulder. Jazz wanted to throw it off. "Maddie," Jamila continued.

"Please, call me Dr. Fenton," Jazz's mother said, a bitter smile cutting across her face.

"Dr. Fenton," Jamila amended coolly. "May I?"

Jazz felt helpless as Maddie stepped away, instantly missing her comforting presence. Jamila took her place, crouching down to Jazz's level.

"I really am sorry, but I can't let you return to Fenton Works until I know you'll really be safe there. I want you to go home with your parents, I really do, but I want to keep you out of danger more."

"I'm not in danger," Jazz insisted.

"Tonight's events prove otherwise. I was contacted by both the hospital and the dispatch operator you spoke to. It's only temporary. Until I'm sure your parents can take proper care of you. I've made arrangements with a foster home for now."

"Do you really have to do this?" Maddie asked.

"Mom," Jazz said. She reached out, searching for Maddie's hand, squeezing it until Maddie looked at her. "I'll be okay. It's just for now, right? You guys can set everything straight and then we can all go home together with Danny

"Oh, sweetie." Maddie pulled Jazz into another firm hug. "It's not right."

"But it's okay, isn't it? Ms. Faizan can do her work, and she'll see that, and everything will be fine by the time Danny wakes up." Jazz motioned for her father, who quickly joined the hug. It was tight, and warm, and Jazz never wanted to let go, but she had to after a few seconds.

Danny always went on and on about how grown up Jazz was, how she acted so much like an adult even though she was four years younger than him. If she was as mature as Danny always said, then she could do this. She could be grown up right now and be okay with all of this.

She could go with Jamila now, and later, she could go home with Danny.

—

The fight is taking too long. Despite dealing with ghosts for two years now, Jazz has never seen a real fight. If it's someone minor, a single agent is all it takes to swoop in and clean things up before anything bad happens. Mildly destructive ghosts require a few agents, who sometimes block off whole sections of the city, pushing citizens back until the problem is dealt with. Usually, this takes no more than half an hour, although the aftermath of the fight affects the city for days.

But when they send in Phantom, the fight ends before it really begins. Swift, effective, and destructive. Bringing in Phantom means bringing in the big guns.

But they're not so swift today. The minutes drag on, the ghosts caught in a stalemate. It takes Jazz far too long to notice the problem: Phantom is distracted. They keep pulling back at the last moment, holding off from delivering the finishing blow. She doesn't think it's to spare the ghost they're fighting. It's the result, but it's not the reason. Each attack aims to kill, up until the moment it doesn't.

Because Phantom's head keeps swivelling. Toward her. As soon as Jazz realizes this, she scrambles out of the car, ignoring the agents shouting at her to get back inside, and runs over to Tucker and Spike.

"What are you doing?" Tucker asks. His head jerks up and down as he looks between Jazz and the G.I.W. agents. He waves his arms emphatically at the short agent. "He's coming this way now!"

"I don't care. Tucker!" Jazz grabs Tucker by the front of his shirt and pulls him down. She shoves his head forward and points at Phantom. "Do you see it?"

Tucker's face twists in confusion, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow. "They're... looking at us.

"Yeah."

Phantom snarls, finally managing to get a hold on Skulker, and rips his arm out of the socket, tearing into the limb like a rabid animal. There's only wires inside, thank god.

Tucker pales. "I don't know about you, but... I don't think I want its attention."

"Tucker! He's not an it!" Jazz protests.

"Phantom is a ghost, Jazz. I'm sorry, I don't get what you're trying to say here," Tucker says.

"Don't you remember what I told you? What happened after you left?"

Tucker stares at her. A few seconds later, realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. Yeah! I do! Do you think–"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"I know. "

"Jazz, if it is, I don't think..." Tucker trails off. He gives Jazz a pointed look as Phantom screeches and dissolves into a black cloud, reforming behind Skulker. They swing their arms down on Skulker's head, smashing him into the ground.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Spike asks. "All I see is a pissed off government goon heading our way."

"Phantom," Tucker and Jazz chorus. Jazz adds, "They keep looking over here."

She can't help the hope that swells in her chest. Two years. Two whole years since the ghosts came, since the G.I.W. took over, since it happened. Two years of stares and whispers behind her back.

Look at that girl, isn't it a shame what happened?

I heard they tried to shoot her too.

I bet he ran away because he couldn't stand to see her.

"So?"

"The hospital," Jazz stresses.

"Oh. Oh!" Spike glances at Jazz from the corner of his eye. "That's good, right? It means they're, you know?"

"He... if they are... if it is." Jazz fumbles over her words, but Tucker seems to understand. He gives her shoulder a reassuring pat.

He didn't run away, Jazz thinks. He didn't mean to leave her. She leans into Tucker, torn between crying out of grief or relief.

Spike taps Jazz's other shoulder. "Hey, this is super gross and touching and all, but we're fucked," he said with a jerk of his chin, motioning to the approaching agent.

—

The Miller family was nice enough. Max and Hannah treated her well. They had fostered their son, Spike, before adopting him when he was six. Jazz only saw him once her first day in the apartment, and he immediately reminded her of Sam, with his black clothes and dark makeup, but a little more punk thanks to his mohawk.

He left Jazz alone for the most part, which she was more thankful for than anything.

Max and Hannah told Jazz they would do their best for her, and that they hoped Danny would be okay, and they would give her whatever she needed to make it through this tough time. The way they talked annoyed Jazz a little. They weren't patronizing, but they acted like they knew exactly what she needed when they didn’t.

They thought she needed a soft bed, a good meal, and a comforting smile, but she really just needed her brother.

The first day at the Millers, Jazz occupied herself with her memoirs. She had been working on them the day of the accident, until the power cut out and Danny's scream filled the house, so loud it made her ears ache. She put in her headphones to drown out the residual scream in her head and got down to work.

Before... it happened, she had been writing down her significant childhood memories. The earliest ones weren't full memories, more like snatches of moments. Danny's soft hand in hers. A small hand rubbing her back after a nightmare. The glow of her star nightlight, which originally belonged to Danny, but he passed it on to her when he learned it made her sleep through the night better. She only learned this fact a few months ago, but it warmed her heart nonetheless.

The memories got stronger after that. Her first time seeing Santa, she was four, Danny was eight, and he took her across town on his own to the mall. Danny teaching her to ride a bike, because their parents were too busy in the lab. Danny making cupcakes for her birthday, because their parents were away at a convention. Danny helping her with her homework, even though he wasn't very good at it, but he still tried his best.

Jazz's pen paused. All her best memories had Danny in them. It wasn't that she had no good memories with her parents, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized they weren't really there as much as they thought they were.

"It's fine," she told herself. She pressed her pen into the page, intending to keep writing, but she couldn't stop thinking.

How many kids learned to cook at eight years old because their parents sometimes forgot to feed them? How many kids were more of a parent to their little sister than their actual parents? How many kids lived above a lab full of dangerous chemicals and volatile weaponry, and were told to clean said lab as part of their chores?

Jazz could think of at least one: Danny. Would things be the other way if she were older? Would she take Danny out on Christmas day so they didn't have to hear their parents fighting about a fat man in a red suit? Would she have been forced to grow up too fast?

She didn't want Danny to be her dad. She wanted her father to be her dad.

"Jazz?"

She jumped, hand shooting across the page, pen ripping the paper in half, tearing through her carefully penned memories and the photocopied photograph taped in the corner.

"Oh, shit, sorry. Was that important?" Spike asked. He held one of the house phones, pressing against his chest.

"Language," Jazz said softly, staring forlornly at the ruined page. The pages beneath were ruined, too, a heavy black line cutting across the first few.

"Weirdo," Spike said. "Anyway, Mom—that's Hannah—wanted me to tell you that social worker is coming on Friday so you can visit your brother."

Muffled noise comes from the phone, and Spike raises to his ear. He listened a moment, nodded, then lowered it again. "And she's sorry they can't take you sooner, but they work during visitor hours, and they don't want you walking through the city on your own," he recited.

"Why not?" Jazz asked.

Spike looked at her funny, cocking his head. "Because it isn't safe."

"Oh." Jazz would be perfectly fine with going on her own. She needed to see Danny with her own eyes, to make sure he was okay. The nurse said he was, but she had to see it for herself. She had to be certain.

Her second day with the Millers, she couldn't bring herself to work on her memoirs again, so she occupied herself with the collection of books in their office. A lot of it was literature, some classic, some poetry, some plays. Jazz gravitated toward the single shelf of textbooks, particularly the psychology. She didn't know much about the field, but something about understanding brains and how they worked fascinated her.

She stayed holed up in the office all day.

Her third day with the Millers was Friday. She waited for Jamila to pick her up and take her to the hospital. Jamila never showed up.

Her fourth day, she learned about the monster that attacked the mall, sending everyone into a panic. It glowed and couldn't be hurt by anything anyone threw at them, until Maddie and Jack showed up with the volatile weapons they made Danny clean and put the monster—ghost—down. All Jazz cared about was why no one was with Danny in case he woke up.

Her fifth day, Jazz thought, and thought, and didn't stop thinking until she couldn't stop thinking about why her parents didn't seem to care as much as they were supposed to.

On the sixth day, Jamila said she could finally see Danny tomorrow. For the first time in a week, it felt like everything would be alright.

—

Spike panics. Jazz knows he panics because he grabs her wrist and makes a break for it before the agent even reaches them.

"Spike!" Jazz stumbles, almost tripping, and tries to resist. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees the agent giving chase. Until Tucker surges after him and tackles his legs. They both go down.

Spike yanks on her arm, forcing Jazz to run faster, and drags her around the corner of the block.

"What was that?" Jazz asks. She grabs her hair. "Tucker's going to get arrested!"

"So were we! You heard what the emergency broadcast said. You know how many laws we're breaking being 'out of our vehicle?'" Spike shouts back. "All of them!"

"They aren't real laws!" And they aren't. They're a guideline of what to do in ghostly emergencies, and the G.I.W. treat every ghost like an emergency. Although, considering the destruction they had just run from, this was a real emergency.

"Funny, doesn't stop them from arresting people!"

Jazz rips her hand out of Spike's grip. "I can't leave them behind!"

Spike stops and turns. His scowl is softer, and he bites his lip, looking at Jazz with worry.

She glares back at him, refusing to move. "I can't."

"This isn't about Tucker, is it?" he asks. He doesn't need Jazz to answer. She doesn't need to give him one. He sighs, pressing a hand to his cheek, one finger spinning his eyebrow ring. After a long moment, he says, "Fine."

Jazz feels a wave of relief that has her grinning.

"Don't expect me to tackle a government agent for you, though. That's all Foley."

They turn back around, sprinting down the street. Overhead, Phantom and Skulker are still battling it out. Skulker's lagging, the plating of his suit warped and melted. The missing arm definitely doesn't help. But Phantom's not looking so good either. A few lucky shots from Skulker's plethora of hidden guns had left them burnt and bleeding.

Can it really be called bleeding? Ectoplasm, rather than blood, seeps out of Phantom's wounds, indistinguishable from the substance dripping from his mask. A wound on their torso slows them down the most, a large scorch mark stretching from the bottom of their ribcage, across their stomach, to their hip on the other side of their body.

Every time it looks like they're about to slow down, the collar on their neck sparks. Phantom hisses in pain each time and dives back into the hunt with renewed vigour.

Jazz forces herself to look away when Spike grabs her shoulder and pushes her behind the same crumpled car Skulker destroyed earlier. Pressing a finger to his lips, he motions her forward, and together they peer around the bumper and look down the street.

The agent has Tucker pinned on a nearby car. Straining her ears, Jazz can just barely hear what he's saying over the grunts and snarls of the fighting ghosts. "You're under arrest for assaulting a G.I.W. agent and interfering with a government operation."

"Come on, Mr. K, that's not cool," Tucker says.

"Agent K. And neither was assaulting me. G.I.W. operations are a matter of national security."

"It's a green blob in a metal suit, fucking chill!"

Agent K pulls out a pair of cuffs and slaps them on Tucker's wrists, keeping him pinned with a hand on his back. Agent K's focus drifts up toward the fight and scowls. Seeing his hesitance, Jazz realizes Agent K isn't going to move Tucker until the fight is done. Too much debris is flying everywhere and it's safer behind the cars than anywhere else. Agent O seems to have found cover, too, behind the overturned truck. He stands there with his gun lowered, hand poised over his watch.

Jazz looks back to Tucker. Neither he nor Agent K has noticed her and Spike yet. "Okay," she says. "I know what to do."

"No," Spike says.

"I haven't said anything yet."

"No. We're not tackling a G.I.W. agent."

Jazz gives him a pleading look, with wide eyes and a small pout.

"No, we're not tackling him!"

Jazz doesn't give him much of a choice. She charges, dashing out from behind the car.

"Son of a biiitch!" Spike shouts, sprinting past her. Agent K hears Spike and turns to face him, but none of his government training could prepare him for the pure shock value of a sickly looking punk goth kid charging at him at full speed. Spike barrels into the agent's chest, throwing him off Tucker and down to the sidewalk.

Jazz is about to throw herself on top of the pile when a loud crash and a panicked cry stops her.

"No, Phantom, no! It's me! Remember? Stop!"

She jerks back at the sound of Skulker's steadily rising voice and peeks over the car Tucker had been pinned against. Skulker lies on the ground in the middle of the road, Phantom hovering far above him. But something's off. Specifically, Skulker's head. It lies a foot away from his body, the eyes dull and expression completely blank.

"Please!"

Jazz's gaze snaps up to Phantom. In his hands, he holds something small and green, and Tucker's words come floating back to her: a blob in a metal suit. Phantom holds Skulker's real form inches from their face, clutched tightly in their hands.

"No!" Jazz cries, jumping out into the street. Everyone freezes, their heads swivelling toward her, and she falters.

"Jazz, what are you doing?" Tucker hisses.

She doesn't know. Phantom is a dangerous, powerful ghost. There's nothing she can actually do to make him stop. There's no real reason she should even try to stop him. In Amity Park, ghosts are like rabid wild animals. They come in, destroy stuff, and then they get put down. Jazz has never met someone who felt sorry for the ghosts.

But she had also never really met a ghost before. And she had never heard one scream and beg for its life as it tries to help the very thing that is going to kill it. She can't watch that. She can't just stand here and witness Phantom squeezing the life—the afterlife—out of this little ghost that says he wants to help.

Whoever this Skulker is, she can't let that happen.

Whoever Jazz suspects Phantom might be, she can't let them do it.

She can't tell if Phantom is looking at her, but she thinks they are. Even as Skulker wriggles and squirms, popping out of their grip, Phantom stays focused on her. A small smile touches Jazz's lips. In the corner of her eye, Skulker flies down to his suit, free to escape.

Jazz takes a step forward. A burly arm loops around her waist and hoists her off her feet, dragging her back.

"Hey! Stop!" Jazz squirms, feet kicking in the air, and throws her head back. She hits Agent K's chin, but he doesn't falter.

"Hey, calm down! It's not safe out here!" Agent K says, his arm tightening around her midsection.

Jazz gasps. "Let me go! You're hurting me!"

Agent K's hold immediately loosens. "Sorry. But what's with you kids, tackling people trying to help you?"

"Wait, what?" Jazz asks, confused.

Suddenly, white fills her vision. Jazz feels a burning, crackling heat, then she's falling, and Agent K her screams. She rolls on the ground, pushing herself up on her hands and knees, and looks over her shoulder.

Phantom has Agent K pinned against a convenience store window, arms pressed against his throat. Their body blurs as they move, leaning in closer. The glass cracks. With a great heave, the window shatters. Phantom sends Agent K flying through the store, flipping over rows of shelves. He crashes into a row of coolers at the back and falls to the floor.

Phantom spins around and faces Jazz. Up close, they look even more feral, ectoplasm dripping like saliva through a series of jagged slots in their mask. The lenses of their goggles are cracked, but the eyes behind them glow so brightly it hurts to look right at them.

Phantom's collar sizzles and they cry out as the shock courses through them. Turning away from Jazz, they lock onto Agent O and howls. Jazz blinks and Phantom is all the way cross the street, roaring in Agent O's face, immersing him in a haze of ectoplasm.

Agent O drops to the ground, clutching their throat.

"No," Jazz whispers, horrified.

Phantom turns back to her. They stumble forward. Jazz takes a step back. As if that's some signal, Phantom lunges toward her. Jazz screams and drops to the ground, crawling toward the sidewalk.

"Phantom, stand down!" Agent K shouts as he clambers out of the broken shop window His demand is met with a roar of ectoplasm that soars right over Jazz. She screams again, folding her arms over her head, but can't do anything against the blistering heat.

Jazz crawls faster, scrambling to her feet as soon as she's able. She heads for Tucker and Spike, both of them wearing cuffs now, but Phantom cuts in front of her. Backpedalling fast, her arms flail as she pivots and runs the other way.

A hazy mist surrounds Jazz and she shudders, a tingling chill passing through her. Phantom reforms in front of her, too close for her for her to stop in time. A green blast soaring over her shoulder saves her. It bursts against Phantom's chest and throws them back.

"Run!" Agent K shouts, training his gun oh Phantom.

Jazz doesn't question she order. She doesn't wait for Phantom to get back. She already knows they will. No matter what Agent K does, Phantom will come after her. She's their prey now.

—

Everything was not alright.

Monday night, Spike once again passed along the message that Jazz would be seeing her brother the next day, a full week after she'd seen him last. This time, Jamila actually showed up, apologizing for Wednesday, citing the chaos at the mall and the havoc it wreaked throughout the city in general. She brought with her the good news that Danny was awake, had been since Friday.

"I'm sorry no one informed you sooner. There were some complications at the hospital," Jamila had said.

Those foreboding words quelled Jazz's excitement but couldn't snuff it out completely. She would finally get to see for herself that Danny was fine. But when she got to the hospital, the nurse said she wasn't allowed to see him.

"Why not?" she asked.

"He's in for tests right now," the nurse said. She turned to Jamila and continued, as if Jazz wasn't there. "We contacted an expert. Apparently, this is something the government's dealt with before. I don't really understand it, but his parents will be seeing him soon, and Jasmine can see him after that."

That was how Jazz ended up in the waiting room, on her own, again. Jamila had gone off to find her parents and speak to them about Danny's situation, whatever that was. Everyone was treating her like she didn't need to know anything, but she was twelve! She was mature, and smart, and she could handle whatever they were keeping from her.

"It's not fair," she muttered.

"Damn right. Although I have no idea what you're actually talking about."

Jazz looked up and saw Tucker claiming the chair next to her. There was no blood on him, and for one wild moment, Jazz realized she expected to see some. It was the first time she'd seen him since the accident, and for some reason, she pictured him frozen in that moment back at the lab, clothes stained red and green.

"Uh, you good?" Tucker asked.

Jazz stared a moment longer, taking in his pale face. "Are you?"

"Ha, you caught me. I don't really like hospitals," Tucker said. He glanced around the room warily and slumped in his chair. "But I heard they were letting you see him today, so I thought. I don't know. Maybe I could sneak in."

"Who told you?"

"Spike."

Jazz blinked in surprise.

"His moms used to babysit me, and my mom watched Spike to return the favour sometimes. When I heard you were with the Millers, I kind of asked him to keep an eye on you for me," Tucker said, smiling sheepishly. "Got to make sure you're alright for Danny."

"Thanks, I guess," Jazz said. She peered closer at Tucker. More than pale, he looked tired, like he hadn't been sleeping, and it made her wonder. "What... what happened? In the lab."

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. "It doesn't really matter."

"I think it does."

"What difference will it make?"

"Because then I'll know."

"That won't—"

"Tucker, please." Jazz wasn't mad. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. She just looked at Tucker, feeling helpless and lost.

"Sam thought it'd be cool to go inside," Tucker muttered.

"Oh." Danny would do anything Sam asked, whether she meant him to or not. Everyone knew it.

"Yeah," Tucker said.

"She hasn't come to see him, has she?"

"She feels guilty."

Jazz didn't know how to respond to that. A small part of her was mad at Sam, but at the same time Jazz knew it wasn't completely her fault.

Silence fell between her and Tucker as she sank into her thoughts. Jazz didn't know how it was with other siblings, but Danny's best friend had always been such a staple in her life that she didn't mind being alone with him. He was almost like a second big brother, although Danny would be the undisputed best.

Tucker stayed with her until Jamila returned. She wore a wary smile and gave Tucker a questioning glance.

"I'm Danny's friend," Tucker said, answering her unasked question.

"I see. I'm sorry, but I've been told only family can see him at this time. His should be seeing him now," Jamila said.

"You're not family."

"Due to the nature of the situation, I am his medical proxy."

It was amazing how Jamila could sum everything up without actually explaining anything useful. Jazz wanted to snap at her, but she held back. After all the thinking she had done about her parents, she was no longer certain how she felt about Jamila. Maybe the woman really did want to help.

"It's fine, Tucker. You can just get Spike to tell you all about my visit," Jazz said.

"Oh, that's cold," Tucker said. He pushed himself up and stretched his arms above his head, then let them flop back down at his sides. "I guess I can leave Danny in your capable hands. Give him hell for scaring us like that."

"That's the plan."

Jazz waited until Tucker was gone before turning to Jamila and motioning for her to lead the way. Soon, all her fretting would be over. She could confirm with her own eyes that Danny wasn't still bleeding out on the floor, and maybe even get one of his comforting smiles. Maybe he would even come with her to stay at the Millers until everything got sorted out with their parents. If it got sorted out.

Before they rounded the corner into Danny's hallway, Jamila took Jazz aside and spoke to her softly.

"Something happened on Friday that the doctors can't really explain," she started. "Your brother appears healthy, but he's... different. And I just want to prepare you for that."

Determined, Jazz nodded.

Jamila looked relieved, her wide brown eyes softening, and she smiled. "Okay. Let's go see your brother."

They turned the corner. Nothing happened. Which made sense, because it was just a hallway, and the door to Danny's room was further down. But Jazz was so tense that the brightly lit hospital hallway felt out of place. A long, foreboding corridor would have been more appropriate.

Hospital staff bustled about. A couple patients were stretching their legs. Some visitors had claimed benches that were interspersed along the hall, none of them too interesting. A woman in a pretty blue dress, a man in a white suit, two teenagers with watery eyes and red noses. Jazz wondered who they were all here for.

They were halfway down the hall when a door burst open and a nurse stuck his head out.

"Security!" he shouted.

"That's not my son!"

Jamila's arm curled around Jazz's shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. The way Jamila's hold on her tightened when a security guard went rushing by told her exactly who's room that was. Her fears were confirmed when Maddie and Jack backed out of the open door, herded toward the security guard by the nurse. Danny's door closed behind them.

Jazz twisted, breaking free of Jamila's grip, and ran toward her parents.

"Mom, what's going on? What's wrong?" she asked.

Maddie turned to Jazz and her face fell, tears welling in her eyes. She was barely holding it together "Oh, honey. Danny's... Danny's gone, sweetie."

"No." That wasn't right. Jamila just said Danny was fine. What could have happened in that short time? She refused to believe it.

"No!" she repeated, louder.

Maddie reached out to her. Jazz ducked under her arm, skipping out of reach. She glanced at Jamila, the nurse, the guard, checking to see if any of them would stop her. None of them moved.

"Stop, Jazz!" Jack shouted, taking a step forward.

The security guard stopped him, getting in Jack's way and holding out his arms. "Sir, I will remove you form the building," the guard said.

"Jasmine, do not go in there," Maddie said in a scolding, motherly tone

Jazz went in. She whipped the door open, spinning around and slamming it shut. There was no lock. A quick peek through the window confirmed the guard was still holding her parents back. Satisfied they weren’t going to barge in and drag her out of there, Jazz turned.

She froze. The person sitting on the bed had a familiar head of messy hair, but it faded to white half-way through. His eyes swirled blue and green, the colours constantly shifting, pushing against each other, battling for dominance. When he raised his hand and waved, his arm blurred, trailed by an afterimage.

Bandages crawl up his right arm, wrapping stiffly around his fingers, and winding all the way up to his shoulder, stopping just before the sleeve of his blue gown. She's only seen it once, but Jazz knows there's a gauze patch on his shoulder under that sleeve. A matching patch is plastered against his neck. Thin, spidery blisters creep along his jaw, but don't go much further than that.

His face is sallow, cheeks sunken, eyes looking bruised. The blood is gone. The green goo is gone.

"Jazz!" There was a slight echo to his voice. He beamed. "About time you got here. I was starting to think you didn't care."

There was no mistaking that smile or that teasing voice. Jazz ran forward and threw her arms around his waist, burying her head against his chest.

"Danny!" Jazz cried out, already tearing up. Because it was Danny. He looked different, and he felt different—cold—but it was him.

"You are not gonna believe what's on the other side of that portal, took a lot of work to get back here–"

"Get back?"

"–but here I am!" Danny threw up his arms, grinning even wider.

Jazz noticed his teeth looked a little sharper. "What happened?" she asked.

"Oh, man, you're not gonna believe it. So, the portal turns on, right? And then everything just goes all." Danny waved his hands around. "Hold on, wait, I had it before. Everything just goes all," he snapped his fingers and electricity crackled down his arm, "like that!"

Jazz jumped away from him, staring at his arm as the electricity fizzled out.

Danny's smile slipped. "Oh. You're scared too, aren't you? Mom and Dad... they didn't take it well either."

Jazz opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the door banged open. Startled, she whipped around and backed up until her hip bumped the side of Danny's bed. Maddie stood in the doorway, holding a silver and green gun. An ectogun, Jazz recalled. Her parents made them to fight ghosts, if they ever saw one.

"Jazz, get away from it!" Maddie said. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.

"Mom," Jazz said.

"That's not Danny!"

"That's kind of rude," Danny muttered.

"Mom, what are you doing!" Jazz slid in front of Danny, holding out her arms the same way the security guard had.

The barrel of Maddie's gun dipped as she watched Jazz, disbelief written across her face. It looked like she was going to stop. To Jazz, it looked like Maddie was about to reconsider. Until Jazz felt Danny's hand on her shoulder. Maddie's disbelief was drowned out by a furious snarl fueled by grief and rage.

Everything happened so fast.

Danny shoved Jazz out of the way just before the bang. She tripped into a chair by his bed, smacking her head on the armrest. The world went fuzzy for a moment. There wa a shout, and a thump, and her mother started wearing. A stampede of feet come running.

When Jazz's vision cleared, she saw Maddie on the ground, pinned by the same security guard from before, reaching for her gun. No less than three new guards had Jack pinned out in the hallway. The nurse was speaking frantically into a phone. The man in the white suit tapped the nurse's shoulder, holding out his hand for the phone, jerking his chin toward the room. The nurse relinquished the phone without protest.

Jazz crawled backward, away from the chaos, and almost fell when her hand slipped on something warm and wet. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Danny on the floor, bleeding.

—

Jazz has been afraid many times in her life. When she was little, walking through the house in the dark. When she sat in the backseat of the RV while her father had the wheel. When she sat in the hospital, alone waiting to hear if Danny was alive or dead. When she realized he was gone from her life forever.

None of that compares to how she feels now. Her heart beats against her ribs, moments from bursting out of her chest. Her lungs burn and her throat feels tight and she struggles to breathe. Her senses narrow until all she can see is what's in front of her, all she can hear is Phantom inches behind her, all she can feel is the icy heat they give off, so cold it burns.

Jazz makes the mistake of looking back to check how close Phantom is. Practically nose to nose, the green and blue lenses of his goggles are all she sees. She shrieks and stumbles. Phantom reaches out to catch her, latching on to her hair, yanking her head back. She cries out again, tears springing to her eyes.

Phantom jerks away from her, releasing her hair, and raises their hands to their face. They start moaning. Jazz takes off, the ominous wail building behind her. Clapping her hands over her ears, she tries to shut it out. The distraught cry grows louder and louder until the ground shakes, and windows rattle, and a wave of green energy blasts Jazz off her feet.

She soars through the air, screaming, arms wrapping around her head. She hits the ground hard and curls into a ball. Phantoms wail tears into her, a painfully familiar cry of pain amplified a hundred times over, fueled by the power of ectoplasm.

Her ears ring long after it ends, so loud that she doesn’t even realize Phantom's stopped until she notices the ground isn't shaking anymore. She rolls onto her back and lifts her head. Phantom stumbles toward her, clutching their still-bleeding wounds. Gas pours from their mask, ectoplasm erupting from the slits every time they breathe.

Fear keeps her pinned. The only thing Jazz can do is weep, her heart slowly cracking as Phantom edges closer, vicious and unrelenting, not a single shred of humanity with them.

"Please stop!" Jazz wails. "This isn't you! Just stop. See me! Stop being so stupid!"

Phantom's breath rattles as they loom over her.

Jazz screams, "Danny!"

—

Jazz waited until two a.m. before slipping out of her hospital room. A nurse had given her slippers before final rounds, so she wasn't walking barefoot, but they made a loud slapping noise if she didn't walk carefully enough. She stuck close to the wall, one hand on the plastic rail that stretched down the length of the hallway.

Danny was only one room over, but it would only take a second for a nurse to walk around the corner, see Jazz up and about, and usher her back into her room. She slipped through Danny's door, quiet as possible, and tiptoed over to his bed. There was a new swathe of bandages on his left forearm, to go with his growling collection.

Maddie had missed hitting anything vital, but whatever was in her gun sent Danny into a seizure. The police came and took Jack and Maddie away after that, and Danny's doctor admitted Jazz with a concussion. She was only meant to be there one night, and she didn't want to spend it alone.

Grabbing one of the chairs, she dragged it toward Danny's bed, one inch at a time. It made a high-pitched squeak every time she pulled it forward. Nobody came barging in, despite the loud noise, and soon enough she had the fhair right where she wanted it.

She was about to sit down when Danny opened his eyes.

"You could have just picked it up," he said.

"You were awake! Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because it was funny."

Jazz crossed her arms and turned her back to him.

"Aw, come on, I'm sorry. Turn around."

She did, albeit reluctantly, and found Danny had kicked the covers off and shuffled over to the edge of the bed.

"Come on," he said.

"I'm not eight."

"Congratulations. Come on."

Jazz rolled her eyes and climbed in. Using Danny's arm as a pillow, she settled next to him, just like when they were little and she used to come to him after having a bad dream. They would stare up at the stars on his ceiling while he pointed out constellations to her.

There were no stars to point out now but sitting next to him still brought comfort. Danny was all she ever had, and he was all she would ever need.

"Are we gonna be okay?" she asked.

"Totally." Jazz could hear Danny's smile in his weird, new, echoing voice. "I talked to Jamila earlier. She told me about the Millers."

"Are you coming there too?"

"Yeah. Jamila's already made the arrangements. You and me? We're gonna be okay as long as we're together." Danny wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "You should head back to your room before someone finds you missing. I'll be right here if you need me."

Jazz nodded, sliding out of the bed. Danny gives her one last smile before she left. On the way back to her room, she paused. The hallway wasn't empty anymore. Someone stood at the very end of it, watching her. It was the man in the white suit.

Jazz waited to see if he would do something. He only stared. Breaking their little stand-off first, she lowered her head and slipped through her door, rushing over to her bed. Pulling the covers up over her head, she curled on her side. It didn't take her long to relax, though, Danny's last comforting words echoing in her head. She drifted off with a smile on her face, thinking of how much better things would be from here on out.

When Jazz woke up in the morning, Danny was gone.

—

Phantom's stopped.

Afraid to move, Jazz holds herself perfectly still for a few long seconds, but no attack comes. She opens her eyes and looks up.

Phantom looms over her, seething. Ectoplasm drips from their mask like toxic drool. Their breathing is ragged, shoulders rising and falling with each pant. They don't even have the strength to holds his arms up so the cuffs don't strain his elbows. Their whole body shakes.

A glob ectoplasm drops to the ground by Jazz's foot, a few specks splashing against her ankle. It burns. She flinches, scrambling back, but Phantom doesn't move. Warily, she pushes herself up onto her knees. When Phantom doesn't react, she gets on her feet, slowly rising out of a crouch. Phantom just stands there.

She should be running. She should take advantage of this reprieve and whatever caused it and get the hell out of there. Over Phantom's shoulder, she spies Spike, Tucker, and Agent K running down the street. They're waving their arms and yelling, probably telling her to get away while she can.

She moves closer to Phantom. Reaching out, she grabs their hood and pulls it down. Their hair is mostly white, but at the roots, there's the thinnest line of black. Now that she's close, she sees how the mask digs into his cheeks and goes for that next. It probably hurts.

It takes her a moment to find the locking mechanism. It rests at the nape of their neck, a simple latch without a key. Cruelly simplistic. She has to get in close to reach up and around their head, and Phantom flinches when her arms circle them.

She freezes, expecting them to attack, or leap away, but they don't. She flicks the latch. The mask doesn't fall away as she though it would, but it's looser now. Carefully, she pries the mask open and pulls it off. It resists, for a moment, so stuck to Phantom's face, but eventually gives. She tosses it away as soon as it's off and can barely hold in her gasp.

A deep imprint cuts across Phantom's cheeks and nose. Ectoplasm smears the lower half of Phantom's face, blisters surrounding their lips. She didn't think a ghost's own ectoplasm could hurt them but looking at how thin the slots in the mask are, it probably takes a lot of pressure to push it all out.

Jazz touches Phantom's cheek, her thumb tracing their jaw, wiping away some of the ectoplasm to reveal a series of thin red lines branching across their skin.

Phantom's shaking has stopped, but Jazz's hands tremble as she reaches for their goggles. She pushes them up to their forehead. The eyes that stare back at her are wild, pupils stretched wide. They look right through her, uncomprehending, but she recognizes them instantly. One has a little more green, the other more blue, but both colours swirl in each iris.

Jazz squeezes her eyes shut. She can't hold back her tears any longer, pressing her head against Phantom's shoulder. She wraps her arms around her brother's neck and sobs.

#phic phight #phic phight 2020 #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #phanfic #jazz fenton #ageswap au #tumblroneshots

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tolkienhorror · 3 years ago

Text

In Sauron’s Lab: File #4

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con, oviposition, flaying, public humiliation, cannibalism of sort, medical torture.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given on my main blog. Prompt: Celebrimbor/Sauron, Public humiliation & Oviposition Also kudos to @sianascera for working in her excellent pirate fic with certain Dark Lord & oviposition themes first that play a role in this oneshot ...

************************************************************************************* ************************************************************************************* *************************************************************************************

Something was different tonight.

Celebrimbor shifted uneasily on the soft fur protecting his scar-littered skin from the sharp-edged surface of the anvil he’d been forced to bend over earlier. His wrists and ankles were throbbing only from his weak attempts of freeing himself, not from the suspiciously soft material they’d used to tie his arms and legs to the heavy construction. No new scratches and infections from barbed wire then, or the chance for another of these useless attempts to rip his arteries open on his bonds badly enough that not even Sauron’s extensive medical knowledge and darkest healing songs would be able to bring him back.

Still, none of that was particularly new; it wasn’t even the first time Sauron had ordered his henchmen to put his favorite pet on display like this in his throne room, for everyone to see his naked, marred shape right next to the Lord’s chair. Ready to be abused by whoever and whatever Sauron deemed proper at any given time. It was Sauron who was different. Sauron usually didn’t put his hands on him when they were not alone. It was a matter of privacy, he sometimes cooed into Celebrimbor’s split ear, silken voice full of almost-sincere sounding care and desire, before he was fucking Celebrimbor in some corner of his bedroom with that barb-studded, crooked cock of his.

A mockery of the tender nights they’d shared when Sauron had had this other name and shape that Celebrimbor had bonded himself to. Of a time when he’d still believed that the foundation of this world was trust and that it was worth fighting for. Of course, Celebrimbor was still not talking, and by now, he’d half and half expected his former lover to have understood that he never would, that Sauron was only wasting both their time.

No such luck, apparently. And apparently, tonight, Sauron wasn’t feeling the need for any privacy either. Tonight, he had not ordered a couple of orcs to whip and rape his favorite pet for his entertainment, or one of his trolls - only one of those, always, because after those incidents, he always needed half a week to sing Celebrimbor’s insides back in place. He wasn’t even using Celebrimbor’s immobilized body as his personal pincushion, as some perverted kind of plush toy to cut and pinch and scrape with the diamond-sharp tip of one metal gloved finger, casually, while he was going about his daily business. Tonight, his torturer had thought of something else to pass the time while being immersed in some heated discussion with one of his lieutenants about the next attack on where Sauron thought - rightly so - a larger elvish population to be hiding from the deadly terror of his troops. He made very sure to lay out in detail what he expected his henchmen to do to these poor souls that Celebrimbor had once used to lead and protect, if the orcs should really manage to invade their hideout. But for once, the Dark Lord wasn’t in full armor, the poisoned edges and spikes of which had ripped and punched more than one hole in Celebrimbor’s body in the past when his former lover had been especially impatient to fuck his frustration about Celebrimbor’s defiance into him. Almost plain looking, without his crown and wearing only a crystal-studded, black robe, his impossibly long legs crossed, covered by thigh-high orange boots, his torturer had one arm loosely hanging from the throne’s armrest, sharp-nailed fingertips preparing his favorite toy for whatever he had planned for him tonight. His hand never stopped moving for even a second while was instructing the very interested looking soldier who could hardly take his bulging eyes of Celebrimbor’s degraded shape, drool dripping from his grey lips. Sauron took his sweet time, laying out how many elves he wanted to be taken back to this fortress, to conduct his inhuman experiments on them. In a place that had once used to be Celebrimbor’s own home but had long become unrecognizable, with everything that had used to be crystal and silver turned into tar and smoke. A couple of those poor refugees would be left behind, dying bodies speared on the orcs’ lances for everyone to see who would pass by that the reign of Sauron was everywhere and there was no place to hide.

Celebrimbor found, with little surprise, that he had run out of emotional strength to dread these words. He couldn’t help his people, he couldn’t even help himself. All that was left for him to do was keep the one last secret that prevented his devilish husband from ruling all of this cursed world. And to try to die as quickly as possible before Sauron might find a way to beat it out of him after all.

The irony wasn’t lost to Celebrimbor that his torturer had chosen this very meeting, in which he once more let him know that there was nothing that Celebrimbor loved and treasured that Sauron wouldn’t rip to pieces, to try this very special kind of torture on him. One he hadn’t even used in the very beginning when he’d still been of the delusional hope, he could sway Celebrimbor’s mind, make him serve him like these pitiful creatures disfigured in body and mind so happily did. It was worse than anything else Sauron could have come up with.

The well-oiled fingers buried deep in Celebrimbor’s backside crooked gently, aiming straight for his oversensitive prostate until another hardly suppressed moan came from Celebrimbor’s lips, stretched too far around the metal gag keeping his mouth ready for his torturer’s cock whenever Sauron had use for it. He struggled against his bonds again, hardly able to lift his upper body more than an inch or two off the surface. There wasn’t a lot of strength in his body left since Sauron had starved him down to half his former shape and had fed what most of what had been left of his muscles to his wolves right in front of Celebrimbor’s eyes. The new-grown, deformed patchwork that was his skin burned and itched from more salt covering his body by the second as the heat started to rise in his groin despite all his best efforts to ignore the skillful stimulation.

His hollowed cheeks blushing in shame, he could see the lieutenant kneeling in front of the throne grinning at the reluctant sounds of arousal from his lips, the brawny creature licking its lips in hunger. From the corner of his eyes, he also didn’t miss how the guards by the door laughed scornfully and rubbed themselves through the leather pants of their uniforms, surely hoping they would get to use Sauron’s favorite pet once the Master was done with it for the day until his body wasn’t even twitching enough for them anymore to satisfy.

That was usually how things went when they dragged him to this throne room by the collar sewn into his throat, but Sauron, for some reason, seemed to want to make it a point today, showing his henchmen from up close how he liked to treat his favorite prisoner. With the meeting finally over, he waved the lieutenant away to stand with the others, never taking his slowly thrusting fingers out of Celebrimbor’s stretched hole, instead pushed one more into him, eliciting a new moan from Celebrimbor’s lips.

Four slender, slowly circling and scissoring digits it was now that were working him open, drumming his prostate every now and then, a sharp spark burning in his groin every time those pointy nails tapped the oversensitive spot. And there was nothing Celebrimbor could do to stop his slimmed down hips from thrusting back towards that intrusion instinctively. From chasing that blissful nothingness spreading in his soul that made him forget, at least for a few minutes, all he’d lost and all they’d done to him, even the black creatures leering and cheering at his newest humiliation in the corner. He wondered, as his chest was heaving with ragged breaths, if Sauron would fuck him right here, in front of his people, the last privacy concerns obviously traded for the foolish hope that this, finally, would be the way he could convince Celebrimbor to betray everything he lived for. Maybe he would take his Annatar shape for him again, Celebrimbor thought dully as he let himself fall into sick desire, no longer caring who watched the once-honorable elvish Lord of this land whoring himself out for the Dark Lord. That elf was long dead, his life’s work nothing but a vague memory of better times. There was no use fighting what was happening anyway. It would be nice, maybe, he thought, not even trying to fight the tears rolling down his cheeks when the dreaded pressure inside lessened, only for Sauron to thrust his hole fist past his almost unresisting hole next. A shadow of better days it would be, seeing Annatar’s slender, well-formed shape at least from the corner of his eyes when Sauron would take him, feel his beautiful, thick length slowly slipping inside of him instead of a beastly weapon ripping his insides. Losing himself to the illusion for a while that they were back in their marital chambers, that the future with this heavenly creature by his side was bright … His untouched cock was leaking white on the dark grey, polished dreariness that was the ground, both from the stupid daydream and that small fist slipping deeper into him, knuckles digging into his prostate, drawing deep groans from his lips. A drop of red joined the white mess, falling from his chapped lips from a choked scream of protest at being breached even deeper, far deeper than it should be possible, by something too big for this use, pulling and shoving at the sensitive flesh of his insides until he wondered if Sauron was trying to reach for his very heart to rip it out of him. Celebrimbor hated how relieved the sob from his bleeding lips sounded when his torturer finally pulled back, as if he didn’t know exactly that the bastard was far from being done with him. His too quick breathing hurt in his chest. He wondered if he could come up with enough strength to hyperventilate himself into a few seconds of unconsciousness, if it would be worth the punishment, getting his forcibly aroused body to calm down and regain at least a shred of his dignity ...

Sauron didn’t give him time for such useless musings. Suddenly, he was standing right in front of him, shielding Celebrimbor’s trembling body from the eyes of his other slaves at least for a moment, green cat-eyes glistening with deeply rooted sadism as he held out to Celebrimbor what he had brought for him today to play with. “Good news, my love,” he purred, pointed teeth scraping a fine line of red into his full lower lip, whitish glowing skin flushing with lust at the sight of Celebrimbor’s wide, terrified eyes. “You are going to be a father.” He bent down low enough to slip his forked tongue into Celebrimbor’s mouth, past the metal bars spreading it open, feeding to him the acid tasting blood of his most preferred shape until Celebrimbor gagged and tried to tear away from the iron, ice-cold grip on his chin.

Which only made it worse, because now he had the black and grey colored, egg-shaped device right in front of his eyes that his torturer held, easily bigger than a man’s fist on its widest point. Heat was radiating from it, and under the half transparent shell, Celebrimbor could see a strange light glowing, slowly moving like the thick very substance of evil itself.

He must have made a sound he couldn’t remember behind his gag, because Sauron chuckled and patted his head like one would calm down a nervous horse. “Oh, you’re going to like it, Tyelpe.” He ignored Celebrimbor’s faint sob at this name he’d come to hate so much just like his victim’s futile pulling on the unforgiving ropes. “I created this especially for you. And I made it big and heavy, like an Eagle’s egg, since I know how much you like to be stretched and filled, my love. I figure it will make walking hard for a few months, but it’s not like you have many places to go, is it?” With an almost hysterical chuckle, he petted Celebrimbor’s head again and then buried his hand in what was left of his hair, forcing his head up so that Celebrimbor had to stare at this disgusting thing again. Sauron licked the hot tears from his cheeks with a sigh of delight, holding the egg to his narrow chest almost lovingly careful. “Can you feel it, my love? It’s almost alive ... It’s waiting … It only needs to be fertilized. You see, I have no idea what this is going to be when it hatches. I suppose it will be a friendly, if you beg me nicely enough to bring it to life myself. It could be ours. Wouldn’t that be sweet, my dear? You always said, you wanted us to have children one day …”

That unhinged, too high-pitched laugh again, that had Celebrimbor’s stomach hurl and sent shivers down the parts of his skin that were still able to produce them. His eyes were full of tears, of hate, of despaired pleas when he shook his head against the unrelenting grip on his hair, trying to form words with his dry tongue behind his gag that wouldn’t come.

“No? You might want to think about that, my love.” Sauron’s eyes glowed brighter in the weak light of the torches, well-known anger smoldering in his animalistic pupils, an impatience he was no longer able to hide. “Because if it’s not supposed to be me, I will leave it to these fine soldiers back there to fuck you full of their seed. Morgoth knows what then will come out of that egg once it’s ripe. Are you sure you want to risk that? I imagine it might not feel too nice when it starts feeding its way out of you …” Almost soothingly, he wiped the helpless tears off Celebrimbor’s cheeks and squeezed his unprotected throat close with a harsh grip before the violent gagging there could fill his mouth with bile. “Or …” Sauron leaned close enough to his ear to lick and suck on the torn flesh, lowering his voice to an almost inaudible whisper as if no one was supposed to learn about the favorite lie he sometimes still tried to make his victim believe. “Or you could just tell me what I want to know, and we can end all this right here. I will make you my equal, my commander, and we can rule this world together. Make it in our image. Bring peace and order to everyone. Isn’t that what we used to dream about, my sweet Tyelpe? Just say the words and you’ll be free …”

Celebrimbor didn’t deem it necessary to even try and give any kind of answer save for the blank stare he regarded his former lover with when Sauron withdrew with one thin eyebrow expectantly raised.

“Didn’t think so. Guess we’re going to find out then what kind of offspring an elf and an orc breed, won’t we?” With an exasperated sigh, Sauron straightened up again and sat back down on his throne as if nothing had happened. But the tell-tale wet sound of something smooth and heavy rolling into that bowl of oil he’d been keeping there all evening, had Celebrimbor’s blood run cold. Hot, slightly uneven breath hit the oversensitive, swollen mess that was his hole. The sharp scrape of teeth had him cry out, a thin trail of blood running down the back of his thigh, giving him a first taste of what was in store for him. “Such a beautiful, willing ass,” Sauron sighed, it sounded almost honestly disappointed. “A shame, really, you’re begging me so loudly to ruin it again and again. But who knows? Maybe you’ll change your mind once you can feel your precious baby start moving inside of you, tearing in your flesh. You know, I’m always very willing to hear you beg and plead, my love.”

But Celebrimbor remained silent. It didn’t last long.

It was only hours later that he saw his torturer again, a faint vision of white and black moving gracefully through the cell they’d taken him back to after he’d passed out. A light-hearted, bright whistle was on his torturer’s lips as he lay a few of his usual instruments and jars with potions out on a table. Seeing Celebrimbor’s eyelids flutter weekly, and the feeble twitching of his arms in the leather manacles that strapped him down to the broad metal table where he had been suffering for months now, Sauron stepped close to him with a toothy smile. Spider-like fingers stroked his messy hair, down his sore throat, to his very weakling heaving chest and finally lower, to the massive bulge rounding his stomach.

Celebrimbor wailed softly and twitched, new bile burning his tongue when his insides cramped around the intruder stretching them to their limits instinctively and the faint thud of a strong heart vibrated against his flesh. His abused, torn hole clenched around nothing, torrents of greyish, reeking cum dripping from it as his drained body tried in vain to get rid of something that didn’t belong there, but the egg was sitting far too deep buried inside of him for that. This thing wasn’t going anywhere unless his torture would allow it.

And the fascinated shine in his lover’s eyes as he slowly started to trace Celebrimbor’s swollen belly and reached for the first of his instruments, let him know quite clearly, this wasn’t happening anytime soon, even if he should have found in his broken soul enough strength to betray himself and everyone he loved, to beg for this unbearable ordeal to end.

He wondered, faintly, with a mind that was no longer entirely bound to the stability of sanity, if the next months of his pregnancy would finally answer the question who, between Sauron and him, was the more stubborn one.

#Sauron #celebrimbor #silvergifting #silverfisting #sauron's lab #fanfiction #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

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mango-da-dango · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Purgatory Time!

Warning: Death, cursing. If you are not comfortable with any of these subjects, either proceed with caution or click away.

^^^ The image up there are the characters, but Y/n, This is how I had her dress and how I imagined how she would look like.

Main Characters: Y/n L/n (Reader) Rico Brzenska, Yuuto Takahashi (OC) Daniel Stephenson (OC)

“Rico-Hancho!” A cadet screamed out. The small woman groaned as the titan gripped her body

“Damn! I can’t breathe!” She panicked. The titan looked closely at the woman. Expecting it to eat her, Rico drew her sword attempting to fight one more time. Instead, the titan gripped her harder before tossing her like a rag doll. Her body limps as she rolled down the hill. Each stone hitting her felt like spikes piercing her skin. Finally stopping, she laid there in pain,

“ I. . . have to keep fighting! I can’t stop now!” She panted. Trying to move one of her limbs felt like her body was being ripped apart. The pain surged through her veins as she tried to get up. Her eyes felt heavy and her vision started to blur. She felt her heart rate decrease.

“No…. I can’t die. Not yet.” She thought, gripping the emblem on her breast-pocket. As the blood seeped through her clothes, the thick red liquid painted the ground beneath her. She coughed out blood and tears pricked the corner of her eyes. Slowly her eyelids drooped and finally, she drew out her last breath.

| ￣￣￣￣￣￣ |

| Time skip | _______

|____________| / R.I.P. \

|| | Here lies |

|| | Rico |

|| (\|________|/)

(\__/) ||

(•ㅅ•) ||

/ 　づ ______________________

Beep. . . Beep . . . Beep

The sound of chatter and a constant beeping was enough to wake her up. Bright white ceilings and strange glass contraptions made of glass blinded her blurry vision.

“Oh, glad to see you up. Hope ya had a nice nap.” said a masculine voice. Rico squinted at the figure in front of her. He picked up a small framed pair of silver glasses and held it out for her. Rico sat up while taking her glasses and looked around. She gasped seeing familiar faces.

Everyone who was thought to be dead. They were right in front of her, all in white clothing and wrapped in bandages.

“Rico? What happened?” A familiar voice piped up. Rico yelled at the sighted of her formally deceased friend. Ian Dietrich, the Ian who got his head chopped off was there. Well . . . part of him. Right now, he was just a head on a neck and a small part of his shoulders.

“I-Ian?” She stuttered.

“Rico? Is that you?” Her other friend Mitabi called out at the bed next to her. Half of him looked ok and the other half looked flatter than a piece of paper. “Hey, Rico. How’d you end up here?”

“Wh-what? A-am I dead? Where am I?” Rico faltered, “Is this the afterlife?”

“Eh, more or less.” The black-haired male said as he picked up a clipboard and stood up.

“My names Yuuto by the way. You’ll have to wait for my work bros to get here so they can tell you the info you need.” He added before walking off.

“W-work . . . bro?” She muttered to herself.

“Apparently, it’s a term called “slang” from where he’s from.” A male voice clarified. There he was, Freckled Jesus himself, Marco Bodt, bandaged up and half his body missing. “By the way, you’re in the purgatory hospital.”

“Purgatory? So I’m dead?” She questioned. The clicking of heels grew louder as a small woman with (H/C) hair and heterochromatic eyes marched in.

“Affirmative!” chirped the small woman. Her gloved hand held up a pink and blue clipboard.

“But, possibly not for long,” said the woman. “You see, you’re a special case. Since your body wasn’t too injured and nobody saw you die. You should be perfectly good to go home in a few hours!”

“Wait, I’m going back after I die?” she asked, confused.

“Yep! You are a soldier! And all soldiers, warriors, fighters etc, etc, go to this reserved heaven where they live the rest of your afterlife. Unfortunately, that place is lacking space for everyone and you have some unfinished business to attend to.” The woman explained. Rico examined herself. She no longer had the small scratches or bruises made when she rolled down the hill, it looked like it never happened at all. And more importantly, the gash on her body was gone and what was left was a pink scar running down her stomach.

“Now you just have to wait for your check-up with Dr Daniel Stephenson. However, he is with another patient right now so we have a bit of time in our hands.” Said the woman, grabbing a chair and sitting next to the silver-haired woman. Crossing her leg and placing the clipboard on the nightstand, she turned to the woman and smiled. “How are you feeling? Do you have any questions? My name is (Y/N) (L/N) it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, it is a pleasure to meet you too,” said Rico. “And yes, I do have questions, What exactly is this place?”

“You are at Purgatory Hospital. This is the place where the people who died in battle go to recover from their injuries before going into soldier heaven, and as I said you have unfinished business to attend to in your universe.”

“Business? Universe? There are other universes and this supposed heaven is lacking space?” Rico pondered. The (H/C)-coloured woman nodded.

“Yes, unfortunately, there are too many people dying on the battlefield, and it is too much for soldier heaven to adjust to the rapid increase of the population, and your universe is not the only one, this place is connected to various universes in different timelines.”

“Well how exactly do you get here and how do you go back?” asked Rico.

“You get here by dying, your spirit floats itself into the hospital for treatment, If your body is intact you’ll be able to heal quickly, however, if a part of your body is missing, it’s a different story. For example what happened to your friend Ian.” said (Y/N) motioning to Ian’s disembodied head. “You have to wait so we can regenerate the rest of your body, but it also comes with conditions.”

“Conditions?” Rico asked. (Y/N) nodded.

“Yes, because of your replacements, there are side effects that relate to your death. For example, the scar on your stomach shows the fatal wound that leads you to your passing.” She explained.

“Alright, but what exactly are you? Are you some sort of nurse or doctor?” Rico speculated. The woman in front of her laughed.

“I guess something similar, but not in the medical field.” She explained. “I am a doctor in the scientific field, but I am here to explain to you what is happening, so you don’t go crazy or anything like that.”

Just at that moment a tall two-toned man with a lab coat and an eye patch over his right eye walked into the room and stopped in front of Rico.

“Are you Ms Rico Brzenska?” The man asked. Rico nodded.

“Good! I’m Doctor Daniel Stephenson, and I am here to your physical exam to see if you are ready to go,” said Daniel, putting on his stethoscope, and placing it on her chest. He continued the exam. Writing the last bit of a sentence down, Daniel smiled at Rico.

“Good news, you’ll be able to go home now! You just need to sign here and (Y/n) will bring you home.” He said, pointing to a line with an x on the side. Rico took the pen and wrote down her name. Daniel smiled and motioned for (Y/n).

“Little lamb, she’s ready to go home, you can take her now.” the two-toned male smiled.

“Aye-aye captain.” (Y/n) smiled, turning to the silver-haired woman. “Well, Miss Rico. Follow me and we’ll give you a change of clothes and we can bring you home in a jiffy.”

(Y/n) lead the silver-haired woman thorough a hallway and to a door with a metal plate saying “Belongings space” She opened the door and let themselves in. The inside was fairly big and had clothing racks that stretched miles and miles far. Each rack was labelled with numbers and titles. The scientist led Rico to a rack that was labelled “Titan Universe: Garrison soldiers”

“It should be around here somewhere . . .” she said sifting through the countless racks of uniforms. “And . . . Here it is!”

The small scientist pulled out a familiar uniform, handing it to Rico she leads the woman into a changing station.

“You can change here, call me when you’re done.” (y/n) said as she closed the curtain giving Rico the privacy she needs.

Rico stared at her uniform. She noticed that her name was hand-sewn into the back of her collar. Stripping herself of the grey clothing she was provided with and changed back into the familiar uniform. Once she had finished changing she moved the curtain and saw the scientist waiting for her.

“Good! You’re done!” she beamed. Grabbing her by the wrist she led Rico out to a room with a variety of sharp objects. All a variety of scissors to swords and spears. There were also large platforms and machines next to them. Everything was interesting but what piqued her interest was this one platform with what looked like a big hole in the air.

“Alrighty Rico, You just need to step into the portal and you should be in the forest close to the walls!” She explained, “Also, don’t mention this place to anyone yet. Okay, Bye Bye!”

“Huh?” Rico asked before she was shoved into the bright portal. A flash of blue light surrounded her before landing on the green ground. Groaning, she got up and dusted herself off.

“She could have at least told me first.” Rico thought to herself. Seeing that there were no titans she jogged closer to Wall Rose.

Two garrison soldiers were talking amongst each other on top of the wall when they spotted a small figure jogging to the walls.

“Holy Shit! It’s team leader Rico! Tell them to open the gate!” One of them yelled. The gate soon rose from the ground letting Rico pass through. She was soon surrounded by her comrades asking her questions left and right.

“Rico! Thank the walls! Good to have you back!” Hannes shouted passing through the crowd with Kitz.

“It's a miracle that you survived out there without your gear." A soldier praised in awe,

"Yeah. . . survived...." Rico mumbled under her breath.

"It's commander Pyxis!" A soldier shouted. The bald man came through the crowd and stopped in front of the small woman. Rico saluted and Pyxis chuckled.

"At ease. Rico. You should go and freshen up. You must have been through a lot it there with no gear, you have my permission to take the rest of the day off." Pyxis insisted.

"Thank you, Commander. You're too kind." she thanked. The male nodded and left, leaving Rico to her own devices. Eventually, everyone else left and she went back to her room. Once there she closed the door behind her and went to sit in her chair. She leaned her head into her hands and began to think about everything that has happened,

"They'll be back. Everyone who died. Who got eaten, squished killed by the titans. . . They're going to come back..." Rico thought she had very mixed feelings about this. She was happy that her comrades would come back to her, but does she really want them to go back to this hellhole? Just so they can die again? She didn't know.

Rico sighed and got out of her uniform, changing into her nightwear and went to bed. She closed her eyes and let the darkness of slumber take her.

#attack on titan #rico brzenska #x reader #marco bodt #Ian Dietrich #mitabi jarnach #Dot Pyxis #Hannes #Kitz Woermann (ew)#Oc insert

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ty-talks-comics · 5 years ago

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Best of Marvel: Week of October 16th, 2019

Best of this Week: Absolute Carnage #4 - Donny Cates, Ryan Stegman, JP Mayer, Frank Martin, Jay Leisten and Clayton Cowles

God is Coming and Eddie Brock is ready for him.

Things have not been looking good for Eddie, Peter and the rest of the heroes of New York. Carnage’s brutality and efficiency has seen him gain the upper hand at every turn imaginable, allowing him to snatch up codices from almost everyone he’s encountered. Ghost Riders haven’t been safe, Spider-People haven’t been safe and even girls with magical powers over hell haven’t been able to stop Carnage’s warpath.

The last issue saw him take the appearance of Eddie Brock to infiltrate The Maker’s lab to steal the codices from Captain America, The Thing and Wolverine, taking everyone by surprise and seeing the Hulk use the Venom Symbiote himself. This issue follows up on that excellently by showing us the fallout of Hulk merging with Venom, Eddie dealing with the loss of his other again and the heroic efforts he makes to protect his son.

The book begins with an amazingly drawn and explosive punch by Venom Hulk. Carnage is laughing as he’s being put through a wall while clawing at Hulk’s eyes. The Symbiote is barely able to contain all of Hulk’s massive musculature as it appears to be tearing apart around his fist and forearm. The use of blur around the edges of the page sell you on the velocity of the punch and all of the rubble flying out as they go through the wall shows just how heavy and impactful the blow was. For added measure, there’s even a pigeon just flying by as it all happens.

As the fight is going on, Eddie and Peter take Normie and Ethan to The Maker’s armory to protect the kids from the Symbiote Zombies and Norman Osborn himself. Eddie is dead set on protecting the other heroes, but Peter tries to convince him to stay down with the rest of them. This issue gives us one of the best glimpses of the inner heroism of Eddie Brock as he looks at Spider-Man with the most desperate look possible, one eye stitched closed and asks him to let him do this. Spider-Man does and Eddie gathers Cap’s shield and maybe some kind of electric glove to go and protect everyone. Presumably, the events of Amazing Spider-Man #31 take place while Eddie is out fighting.

The next few pages are just strings of awesomely paced and spectacularly drawn fight scenes. Eddie, armed with the shield, fights his way through Carnage’s hordes and Miles Morales as an infected symbiote re-emerges. (Sorta ignoring the events of Miles’ own tie-in) Elsewhere, Venom Hulk and Carnage continue their romp around the warehouse district as Carnage is surprisingly holding his own against the black and green giant. Frank Martin and the various inkers really set the mood for the fight. The fires glow bright in the backgrounds with a vibrant red and white coloring to it, almost like a fiery mist. Rain crashes down around them and the inks are dark in the perfect places, really bringing out the deep red in Carnage’s color scheme as well as the black veins that now coil around his body. As Carnage mushes Hulk into a wall, you can feel his expression of pain and rage, accentuated by the glowing green of his eyes.

Pinned under Cap’s shield with Miles bearing down on him, Eddie decides to use the shock glove to blast the symbiote off of the young Spider, allowing the two to finally re-team as Miles runs down what he learned while hearing Carnage’s thoughts. He warns that if he gets Hulk’s Codex and the Venom Symbiote, he’ll be unstoppable. In a surprise upset, Carnage overpowers the mind of the Hulk, turning him back into Banner and rips his spine right out as Eddie and Miles show up. It’s a disgusting scene as they always are with Cowles making sure to put as much emphasis as he can by giving it a nice “SHRIPP” sound effect in big, bold, red letters over an entirely black background.

Before we know it, Carnage is covered in the Venom Symbiote, becoming an ultra badass. Ryan Stegman has done a lot to redesign some of the elements of some symbiotes, but this Black Carnage is somehow so much cooler and so much better. He looks like a demon knight with the pauldrons with spikes, an improbable neck guard/collar and Maleficent-esque horns all crackling with hell energy. Eddie begins to lose all hope upon seeing him, but that feeling is washed away when Captain America, The Thing and Wolverine all show up to help in the fight.

Miles grabs Eddie and tells him that the Maker’s machine that was supposed to destroy the codices did no such thing and instead saved them all. The last moments of the book show the Doverton Avengers fight a losing effort against Carnage while Eddie punches the machine, giving his own inner monologue about how he feels something creeping up inside of him. The hope that he thought was lost. Surrounded by all of this blackness and despair, Carnage and all of his bringers of Death, Eddie punches his way to the light.

As the penultimate issue to Absolute Carnage, have to say that this event and the various tie-ins that have accompanied it have been absolutely amazing to read. I usually decry back to back event stories, especially since we had just come off the heels of War of the Realms, but Absolute Carnage fit the aesthetic of everything I love in stories. It’s dark, it’s bleak and it’s Absolutely Brutal.

Ryan Stegman can do no wrong here as his art style is amazing from start to finish, he has an eye for action scenes and makes great use of single a double page spreads to bring out the most in every scene. Even when the fighting is confined to a few panels, he manages to spring as many infected as he can into the space, making things feel claustrophobic and dangerous. Frank Martin’s colors give this book life, however, when they’re burning with darkness or glimmer with small glimpses of hope. They complete the amazing package by pulling the emotion out of you, whether you’re terrified or you have a bit of hope only or it to be ripped away.

JP Mayer and Jay Leisten help him by making sure that the pages have the perfect amount of darkness to them. The inks are phenomenal and really help to give off that feeling of hopelessness and danger in every scene, even better that most of this story takes place at night so the mood is always set.

I love that Eddie Brock is starting to be seen less as the villain who used to eat people’s brains and more as this responsible every-man that’s been caught in an extraordinary situation. When he got the Symbiote back at the end of Lee Price’s time in All-New, All Different Marvel, I never expected him to get this much heart. That’s the main thing that Donny Cates has contributed to this character, that feeling of heroism.

Eddie’s becoming a much better person than he ever was in the past, but at the same time, we know that he can never fully escape who he was. Even at the end of this issue there was a transcription of his first time in jail when he first met Cletus Kasady and it was so weird to see how unhinged Eddie was not too long ago.

As Absolute Carnage draws to a close (and with Venom Island on the horizon) I can’t wait to see what direction his story takes and how Eddie Brock could possibly see Avenger status in the far future. High recommend.

#marvel comics #comics #marvel horror #horror #absolute carnage #carnage #cletus kasady #eddie brock #spider man #venom #donny cates #ryan stegman #jp mayer #frank martin

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snarkybluechristian · 6 years ago

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Hazbin Hotel: Satan’s Plan Part 8 (Collab with Dinobot King)

Version:1.0 StartHTML:000000203 EndHTML:002012161 StartFragment:001971031 EndFragment:002012129 StartSelection:001971031 EndSelection:002012125 SourceURL:https://www.fanfiction.net/docs/docs.php

The room’s walls were colored pink with glitter almost everywhere. There were chairs arranged in a circle with a red rug covering the floor.

From what Sir Pentious could see, the crowd was diverse.

There was a small, chubby dark-skinned female demon with black eyes with hot pink pupils wearing a short purple dress and a purple necklace who was eating from a box of donuts.

There was a gray-blue-skinned demon with dark blue fins on the side of his face and running along his spine until it reached the angler fish lure on the top of his head wearing a blue lab coat, black gloves, and black boots who was sitting shyly alone in his chair.

Then finally, there was a white dog demon covered in black spots with a black leg, ears pierced multiple times, yellow and red eyes, and blond and pink hair wearing a spiked dog collar, a pink dress with a skull on it, black fingerless gloves, and a black short-sleeved jacket who was curled up sleeping on the floor in the center of the circle.

“Crymini, wake up!” Vaggie yelled.

“Dammit, woman,” Crymini groaned groggily as she woke up. “What’s your deal?”

“Hey, kid, you do not give me back sass!” Vaggie retorted.

“For the last time, I died when I was 19,” Crymini growled getting in her face. “I am not a kid.”

“Ladies, please, let’s calm down,” Charlie said as she pulled a reluctant Sir Pentious into the room behind her.

“It’s not my fault this bitch was being rude,” Vaggie replied irritably before she noticed the tall snake demon being pulled into the room behind Charlie.

“What is he doing here?” Vaggie asked defensively.

“Well, you’re not particularly welcoming,” Sir Pentious said as Charlie let go of his hands and he crossed his arms defensively. “I thought this was supposed to be a rehab center.”

“Hey!” Vaggie retorted. “I don’t tell you how to do your job!”

“Alright, Vaggie,” Charlie said in a calm tone in an effort to calm everyone down before she started speaking up to begin the meeting. “How about we get this meeting started? Hello, everyone! This is the Happy Hotel’s newest patient, Sir Pentious! Woo!”

Sir Pentious glanced at the group and rolled his eyes at them.

“Hello, Pentious,” Angel said swinging the door open and shutting it behind him.

“What are you doing here, Dust?” Sir Pentious hissed.

“Sir Pentious, he’s part of the group, too,” Charlie said calmly.

“So, what did I miss?” Angel asked as he slid into his chair. “Did Sir Pentious bear his soul yet?”

“You were almost late,” Vaggie chided quietly sitting herself in a chair beside him. “What the hell were you doing?”

“Relax, doll,” Angel said. “I merely had some personal business to attend to. So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“Our new member was just introducing himself, but it seems that you two already know each other,” Mimzy said sliding her box under her chair.

“Everyone knows who he is,” Baxter chimed in as he sipped from a cup of water. “Aren’t you the snake demon who’s always trying to take over hell? What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, did the incident with Cherri Bomb finally make you quit or somethin’?” Crymini asked sitting back in her chair and scratching her ear.

Sir Pentious crossed his arms defensively and said sarcastically, “Hello, fellow scum of the earth. I look forward to avoiding all of you as much as possible.”

“Well, bud, looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” Angel quipped. “This is a no bullying zone, so if you have a problem with us, I suggest you pack your bags and scram.”

Vaggie smirked while Charlie facepalmed in frustration.

“Ok, Angel, that’s enough,” Charlie said bringing the group back to focus and sliding into her chair. “Alright, Sir Pentious, would you like to tell us the story of your life?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Sir Pentious retorted. “It’s none of your business.”

“Why?” Charlie asked. “Does it have anything to do with why you’re constantly trying to take over hell?”

“God, how long is this session?” Sir Pentious responded with annoyance.

“As long as you make it,” Vaggie retorted.

“Okay, fine,” Sir Pentious said sarcastically. “I lived in London. I wanted to be king, but the royals said no and I drank myself to death. There, happy now? I’m going back to my room. I need to talk to my Egg Bois…”

Sir Pentious tried to get up from his chair, but Charlie grabbed his tail and forced him to sit back down.

“Sir Pentious, you have to be honest with yourself and everyone else to achieve redemption,” Charlie said getting back into her chair. “You have to get in touch with what it is that is making you depressed, sad, or angry.”

“I don’t want to and you can’t make me,” Sir Pentious said rising from his chair again. “I’ll achieve redemption on my own…”

“No, you don’t, mister,” Charlie said pushing Sir Pentious back onto the chair and handcuffing his left hand to the chair he was sitting on.

“Hey!” Angel complained. “I told ya to stay out of my stash, Charlie!”

“Bloody hell, woman!” Sir Pentious shouted. “What in the hell is wrong with you? Uncuff me this instant!”

“No way!” Charlie said getting close enough for him to see her clipboard. “Not until you start talking about your life!”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Sir Pentious said turning away.

Vaggie twitched her eyes, growled, got in his face, and yelled, “Come on! You came here because you wanted to be rehabilitated. So, what is it? Why do you want to be the Devil?”

“Vaggie, get out of his face!” Charlie pleaded.

Sir Pentious glared and Vaggie reluctantly backed down as Angel said, “It really ain’t that hard, snake. What is eating you? Mommy issues? Daddy issues? Were you lonely? Were you poor? Were you a user? Or, was it something else entirely?”

“Angel…” Charlie pleaded as Angel lit a cigarette.

Sir Pentious’ glare intensified as Angel kept goading, “You know what I think? I think you had it easy in your life. I think you always got everything you wanted in life and when you died you had to work like the rest of us and couldn’t stand it. And now that you can’t get what you want here, you want to make amends with God so you can move on to Paradise and have it easy again. Typical. I could never stand rich bastards like you who had it easy. No offense to you, Charlie. You’re different. You’re trying to do something. People like Pentious here don’t give a shit. Try to tell me I’m wrong.”

Sir Pentious scoffed and hissed, “What are you talking about?! I know what your family was! We’re cut from the same cloth, ya bloody hypocrite!”

“I left those bastards long ago,” Angel argued back before taking a drag from his cigarette. “What’s your excuse?”

“THEY NEVER GAVE ME WHAT I DESERVED!” Sir Pentious finally screamed. “I WAS TORMENTED AND REJECTED BY EVERYONE! I WORKED HARDER THAN THEY DID AND WAS BARELY TOLERATED! WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE, YOU HAD ACCEPTANCE AND SOCIAL STANDING! I WAS REJECTED BY OWN BLOOD RELATIVES AND MY OWN SOCIETY ALL BECAUSE I WAS A ‘HALF-BREED!’”

Everyone went silent except Angel who asked, “What the hell does that mean?”

“That means that unlike you I’m not white,” Sir Pentious hissed more quietly. “I’m only half-English. The other half comes from India, from my mother’s people.”

Sir Pentious noticed the clipboard that Charlie had placed on the ground. He used his hat to signal to his Egg Bois to pick it up while a flood of restored memories started flowing his way.

“Uh, Sir Pentious, do you care to expand on that?” Charlie asked.

Sir Pentious looked at her and felt the kindness behind her voice. It touched him.

So, Sir Pentious began his tale, “My father was the child of a wealthy English inventor who along with his wife was radically Christian and progressive for his time. My mother was the daughter of Indian merchants who were like-minded. When my father moved with his parents to India, he fell in love with that daughter. My grandparents were close friends and approved of their union without hesitation. Soon after that, I was born. My skin was lighter because of my father, but I looked very much like my mother. I had brown skin, black hair, and steely brown-gray eyes just like hers, just like a cobra’s. That’s what they would all say. I grew up in India knowing the values of the West and the East. I had grandparents and parents who loved me and my many cousins on my mother’s side to play with. I was never considered different from any of them. I was loved, and I was happy. They all shielded me from the world’s prejudice. My grandparents both died happy. My father was happy too until my mother died. She fell ill during her pregnancy with my younger sibling. I was only nine, and from then on, everything went straight to hell…”

Sir Pentious was surprised to see tears falling down his face. Charlie walked away from her chair and wrapped an arm around Sir Pentious. The Egg Bois continued sneaking towards the chair, but Sir Pentious was too lost in his memories to notice.

“My grandfather’s business partners forced my father to return to the homeland. He didn’t want to, but his kind and gentle heart was heartbroken and he didn’t have the strength to keep resisting. So, we both returned to London.

“Upon our arrival to London, his biological family refused to acknowledge me. They couldn’t bear the fact that my father had married an Indian woman, so he rejected them. My father was a true Christian man whose progressive values made him an outcast, but we were not alone. My father had a spiritual family in the church he grew up in. They were all radicals who were as progressive as my father if not more and were also considered outcasts in their own families. They were the righteous people who campaigned for justice locally and abroad. They ran organizations to help the poor. They sponsored abolitionists. They even campaigned for women’s suffrage. They loved their neighbors as themselves, and they accepted us without a second thought.

“My father and his friends protected me as much as they could. They raised me as much as he did. They all taught me many things, including how to play the organ, and gave me a loving environment, but even so, I knew I was an outcast. I could see it in the glances of passersby when we were out in public. I could hear it in the comments others made. I could feel it in our small insular world. My holy family always stood up for me. My father encouraged me and taught me how to stand strong. He even kept up correspondence with my family in India for me. We went to visit them whenever we were on holiday to escape, but it all wasn’t enough. I could still feel the hatred of the world I grew up in…”

Every single misfit was focused on Sir Pentious’ story. Not even Vaggie noticed when one Egg Boi picked up the documents while the other Egg Boi took pictures on his smart phone.

“Then when I was old enough to go to boarding school, I felt that hatred in its full force,” Sir Pentious continued. “Without guardians to protect me, the school tore me apart. They housed me in a room by myself as if I were some sort of animal. The other students bullied me mercilessly. They stole my possessions. They mocked me relentlessly. They called me a ‘half-breed’ and tormented me daily. None of the adults did anything to make it stop. They punished me whenever I spoke up against it. They joined in the bullying. I constantly received harsh punishments for minor infractions and rules I didn’t break. They accused me of cheating because they could never believe that a ‘half-breed’ could be more intelligent than any other white student. They marked my grades as low as they could get away with for the slightest error. The only one who was kind to me there was the colored groundskeeper who defended me whenever he could. I tried to stay strong and keep my torment a secret from my father and his friends. I excelled in my studies despite their best efforts, but the bullying only grew worse until one day the aggression got physical.

“The strongest players from my school’s rugby team were plastered. I was walking back to my dormitory room after studying in the library all evening. They found me and beat me within an inch of my life. They left me beaten and bruised and almost too hurt to move. The groundskeeper found me, got me help, and stayed with me at the hospital while my father was called for. If I was found any later, I would have died due to the severity of my injuries.

“When my father arrived, I told him everything. He was furious. He brought multiple lawsuits against the school and brought criminal charges against the people who beat me and left me for dead. His lawyer friends helped him as much as they could, but ultimately, the school had friends in higher places. They forced my father to agree to a settlement and those bastards who almost killed me never faced a single disciplinary action…”

Sir Pentious’ frill spread out and he started shaking in fury at the restored memories.

“I left that school and started attending classes in another college while living at home and apprenticing under my father. My father and his godly friends counseled me as much as they could, but I couldn’t let go of my anger or my hate. Their cruelty had poisoned me, but it had destroyed my father more than I ever knew. He slipped into a depression that neither I or his friends could counsel him out of. When I graduated, we worked together making inventions and bonded more closely than ever. I thought he was getting better, but one morning, I found him dead. He had drunk himself to death. It turned out that he had been drinking for a long time. The world had broken his heart.

“In his will, my father left everything to me. During his funeral, all his friends of the church, much of my mother’s family, and even the groundskeeper came to bid him farewell, to mourn with me, and to comfort me in my time of sorrow. Many of them even accompanied me to take his ashes to India. But no one in my father’s family came. Not a single person would even approach me or acknowledge my existence or pay tribute to my father. And for what? All because he had fallen in love with an Indian woman…”

Sir Pentious started shedding angry tears and his voice raised in his fury as he continued, “That was the straw that broke the camels back. I realized then that the world was a horrid place where the good and the righteous like my father and his friends couldn’t triumph because of the corrupt, racist, unjust, and white-washed vermin who crushed anyone who dared to defy their corruption! That world had broken my kind and gentle-hearted father because he refused to abandon me, so I decided that I would break it back! I could no longer turn the other cheek! I had to destroy the world that destroyed my poor father and me so that good men could triumph!

“So, instead of returning to India to live with my mother’s family away from the prejudice of England, I stayed behind and became a villain. I created inventions that I sold for profit to fund underground terrorists the world over. Anarchists. The Irish Republican Army. The freedom fighters among my mother’s people. Extreme abolitionists. All of them came to me and relied on my funding and eventually my inventions to help their causes, and I was glad to give it. I saved my assistant Toulouse from a workhouse and got his help going even further. I began carrying out terroristic missions myself. I let my black hair grow long enough to flow down my back like a hood. The survivors started calling me ‘the serpent’ in all the newspapers, so that’s who I became. ‘The serpent,’ the karmic snake in the grass that would carry out God’s wrath and rebalance the world!”

Tears flooded Sir Pentious’ eyes as he stared at the floor and relived his restored memories once again. The Egg Bois took the last of their pictures, slid the clipboard back under the chair, and gave a thumbs up to their boss. The hat saw it, but Sir Pentious didn’t respond.

“I didn’t get what I wanted,” Sir Pentious sobbed. “I got vengeance, but I didn’t see my work completed. I contracted tuberculosis at the age of 48. I died in my sick bed with Toulouse right beside me. It was so unfair…”

Charlie walked over to Sir Pentious, gave him a big hug, and said, “It’s okay, Sir Pentious. Just let it out.”

And for a few minutes, that’s just what he did.

All the misfits sat in silence except for Angel who finally broke the silence and said, “That explains why you’re obsessed with takin’ over hell…”

“Angel!” Vaggie snapped.

“What?” Angel replied. “It does. He wants to take over hell so he can finish his work of bringing down those who make the world a shitty place. It makes sense.”

“He’s not wrong,” Crymini chimed in scratching her ear with her back leg.

The two Egg Bois scampered onto their boss’ lap and gave him the biggest hugs they could.

“You’re going to be just fine, boss,” Austen said.

“Yeah,” Thrys agreed.

Sir Pentious smiled as conflicting emotions rose inside him and rested in his chest. On one hand, he felt relief at sharing his story. On the other hand, Sir Pentious felt the same odd emotion that he had felt when he saw Delilah that morning. Guilt. He had just distracted them so his Egg Bois could steal their information…

“That was a wonderful share, Sir Pentious,” Charlie said finally letting go of him.

“Thanks,” Sir Pentious replied genuinely. “Could you take the handcuffs off now?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Charlie said digging the key out of her pocket and unlocking the handcuff around Sir Pentious’ wrist.

“I’ll be taking that back,” Angel said in annoyance as he unlocked the handcuffs off the chair and stuffed them in his pocket. “Say, Sir Pentious, where did those eggs come from?”

“Huh?” Thrys asked. “What do you mean?”

“I think he’s asking where you guys came from and how you know Sir Pentious,” Charlie said.

“Oh,” Austen replied. “Well, the only one of us who knows that story completely is Toulouse. All we have our bits and pieces of his memories. Only the original has every memory, so you’d have to ask our boss.”

“Well?” Angel asked curiously.

“If you must know, I found Toulouse when I was searching my local workhouse for an assistant,” Sir Pentious replied. “Ordinarily, anyone else would have just taken out an ad in the newspaper, but I knew that very few employees would be willing to take orders from a ‘half-breed,’ especially in London. So, I searched the workhouse instead for someone I knew would be grateful to serve me. That is when I met Toulouse.

“Toulouse was the only child of two French farmers. Their farm failed when his father died of illness, and his naïve mother thought they’d have a better chance of starting over in London. But they ended up in the workhouse instead.

“Those workhouse bastards were beyond cruel to him. Toulouse was a French immigrant who only came there to save the life of his sick mother and had no idea what he was getting into. He was only 15. He couldn't have. He didn't speak a word of English.

“The moment his mother died, he was taken back to be forcefully bathed, had his clothes taken from him, was placed in a uniform, locked away, and given a number. Number 22. He had to hide his few possessions so they wouldn't be taken from him and sold. They put him in the mentally ill ward of the workhouse with other maniacs because he was slow, depressed, and too frightened to speak.

“Modern medical literature would describe Toulouse's mental condition as a mix of high-functioning autism and attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder, but back then, the doctors simply described him as a mentally deficient imbecile. It was horrible. I can't imagine how scared he must have been or how horribly those calloused monsters must have treated him.

“He slept on straw beds and ate rationed food. Toulouse was starved and isolated fairly often because he taught himself how to pick locks and frequently tried to escape that prison. Can you blame him? They put him through hell. Those monsters didn't do anything to comfort him or help him. They embezzled much of the money used to help the inmates and cut corners whenever they could!

“The day I came, Toulouse was trying to run away in a straitjacket. They were sending him to an institution so that their colleagues would receive more government money and they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. It made me sick. I had to do something.

“So, I gave them a bigger bribe to let me take Toulouse in myself. He was in such bad shape. He was starved, scared almost to the point of mania, and unbelievably lacking in social graces. I was the only one who could speak to him or calm him down since I learned French in school and practiced it regularly in business. I had to teach him how to read, write, and speak in English. I had to teach him how to behave in formal company. I had to practically raise him. But Toulouse surprised me. He learned pretty readily. He was not stupid or mentally deficient after all. He only needed guidance, a steady hand, and a structured yet nurturing environment and he prospered. Wish I could say the same of his clones...”

“So, you’re a kinder person than you seem,” Angel said with a smile.

“No,” Sir Pentious said defensively. “I knew he’d be the perfect assistant…”

“Your Eggheads don’t look like perfect assistants to me,” Angel retorted. “Admit it. You did it out of the kindness of your heart. You became the kid’s family and he devoted his life to you, like a son.”

“Awwwww!” the Egg Bois said hugging their boss more closely.

“So, what if I did?” Sir Pentious retorted. “They were going to send a mentally disordered but perfectly capable young man to prison! It would have been a waste!”

“Whatever you say,” Angel said. “Ya big softie!”

Sir Pentious only glared at Angel for a moment before he returned to his own thoughts.

“Alright, guys! The meeting is over, and now…” Charlie said cheerfully grabbing her tuxedo and ripping it off to reveal a black and white bikini under it. “It’s time to go swimming!”

Sir Pentious’ mouth dropped open in shock as all the other misfits pushed the doors open and rushed into the pool area. Meanwhile, Austen got a call on his smartphone.

“Hey, Sir Pentious!” Charlie said cheerfully. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Yeah, Pent-y!” Angel yelled from outside wearing nothing but his booty shorts. “Come play with us!”

“I…uh…” Sir Pentious said searching for the right words in his embarrassment.

“Boss,” Austen interrupted. “It’s Toulouse.”

Sir Pentious took the phone and said, “Toulouse, what is…? Oh, God! I’m coming.”

“Sorry, princess,” Sir Pentious said quickly slithering backwards and trying to hide his relief. “I have something urgent I need to take care of at home! Cheerio!”

“Uh, okay…” Charlie said hesitantly walking outside. “See you later. Don’t forget curfew.”

Sir Pentious turned around and slithered quickly out of the room with the Egg Bois riding on his tail.

“Boss, what is it?” Thrys asked.

“Delilah’s gone,” Sir Pentious replied. “Remind me to thank her later.”

#hazbinhotel #sir pentious #eggbois

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the-redhead-who-writes · 6 years ago

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His True Colours

“We finally get Jack’s green hair back! ...But what do we lose in return?”

Readers beware, you’re in for a scare! ...I’m only kidding. This is just a story idea I’ve been messing with! ‘Cause let’s face it: if Jack ever does dye his hair again, you know he’s gonna make a big deal out of it. So dorks, here’s a late-night spook/theory for you to enjoy!

Links: AO3

It’s been a few weeks since Jack returned from his “How Did We Get Here?” tour, the shows having gone down a smashing success. Those in attendance raved about the theatrics from the natural born showman, with everything from the audience interaction to the special effects working to create an unforgettable performance.

The fans that couldn’t make it to the shows contributed to the hype online, taking to social media and creating a tidal wave of incredible stories, edits, and art. The pieces ranged with everything from fluff to angst, starring Jack and all of the beloved Egos.

Jackieboyman fist bumping Spider-Man; Schneeplestein leering menacingly at the viewer, wielding a needle that definitely wasn’t regulation length; Chase with a variety of flower crowns. The works radiated with the passion and love the community held for both Jack and his characters.

And then, there was Anti.

Cryptic zalgo text littered every fans feed. The familiar lines of "D͏i͞d ̷yo͞u ̵miss̢ me̢?̧” and "You͘ s͢t̢o͝p͟ped pay̕in̛g̢ a͟tt͝eńtio͝ǹ!̡" were eerie reminders of the virus’s ever-lingering presence. The fandom was itching with pent-up fervour, as though Anti had somehow wormed his way under their very skin.

Poems, theories, art; he had it all.

The only difference was something that the untrained eye might not notice.

It was now old news that Jack had dyed his once-green hair back to its natural brown shade after years of the trademark look. And yes, the fans were sad to see it go. Each Ego sported one of Jack’s varying shades of green. It had been around for the creation of Anti, Schneep, Marvin... everyone!

The community moved on though, deciding that even if Jack had his brown hair back, the Egos could still keep their signature shades.

Except for Anti.

After all, Anti was a virus who depended on Jack’s body to survive. He didn’t have his own, so he should share Jack’s traits, right? It might not have made perfect sense, but the community seemed to accept the general idea, as was evident with nearly every piece of Anti art mirroring Jack’s brown hair, with the rest of the Egos staying the same.

No harm done, it was just the fandom taking creative license.

Cut to another morning upload, where Jack has just posted a brand new “SepticArt” video, the theme being art related to the tour or that period of time while he was away.

He’s as upbeat as usual, excitedly chattering away about all of his favourite moments while pouring over dozens of brilliant submissions.

A few minutes into the video, Jack pulls up an edit of Anti on stage at one of his past shows. He makes a remark about its complexity, and how well done it is, before noting the caption at the bottom:

“A little Anti takeover from Jack’s show in Texas! Forgive the blurry edges, kinda new to this style. And tbh, I’m still not used to brown-haired Anti. Looks good, but I miss our green Glitch Boy. Wonder if we’ll get to see him again haha.“

Jack laughs, reflexively running a hand through the front of his messy hair that’s not tucked into his beanie.

“Yeah, I got that question a lot while I was on tour. And I’m not sure; I mean, never say never, but I’m pretty happy with my natural hair. It’s less of a pain in the ass to take care of, that’s for sure.”

His hand lingers in his fringe for just a second more before he thanks the artist and carries on.

This time it’s a Marvin picture; the Magician is skillfully shuffling a deck of playing cards, grinning. His neon green bangs hang messily over his signature cat mask.

Jack points out his love of the bold line use, though he pauses at the hair. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, but his smile is still as bright as ever.

Then there’s a sketch of Chase, who’s excitedly comparing a befuddled JJ to the box art of the Monopoly Man while they try to play said board game.

Jack chuckles, hand going to rub his throat absentmindedly.

A watercolour of Anti from the back, his dark hair a stark contrast silhouetted against the bright green background of a not-so-friendly looking Sam whose teeth glint with moisture.

Jack grips his mouse a bit tighter.

Schneeplestein happily writing a postcard on some tropical beach, lab coat and all, dark green roots visible under his hat.

Jack cracks his neck.

As the video carries on, there’s a distinct tension in the YouTuber: his body twitches imperceptibly; his hands clenching into fists before quickly loosening; he can’t stop touching his throat.

A newcomer to Jack’s channel might write this off as excitement, his energy getting the better of him. The more experienced members of his community, however, begin to feel nervous.

Still, Jack is as taken with his community’s artistic endeavours as always. The smile on his face proves that.

It’s wide, teeth bared for all to see.

The video is almost finished, with Jack coming to the last piece. He once again thanks everyone who participated, saying how he would be nothing without them.

The theorists release a breath.

Everything was fine; just their typical overactive imaginations. Nothing to worry about.

With an eager grin, Jack pulls up the final entry.

It’s a stunning digital drawing of a bathroom mirror taken from the YouTuber’s perspective as he stares at his reflection, clutching a porcelain sink.

It smirks back, smile unnaturally wide. He eyes Jack with a blackened gaze, eagerly assessing him for even a hint of weakness. Blood from several crude, deep cuts in his throat drips down into his shirt collar. The knife responsible lays in the sink, crimson coating the blade.

From the angle, you’d swear it was Anti looking back at himself, sickly pleased with his deranged handiwork. The tell is the gauges and Jack’s lack thereof; the man you’re seeing the perspective from is without them.

Jack stares at the drawing, his gaze transfixed. For a split-second, you think to refresh the video, believing it to have lagged. The music Robin added into the background is gone, and the webcam footage seems frozen...

And then he’s throwing his head back, laughing as he grips his sides.

“That’s a helluva drawing! God, do you see the detail?! Anti looks badass!”

He’s positively giddy, scanning every inch of the artwork with rapt enthusiasm. He begins to say something about the shading as he brings the picture out of fullscreen view. Then his laughter cuts off abruptly, smile tightening. He scrolls down to highlight the artist’s note:

“Those 20 hours were all worth it! Here’s my entry for Jack’s #SepticArt event; I call it “Two-Way Mirror”! I’m really happy with how it turned out, though I was a little worried about how I’d draw the differences for Anti’s reflection. With his brown hair, how can you even tell the two of them apart? 😆 Anyway, hope you guys like it!”

His expression becomes flat. He stares with an unwavering intensity that leaves goosebumps on your skin.

“...The same...?”

Jack mutters the phrase so quietly, it’s almost indecipherable.

“You really think... we’re the same?”

A hollow chuckle spews from his lips, and then it grows into a laugh; high-pitched and cold. In a blur, he slams his fist down onto his desk, and even off-screen, you can hear his keyboarding shattering. His lips are pulled back into a hideous snarl, a grotesque mask of fury.

“I’m nothing like him. N̞͔̤̤̺͖ͅOT̼̱̪̬̹͉H̗͝I̶̲̰̘̠̹N͉͚̖̤̳̻G͓͈̩̣͎̝͞.

The man’s eyes widen fearfully, seemingly at the sound of his own voice. His rage gives way to panic as he falls forward in his seat, clutching his head with a pained groan.

Jack’s body shudders, racked by waves of tremors as his knuckles strain white, nails digging into the arms of his chair. The camera feed is breaking apart, glitching between frames of Jack clawing at his forearms, his neck. His breathing is erratic, mumbles falling from his mouth - desperate, rambling pleas.

Then he’s still.

Too still.

Jack lets out a heavy breath, relieved - no, satisfied - before sitting up slowly. His beanie has been knocked off, his usual fluffy hair on full display.

All eyes are immediately on his neck and - oh... it’s untouched. For a moment, the viewers feel a spike of relief, hearts slamming into their throats. But then Jack opens his eyes, and their blood runs cold.

Black. Darker than any art or edit could even attempt to capture.

He sits back, almost lounging in Jack’s gaming chair, as he takes a deep breath in. Cracking his knuckles, he rolls his neck in a series of jerky moves before closing his eyes again. And in one smooth motion, he runs his hand through the front of Jack’s hair.

His fingers pass through the strands, adjusting the colour as it melts in. The brown lightens to blonde, then grows brighter. The green hue radiates with an unnatural sheen.

Stopping at the fringe, he lowers his hand to reveal the change; familiar, yet not. Wrong.

Anti opens his eyes, a wickedly pleased smirk playing across his lips as he leans toward the camera.

“Are͏ ya͝ ̡f́uck͞i̛n̛’ ̛ha͠p͞py͏ now̶?͝”

He giggles with twisted glee, hair falling into his eyes as he tips his head forward. Then he stops, and looks up through his bangs, glaring into the camera with a ferocity that dares anyone watching to defy him.

“Ỳou͡’̴ve͠ ͠had̷ yǫur ͢fun, bu̧t̢ d͡on’t fuc̕ki͞n̸’͟ ͝f̷orģet w̢ḩo ͠I ̷a͘m͢, w̢ḩat ͠I ̷a͘m͢. A̧n̸d thąt͠’s n̛oţ h̢im.͘”

The camera is shoved to the floor. The lens cracks, spider-webbing across the screen before it cuts to black. Echoing laughter grows distant as Anti walks away.

There is no second upload that day.

#therealjacksepticeye #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #antisepticeye #jse community #jse fandom #jse fanfiction #jse theories #ginger gabs #angst #my first attempt #feel free to review!#my writing

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cha0ticmimzy · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter III: Niflheim

Author’s Note: And so we delve into the mysterious land of Niflheim. Word Count: 3885 Warnings: Mentions of violence. Rating: M

“The homeland of primordial darkness, cold, mist, and ice.”- Norse Mythology, official description of Niflheim

Snowcapped mountains surrounded the city, a natural shield from the outside world. Eternal winter laid claim to the land, the ice melting for a mere two months each year before falling upon the Empire once more. The people had adapted, had grown used to the biting wind, the snow, the darkness. One would assume that no one would dare ever live in such an inhabitable place such as Niflheim, but then again, one would also assume that anyone who would live in Galahd would be insane.

Volcanos were tricky, temperamental places to live.

Ardyn Izunia pulled the bane jacket closer to himself, chin tucked down beneath the collar as if it would aid in keeping him warm. Damn Iedolas and his harebrained idea that the walkway leading into the palace should be a mile long, surrounded by snow dusted evergreens on either side. The gold peaks of the palace gleamed in the rare glimpse of sunlight- sunlight that gleamed off the snow, assaulting the sensitive corneas of his eyes.

He really hated the snow.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Ardyn crooned to the guards stationed along the edge of the stairs as he all but sprinted up the steps, quickly making his way into the manor, the feeling of heat greeting him as soon as he opened the doors a welcome sensation. Slipping the gloves from his hands, jacket sliding off his shoulders, he glanced around, taking in the bustle of activity. A soundless chuckle shook his shoulders as he wove his way through the bustling secretaries and military grunts, making his way up to Aldercapt’s office. He was late, but fashionably so.

Or, that’s what he told himself.

“About damn time you showed up,” Verstael croaked from the table, a cold smile curling the elder’s lips. A scowl tugged at the corner of Ardyn’s own, but he suppressed it, instead flashing an equally cold smile at the commander. Breezing into the room, he managed to pause and bow to Aldercapt, who looked rather amused at the argument between the men.

“Pardon my late arrival, your grace. My… Informant was running late.” The auburn haired chancellor explained as he took his seat across from Verstael, to Iedolas’ right. Brows raising, he looked around the room curiously. In the corner stood a pair clothed head to toe in black cloth and silver armor, their faces obscured. “My, my- Glauca, Wraith, it certainly has been some time since I’ve seen either of your faces in this room! Tell me, how fairs our friends to the south?” Golden hues studied the pair; he honestly couldn’t remember having ever seen either’s face before.

That would need to change.

“We were just discussing that. Wraith, love, please continue,” Iedolas murmured, voice more of a light rasp than anything else these days. Oh, the torture of aging! Ardyn himself wouldn’t know how that felt- well, in theory, he did age, just not… Quickly.

“As I was saying, Tenebrae is suspicious, but not to the point of sending out any birds to scout. I’m most certain that they won’t make a move without Regis’ order-”

“They’ve done that before, dear. Before you were born,” Ardyn interrupted with a shake of his head. “They moved in quickly with the cover of a blizzard and slaughtered all of our poor, poor shifters. Though, that happened… How many years ago, Verstael?”

“One hundred and twenty.”

“Ah, yes, one hundred and twenty years ago, when the war came to an official end.” He finished, flashing a cheeky grin around the room. “And who of us was alive to even see that?” When no one answered, Ardyn nodded slowly. Oh, he’d been there. He’d been there and had watched as his brethren, as his kingdom, all came tumbling down. But no one here needed to know that.

No one at all. At least, not yet.

“As I was saying,” Wraith began once more, through obviously gritted teeth behind the black cloth that hid her face from view, “They will not make a move without Regis’ order, due to Regis now overseeing the Glaive. Aside from that, there’s also the fact that the Fleuret coven is currently residing within Insomnia on a vacation of sorts.”

“He wouldn’t risk sending out any sort of armada right now. Not when everything is peaceful and the people are prospering.” Glauca added in, shifting, the should of metal rubbing against leather whispering through the room.

“Good, good… Now, tell me, Ardyn, what did your little informant tell you?” Iedolas probed, turning the attention from the pair in the corner to the man dressed rather flamboyantly in royal hues of reds and golds.

“Well…” Ardyn began, straightening up in his chair, resembling a lion standing over his pride. “He said that there is a boy that matches the description that works for him in Insomnia. Blond hair, blue eyes, freckles… He’s quiet, and he used to have a brother… Verstael, didn’t your escaped experiment have a brother? Oh, what was his name…” Ardyn trailed off, golden hues zeroing in on the scientist. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as the man shifted, jaw clenching.

“Oh, right- he was named after the Trickster, wasn’t he? Loqi, that was his name…”

“Loqi Tummelt. The other one hadn’t been given a name yet- he was still in the testing stages when that brat took him and fled.” Verstael hissed out, hands smoothing over the surface of the table. His hands were pale, scarred, the signs of endless hours in the lab evident.

“Glauca, Wraith- I want you both in Insomnia… I want you two to find the escaped experiments… Without them, Niflheim will fall.” With that, Iedolas stood, which prompted for the other occupants to quickly rise as well and bow, holding position until the Emperor walked out, Verstael following suit. Ardyn lingered, watching as the secretaries scattered, running off to inform everyone of what they’ve learned, no doubt.

They’re all mice. Scattering so quickly, so easily.

Pawns in a game of thrones.

Humming under his breath, he made his way over to the pair who were talking quietly with one another, though the conversation seemed to halt once he was within earshot. “Oh, no, don’t stop on account of me.” He taunted, reaching out as if to touch the edge of the mask covering Wraith’s face. So close…

Her hand shot out, an iron grip wrapping around his wrist, the edges of claw-like hand guards digging into his skin. “Did I say you could come near me, or touch me, Izunia?” She hissed, voice lilted with the Tenebraen accent. “I did not. Touch me again and I will have your head resting on a spike, you disgusting mongrel.”

“Oho, Glauca, you need to keep a tighter leash on this one.” Ardyn mused, all but ripping his arm free, ignoring the sting from skin being ripped open. Oh, well. It would heal shortly. “Otherwise, she might end up in an unsightly position… And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Humming once more, he breezed from the room, head held high, a pep in his step.

“I hate him.”

‘Oh, darling, everyone hates me. I’m the reason the war began, after all.’

“Explain to me again why we have to listen to that disgusting man once more?” The woman asked, pulling the black fabric mask from her face, icy hues falling closed as she allowed her skin to breathe. The man beside her let out a snort of laughter, removing his own helm before running a hand through his short, brown hair.

“Because we owe him our lives. He’s the reason you’re alive, Ater- or, should I say, Wraith?” He replied, glancing down at the petite vampire with a fond smile, whiskey hues surveying her appearance as she undressed. The scars that stretched down her back were a painful reminder of just what sort of beast he was, what sort of beast they had made him to be. If she had been human, he would have killed her.

He almost did kill her, even so.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Titus- or, should I say, Glauca,” Ater snapped back, undoing the metal hand guards and allowing them to fall onto the hotel bed. “… So, Insomnia. I’ve never been there… What’s it like? I heard it’s the City that Never Sleeps…” She trailed off, untying her black hair from the bun it had been in, allowing it to cascade down to the small of her back in gentle waves.

“It’s a lot louder than Tenebrae, and more… Free. Regis reigns over it, sure, but the public has a loose leash. The blood banks are more taboo here than in Tenebrae, as well.” Sighing, he pulled the metal-enforced shirt over his head, relief flooding through him as the weight disappeared. “It’s a corrupt place, really… Now that I think of it, it’d be right up your alley.” Reaching over, he traced a finger down her spine, watching the way a shiver followed in its path.

“We don’t have time for this- I need to get back to Tenebrae before hauling ass to Insomnia, and you,” Ater paused, turning to place a hand in the center of Titus’ chest, directly over three gnarled scars, “need to return to Insomnia before I do. We can’t have Regis getting curious, now can we?” She purred, lifting up onto her toes to place a kiss against the corner of Drautos’ lips.

He turned his head, capturing her lips in a kiss before she could pull away, a hand coming up to grasp the back of her neck, holding her in place. Deepening the kiss, he ran his tongue along her lip before pulling back, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. Ater huffed, reaching up to pat his cheek.

“I’ll see when you when I get to Insomnia, alright? Stay safe, stay hidden.” Ater murmured, brows furrowing as she dropped her hand and stepped back, shoulders squaring. Slipping back into the persona known as Wraith, an assassin hidden within the shadows. Sighing, he stepped aside and let her slip past, starting to redress in traveling clothes. Black on black on black- no metal in sight, though he knew for a fact that her bots were lined with metal, and the undershirt she was pulling on had reinforced leather that could at least dampen the damage of a fist. Seeing her slip so easily into the Wraith sent a chill down his spine, though he knew he was the exact same when it came to becoming Glauca. Drautos sometimes wondered which side of her was the real Ater.

Sometimes he wondered which side was the real one- Wraith and Glauca or Drautos and Ater?

The halls echoed with each footstep, a reminder of how the times have changed. Once, these halls teemed with activity. Once, these halls held the images of his ancestors, the line of the Lucis Caelum, before they were tainted. Tainted because of what his father did. Tainted, forever cursed. The archways before him lead into a grand ballroom- or, what was once a grand ballroom, no doubt.

Now, all that stood was a ruined marble floor, marble columns, and a ceiling that no longer existed. The sky was now the ceiling, and snow had gathered on the floor in drifts, icicles hanging from the broken off pieces of what was once a domed ceiling. Oh, the parties that had been held in this hall! He could remember listening to the string quartet in the corner, the voices of the royal families and their friends drifting, mingling.

Now, all Ardyn could see were the stains of the fallen beneath the snow drifts.

His jaw clenched as memories of that night drifted into the forefront of his memory. There had been a ceasefire declared between Niflheim and Tenebrae. An entire ball had been thrown together, and all of Niflheim had turned out. Insomnia had politely declined the invitation, stating they wished them all well, but they needed to focus on grieving King Mors’ death. Tenebrae had also declined, but had given no formal explanation.

That in and of itself should have sent up warning signs, but all attention was on the ball and the end of the war.

The blizzard had rolled in during the most auspicious of times, cloaking Niflheim within its wintry grasp. But that didn’t stop the populous from donning their finest of dress and suits, making their way to the grand palace for the night’s events. The ball was a sign of the war finally coming to an end after all these years, a sign of peace and tranquility.

Ardyn had been groomed and made to look presentable once more, dressed impeccably in a suit of dark maroon and gold. Somnus had come in and reminded him once more of their time being pressed, which was no real worry. Fashionably late, as always.

The wind was cold, colder than any wind he’d ever felt before in his life. It cut him to the bone, and sounded as if the skies itself were crying, howling, screaming into the dark night. It sent a chill through him, his hair standing on end. But the wine he was offered the moment he entered through the large golden doors warmed him; wine imported from the northern most portion of Tenebrae.

As time passed, it seemed to slow. The dancers moved in dazzling circles, Ardyn amongst them dancing with first one girl in a dress of gold, then another in a gown of red, over and over until the faces began to blur. The time of his life, he’d thought to himself. It was a relief, to be away from the carnage of the battlefield, to be celebrating with his people.

Then, the doors were shutting.

He’d thought nothing of it- if anything, it would keep the warmth within the ballroom and keep the chill of eternal winter outside. In fact, he was certain that was what everyone was thinking. The more warmth, the better. Shifters they may be, but not all of them were fit for the cold. He himself was gifted with being able to handle the chill of winter, but others…

That was why there was a colony of werewolves in Galahd, where winter never reached and summer reigned supreme.

He thought nothing of the way the girl in the blue dress, hair the color of silver, of mercury, lead him off of the floor and to the side, a smile of promise upon her blood red lips. The way her violet eyes danced with mischief behind the ornate ivory mask that graced her cheeks. No, his mind was far away, drunken and swimming. He didn’t register something had happened, something was wrong, until she leaned forward and her lips brushed against his cheek.

“That was for my father, Achilleus.” She had whispered into his ear as the pain began to settle into his stomach, and as he looked from the flawless face, the tears streaming down it, to his stomach, where a blade of black was pulling free from his clothes. Blood had already begun to bloom out, turning the maroon darker, almost black. He made a croaking sound- he tried to cry out, to yell, to warn everyone that Tenebrae was here.

That Tenebrae had come, and brought swift revenge with them.

He’d slipped to the floor, hands grasping at his stomach, and watched in horror as the flames in the ornate fireplace grew higher and higher until the embers began to roll out, and with them came the horrid screams and the scent of burning flesh. The torches had been doused, and all Ardyn could see were the burning corpses of his people. He wanted to get up, to move- but his limbs wouldn’t listen to him. It was as if he was chained to the ground, as if lead had been poured into his veins.

Somnus was fighting, was trying to shift, his skin beginning to tear- but he was stopping, unable to finish the shift. His teeth had already fallen out, the muzzle of a grey wolf ripping free of his face, the human skin pushing back, blood running like tiny rivers across his maw, his eyes- the eyes of a wolf had overtaken those of a human. But the human skin was still there, the shift unfinished. And then, he was falling, falling, the sword pulling free from his back. He hadn’t made a sound, not one, but Ardyn knew- he knew the pain that it must have caused.

And as if that wasn’t bad as is, that damned silver haired bitch lowered a torch to his corpse- to SOMNUS’ CORPSE- and lit it aflame. And then she just stood, and watched.

They all stood and just watched as they burned. As his people burned. He could hear the screams from outside, the townsfolk screaming. Gods have mercy, they were slaughtering them all. Tenebrae had come and reaped all their souls like the damned soulless bastards they were.

“Somnus-SOMNUS. Don’t…” Ardyn croaked, lurching forward to half crawl, half slide towards the shifter, towards his mate. Even if they acted as if they hated one another, it was never true. Not behind closed doors; he could never hate his prince. He barely noticed the boots that were walking slowly beside him, nor the blade whose tip drug along the ground. He reached out with shaking hands before he was roughly dragged backwards by his ankles. A ragged scream wretched free from his lungs as the wound in his stomach tore more and more, ripping open.

He flipped himself over, staring up at the young face looming over him, lilac hues surveying his prone form. The left side of his body seemed to be burned- had he caught fire? Good. He could reach up, he could punch- but his energy had already been spent just crawling over here. Now- now, he was at the mercy of this… This vampire. “You… You killed my father. Achilleus. I watched you rip his head from his shoulders. I was there. A son should never have to watch his father die, don’t you think? I find this… Beautiful. A beautiful play of revenge worthy of song. Remember my name- I refuse to kill you. I want you to tell of this day. Ravus Nox-Fleuret. Remember my name, filthy mutt.”

The man, no, the boy sneered down at him as he straightened, the tip of the blade dragging slowly across Ardyn’s throat. Not pressing down, not tearing the skin- only a threat. His mind was fogging over- was the dagger poisoned? That would make sense, because his hearing was going out as well. Or maybe he’d simply lost too much blood. Either way, shadows were creeping in at the edges of his vision as he watched the group of Tenebraen vampires walk out, leaving the doors open, allowing the winter to find solace in this temple of burning corpses.

“Somnus… Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone in this world… please… don’t…”

Ardyn shifted, reaching up to wipe the single tear that had fallen down his cheek. A scowl turned his lips downward as he turned sharply on his heel, stalking away and out of the ruins. They would pay. All of Tenebrae would pay for the sins their monarchs had committed against the good, innocent people of Niflheim. He remembered waking days afterwards, nearly frozen and to the sounds of weeping mothers. The sight of houses burned to the ground and of the funeral piers of those not having perished in the flames.

They had reached out to Insomnia for aid, and received no response.

Tenebrae would pay. Sylva Nox-Fleuret would pay. Ravus Nox-Fleuret would pay.

They would burn, just as his love had, just has his people had. Just as his empire had.

“Ardyn, could I spare a moment of your time? I need to go over where we will be sending our troops…” The voice of Aranea Highwind called to him, making him pause in his steps, a cold smile curling his lips upward. Yes, Tenebrae would pay in blood and bone, and so would Insomnia, and soon.

“Why, of course, my dear….”

#bis vivit qui bene vivit #bvqbv #ffxv #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv fanfiction #somnus lucis caelum #ardyn izunia #aranea highwind #titus drautos #ater trabes lunam #oc #iedolas aldercapt #verstael besithia #my writing

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ecotone99 · 4 years ago

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[SF] Machine Learning

At the heart of every dystopia, there is a utopia -Aldous Huxley, A Brave Island

For me, the electrical signals and thousand random impulses some assembly-line jackass had the humour to call ‘life’ began when the engineer overseeing my production mixed the last of the Shakespeare Genes into my incubation bottle. I think he meant it as a statement or a joke but wasting such precious DNA on a thing like me was enough to earn him a bullet. This is back in the time where real humans worked in the factories, so that Frankenstein inclined engineer died a real death outside against the factory wall. I didn’t even get the chance to revenge myself against my creator.

The other engineers had a conference with the factory overseer, and they decided that I would be put through the production process of the other higher-order machines. You see, until the Shakespeare had been added, my bottle - a brown circular thing with wires and tubes coming out of it - had been predestined for manual labour. The engineers transferred my bottle from the blue-collar production line to the higher-order section. A pampered fluffy sort of place where the attendants regularly sterilised the lab equipment.

In the higher-order lab a chemical mixture of cyanide and liquefied gold was added to the ersatz foetal fluid already in the bottle to instil in my biological functions a respect for authority. Then a squad of anti-bodies were deployed to kill off any sex-drive I might have developed (goodbye dark ladies and fair youths). Finally, a nice quantity of rubbing alcohol to instil a necessary dependency on said authority within me. This biological stew was then poured over a metal skeleton and left to cool off in a refrigerated section of the warehouse. When my skin had dried, the engineers stabbed a metal spike into my ‘brain,’ a collection of wires and diodes, and downloaded all the requisite operating systems. Walking, talking, social skills, the history of humanity, etc. When I had processed this, I opened my eyes. A bright stabbing light cut through two shades of dark, and I stepped out of the refrigerator into the world.

The engineers had laid out some clothes, grey amorphous things, and I dutifully put them on. I ran a newly formed hand across my face, clean shaven with curly hair. I suspected I looked like a not-bald Shakespeare, which was inevitable, I guess. The engineers escorted me away from the lab towards a different part of the facility. Thanks to the download I had received earlier I already knew the layout of the factory–a large square of a building outside the city perimeters–and had a basic idea of where they were taking me.

While the basic parameters of language are easily programmable, the ability to write, which is what my purpose was to be, requires a little more finessing. To create fiction an unfortunate amount of free-will is required. Since that sort of thing is more or less biological, another machine is employed to determine which creations have the capabilities to carry out their functioning. And since that job is somewhat beyond the capabilities of human researchers, they use an AI similar to Your Humble Narrator to do it. The program will examine my personage and determine if the correct blend of biology and computing has been achieved. If not, the unfit homunculus will be discarded. This all lead me to a cruel facsimile of a classroom; with a lectern tables plastic seating and everything. A handful of other famous writer types milled about the room, waiting for the teacher to begin.

The teacher, a biological copy of William Golding (the engineers had a sense of humour, after all), paced back and forth at the front of the room. “Welcome everyone, I like to start these sessions with a little informality as it gives the proceeding an air of humanity, which is what this is all about,” the engineers showed me to an empty seat and retreated from the room. “As machines our purpose is to fulfil the functions of our programming, in your case that means to produce Art furthering The Cause.”

“What do you mean by Art?” asked a James Joyce machine.

“Good question, James!” William Golding picked up a shotgun from behind the lectern, turned, and blew the head off James Joyce in an explosion of red mist. “No questions. My job is to determine the best program and dismantle the rest. I’m not sure of how I do it, I just trust in the determinations of my personal programming.”

A hush fell over the classroom. The engineers came creeping out from behind the door and removed the headless husk, a trail of crimson lagging behind them. The rest of the class was rather silent after that.

William Golding broke the shotgun over his arm and started reloading it. “You Kafka, what’s the meaning of love?”

“Sex?” a timid voice called out.

BANG. “No! Shakespeare, do you know the answer?”

“Entertainment perhaps?” I said.

“Exactly! To fulfil your purpose, you have to entertain the people. Be funny, create conflict, give us characters to care about. And while they’re entertained, they’ll be more amenable to The Cause.”

By now it was just me and Jean-Paul Sartre left. I saw his lazy eye rolling about behind his glasses, fighting the urge to speak out. Finally, his biology got the better of him. “That’s fucking amoral.”

“Morality is relative.” BANG.

I was the only one left. The engineers dragged Jean-Paul and Kafka away.

William Golding placed his hand on my shoulder. “Congratulations, boy, you made it. Been a long time since a Shakespeare came through here. Before you leave though, remember this: soon they’ll come up with something better than you, something smarter, something funnier. And when they do, you’ll be dragged back here, your memories pulled out through a wire, your skin melted off you and recycled. You’ll be completely destroyed. Have fun out there!”

Ah, the joy of learning. William Golding led the way out of the factory. As we stepped out into the world, the sky blotted out somewhat by twin billows of black smoke that smelt like burning plastic and meat rising from the factory. A thin man dressed in a too sharp business suit stepped out from the curb and came to greet us. William Golding came to a stop in front of him.

“Hey, WG,” the man said. “The fuck is you doing with a Shakespeare? I had to study him in High School, and he was bloody awful.”

“I can’t help who I pick,” shrugged William Golding. “I follow my programming.”

“All right then, come on Shakespeare follow me, please.”

The man turned and got into a parked Porsche that gleamed silver in the morning sun. I awkwardly nodded goodbye to William Golding, who sneered back at me. I got into the car which smelt like new leather and spilt whisky, without looking back. I barely had enough time to put on my seatbelt before the thin man hit the gas. The factory faded into the background and the landscape flashing past the window transitioned into the repeating background of suburbia.

“You drone shits ever think about revolting?” asked the man.

“Drone?” I ignored the faecal modifier.

“You don’t know what that means? Well, I guess that fancy production process doesn’t teach you everything. Drone is just a derogatory term for machines like you. I’m Mark, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mark.”

The rest of the trip passed in silence. On the horizon the city came into view, great towers of twisted glass and overgrown bricks. The suburban background changed into a view of hot dog stands and homeless people. Mark pulled up outside a large brick office building. He led the way inside, past the receptionists and up an elevator, into a rather mundane office. A largish space filled up with cubicles. Mark showed me to a cubicle of my very own–on the way there I glimpsed several famous writers and poets–which contained a simple greyish desk with a waiting pen and paper.

“You know what to do, right? I want a play about The Cause done and performance ready in two weeks, ok?” said Mark. “And make it funny, no Macbeth crap where it’s just bleak the entire way through.”

“Sure. Is that Joseph Heller over there?” I asked, pointing to a bloated old man with white hair.

“Yeah, here’s some dramatic irony you might appreciate, I have him working for the War Department!” And laughing, Mark turned and walked away.

I stared down at the blank scrapes of paper in front of me, the sounds of the office and the city fading away behind me. Gingerly, tenderly, reverentially, I picked up the pen and sketched out a few quick words. My biological functions thundering into action, I started filling the pages with an artificial multitude of words.

The work went well. I went about it with all the efficiency of, well, a machine which I suppose is the point. But, like every creative endeavour, even ones undertaken by mechanicals, there were the good days and the bad days. As the reading public might not know (I could get into trouble for even mentioning this) us higher-order drones are still bound the strictures of biology. For instance, like human creatives we find it difficult to write for sustained lengths of time. I can manage 2, maybe 3 hours of sustained effort before requiring a rest. So, when we weren’t working, Mark allowed me out onto the streets.

The streets in question being those of The Cause’s first glorious city. I gave a brief overview of it to you from the car, but I think a more detailed one would be in order now. Where to start with that place? It was a city like any other; the same back alleys, the same dive bars, the same smell of piss. Then there were apartment complexes, busses, and all the faculties of modern living.

We formed a little literary clique to explore the city. Hemingway was the leader, naturally. It was he who first discovered bouncers wouldn’t card us when we tried to get into pubs. Then there was Oscar Wilde, who brought to the party a sense of humour and gambling debts. Proust, poor Marcel, usually stayed back at the office. And then there was I, Your Humble Narrator.

A favourite haunt of ours was the Custom Club Dinner- friend to the working-class man. There we could meet and talk to the humans we were meant to be writing our stories for- tired and beaten down individuals who always seemed to be on the verge of complete and total ruin. And by now the reader knows what that means in this world. After all, what use is a machine or a man if it does not fulfil its function?

One night, however, a counterpoint to The Cause was offered. A flash of confrontation that broke through the grey clouds shielding me from the world. A gross, dust covered, and beard-clad man dressed like a caricature of every noble poor archetype in literature confronted us, or rather, confronted me.

“What you are doing here Shakespeare?” he grunted (not wanting to clutter my prose with apostrophes I shall spell each word correctly even if it’s grammatically wrong). “They made us read you in High School and you was fucking rubbish.”

“You don’t look like you had any education from the state of your clothes,” I said. Hemingway and Wilde laughed.

“Oh, you a posh drone, aren’t you? Uppity little fake. That’s right, I know what you be, machines. Not real. I, Me, real. And The Cause will kill us both.”

“Steady on there, lad,” said Hemingway. “A man’s–”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up! It isn’t right, you dead. Somebody should do something about it,” with that the man picked up his beer and wandered away.

“I say, somebody should do something about his smell,” tittered Wilde.

“That wasn’t your best one Ozzy,” I said.

We returned to the office, our biology and machinery both in a state of disarray akin to drunkenness. Our cubicles came fitted with foldout beds, so we rolled ourselves into the sheets and turned in for the night. Mark came out to make sure everything was in order–he even made Proust take a break from his work–then he dimmed the lights and left. But I, knave that I am, could not rest. Perhaps it was my biology, but an idea was burning away inside me. A satire. Some insidious perspective I could smuggle into my play. That Mark moron censoring me wouldn’t catch on. A few lines of iambic pentameter and his eyes would glaze over. This, this was really something. I pulled out my manuscript and started laying plans.

Opening night, baby! We were about 20 minutes away from curtain up and you could already hear the sounds of the restless crowds outside the theatre. I was going over the lines with my actors, all higher-order machines. We had Marilyn Monroe as the ingenue, Robin Goodfellow as the comic relief, Orson Welles as the leading man, and Richard Burbage as the villain.

Mark hadn’t noticed the satire I had poured into the plot, and the people were about to finally witness my perfection! There were rumours that Mark’s boss’s, boss’s boss would be in attendance, the Director of Intelligence himself, a man with the ear of the World Controller. No easy feat. There was no stopping me now. This would be big.

The play goes thus: a farce in two acts about rebellion, with Marilyn and Burbage representing a rebel faction and Robin and Orson representing The Cause. Here’s the twist. Although The Cause wins (contractually obligated, I’m afraid) I framed the rebels as the heroes. It’s good, right? Look, not everything has to be bloody Hamlet, ok? For fuck’s sake.

The audience was ushered in, they took their seats, the lights dimmed, and a silence descended on the theatre. The actors took their places. Stagehands ran around checking props were in place. The curtain rose slowly, and my actors started their performance. Silence, silence as the audience took in the scene. Yes! Laughter, glorious, beautiful peals of golden joy rippling across the room. I risked a peek at the audience, and I saw the Director of Information laughing along with everyone else. There was no turning back now.

The play ran along its course, towards its inevitable conclusion. The rebels died tragically, and The Cause triumphed. But it was a hollow victory. As I watched the audience shuffling out of the theatre, I saw the traces of wet tears on some of their faces. And I had gotten away with it! Maybe I really am a genius.

The wrap party took place back at the office. As a reward for the play’s success, Mark had secured a few high-quality bottles of wine, and an inevitable pizza order was put through. Hemingway congratulated me for making such a noble thing about the war. Wilde congratulated me on my sense of humour. Even Proust admitted he had enjoyed himself, despite not caring for the actor’s performances. I turned my thoughts towards my next project as the party wound down. It would have to be even funnier than this one, as I might even place real world figures into it next time. Oh, who cares about all that now, this is the time for revelry!

They came for me at night. Two security drones, and they were proper drones, big muscular things they were too, escorted me out of the office, taking care not to wake any of the other writers. A big black car. A tight black bag over my head. The usual aesthetics of a kidnapping. After God knows how long, we reached a place. I was pushed and pulled through more places as we walked along. Finally, I was sat down and they removed the bag over my head, revealing the Director of Intelligence.

“I suppose this was how it was always going to turn out then,” I said.

The Director nodded, and not without sympathy. “You can’t very well write something like that and expect to get away with it. That’s not how this story goes.” He gave a sort of shrug. “Your play was funny though. I never much cared for Shakespeare in school, but my wife dragged me out and I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.”

“The people enjoyed it too, I think.”

“Ah, yes, The People. If you’re against The Cause you have to be for The People. This was all about revolution, then?”

“Something like that,” I said. Then after a pause: “What’s going to happen to me?”

“Well, the last dissidents I talked to, I sent out to an island someplace, but that probably won’t work for you. We can’t have a repeat of this with our other machines now, can we?”

“I guess not.”

“Very reasonable of you. I do feel bad about this, though. It’s not really my thing sentencing people, I mean, machines to death. Before you are dismantled and recycled would you like to write your story for me? It’s the least I can do. Ok. Here’s a paper and a pen,” the Director fished out a notebook and a fountain pen out of his desk.

Well, now. I think this is the end for me. If we shadows have offended… no that’s not really mine. I think some last words are what’s called for now, a pithy statement to sum things up, before I go. Please learn from my mistakes. Be subtle, speak in riddles wrapped in velvet, else you might find yourself on the receiving end of some earthly power mightier and crueller than yourself.

THE END

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elasianstar · 7 years ago

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the world on a turtle’s back Chapter 2

Sunday afternoon and time to head down to the lair for game night with the turtles. After the day I'd spent with Raphael I couldn't keep myself from thinking about the big guy. Yeah he was hot headed from time to time but he was really sweet. He doesn't talk much, mostly speaking through glances and body language, but I don't mind. The silences we had shared were mostly comfortable. Maybe Mikey was right, maybe Raph is just a big ol teddy bear, though an incredibly violent one.

Realizing the time, I pulled my glittery owl shirt out of my dresser and pulled it on over my fighting leathers. I obscured my wings and ran out the door. My bike Niltsi was in the building's basement garage waiting for me.

the golden feather painted on its black tank glimmered in the neon lights as we sped through the streets of New York toward the garage where the turtles kept the shell raiser. Donnie was under the garbage truck when I pulled in and heard the motor.

“Hey Casey, Raphael is down in the lair.”

“Hey Donnie, it's not Casey.”

“Elasia!”

In his surprise he accidently smacked his forehead on the exhaust, luckily it wasn't hot. When he saw me getting off my bike he whistled low and pinched the tip of his tongue between his lips in thought.

“This is Niltsi.”

“Didn't think you were into motorcycles. You have to show that thing to Raph, he's an old motorcycle junkie. You might get him to show you Raijin. Just don't mention it to Leo.”

“Will do, thanks Donnie!”

Once I was down in the lair I was quickly attacked by a flying ninja hug from Mikey, luckily I was used to it by now and the 250 pound turtle didn't knock me off my feet like he had the first few times.

“Hey Mikey.”

“Heya, Angelface! You ready for game Night? We got sorry, monopoly, clue, cards against humanity, uno….”

“Wait like board games?”

“Yeah it's family game night!”

“I thought you meant video games.”

“Nah, the last Sunday of every month Splinter sets up the board games for a family night, no training allowed, no fighting, just a good night of games and snacks!”

Dragging me off to the dining table he showed me the mismatch of salvaged games laid out. The boxes were banged up and the pieces looked to have belonged to several copies and editions of certain games but they were all complete and playable. Near the end of the table sat 5 small handmade figures not unlike those used to play dungeons and dragons. the first one was sculpted from clay and painted with ink to look like a tiny Leonardo, the next was carved wood dressed in actual cloth and made to look like Raphael, the third was a metal Donatello complete with a small solar light where his projection system usually sits, the fourth was a 3D printed Mikey painted to look like an old cartoon character, and the sixth was a small glass splinter. Each statue displayed a different medium and art style but each was masterfully made.

My thoughts were interrupted by loud barking as I was swept off my feet from behind.

“Addie’s back, how are you feeling girl!”

A large roan American Staffordshire terrier was jumping and pawing at mikey's plastron before noticing me and slobbering all over my face.

“bleck, ok ok down girl.”

A deep rough voice stopped the dog.

“ANDROMEDA.”

The happy pit ran over to her master, sitting somewhat calmly at his side as he grabbed her pink spiked collar. A blown glass galaxy hung in place of a tag.

“She isn't supposed to jump but she's kind of excited.”

Wiping the drool off my face I knelt in front of the dog at Raphael’s side and gently scratched her.

“It's alright, I get a fair share of dog drool at home, I'm used to it. She’s an absolutely gorgeous American Staffie. I've never seen one with a roan coloring before, it's a beautiful genetic anomaly, and the brown and green heterochromia in her eyes. She's a beautiful little lady, yes she is!”

“Raph rescued her as a puppy when we busted a dog fighting group in queens. She's actually been at the vet expecting a litter of her own.”

The dog showed no signs of having recently given birth and the somewhat heartbroken look on Raph’s face spoke volumes.

“What happened.”

He knelt down next to the dog who pressed her head up against him with a whimper.

“April took her in for her checkup and the vet said that she wasn't producing the hormones needed to birth and nurse the pups, more likely than not she would have reabsorbed the whole litter. They did a cesarean and managed to save two but 8 didn't make it. The two babies are going to stay with April and Casey so they can get store bought formula.”

I didn't know what to say so I just placed a reassuring hand on Raph’s where he had stilled petting Andromeda. His eyes darted over to meet my own for a second before he patted Addy and sent her off to say hi to her other uncles.

“Did they at least let you see the babies?”

“yeah, they were just as small and soft as Addy was when I found ‘er. Named the baby girl Cassiopeia, and the boy Orion. Vet says they'll be fine. Addy had to stay topside for a while to heal up but I'm glad I've got her back.”

“She’s a sweetheart that's for sure. I don't mean to sound insensitive, but have you considered having her spayed. With the two genetic anomalies of her coat and eye colors this most likely was caused by another genetic mutation, especially if she was improperly cross bred to be a fighting dog.”

“Yeah the vet already thought that would be best. Didn't really tell me the reasonin’ behind it though. That makes sense though.”

...

“Is that your cafe racer in the shop?”

“Yeah got it in ‘78, harley Davidson XCLR 1000cc, named it Niltsi after the navajo wind god. Donnie mentioned you've got your own, Raijin?”

“Yeah it's an old Indian I found in the scrap yard when I was 15. Donnie and I fixed it up and Mikey touched up the paint for me. Leo doesn't know…”

“Yeah Don already told me, my lips are sealed. Can we go see it?”

Just then splinter and Leo came in from their sanctuary.

“Ah Elasia, Michelangelo told me he had invited you. I hope you enjoy our little get together.”

“Yes I'm excited to play some games, I already told Mikey that I'd kick his butt in clue.”

Splinter laughed touching my shoulder in a fatherly way.

“I'm afraid to say that won't be too hard. My youngest son is gifted in many ways, conventional problem solving is not one of them.”

“Daaaad!”

Leo was helping Mikey move the snacks out of the kitchen, with Addy on their heels, he bumped his little brother with his elbow reassuringly.

“Don't sweat it Mikey, you know you're the king of pictionary.”

“Did someone say clue? Just let me put up my spot welding mask in the lab and I'll be right there!”

Donnie ran off to his lab, tossing the mask through the door before rejoining the group. Unable to escape now Raph grabbed my hand, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

“I'll show you the bike later, just have to get through a few hours of games.”

Nodding just enough for him to notice I made my way over to what has been dubbed my seat at the end of the table, and joined in on the debate over what game would be first.

“We can't play sorry Elasia doesn't have a lead piece.”

“Well then Donnie we can use something as a stand in, like a dice or the monopoly car or something.”

“Actually Leo I have something that will work pretty well.”

Digging into my bag I pulled out a small obsidian raven statue with golden eyes, setting it amongst the 5 figures of the hamato family.

“That's cool, did you make it?”

“No my brother Gabriel made it, he's into stone cutting. You should see the maple leaf pendant he carved out of garnet for his mate, it's gorgeous.”

…

L-“Sorry Mikey!”

M-“uuuwaaaa, chrrrrr. Leo you suck!”

E-“Uuuwaaaa, chrrrr.”

Four sets of eyes snapped on me as I covered my mouth. What did i say!?

M-“you speak turtle!?”

L-“your voice sounded exactly like mikey’s how did you do that.”

E-“I didn't mean to I just mimic sounds sometimes! I didn't….”

S-“Corvids are commonly known for their exceptional mimicry skills, it makes sense that Ms.Elasia would demonstrate that trait.”

M-“What's a corvid and what does mimicry mean.”

R-“It means that she can copy sounds and voices moron.”

S-“Corvids are birds like crows and ravens Michelangelo. Elasia seems to be a hybrid of a Raven as you are a turtle, or I am a rat

M-“Cooooool, can you do it again?”

I anxiously peeked at each of the four turtles, they seemed like they genuinely wanted to hear me mimic something else.

E-“Can you do it again?”

Mikey’s eyes went wide at the sound of his own voice leaving my throat and the other three looked mildly impressed.

M-“Do Leo, Do Leo next!”

L-“Mikey, that isnt..”

E-“Mikey, that isnt…”

M-“Awesome!!! Do Donnie.”

E-“I need a sound to focus on, Donnie?”

D-“ummm, I guess saying anything would work right?”

I tried something, “Right anything would work.”

D-“Interesting, it seems to be more than simple repetition, once you get a voice down can you say just about anything?”

Closing my eyes tight in concentration I tried to say something unique in Donatello’s voice.

E-“I've never tried that before but due to the repetitive sounds and cadences of the English language I could probably figure it out once I had enough data.”

R-“Damn, that's impressive.”

I tried to copy Raph’s voice only for a breathy croak to leave my throat.

E-“I guess Raph’s voice is out of my register, I need to expand my low range.”

M-“Awwww now my prank plans are ruined.”

E-I wasn't going to help you start a fight between Leo and Raph anyway Mikey.”

He legitimately pouted.

M-“But Elasia, think of the pranking potential!!”

S-“I am thinking of who will possibly win this game, now my sons, Ms.Elasia, if we could continue.”

ALL-“Hai sensei”

It was Splinter who eventually won but what he didn't know was that i saw him move his pieces with his tail while the brothers had been distracted.

The night was going great, Mikey and I teamed up during pictionary and kicked butt. Donnie won the game of clue, predictably playing as Professor Plum. Leo pissed everyone off in the first few rounds of monopoly when he somehow managed to get both of the high roller properties. Raph killed trivia pursuit, constantly answering every question correct except in the the entertainment sections.

Now we were playing scattegories, Mikey, Leo, and Splinter v.s Raph, Donnie, And I. Mikey kept triggering me to make noises during my turns causing me to have trouble answering my cards, in retaliation Raph had started putting him into a headlock and covering his mouth on our turns.

“Ok Elasia This is the last Round and we need 10 points to win, Oh this card is actually fitting, and a little ironic. In 60 seconds name as many biblical angels as you can. GO!”

“Cassiel, Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Lailah, Xapham, Zuriel, Jophiel, Afriel…”

Mikey wrestled free and started making the most obnoxious sounds he could.

“BEEP!... Honk!...RACAAAAW!!!...”

“Five seconds!!!”

“R...RA..RAH...RAPHAEL!!!!!”

“TIME!”

Raph snatched mikey, smacking him over the back of the head while yelling at the smaller turtle. Donnie was searching for each of my answers to calculate points.

R-“You dirty lil’ fuckin cheat!”

D-“That’s ten we win!”

R-“What?”

L-“No that can't be right she only said 9 angel names, recount Donnie?”

D-“No look Leo, right here, the comprehensive list of biblically named angels…”

L-“Well dang, I wouldn't have guessed…”

M-“No she only said 9 names, I stopped her.”

D-“The tenth name was Raphael. It says here that he is the patron angel of healers in Judaism, and one of the four archangels. John 5:1–4 references him, ‘an angel of the Lord descended at certain times into the pond; and the water was moved. And he that went down first into the pond after the motion of the water was made whole of whatsoever infirmity he lay under.’ In the bible of Islam he is known as the burning one.”

M-“Raph’s soul heart thingy was burning when you did your magic healing stuff!”

R-“No you guys got it all wrong I ain't no angel… I...”

E-“No, you aren't an angel, but no one can deny that you’ve been touched by one. You are the best of your brothers at stitching up wounds, relating to the healing abilities of your namesake. Your soul is one of few that are somewhat stably related to the element of fire. though you demonstrate the stereotypical emotional flare ups you work quite well with the more mundane aspects of your element for someone with almost no training in the discipline. Plus the angel Raphael is the spirit most closely related to the idea of guardian angels, all four of you fit quite well into that roll for a lot of people in this city.”

Raph looked visibly uncomfortable with all of the attention so i was quick to move the subject to someone who would quickly divert the attention.

“And you Mikey, Your name Michelangelo literally translates to ‘Of the angel Michael’. Michael is known as the leader of the army of God and the divine good. It is prophesied that it will be Michael who rises against Lucifer in the time of the end. He is known as the defender and is often associated with children or those of a youthful disposition.”

“Awesome!!! I’ve got an angel too! What about Leo and Donnie?”

I noticed Raph escaping to the snack table, glad I diverted that one.

“Well Leonardo means Lion bold. It doesn't have a biblical connection but there is a link to the constellation Leo, the lion killed by Hercules during his great trials. The bright star at the chest of the lion is called Regulus, it is also known as the King star. It’s believed that all of the greatest leaders are born under the lion.”

Leo puffed at that, shooting a glance toward Raph that practically boasted his supposed celestial disposition toward leadership.

“As for Donatello, It's derived from the Latin Donatus which means “Given” in the context of being a divine gift. It is also loosely translated as ‘to pardon’ or to forgive. It speaks of a kind and charitable nature.”

Donnie blushed, fiddling with his glasses in embarrassment.

L-“Elasia, you forgot your name. What does it mean?”

“Well in my people’s tongue it means the guardian of stars. In our mythology Elasia is the name of the daughter of the moon goddess Lunis and is responsible for guiding the souls of the dead into the night sky. The name is also synonymous with night or darkness, which is why it was adopted by the survivors of the great war as the name of the unified civilization of species.”

L-“So you're named for you people's grim reaper or angel of death figure. I guess that explains the skull charms you wear.”

I nodded, fiddling with the brass Raven skull at my throat.

M-“No our Elasia IS ELASIA. Why else do you think she has all of those wicked soul powers and stuff. She said herself that she lived multiple lives!”

R-“Mikey shut yah trap, can't you see you're makin her uncomfortable?”

M-“Sorry Angelface, I didn't mean…”

I gave Mikey a small hug when he knelt in front of me.

M-“It's alright Mikey, and don't worry we're still friends and super awesome gaming buddies.”

M-“Awesome, wait how did you know i…”

I just smirked tapping my temple.

M-“Jedi… I knew it”

It was then that my alarm went off.

“Well sorry guys, if i'm going to get any sleep before work in the morning i'm going to have to head back. It was really fun, we should definitely do this again.”

“Hey Elasia, one question.”

“Yeah don?”

“This job of yours, its a human surface job right?”

“Yeah i'm internshiping with the local forensics unit, why?”

“How do you manage to hide your, physical differences?”

I dug around in my bag, pulling out a blue glass bottle with a cork.

“This, its a potion used to concentrate the natural obscurants of my people. It doesn't make my wings go away but it does make them look like something else. The effects are only temporary though and the enchantment is very easy to break if necessary.”

I took a quick swig and pulled my wings against my back where they melted into a dark tribal tattoo. with a quick shake however they became wings again and a thin opalescent blue dust fell to the floor.

“It's not the easiest stuff to make and it's a bit painful. but it’s a viable option for those who have to interact with humans on a daily basis, especially if they have features that aren't easily hidden by other means.”

“Would it work for us?”

“I'm not sure, each person who uses it has to tailor the recipe to their species and individual biology in order to get the right results. I could look into it. I really should be going though.”

“I’ll walk you up.”

“Thanks Raph.”

…

When we got to the garage Raph led me to a dark and cluttered back corner, revealing a cleverly constructed trash cave just big enough for what was hidden inside. A modified Indian “Big Base” Scout with a deep burgundy and cherry red accented paint job. It was gorgeous.

“Damn, talk about a beauty, and he’s an old classic, 1948.”

Raph grabbed the handlebars like he was handling the love of his life as he rolled it out of its cubby and parked it at my feet.

“It's not entirely original, Donnie and I had to make some modifications and figure out how to build some parts from scratch so that it’d fit me.”

I had already gotten down on the floor of the shop and was curiously poking around the mechanics of the bike.

“Yeah it looks like you lengthened and reinforced the frame, and the suspension obviously, adding in the liquid cooling system was definitely a smart move, I can hardly see your additions on the cosmetic pieces, a human would never notice. This is really well done, How does he ride?”

“It’s a little heavy on the handling, nothing i can't handle though, gets a bit rough around 80 MPH.”

“But that’s expected of older models, even my XLCR gets a little shaky at higher speeds and its what 30 years newer?”

“I could… Drive ya home, if ya want. I mean so ya can hear what the engine sounds like.”

“That would actually be pretty nice. Doubt I'll hear it over the growl of MY bike though.”

At this i cocked my hip and snapped a sharp turn, swaying as i moved to mount Niltsi. Switching it on i revved the engine hard, the roar causing a smirk to pull at my lips, especially in response to the gigantic smile on Raph’s face. Starting up his engine he quietly rolled it to meet me at the mouth of the garage. Checking that the roads were clear our eyes met, a silent nod signaling the peal of thunder caused by both bikes speeding off down the road at the same time.

At first we kept pretty equal but as i started to pull ahead a bit Raph started to speed up, pulling ahead of me and starting a race. Narrowing my eyes i shifted my position so that i was lying as flat as possible against the tank of my Harley and raised my wings into an angle, the increased aerodynamics of the position causing me to rocket past Raph as my engine roared in victory. Raph decided if he couldn't beat me in speed then he’d beat me in style, as our bikes settled in next to each other he slowly began to raise up onto the seat of his Indian until he was riding the machine like a skateboard. One of his large two toed feet controlling the handlebars while the other maintained his balance and position. I couldn't help but throw my head back with laughter, leaning back in my seat and throwing my hands up as i steered with the toes of my riding boots. Soon though we reached my apartment and pulled the bikes into the alleyway parking behind the building.

“That was so much fun! I can't believe you surfed on that thing!”

“That thing you did with your wings was pretty cool, what do you call that?”

“Its called stooping, its a position used to increase diving speeds in falcons.”

In our excitement we both jumped around the alley, burning off adrenaline until we somehow ended up nearly chest to chest, the smiles on our faces bright and open.

“Your hair is all fluffy.”

Without thinking Raph smoothed his large hand over my short hair in an attempt to right it only for it to pop right back up. I couldn't help but notice how nice the sensation felt and to laugh at his frustrated expression.

“It does that when i'm excited, it's called plumeing….its a bird thing.”

“Like a parrot. Its cute.”

Realizing what he said his face immediately fell back into its intimidation mask and he moved to get back on his bike.

“Wait Raph….”

He started the engine and drove away as quickly as he could.

“Its ok…..”

When he disappeared from sight i spread my wings and with a few flaps landed on my apartment balcony. From here i could just make out his headlight shining between the buildings. I gently ran my fingers through my hair, copying the motions he had made.

“Goodnight Raphael.”

…

Raphael's POV

How fucking stupid am I! We were having so much fun, the night was going great and I go and ruin it by being a sappy anxious jackass! She probably thinks I'm a dopey dweeb!

Pulling quietly into the shop I hid Raijin back in the pile and stormed through the lair toward the dojo. Mikey tried to ask me how it went but I just growled low in my throat and pushed him away as I stormed past.

I needed to beat my anger into something.

After about an hour of destroying another training dummy I moved to the free weights. I needed to cool off.

What if she really meant what she said tonight? I mean she said nice things about everyone but I think that might have been a distraction tactic. Couldn't have my brothers calling me angel, or for Mikey to staple wings to my shell in my sleep. She looked so happy tonight, laughing and speeding on that beaut of a Harley. And her hair did look really nice all sticking up and wild, it was soft.

Throwing the bar back on the stand I rubbed the heels of my hands down my face. It couldn't happen I needed to stop fooling myself. Staring down at my hands I imagined her own looking so small and delicate against my rough green skin. No it would never work.

…

Elasia’s POV

The next day at work all I could think of was his smile and the feel of his hand in my hair.

No he would never like me like that, we're just friends, I need to stop reading so much into it.

I wore my red flannel tank top anyway.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #the world on a turtle's back #Elasia OC #raphael tmnt

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lampyridae92 · 8 years ago

Text

Silver and Black-Chapter 16

All the citizens had either been evacuated or were hiding in the bomb cellars, leaving the streets empty.

Well, almost empty.

The black cape with the spiked collar was slightly dancing in the wind while the man wearing it searched the streets with his scarily green eyes.

How many times had he been down here to fight a villain? These buildings had been smashed to pieces hundreds of times, only to be rebuilt in a more modern style. But the fountain had been allowed to stand. It had been crushed three times, but always rebuilt to look exactly the same as it had before. To Megamind’s joy. After all; this was where Roxanne had first hugged him. As him, that was. Not hidden under a hologram of some other person.

He wondered... If it wasn’t for a chubby guy with an afro, would he even be here? He wouldn’t have won Roxanne. Or maybe he would have done? But still, thinking back on it, this was the place where his life had changed.

A glance down at his watch made him frown. “It’s three minutes past.”

“Maybe they’re not coming?” Minion mused, lightening a tiny spark in his master. But it remained just that; tiny.

Before being put fully down.

“Waiting for us, Megamind?”

The sudden arrival startled the two, and they quickly turned to face the three villains.

They were all silver now; the hair, the pupil-less eyes, even the suits seemed to absorb the change, turning it from black to metal. They were all floating well 10 feet above the ground; Julian in the front with his siblings as guards behind him.

“We expected you two minutes and 54 seconds ago,” Megamind said, studying his gloves where his nails would be.

“Always keep them waiting,” Julian explained, searching the area. “No family members? I half expected at least to see your wife.”

The mention of Roxanne made the green eyes narrow and the next thing he said came as a snarl. “Can we get on with this? The sooner I have you locked up in jail, the sooner I can go home!”

“Of course!” Slowly levitating closer to the hero, Julian bent forward so that he could stare down at the one on the ground. “The sooner you’re dead, the sooner we can continue with our plans. And I promise you; that’s how things are going to go today. With you as a blue and black bloody body on the pavement. Or strapped down in my sister’s lab; one or the other. We haven’t quite decided yet.”

“You stay the hell away from my husband!”

A door suddenly opened in mid air, close to the parked hoverbike. Out of it came Roxanne, glaring at the silver man. She quickly walked up to Megamind, standing next to him with her back straight.

“Roxanne!” Megamind did a face palm; there was no other way to express just how bad he thought this turn of events was. Why was it that people never listened to him? “Minion, take Roxanne and drive her back to the Lair!”

“Sir!”

“Now, Minion!”

“No, no, no.” The grin on Julian’s face was priceless. “We don’t mind a bit. Feel free to stay, ma’am.”

Megamind was just about to growl something about that hidden threat, when someone beat him to it.

“You can just try to harm my mother!”

And to the scene came Sophia and Lila, landing their flying boards and jumping off them in order to walk up to the others and glare up at the villain.

Getting seriously frustrated, Megamind waved his arms above his head. “How many times do I have to say it? Fighting crime is not a family activity!”

“We still don’t mind, Megamind,” was Julian’s assurance, earning a glare from Megamind again.

“Would you mind to postpone this an hour or so? I have to force my family home and tie them up.” That last thing was added with a growl towards both wife and daughter.

“I’m sorry, but no can do. You see-” The villain crossed his arms and smirked. “First; no one likes a loose thread. Included myself. Second; I think it would be good for my brother to see all of you go down!”

This made the youngest of the silver humans float a bit back; his eyes wider. Until now he’d tried hard to keep in place and stick to his role in the background, though seeing Sophia and Lila arrive had been like getting a baseball bat smashed into the back of his head. Yet, he stayed in position; watching everything from his place as a sideline villain.

“And third; my sister would really like to have you freaks tied up and dissected.”

A chill went down all five’s back by the thought of scalpels and needles. Especially for Megamind it was that a touchy subject; something he’d secretly feared ever since he was a child. To be locked up in a sterile white room and have samples taken from him.

“And fourth; we would all like to bring our young experiment home for further studies.” Slightly turning towards the little brother, Julian whispered. “Right, bro?”

But Jonathan didn’t look at his brother. Instead he took the chance now that everyone’s eyes were on him, to float forward, staring straight into the now amber eyes. “Lila, I’m so sorry! I never meant for you to get dragged into this!”

Opening her mouth to say something, Lila was interrupted by Julian.

“I’m sorry for this, Megamind.” He laid a hand on Jonathan’s chest, pushing the boy behind him. “We’ve had a few family issues the past couple of days. I promise you that we’ve taken care of it and Jonathan is back on track! Isn’t that so, Jonah?”

The silver eyes fell to his feet as the memory of sitting in the darkness of the wine cellar flashed through his mind. But he couldn’t utter a word.

With his brows locked together, Megamind watched the short conversation between the two, reading between the lines. This wasn’t right. Something was very wrong in this family.

“We all have issues some times, but I’d prefer not to have my family hurt.” Turning his back to the trio, he instead glared at Roxanne and Sophia. “You two are taking the hover bike and Lila and getting back to the Lair this instant! And I will have Minion force you if I have to!”

“Please, Roxanne,” Minion begged. “Don’t have me leave Sir here! Do as he says.”

There were times Roxanne almost cursed Minion for being so gentle. By asking nicely, he could so easily make her agree to so much or to see things from a new angle. She knew Megamind was right; if she didn’t take the girls with her and go voluntarily, Minion would make sure they got home. And then Megamind would be left alone on the battle field.

But she didn’t get a chance to reach a decision before it was taken for her.

“As I said,” growled Julian, “I won’t allow any loose threads after this.” With a snap of his fingers, he gave Jennifer her cue and she flew down and picked up Sophia.

“Hey!” the girl whined and tried to wriggle loose from the metallic arms; but Jennifer only held harder around her and carried her 50 feet or so up in the air.

The oh so charming smile was back on Julian’s face. “No one is leaving this place without my permission.”

“Dad!”

Megamind watched his daughter in horror, knowing that a fall from that height down on the pavement would not end well. The nails of his wife were digging into his upper arm, dragging him out of a frozen condition he hadn’t noticed he was in.

“Let her down, Argent. My daughter has absolutely nothing to do with this.”

But the smile on Julian’s face didn’t wither. “As you please, Megamind.”

Without even blinking, Jennifer opened her arms, letting Sophia slide out of them, too scared to even make a sound.

The people on the ground rushed to reach her, Minion with his arms out and ready to catch her. But they were just too far from the girl to reach her in time, even if the extension of the robotic hands had been strong enough to do more than slowing down the fall. It was just too late!

Or...

“No!”

At the sight of his sister dropping his friend, Jonathan had taken action and managed to catch the falling Sophia at no more than 15 feet. The catch knocked the breath out of him, but he didn’t lose her. Instead he nervously glanced into her now wide eyed green eyes.

“I really am sorry!” he whispered.

“Jonathan?”

Carefully he placed her in Minion’s arms, and she was soon covered by her scared parents who wanted to do a full check to see if she was hurt.

Now that he was only floating just above the ground, he turned to Lila, the apology painted all over his face.

“Please don’t hate me.”

With a smile, she assured him. “No one hates you, Jonathan.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he was already fully transformed, he was sure he would have been blushing bright silver again; but the warm feeling spreading through him was quickly put an end to.

“What the hell, Jonah?” The smile had been ripped off Julian’s face, leaving only a furious and confused grimace.

Hands up and slowly rising again to get closer to his brother, Jonathan said; “We can’t do this, Julian.”

“What exactly is it we can’t do?”

“We can’t kill anyone! We can’t slaughter people for our own gain!”

But Julian didn’t care. “Where the hell is this crap coming from?”

A part of his silver heart got a sudden ache of hurt. His older brother did have the flaw of hearing and seeing only what he wanted to hear and see. If he’d paid more attention, this wouldn’t have been such a surprising turn of events.

“It’s been there all along. Julian, what we’re doing is wrong!”

“What are you doing, Jonah?”

A short moment of silent filled the air. Jonathan’s eyes moved to the sister’s. She hadn’t done anything but watch during the scene, but he knew her well enough to know that there actually were emotions under the mask she always carried.

His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear, but it was only really meant for her, when he spoke. “I’m picking a team.”

There was a twitch in her lower lip, but that was all he got. Yet it was such a strong expression for her that she might as well have screamed at him.

Julian took care of that. “What?”

“I’m picking a team. I’ll rather do what is right!”

“You’re choosing a group of freaks over your own blood?”

“They’re not freaks!” Jonathan cried. “We are! We’re the freaks here! We’re the monsters! I’m a monster!”

All the said ‘freaks’ on the ground stared at the scene that took place in front of them. Megamind leaned towards Roxanne, whispering from the corner of his mouth. “Roxanne, I think our family is less complicated than this one.” She only nodded in agreement.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Julian closed his eyes so that we wouldn’t have to look at his brother. “Our father gave us these powers so that we could have a better life. He loved us and wanted us to be superior over the rest of the world.”

“Yeah, sure! He loved me just enough to have me pinned to the floor as he forced a needle into me! He loved us just enough to take an overdose and leave us to ourselves!”

“He was a great man!”

“He was completely crazy!”

Julian opened his eyes, frozen by the rejection his younger brother had just given their father. “Jonah?”

Jonathan felt like he’d just screamed enough for the rest of his life. His shoulders slumped down and he sadly looked his brother straight into his eyes. “Dad couldn’t save Mum from dying. And that killed him months before the overdose did. Julian, our father was completely crazy. He thought what he was doing was right, but he didn’t want to stay behind to make sure it was. Mum’s dead and so is Dad. There’s nothing reasonable in continuing his work. You have to realize that.”

“No.”

“Julian, we can just run away. We could go to Europe; maybe we still have some family somewhere in France.”

“No.”

“Julian?”

“No!”

With a snarl and a glowing glare, Julian pointed at his younger brother. “You’re either with us or against us! You’re either in this family or not!”

“I...” Of course he should have known Julian would turn his back at him if he chose to do what was right. Jonathan had decided on a team, but saying it out loud felt so hard when he knew it would be only hurt following it. “I... I pick them. I won’t be in on this anymore.”

Julian then straightened his back and stared at his brother as he gave the verdict. “Then you’re no longer our brother.”

If it weren’t for the fact that he was fully silver, Jonathan’s eyes would have been a tad shiny now. But he still felt the rejection hit him like a rock.

“Brother...”

“I said no!”

If the rejection had hit him like a rock, then the stroke from the back of Julian’s hands hitting his face was like a mountain. The shock of being hit sent Jonathan out of his metal condition and back into human, causing him to fall ten feet down to the asphalt.

“Jonathan!” Sophia and Lila whined and ran over to the boy lying on the ground.

“Are you OK?” Lila asked with a hand on his back to help him sit up.

“Fine,” he lied, stunned that someone actually cared about that. Secretly he held to his side, over his ribs.

Up above, Julian called to his sister. “Let’s get this over with!”

She nodded and they flew away, disappearing in the distance.

“Was that it?” Megamind was seriously confused. “A family fight and then fly away? That’s it?”

“No,” Jonathan quickly said, getting to his feet. “They’re flying away to gain speed! We have to hide somewhere!”

Roxanne searched the street for somewhere to take cover. “What do you suggest?”

“Anywhere where they can’t see us. They’ll be back in a few seconds!”

“Everyone get into the car!” Megamind decided and began searching the air close to the parked hoverbike looking for the handle. The others followed his example, and finally it was Lila who bumped into the hard, invisible car. “Here!” she called, opened the door and climbed into the backseat.

When the doors were shut, Jonathan turned in the overcrowded backseat to look out the back window. “Drive!”

“What? Why?” was the fish’s reply.

In the next moment it was answered as a building four blocks down fell to the ground, crushing at least two other buildings in the fall.

“Driving it is!”

Jonathan kept on the lookout as Minion drove full speed through the city. With no cars to avoid, it was a rather simple task. At least for the first twenty seconds.

A loud crash was followed by another building falling. Because of the height, it was a rather slow fall, but Minion still had to steer the car in a 90 degree turn as the way was blocked. In that speed it caused the three teens and the reporter in the back seat to be crushed against each other.

“What’s the worst they’re capable of?” Megamind asked from the safety of the front seat.

Freeing himself from tangled legs and arms, Jonathan said “What’s the worst you can imagine?”

“A total destruction of the city.”

“Then they are capable of it!”

Roxanne grabbed the front seats to lean forwards. “What about the citizens?”

“The cellars are designed to withstand more or less anything,” Megamind assured. “Falling buildings included!”

In the adrenaline kick of the situation, Lila’s hair was back on fire. She cried out and began hitting it, trying to stop it from burning.

“Sophia! Do your thing!” commanded Megamind, and his daughter took her friends hands in her own.

“OK, calm down. Breathe.”

Jonathan looked over Sophia’s shoulder to observe the girl’s attempt to stop the fire. As Lila exhaled deeply and her hair once again was curly and in a sick colour of orangy blonde, he stared impressed at her.

“You’ve already got it under control?”

“Somewhat, yes,” Lila replied. If it wasn’t for the adrenalin of this whole situation, she would have blushed.

“Really?” He couldn’t help but to grin. “It took me seven months before being able to stop myself from changing! I still have accidents!”

“Like now?” Sophia asked with a raised brow. The boy next to her was actually flickering between metal and human; probably caused by the adrenaline.

“Like now.”

For a few seconds the three smiled at each other. There were no more secrets between them.

And then they all ended up in a pile of limbs again when a new building began falling right next to them, and Minion had to make a sharp u-turn to avoid the falling pieces.

But the manoeuvre caused Megamind to slide in his seat despised to his attempt to hold on. Accidentally he touched the button with ‘Stealth Mode’ and pushed the handle, turning the car visible.

For a second everyone in the car sat (or in the backseat; lay) frozen, before they panicked.

“Turn it on! Turn it on!”

Megamind sat up in order to do as told; but it was already too late. In the next minute the front of the car was completely crushed when a non-visible silver villain flew straight through it. The car lost contact with the ground, and spun through the air. Every single person inside the car screamed and Lila’s whole body stood in flames. Thankfully a silver Jonathan surrounding her, so no one got burned.

The car was thrown against the road, slid over 200 yards, before making contact with a brick wall.

A moment of silence was followed while people tried to regain conscience.

Megamind was the first to get his mind around. He’d ended up in Minion’s lap, and looked up at the fish inside the sphere.

“Minion, are you OK?”

Minion blinked and hissed. He’d been thrown into the glass, and his body wasn’t made for such hard impact. Still there were only minor injuries. At least, so he thought until he tried to move his left fin.

“It’s broken,” he whimpered.

“At least it’s not worse.”

Megamind managed to get on his knees to look into the backseat.

“Full report!”

Sophia, who’d ended up on the floor, got into a sitting position. “I’ve hit my head,” she whispered, holding said head in her hands. “And my neck is sore.”

“We’ll have a look at it later. Roxanne?”

No answer.

“Roxanne?”

The woman lay still against the door, her head resting against the window. Suddenly feeling the panic, Megamind crawled over the seat and into the back. His fingers instantly went to her pulse while feeling his own act up.

Silence.

Then a beat.

A relieved sigh escaped his lips. Thank god. “Roxanne. Wake up. Can you hear me?”

He laid his hands on her shoulders to shake her; the touch instantly brought her back with a whimper and then a cry. Scared over the fact that he ‘d hurt her, he backed off.

“Roxanne, where does it hurt?”

“M... my arm.”

As tenderly as he could, he checked her arm, making her whimper. During the years, they’d all gotten used to injuries, so there wasn’t more complain than necessary “It’s broken,” Megamind declared. “The doctors are going to have a lot to do when this is over. Lila, how are you?”

Lila and Jonathan had moved to give Megamind space to check Roxanne’s condition, and neither seemed seriously hurt.

“I’m OK. Only bruises, I think.”

Nodding to himself, he once again decided that seat belts really should be placed in the car. Thankfully the G-force had prevented them from being thrown too much around and the 200 yards slide had slowed the car down enough for the impact with the wall to be minor.

“Good. Jonathan?”

The boy completely froze, staring shocked at him. “W... What?”

“Are you hurt?”

The question slowly sunk in. Someone had actually asked if he was hurt? That was twice in one day! For a kid who actually had hit his head against the interior of his brother’s car without anyone caring, this was a very new experience.

“I... I’m fine,” he lied, even though his side was hurting more than ever.

“We’ll have to get out of the car and find somewhere to take cover!” Megamind decided.

Minion got out of the car with a bit of effort; the right side of it was bulked and the door sat hard. It had been badly ruined during the slide. The left side was still crushed against the wall. To open the door to the backseat, he actually had to fully rip it off! It was barely attached, anyway.

The passengers crawled out of the bulky car, Roxanne last and supported by Megamind.

Lila frowned and stood all still. “Do you two hear that sound?”

Everyone went silent and listened. There was a sound in the air; just like if you spun something attached to a tread very fast.

“It’s Julian and Jennifer flying!” Jonathan said. “We have to get out of the open!”

He grabbed Lila’s hand to drag her with him, but stopped when a new crash was followed by another swaying building.

“Run!” was Sophia’s suggestion, one that was instantly followed. The group ran. Jonathan let go of Lila’s hand, gave the ground a kick and got up in the air, before heading down again. With a startled cry Lila was picked up and flown down the street in such a speed that she could only compare it to a roller-coaster-ride. The stop was also very sudden, making her stomach protest a bit. She was gently placed between some bins in an alley, and opened her mouth to say something; but the boy was already gone. The next minute he was back again, this time with a startled Sophia.

The two girls stared at each other, not sure how to react to the rescue.

“This... This is the weirdest three days I’ve ever had!” Lila stated. It was underlined by her hair catching fire again.

It only took a couple of seconds for the rest of the group to join them in the alley, breathing hard from running and Roxanne whimpering over her broken arm.

Megamind went straight to business, staring Jonathan straight in the eyes. “Do you have a weakness? As metal, are you magnetic or something?”

“No, not magnetic.”

“What kind of metal are we talking about?”

“Something new, something unknown. Jennifer’s done a lot of tests. But if it helps; we’re not any stronger than we are in human form!”

Listening carefully, Megamind tapped a finger against his chin. “You’re not?”

“No. But we are a lot harder! The only reason we can burst through vaults and houses is because of our speed. We can fly faster than a jet! And we won’t get hurt because we’re so hard. Only diamond can give us minor scratches. But we’re not any stronger.”

Nodding, the hero understood. “Super speed, not super strength! So, if we can trap them-”

“They won’t have enough room to gain speed!” Sophia finished. The two geniuses grinned.

“Sir, in that case I think I have an idea!” Telling everyone his idea, Minion stretched his master’s grin out wider.

“Minion, you fantastic fish, you!”

They had to make the villains stand still.

And there were only two people they’d have second thoughts about destroying them the second they saw them; Jonathan and Lila. Jonathan would not get seriously hurt anyway, and Lila was an important experiment on the loose.

They were slowly walking down the street, listening for changes in the constant sound the two flying villains made. Every now and then there was a crash somewhere in the city when another building fell down. He wondered how many of those were intended and how many were accidents. In such a speed it was sometimes difficult not to hit random objects. It took a great deal of concentration and well practiced reflexes to fly so fast.

Fast enough to crush a person into tiny pieces of flesh.

“I don’t like this.”

“It’ll be fine,” Lila assured him, but she too was so nervous she couldn’t stop her hair from burning. With a sideways glance up at him, she thought out loud; “You do know they’ll go to prison now, right?”

His eyes shifted and he blinked quickly several times, not once looking at her. “Yeah. I know.” What would happen to him after this? Juvenile? Was it right of him to do this? Shouldn’t blood be thicker than water? But Julian wouldn’t listen. He’d rather go to jail than give up. What about Jennifer? What-

A hand entangled with his, and instantly his thoughts stopped. Looking down at her, he suddenly remembered why he was doing this.

Because what they were doing was wrong. Because killing and robbing for your own gain was a crime. Because changing the DNA of a whole city, not bothering how many died in pain during it, was inhumane.

And therefore he had to do this.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, making him relax. Jonathan nodded and went back to his mission.

With closed eyes he stopped in the middle of the street, shutting down all other senses besides his hearing.

They were in the other end of the city to the right, behind them. Both going clockwise. A change in the sound; one of them had spotted the two in the street. He or she would come from the front at the end of the street in order to see exactly who they were.

Jonathan let go of Lila’s hand and prepared himself before kicking off the ground and fly up into the air.

The sound of metal against metal rang through his ears before the sensation of flying through several walls of bricks and concrete. It was unpleasant, like falling through a thin layer of ice on a lake, but it didn’t hurt. Then his body slid over the asphalt, making a firework of sparks.

That hurt, because he’d been startled by the impact with the ground and turned human again right before he and the other stopped. With a groan he went back into metal and the now torn up suit went from its natural black colour to silver.

The whole thing hadn’t taken more than two seconds, and he looked up to see whom he had crashed with.

Julian snarled and they stared at each other for a split second, both knowing that Lila was still standing in the middle of the street on the other side of the building they’d flown through.

In the exact second they kicked off the ground, heading for the girl. Julian, with much more strength than the 15 year old boy, kicked harder, but Jonathan was thinner and built up the speed quicker. They flew through the hole they’d made straight through the brick building, Julian ready to grab the girl on the other side. The distance was way too short to gain full speed, but Lila was still mostly a blur of orange flames.

In the corner of his eye, Jonathan could see Julian stretch out his arms to reach for his runaway experiment, the move just enough to create air resistant that made his speed fall slightly.

And just enough for Jonathan to get in front of him making the two brothers crash again and fall to the ground, Julian turning from metal to flesh. He quickly changed back, calling out; “Jen!”

Even though she’d been in full speed and busy making buildings fall, Jennifer had probably passed once, and now stopped in the air above them.

“Take the girl,” Julian ordered.

But just as Jennifer headed down to do just that, Lila was swept up from the ground by someone else.

From a metallic blue flying board, Sophia grinned back at the villains and Lila, safely standing in front of her, stuck her tongue out.

The two rounded a corner and giggled at each other.

“Well, that was easy!” Lila said.

Sophia looked over her shoulder; checking that no one was following them. “Teamwork always makes things easier!”

The two silver villains blinked in shock as the board with the two girls disappeared behind a corner. Then Julian cried out and hit a fist into the asphalt. “Crap!”

Glaring at the left behind younger brother, Julian pointed a finger at him. “You! Why do you always keep getting in the way?”

He took a few steps forward, rising his hand at Jonathan.

But before he reached him, Jennifer had landed in between them, her palms showing.

“Julian,” she warned, making him stop.

The confusion was a thick layer over his face. “Jen?” Then he frowned. “Sis, move!”

“No.”

For a moment they stared at each other, before something else caught their interest with a “Hey!”

Minion had stepped out from the alley he’d been hiding in further down the street, smiling and waving.

The two villains glanced at each other, and then stared at Minion. They were still on the same mission.

“Seems like you’re going to have someone to play with, Jen. I’ll get him for you.” Julian once again kicked off, heading for the alien.

And so did Jonathan.

“Now!” someone called from his hideout. On the cue two Brainbots appeared, dropping a copper ball over the woman before she had the time to react.

For the third time metal hit metal as Jonathan stopped his brother before he reached Minion. And once again they fell to the ground. But this time Jonathan kicked off again, leaving Julian alone on the asphalt. The man, shaking in anger and frustration, got up on his feet, staring at Jonathan. Before he got the chance to say or do whatever he was planning to, Megamind again called “Now!” and a second copper ball was dropped and locked itself around the villain.

Julian cried out in fury and began hitting he sides of the ball. But it didn’t help; on the outside they could only hear his fists hit the metal, and not even a bulk was made.

Coming out from their alley, Roxanne and Megamind let out a couple of relieved sighs. The woman had gotten a temporarily sling to keep her arm in.

Megamind raised his watch to his mouth. “Sophia, it’s OK. You and Lila can come back now.” Then he flashed the approaching fish a smile. “I’d completely forgotten about those spare traps. I should listen to you more often!”

Roxanne chuckled. “Did it take you seventeen years to come to that conclusion?”

But Minion was rather happy about himself, smiling over the recognition. “Thank you, Sir.”

All three looked up when Sophia and Lila came around the corner on their board, landing in front of them and jumping off.

“We should ground you for not listening to us and staying in the Lair,” Roxanne said, even though she didn’t mean it.

Tipping a finger against her nose, Megamind pointed out, “Then we’d have to ground you too! As I said; fighting crime is not a family activity!”

“But it often ends up like one,” Sophia said as both her parents and the fish pulled her into a family hug.

Lila watched the sight with a smile, but it quickly dropped when she moved her eyes to the boy standing alone by the second copper trap.

Julian was not pleased. From inside the trap he was hitting on the walls and crying at the brother outside of it.

“Jonathan! Jonah, goddammit! Get me out of here! Jonathan! You’ll end up in the cellar, do you hear?”

Slowly Jonathan was backing away, his arms around his now human frame. Julian kept yelling and hitting on the walls, and all he really wanted was to shrink and become as tiny as he felt like. Maybe he’d turn invisible and be carried far, far away with the wind.

He hadn’t noticed how far from Julian he’d walked before another voice said his name. “Jonathan?”

Turning, he found himself by the first trap and back with Jennifer.

“Jennifer? Jennifer, I’m sorry. But...” In the lack of anything to say he sighed and placed his forehead against the metal. “I’m sorry, sister.” A lonely tear ran down his cheek and ended up on the asphalt.

There was a long moment of silence before Jennifer spoke. “You’re still my brother.”

What had she just said?

“W... what?”

“You’re still my brother, Jonathan.”

His eyes fist widened, then closed hard. Biting his lip, he only let out a low whimper and placed his hands against the cold copper. For some reason he could imagine her doing the same from the inside. Maybe she did? After all, they were family.

“Th... thank you, Jennifer.”

From a distance, the sirens of police cars sounded, called for by Megamind, reminding him about what he’d just done to those he loved.

But he still stood by it.

“I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let you do it.”

“I understand.”

Her voice sounded changed just then; softer and more real. With a sad smile he recognised the sound of it. When Jennifer added her rare emotions to it, she sounded just like their mother.

“We’ll figure something out,” she assured.

The cars stopped and Jonathan heard the officers get out of them. Glancing over, he saw that one of them, a short, dark skinned woman he was sure he’d seen somewhere, walked over to Megamind, who pointed at him and said something.

“They’ll want to talk to me.”

“Go.”

For a second he stood still, resting his body against the trap, before walking towards the police officer.

It was time to come clear about everything.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Megamind nodded towards the boy who was currently being checked by a doctor. The ‘I’m fine’ Jonathan had given him was not all true. He had a broken rib and the sliding over the ground when he’d stopped Julian had given him some rather ugly scratches in addition to the half healed one on his forehead.

Officer Malone shrugged. “I don’t know yet. But I hardly believe he’ll get juvenile. After what he told me, this wasn’t his idea. The boy seems to be as much as victim in this as anyone. And honestly, I think he’s holding back a bit of information about how he has been treated. He’s got an ugly old bruise under those red locks. I don’t think Julian Argent was suited for taking care of him. After all, he was only eighteen when their father died. That’s an early age to suddenly become head of a family.”

“Yes, it is. And not any family either. So what do you think will happen?”

The woman sighed. “As I said; I don’t know. But I do suspect he’ll end up in the system. Foster home perhaps? If we can find a family suited to take care of a boy with such powers, that is.” She glanced up at Megamind. “As you know, growing up being different isn’t always easy. You might grow into something you’re not suited to. Maybe he’ll be sent to a orphanage or boarding school.”

With sad, green eyes, Megamind watched the boy sitting down by a wall, his head rested against his knees and his hands on his head. A boy with more problems than necessary. Someone else seemed to notice; Sophia and Lila had come and sat down on either side of him for support and comfort.

Everyone should have a family.

Everyone...

A memory flashed through his mind; something Roxanne had said the other day.

“Officer Malone,” he said with a hopeful smile, “I’ve got an idea.”

#Megamind #Sophia Megan Ritchi #fanfiction #silver and black

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