#and then watching reload clips i felt it again i was like good god i hate this guy i wanna beat him up

[hecksupremechips]

To also go off of the point about cop!akihiko being annoying to me I gotta say that Akihiko as a character is very hit or miss with me because of how different adaptations of p3 will subtly alter his character. I felt like in portable with the femc route he comes off best, he’s a bit of a hothead with an obsession with fighting, but he’s overcompensating his strength so he doesn’t feel as weak and helpless as he’s been in many situations. He defines strength in a very literal sense, being physically strong and using that to protect others, but he’s lacking in emotional strength as a result. And in particular in this version I think he’s portrayed as a bit more goofy and sweet in a sense. He cares deeply for you as a friend and leader but he struggles with finding the words to describe how he feels. Hes kinda naive and gullible and has trouble noticing his surroundings. He has no clue what he’s doing but his heart is in the right place. I think he just comes off much more human and he has flaws, many many flaws, and that makes him all the more lovable

But then in other adaptations and spinoffs it’s like. They look at him through some hetero male bullshit filter and seem to view him as a lot more admirable and cool. Like in p3 dancing, theres literally an event where he’s talking with Junpei and Minato and they’re gushing about how perfect Akihiko is and how he doesn’t seem to have ANY flaws at all. And it becomes clear his inability to flirt with women just gets added as a way to make sure you, the Straight Male Player, don’t get insecure being next to such Perfection because at the end of the day, you’re still more charming and sexy than he will ever be because you’re better. It’s a “flaw” that’s only there to shield a sensitive male ego. And then in arena I mean, come on. He’s overly beefy and is a damn cop and travels the world and loves Protein™️ it’s his whole personality and he’s so clearly meant to be seen as hot but like, he’s just some shitty hetero male fantasy. Hes what the writers deem to be a Perfect Man that every guy wishes he could be, but don’t worry he’s still bad with women so you don’t gotta worry about him stealing your property- I mean, girlfriend!

And though I’ve not played reload and don’t really plan to anytime soon, judging from his social episodes they seem to have a similar problem. Akihiko comes off as a lot less approachable, like the year age gap is just too much of a barrier to get to know him properly. And he doesn’t have that dorky sweetness he has in portable, he’s just that perfect hetero male fantasy guy and don’t you fucking worry- he still has his protein powder with him

[msmarvelwrites]

The Winter Ghost - Part 16

Info: A Devastating car crash causes you to lose your memory and start over. The only thing left in the wreckage was the horrific nightmares which plagued your mind. If you knew what today would entail you would have just stayed in bed. But you didn’t and because of that, everything you knew was about to change.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of death, fluff. 

W/c: 2.3 k  

A/n: Welcome back, and Happy Labour Day! We’re winding down here folks, but I’ve got some spicy chapters coming up... Thats all I’m going to say about that. But honestly, the biggest of thank you’s to @cutie1365​ for editing those parts because they were rough. I embarassed myself quite afew times. Anyways, enjoy babes! 

The sun burned into the cabin windows causing the dust that hovered stagnant in the dull room to sparkle. Bucky had tossed and turned for the past few hours, trying to rest his eyes, but it was to no avail. Instead of torturing himself further by counting ceiling planks, he groaned out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. It appeared he wasn't the only one having trouble sleeping. 

Steve and Wanda hovered over Vision as he sat at the kitchen table, typing into the laptop. 

“Sergeant Barnes, I’ve located Agent L/n” The android spoke, freezing Bucky in his tracks. 

“You found Y/n?” He stumbled over his feet, joining the three of them as he watched the small red dot on the screen blink slowly. There you were. 

“Okay, that's not too far from here. Maybe a half hour right. Keep your comms on, I’ll get packed and head out now-”

“Alone?” Wanda spoke surprised. 

“I can handle a couple of Hydra picks. And I’m not risking what happened to Nat to happen again.” 

“That's not really up to you, jerk.” Steve sighed. “I’m with ya… Till the end of the line, remember?” 

Bucky’s eyes softened at that, watching as a small smile pulled at the corner of Steve's mouth. His relationship with his best friend had been a little rocky these past few weeks to say the least. But for the first time in a long time, he trusted him. Completely and fully. Bucky wasn't alone, not any more. 

“Alright, punk. Let's go get her back.” 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

You squeezed the trigger, wincing as the machine in your hand clicked. 

Silence. 

You pulled it again, but same as before nothing happened. 

“Oh, baby. You're even more ruthless than I remember.” Tommy taunted, holding up the clip in his hands before springing from the floor, charging at you. You quickly dodged him, sending him into the wall behind you. 

“You’d really shoot me? After everything we’ve been through. Bucky Barnes must have some pretty good moves. Remind me to ask him when Hydra gets their little pet back.” 

You growled, “Take his name out of your mouth.” 

“And what about you, baby. Has it been in yours?” He cooed, lunging at you and hammering a stiff punch to your jaw. You stumbled back a few pases, but ultimately regained your balance. 

“I trusted you. I loved you!” You screamed, rocketing your leg forward and sweeping it under Tommy’s legs, knocking him down. He gasped on impact, clutching his chest for air. 

“Tell me,” He wheezed. “When he touches you, do you think of me?” The small smirk on his thin lips disappeared as you brought your boot down on his throat. He choked and gasped for air, but none came. For a moment you wondered if this was really who you were. A killer, nothing but a numb shell of a woman he had left behind. 

You watched as his face turned a deep shade of purple. He furiously clawed at your leg begging for air. It would be so easy. With your strength and a little more added pressure you could completely crush his windpipe. Hell, you're sure you could rip his head clean off, but you didn't want blood on your new combat boots. It’s funny, all this time you were thinking Bucky was the monster. Yet here you stood, Tommy’s life in your hands and there was nothing you'd enjoy more than watching his eyes roll back into his skull. Just like before, only this time there would be no second chances. 

The commotion outside the small room had your head snapping up and away from your prey. Gunfire echoed through the hallways, causing you to freeze. As the footsteps neared your room, you made your decision. Tommy would get his one way or another, but not if you died first. 

Reluctantly you lifted your boot off his now bruised and raw throat. He drew a jagged breath as the air rushed back into his swollen lungs. You grabbed the mag from across the room and reloaded the gun with a deep click. 

“Not a word.” You threatened Tommy, pressing the pistol into his head behind him. If you were going out, it was going to be a bloodbath, starting with his.

The metal door was torn from its hinges in an explosion of dust and concrete.

“I’d pull the trigger if I were you, doll.” His familiar husky voice boomed. 

“Bucky?” You all but whispered. 

“We’re not killing anyone.” Steve spoke from beside him as he and Wanda walked through the dust filled room. 

“You came.” You swallowed down your exhaustion you only now realised was there.

“Of course we came. Couldn't leave my best girl. All though, now I see you can take care of yourself just fine.” Bucky chuckled. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your lips as relief filled your lungs. 

“They're gunna’ to kill you.” Tommy coughed out. Bucky’s eyes shot to his, and as if it was the first time he had really realised he was in the room. 

“Oh, you must be Tommy. You know, heard great things, but now that we're meeting - officially- I have to say, I’m disappointed.” He took two wide pases to the quivering man, looking down on him. “You're shorter than I thought you'd be.” Bucky half joked. 

“Go on Winter Soldier. Do what you do best. Show her who you are.” He breathed, more confidence in his small voice now. He truly had a death wish.

“With pleasure.” Bucky seethed. You prepared yourself for the gruesome image that was about to unfold but the next thing you felt was Bucky’s hands on either side of your arms. When you opened your eyes, his were soft. 

This time, you knew who initiated it. You wrapped your hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down to you, crashing your lips onto his. They were soft and rough all at once as he drank you in. His flesh hand quickly lost itself in your hair as he pulled you in deeper. He kissed you softly, but you urged for more, desperate and craving to make up for lost time. He chuckled darkly at your attempt, holding you tight to his chest. He wanted nothing more than to hold you like that and never let go, but there were bigger things at play. Reluctantly, he pulled away as you gasped for breath. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Bucky breathed, taking your hands in his. You nodded, completely lost in thought. 

“Please.” He signed, following Steve and Wanda out of the room. 

“You can't just leave me here!” Tommy shouted. 

“Don’t worry, darling. Hydra’s going to take care of you. I mean, you let me get away, but I’m sure they’ll understand. After all, historically Natzi’s have been known for their forgiveness...” You grinned, turning on your heel and coming face to face with him.

“Y/n, please. Baby, you gotta’ help me. I'm sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Tommy begged. His meak words caused you to grit your teeth. 

“I want you to remember this when they’re torturing you… I could have killed you. Easily- without regret. But you deserve so, so much worse.” You signed, slapping his face mockingly. You turned on your heel, as his words hit your back like a threat. 

“You're a slut, you know that. No one will ever love you like I did. You'll always be a sad, broken, pathetic bitch. Lucky your family fucked off when they did before they could see you grow up to be such whore.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Bucky watched you carefully as you gnawed on your bottom lip, pleading with your eyes. He met your silent question with a shrug of his shoulders. Swiftly you turned and before Tommy could understand what was happening you took a fistful of his polo shirt and instantaneously collided your fist with his cheek, knocking him out instantly. 

“God damn, you're beautiful.” Bucky breathed, causing you to giggle. 

“Lets get the fuck out of here.” You spat, watching Tommys limp body crumpled on the floor. It took everything in you not to finish the job right there. Luckily Bucky was there to pull you away. 

You were quickly rushed through the hallways, avoiding the Hydra agents who writhed in half conscious pain on the floor. A nice touch by Wanda, who most likely sent them to their personal hell on earth. A few of them had bullet holes in their appendages but nothing fatel. 

“Why aren't we killing them again?” You asked under your breath to Bucky. 

“Steve thinks if a bunch of Hydra agents wind up dead ittl’ alert his friends back in New York. We’re trying to keep a low profile.” He explained, clenching his jaw. “Doesn't mean I’m not tempted to rain down fire on these sons of bitches. But he’s right.” 

“But they know how to replicate my serum now. What do we-”

“We’ll keep close tabs on them. Right now we need to get you out of here. We’ll come back when we regroup.” He resaured you, pulling you close. “You're my mission. You've always been my mission. Can you just let me save you?” He chuckled. 

You shook your head, a smile spreading on your lips. “I don't need a knight.” 

Bucky flashed that lopsided grin you missed so much, “How bout’ a Sergeant?” He asked deeply, sending a chill to blossom through your body. 

“I’ll get back to you.” You spoke sheepishly. 

“Sam says the jets fired up. He and Vision are on the tarmac just out front.” Steve spoke, leaning you out the doors and into the burning sunlight. The four of you ran across the pathment as Steve helped Wanda into the aircraft. Wanda wrapped her hand around yours and pulled you up, but before you could climb in, the sound of gunfire exploded through the air. 

In the time it took you to turn around, it was too late. Bucky had taken the blow of two bullets fired from the disheveled Hydra agent across the tarmac. Your heart stopped as another round of bullets sprayed through the air. Wanda screamed your name as you pulled away from her and threw yourself in front of Bucky, absorbing the impact. In a flash of red, you disintegrated the bullets, turning them to dust before you. 

“Get him out of here.” You ordered, turning for a moment to assess his injuries. Steve and Sam reluctantly pulled Bucky onto the jet leaving you to face your demon. The agent smiled wickedly. 

“Leaving so soon, Y/n. Family reunion not all you thought it was going to be?” He snearned. 

“Family. Is that even a word you understand?” You spat, closing in on him. He was only a few yards away. The man shrugged and tucked his gun away. 

“Maybe not. How about some words you'll understand?” He spoke coolly. 

“Выхлоп.” Exhaust. The word echoed around your mind, a memory pulling at your heart. 

“Отражение...тоска...забытый...горящий...призрак...пять...замороженный...мост…  чувство вины.” 

Reflection...Longing… Forgotten… Burning… Ghost… Five… Frozen… Bridge… Blame.

Images flashed through your mind. The inferno of your childhood home. Tommy’s lifeless body tipping over the bridge… Your mom and dad, the way they smiled. You're sisters giggle. Your mission… Finally, numbness washed over you as you hung your head in exhaustion. 

You took two steps closer to the man, your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Are you ready to comply?” He questioned curley. 

“Yeah, that doesn’t work anymore.” You breathed, snapping your head up to meet the man's horrified face. Crimson flames erupted out of your hands as you lifted him off the ground. With the flick of your fingers, the bones in his legs snapped, an ungodly sound of crunching willing the air. He screamed in pain as you threw him like a ragdoll into the side of the building. 

You shook your head, physically trying to rid yourself of the daze Hydras trigger words had sent you into. Bucky calling your name from behind knocking you back to reality. You ran towards the jet, climbing in and trying to steady your breathing. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, astonished. 

“I think so.” You replied, just as shocked as he was. 

“Those were trigger words. Just like Bucky had. How did you fight it?” He spoke. 

You looked to Bucky who only blinked at you. You had your answer before you even spoke. 

“Bucky. I just remembered Bucky.” You breathed, squatting down beside him and holding your hand over his wounds to relieve his pain. 

“I knew it.” He groaned, feeling the ache slowly dissipate into thin air. 

“What?” You chuckled, taking a seat beside him and pressing your lips to his temple. He signed into your touch and leaned his head onto your shoulder.  

“Knew you couldn't leave me for dead. You’ve got my six.” He explained, repeating his words from the other day. You smiled into your lap and rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah. I thought it might be a dick move. But we’re even now.” You sighed, nudging him a little.  His eyes fluttered closed as he began to doze off. His wounds surely repairing themselves while he slept. You wondered if he could hear how fast your heart was beating as you watched him nuzzle into you. 

Of course, he did. He smiled softly, knowing he made you feel the same as you did him. Though he wondered if he was pushing his luck to imagine he could take that thought one step further.

.......................................................................................................................

A/N: So, #fuck tommy. Telling him off in this was honestly therapeutic lol. I really hoped you guys enjoyed this one. As always, please like and reblog of you’ve read it. And feel free so leave some feedback, its alwasy welcome! 

@projectcampbell​

@kalesrebellion​

@calwitch​

[jessiejunebug]

Please Don’t Leave Me

Summary: The team is checking out an abandoned HYDRA base. But, it might not be as abandoned as they thought. What happens when Y/N gets injured and Loki is afraid he’s going to lose her?

Warnings: Blood, slight violence from Loki, near-death situation

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: This story is part of @lovermrjokerr #Lovermrjokerr8kchallenge with the prompt, Near-Death Situation. I hope you guys enjoy! 

This mission was supposed to be easy.

The HYDRA base was supposed to be abandoned.

As Y/N dodged fire from HYDRA agents, she realized that both assumptions were wrong. This mission was anything but easy.

Surrounding the building had been easy. The team had split up, circling the building, checking for any signs of life, while Tony flew above them, doing the same. They all came to the same conclusion. There was no one there.

Y/N quietly entered the building with Loki and Natasha at her side. All were on guard just in case. The three slinked down the hallways until they found a room with dark computers. Natasha was quick to holster her gun and move to the computers, pulling out a flash drive to collect any files they might have had on those computers.

Steve came over the coms, telling them that he wanted the team to search the entire building for anything HYDRA might have left behind.

Leaving Natasha to her work, Y/N and Loki slipped out of the room and continued down the hallway. Glancing at Loki, Y/N couldn’t help but admire him. He was beautiful, even more so in the field. His sharp eyes scanned everything around them, taking in every detail. The shadows of the building passed over his face, making him look even more dangerous than she already knew he was. The knives glinting at his side proved that. While Y/N knew he was deadly, he had never turned that onto her.

Ever since Thor had returned to Earth with Loki, claiming that Odin wanted him to live on Earth until he changed, he had never been anything but kind to her. Sure, in the beginning, he was cold and distant to everyone, though this was understandable, since everyone except Thor seemed to hate his guts. He had mostly stayed in his room and only came out when no one was around. One evening, late in the night, he had come into the kitchen while Y/N was there, grabbing a snack and some tea before bed. She heard him enter the room and then pause, and she knew he was debating whether or not he should continue into the room.

She turned to look at him over her shoulder and saw how he was hesitating in the doorway. Y/N sent him a small smile before the kettle let her know that the water was done. “Would you like some tea? I was making some for myself, but I have enough for you too, if you’d like.”

After a moment of silence, she heard him shuffling further into the room. This was the first time she had been alone with him. She had met him when he had first arrived and saw him in passing around the Tower, but this was the first time she ever had a full conversation with him.

Once he was a few feet away from her, he responded quietly, “Yes, I would like that. Thank you.”

Y/N shot him another smile. “Of course.” She then busied herself in pouring the water into two mugs and put the tea bags into them, letting them sit for a minute, before she turned and handed him his mug.

Loki stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, before he grabbed the mug, his fingers brushing hers. His eyes met hers, as if he was looking for a reaction, but Y/N just smiled and grabbed her own mug and a snack before turning to leave. “Goodnight Loki,” she murmured quietly, before walking out of the kitchen.  

His smooth voice made her pause, “Goodnight Y/N.” She suppressed her smile with her mug as she went to her room. After that encounter, Loki didn’t seem to mind her company. He was still wary around the others, and because of that, usually gravitated more towards her in social gatherings. He even started coming out for team dinners, always sitting next to her. They would even spar together, though he always went easy on her, despite her protests. Together, they made a good team. In the field, they were often sent together because of how well they worked. Often times, they didn’t even really need to communicate, simply reacting to each other’s movements.

With how close they had gotten in the past few months, it was impossible for Y/N to not have fallen for the God. He was sweet and charming and drop-dead gorgeous. It was almost hard to be around him without blushing at something he said, or starring at him when he wasn’t looking. She told herself that it was okay to look, because he was never going to feel the same for her.

Y/N’s and Loki’s footsteps echoed slightly on the tile floor of the hallway. Once they got to a bend, one hallway going right, and one going left. With a glance towards Loki, and him returning a nod, they split up down the two separate hallways.

With her gun held between her hands, Y/N slinked down the dark hallway. She heard Tony mumble into the coms that there wasn’t anything here and that they should just leave quickly.

At the end of the hallway, Y/N came to a set of stairs and she silently made her way down them, before coming to a door. She quietly opened the door and trained her gun into the darkness, waiting for movement. When there was none, she slowly slid farther into the room.

She noticed some light coming from farther back in the room and started heading towards it, when a shuffle caught her attention. She froze and quickly faced the direction that the noise had come from, gun raised.

Suddenly, a shout rang out in the air, and lights switched on, revealing at least a dozen HYDRA soldiers. As soon as the lights were on, guns were raised at her and started firing.

Y/N dropped to the ground quickly, avoiding most of the bullets as she shouted into her coms. “This place is not abandoned! They’re hiding! Watch out!” She hoped they could hear her over the sounds of gunshots. She barely heard their answering shouts, inquiring if she was alright. Loki’s seemed to be the loudest. After a moment, she heard gunshots in her coms too. It seemed like they were all out of hiding now.

Y/N scrabbled behind a table, the adrenaline coursing through her body as she scanned the room around her. The shots stopped and she knew that the agents were trying to circle her and trap her in the room. With a deep breath, she sat up and fired multiple shots at the agents, causing many of them to fall back for cover. She knew she hit at least two of them by the thumps of their bodies hitting the ground. She ducked back down to reload her gun and sat up again. This time, they were ready. Bullets whizzed past her head, causing her to duck down again. She knew she couldn’t stay in this room, or else she would be surrounded within seconds.

Steeling herself, she quickly made a run for the door. Bullets hit the wall by her head and body as the agents unloaded their clips at her. Once she was out of the room, she took of down the hallway and headed for the stairs. More shots rang out behind her and she blindly turned the gun behind her and fired back. A bullet grazed her leg and she cried out, stumbling for a moment, before continuing.

Turning the corner, she stopped for a moment, to catch her breath and to fire back at the agents behind her. A few bullets hit their mark, but she had to duck behind the wall again as more bullets got too close to her head. Deciding to just run for it, she raced down the hallway and launched herself up the stairs, grunting through the pain in her leg.

Once she cleared the stairs, she raced back towards the break in the hallway that she left Loki. Her worry for him made her heart pound harder against her chest. She knew he could handle himself, but her fear overrode her logic.

“Loki?!” she shouted down the hallway, waiting for a response that didn’t come. She could still hear some struggling through the coms, but it seemed like the team had taken care of most of the agents.

Heading down the way that Loki went, she desperately searched each room for him, her worry climbing when each room was empty. Finally, his form appeared at the end of the long hallway and Y/N let out a sigh of relief and ran towards him.

But she wasn’t fast enough.

First, she noticed Loki’s eyes go from relief to fear and she started running towards her. Then, she heard him shout, “Behind you, Y/N!”

Y/N stopped and pivoted, pulling her gun up to aim at the agent that behind her. But, not quickly enough.

A single shot rang out and Y/N felt her body stumble backwards before pain erupted in her abdomen. The pain made her stumble and her legs collapsed under her, sending her to the floor with a groan.

She faintly heard Loki’s roar of rage as a dagger was flung at the agent, and she heard the thud as it connected with the agent’s chest. Another thud told her that the agent was dead.

Loki was at her side in seconds, staring at the bullet wound in her stomach and he watched as Y/N’s suit started to stain crimson, and blood started to pool under her body. Y/N was fighting for consciousness, trying to fight the pain that radiated through her entire body.

Loki quickly pulled her into his arms, cradling her to his chest. Y/N let out a moan in pain as her body was shuffled and Loki was quick to look down at her. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll get you out of here. You’ll be fine.” Y/N wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

Loki took off at a fast pace towards the exit of the building, shouting in his coms that Y/N was shot and he was bringing her to the jet.

Y/N was unaware of most of what was going on around her, but she did find comfort in Loki’s arms. As consciousness started to fade, she thought that if she died here, dying in Loki’s arms wasn’t too bad of a way to go. Her eyes started to flutter shut as the pain started to become unbearable.

“Keep your eyes open for me, love. Stay awake. We’re almost there.” Loki urged quietly, with fear lacing his voice. Fear for her? Y/N wasn’t sure and her pain-addled brain didn’t allow that thought to continue for much longer.

Y/N felt the sun on her face as Loki made his way outside and raced for the jet, where the others were already waiting.

Shouts of concern were hear, but Y/N couldn’t make any of them out.

“Get the first aid kit.”

“Set her down here.”

“We need to stop the blood.”

All of the voices started to blend together as she was placed on a cot towards the back of the jet. Her head lolled to the side and finally, her eyes closed as the indistinguishable voices continued. She knew some of them were aimed at her, telling her to stay awake as her suit was pulled away from her wound and pressure was applied. A groan escaped her lips and she realized that she just wanted to fade into the darkness that was creeping up on her.

Suddenly, one voice rang out louder than the rest.

Stay awake, darling. You’re safe now, and we’ll get you help. You’ll be fine. Just please, do not sleep. Do not leave me.

Loki’s voice rang out in her mind, and even though he didn’t actually speak the words to her, she heard the desperation in them.

Struggling, she opened her eyes to see Loki’s concerned orbs already staring down at her. He was crouched down by her head, his cool hand on her forehead, smoothing back her hair.

“It hurts,” she managed to weakly get out.

Loki’s eyes deepened with pain. “Shhh, I know, darling. Don’t try to talk. Save your strength.”

Y/N shook her head stubbornly, regretting it instantly when the room started to spin. After a moment, she continued, “No, I need to tell you something. I need you to know this, in case I don’t make it.”

Loki lurched forward and grabbed her hand with his free one and clasped it tightly. “No, you’re not going to die. I won’t allow it.” His eyes seemed to glisten and Y/N wondered what she did to deserve his tears.

Y/N looked into his eyes, allowed her own tears to spill over as she started to go numb. “I love you. You don’t have to love me back, but I needed you to know.”

She saw Loki’s eyes widen in shock as he stared down at her, dumbfounded. Y/N tried to hang on long enough to see if Loki had anything to say, but now that she got out what she wanted to, she allowed her mind to slip into the darkness.

~~~

When Loki watched her eyes slip closed after her confession, terror ran through him. He could not allow her to die. Especially not after he now knew she loved him.

He pushed the others away, despite their protests and settled his hands over her wound, which was still bleeding despite the bandages that were trying to stop it.

A green glow started to emit from his hands and everyone went silent around him, watching him with bated breath as he started murmuring all the healing spells that his mother had ever taught him. He wasn’t as proficient in healing as he was with battle magic, but he watched as the bleeding started to slow.

He kept up his magic until the jet finally touched down on the ground and Y/N was taken away. He tried to go after her, but Thor held him back. “Thor, I have to go with her!” he cried desperately as he watched doctors take Y/N away.

“You have to let them work, Loki. She’ll be okay.” Thor reassured him.

When Loki could no longer see Y/N, tears slipped down his face. “I never got to tell her I love her.”

Sadness crossed Thor’s face, but he patted him on the back. “You will, brother. Lady Y/N is strong. She will pull through. You will get your chance to tell her.”

Loki could only pray that he was right.

~~~

A loud beeping awoke Y/N from her slumber. She tried to open her eyes, but the brightness was too much and she closed them again.

Her body ached all over. She wiggled her toes, to make sure she could move them, before she tried to move her fingers. Her right hand moved with no complaint. Her left hand was trapped in something warm.

Y/N fought against the brightness and forced her eyes open to glance down at her left hand. It was trapped between two much larger hands. Her eyes drifted upwards to see Loki slumped over in a tiny plastic chair next to her bed. He was bent over, with his forehead resting on their joined hands and she couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or not.

Y/N squeezed his hand and Loki’s head instantly shot up, shocked blue eyes meeting hers. His expression quickly morphed into relief as he let out a large sigh and smiled down at her.

“Thank the Norns, you’re awake. How do you feel?” Loki inquired softly.

Y/N glanced down at her body, which was covered by a blanket. She shuffled around slightly and hissed, as pain shot up her body from her abdomen.

“Like I got shot.” She replied, voice cracking.

Loki looked guilty before turning to grab water from her bedside table. He helped her drink it and she gave him a warm smile in thanks.

“I’m so sorry, darling. It’s my fault. I couldn’t protect you.” The broken look on his face made Y/N’s heart ache.

Y/N squeezed his hand to get his attention. “Hey, it’s not your fault. These things happen. We know the risk we take when we go into the field.”

Loki sighed in frustration. “Yes, but I’m your partner and I should’ve been keeping an eye on you. If I had, this wouldn’t have happened.” Loki looked away, tears glistening in his eyes again.

Y/N knew she couldn’t convince him, so she just squeezed his hand. “I’m still here. I’m okay.”

“But you almost weren’t. I kept you alive with my magic, until we could get you help. You would’ve died.” Loki murmured quietly before he seemed to remember something and turned back to her. “Do you remember what you told me in the jet? Before you passed out?”

Y/N thought back to that moment, which was slightly hazy, but she remembered blurting out those three words and her face went bright red, and she quickly looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Yea, I do.” She mumbled quietly.

Loki’s hand came up to grasp her chin and turned her head so she could meet his gaze. She did so reluctantly, though she knew she couldn’t escape him.

A smile bloomed across his face and he looked at her. “Darling—”

“It’s okay, if you don’t feel the same.” Y/N blurted out but Loki just shook his head with a smile.

“Y/N, I love you, too.”

This time, it was Y/N’s turn to stare at him in shock. “What?”

Loki chuckled quietly. “I love you, Y/N. I have for a while, now. I didn’t think you felt the same, because how could anyone love me, but then you said those words and then passed out and I thought you died without ever hearing me say them back to you.” His thumb brushed over her cheek. “It was the worst pain I have ever felt. I don’t know what I wouldn’t done if I had lost you.”

Y/N’s eyes teared up and she let out a choked laugh. “You really love me?”

Loki leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I really do.”

Y/N’s face lit up with a smile so bright it could’ve rivaled the sun and she placed her hand on his cheek and watched with adoration as Loki leaned into her touch, and kissed the palm of her hand. Y/N then felt bold, because why not, she had almost died, and pulled his face forward so she could place a soft kiss on his lips.

Loki froze for a moment, but then returned the kiss. It was gentle and soft, and yet Y/N felt like she was on fire inside.

Loki was the first to pull away, trying not to overwhelm her, and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you so much, darling. I think I loved you since the first night you offered me tea. I’ve fallen even more in love with you since then. I didn’t think you could love me, and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”

Y/N laughed and stroked his cheek. “How could I not love you? You know me better than anyone else. You’re kind and smart and also gorgeous.” Loki laughed at that.

“I don’t deserve you, love.” He murmured softly.

“Yes, you do. You deserve happiness, just like everyone else.” You corrected. “You’ve changed since I met you. You are not the same man. You deserve love.”

Loki smiled widely, before leaning forward to kiss her again. And though Y/N’s body ached, she didn’t care. This was a good type of pain. And while there was a long road of recovery ahead of her, she knew that she would have Loki by her side.

[tibbinswrites]

Suptober Day 12 - R.I.P.

Dean was watching Castiel’s love for him die in real time. Every aborted attempt at a conversation, every barked order, every sign of his impatience at Cas’ disgust for the demon currently making snark come out of Jack’s mouth and Cas’ eyes darkened a little more, his anger grew more spines, and his glare was a little less ‘if looks could kill’ and a little more like he almost wished they could.

It was his own fault, of course. It always was. Cas was trying dammit, Dean could see him trying; when Dean had approached him as Sam escorted that mom and kid inside the school, he’d seen the relief in those blue eyes, the immediate softening; Cas wanted to talk, to fight, to end up screaming at each other until they were both drained. He wanted rid of this horrific tension that kept them as taut as bowstrings about to loose an arrow, but Dean was too scared to hear it. He didn’t know what he’d end up saying and he couldn’t bear to watch the last of whatever affection Cas still held for him blink out.

It was going to happen anyway at this rate though, Dean considered as he snapped at Cas, again, for something completely innocuous and Cas snapped back with even more bite, maybe it would have hurt less to get it all over with. It had been two days now and they were all tense, any minute the real FBI would show up and their cover with the townspeople would be blown, ghosts would be ‘officially’ discovered and none of them had any idea what to do next. Belphagor wasn’t making things any better, wandering around with those damned glasses on, ‘blending’ and giving Dean a nasty lurch in his gut every time he saw Jack’s form out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to think about what it was doing to Cas.

Sam was giving him a wide berth too, brotherly instinct telling him that if they got into a fight right now, it could screw up their ability to work together, and they needed to work together if they stood any chance at all of saving this town, or indeed the world. Sam’s theory that God had up and left them for good was a comforting one, but Dean didn’t really believe it. He had gotten too invested in this place, in them to not want to watch the whole thing implode. Still, it’s not as though they had any kind of plan for that either so taking things one problem at a time was the smart thing to do.

Also, if the brothers did end up fighting, there was no way Cas would be on his side this time.

Dean was patrolling the border around town, watching ghosts appear and vanish on the other side of the line; some he recognised, others he didn’t. How they were going to get rid of them if all the doors in Hell were still open? If they found and burned some bones what was stopping them from just… coming back? Also, he was pretty sure that the clown hadn’t been a ghost when they’d fought it the first time. Hadn’t it been a Hindu creature? A rasa- something? Didn’t things like that end up in Purgatory rather than Hell? Or had God ripped open those doors too?

He had no idea. The clown just laughed at him, until he fired a round of rock salt into its chest.

“Is that wise?” Cas said from behind him, “Antagonising them?” He came to step up beside Dean, watching as the clown flickered back into this plane and leered at them.

“They already want to kill us, what does it matter?”

Cas said nothing to that, but turned away from the perimeter with a sense of purpose and started walking.

“We need to talk.” He said over his shoulder.

“You really think now’s the time for a heart-to-heart?” Dean said, but he followed anyway. Patrol was less a necessary precaution and more just a chance for Dean to get away from all the people looking to him for answers or protection or orders or something. Sam seemed to thrive with that kind of thing but despite the fact that Dean was usually the one who inspired followers he was no leader, and it was only now that people were starting to realise it.

“I’m not sure that’s possible seeing as you seem to have misplaced yours.” Cas retorted sharply. “Metaphorically, of course.”

He didn’t walk far from the perimeter, but far enough not to be overheard by any lingering spirits. He actually took them into one of the now-abandoned houses, though he was pretty sure Sam was going to start moving people who already lived inside of the magic line back to their homes to make more room for those who had been ousted. Dean closed the door behind him and turned back to see Cas waiting for him in the hallway. Dean felt a pang of something at the sight.

“Are we going to have a domestic now?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible and, at least to his mind, failing miserably.

Cas ignored his comment, his fingers were curling and relaxing at his sides and his jaw worked, but no words escaped him. There was something in his eyes that spoke of fear.

“Well, out with it,” Dean snapped, his patience failing him. “You said we needed to talk but you’re not saying anything.”

Cas swallowed, cleared his throat, swallowed again, and then said, without looking at him, “I’m done.”

“Gee, that sure cleared things up. Good talk.” Dean said, making to turn for the door with a roll of his eyes.

“I’m done fighting for you.”

“What?” The words were so soft, Dean couldn’t have heard them right. “What are you talking about?”

Cas’ tongue darted out to wet his lips and he said again, a little louder. “I said, I can’t fight for you anymore.” His eyes came up to lock onto Dean’s. “I’m done.”

Dean was dumbstruck. For a few seconds he just gaped at the angel, then he said, “so, what? You’re just going to take off and leave me and Sam to deal with… whatever the fuck we’ll be dealing with?”

“That’s not what I said,” Cas said, a sharpness to his tone now. “Of course, I will stay and fight for this world. But I will no longer fight for you. You seem intent on pushing me away and honestly I don’t even know why you’re supposed to be mad at me. For trying to protect my son? For not thinking that he was capable of the awful thing he did? For not trusting the demon currently parading around in his corpse?”

Cas took a moment then to collect himself and Dean still couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

“I have always seen the beauty of your soul when I looked at you,” Cas continued, his eyes mournful. “I’ve always seen your strength, your compassion, your capacity to love and I could ignore your flaws, because there were more important things that I could focus on.”

“Get to the point,” Dean said in a clipped tone, his voice too harsh, too uncaring. He heard the echo of the Dean from that 2014 that never was and he hated himself for it.

“My point,” Cas said slowly, delicately tapping the words from his tongue, “is that this friendship stopped being a friendship a long time ago and I’ve only just realised. There were moments I suspected… but there were other moments to offset that realisation but now… I have nothing left to give you, Dean. I won’t grovel for a place your side; if you don’t think I’ve earned one by now then you can stand alone.”

And then Cas was walking away, heading for the back door, and Dean was letting him. Why was he letting him?

“Look, Cas,” Dean tried, but his tone was all wrong, too confrontational and he didn’t know how that had happened, but it was too late and he had to keep going because Cas was leaving, Cas was giving up on him and Dean was trying to fight down the hornet’s nest in his stomach. “You don’t understand-”

“DON’T TALK DOWN TO ME!” Cas yelled, whirling around, his hands balled tight and shaking with his sudden fury as he advanced on Dean, who could only stand there in shock at this rapid change of mood. “I know over seven thousand languages; they were programmed into me, word by word, gesture by gesture, definition by definition, so when you belittle me, patronise me, demand things of me, I understand. When you tell me that you don’t need me, that I should follow your orders or get out, I understand. When I’m no longer useful to you and you tell me that I can’t stay, I understand. When you say that I’m dead to you, you are making yourself perfectly clear. It’s not me that doesn’t understand, Dean. Maybe you misunderstood just how far I would bend.”

And with that he shoved Dean aside and grasped at the doorknob, opening the door to let the sickeningly pleasant light of day bounce on the pale yellow walls, only interrupted for a second by a large shadow that hesitated in the doorway.

“You might get lucky. Maybe by the end of all this I really will be dead to you. Problem solved.”

@winchester-reload

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

[durrzerker]

Taskmaster: The Line. Chapter 2: Babysitting

Hey everyone! As promised, I’m releasing a new Chapter of my Taskmaster fanfic every Tuesday. This week’s Chapter 2: Babysitting can be found at Archive of Our Own, but I’m also releasing it in text format below for those who don’t want to go to AO3:

Chapter 2: Babysitting.

The pouring rain was battering the roof of the toppled APC with enough force to echo loudly throughout the interior, but Taskmaster didn't even notice. His eyes never left the group of children huddled within, and when Black Ant started to speak, his voice was only a distant droning in his right ear. It took nearly ten seconds for the senior mercenary to snap himself out of his fugue, regarding his partner with something akin to shock.

"...Tasky--TASKY! Hey! Damn, buddy. We lose you for a second?" Black Ant looked confused, and Taskmaster couldn't blame him. In all their time working together, the size-shifter hadn't ever seen his former mentor so stunned. "What are we gonna do, man? We're in the middle of Bagalia's most dangerous district, and there's a bunch of brats stashed away?" Turning his head to the kids, Eric lifted a hand. "No offense, brats." Unsurprisingly, they didn't respond; they just kept regarding the pair with wide eyes and shaking bodies.

"Waterfall's dead, right? Not trying to...I dunno, crawl away or nothin'?" Taskmaster asked. There must have been something in his tone, because the normally snarky Eric actually took the time to peek around the back of the truck at their fallen enemy.

"Well, he's smoking and not moving. I'm gonna say yeah! Probably dead."

"...Gimme a sec. Watch the kids." Circling the vehicle until Jason's body came into sight, Tony reached down to his hip with his left hand. He didn't like guns; found them not particularly sporting, far too loud, and a little inflexible when it came to live captures. Right now, though, he was glad he had one as he drew it in a blur, emptying twelve shots into the body on the ground. Each bullet tore another piece out of the dead man, leaving him visibly riddled with holes and bleeding out by the time the skull-masked killer was finished. Reloading the gun, Tony seriously considered emptying another clip inside of him...but this was his last one, and you never knew what the day would hold. Reluctantly, he re-holstered the pistol and approached the APC again.

"Hey, kids...don't worry about those sounds. My partner's just working out his deeply repressed anger issues, you know? I promise--augh! AUGH! TASKY, HELP!" Eric's voice rang out in a panic.

Taskmaster broke into a run, nearly slipping on the wet road as he flung himself around the corner of the armored truck. "What is it, lil' buddy?! Reinforce--" Well, he was not prepared for what he saw. No sooner did Taskmaster return to Black Ant than he saw four of the five children they had just found jumping him, assaulting Eric with their small fists and feet. Eric was holding them off, flinging one away and shielding his face before lifting his knee to block another, but Taskmaster didn't need photographic reflexes to realize what was off here; these weren't normal kids. They were -trained-.

"What is that...is that fucking -Red Room-?" Taskmaster asked, shocked. One of the children, a mousy-looking girl who had to be maybe seven or eight, caught sight of Taskmaster. With a fearless howl of anger, she lunged at him, assaulting the mercenary with a kick that he immediately identified as the martial art of Savate. "Hey, watch it--" Taskmaster replied as he nudged his shield to intercept. She had good technique, but she was so small - and clearly starved - that there wasn't much power behind it.

"RED ROOM, BLUE ROOM, ONE FISH! TWO FISH! I DON'T CARE GET THEM OFF ME! I don't wanna hurt these kids, but I wanna be hurt by them even less!" With two of the children battering the red lenses of his mask and a third pummeling at his groin, Eric wasn't having a good time of it. To his credit, Tony could tell he wasn't actually fighting back, at least not seriously.

"Quit panicking and just grow, O'Grady!" Taskmaster barked to Black Ant. "They're already half yer size; make 'em even smaller! Or get small yerself...heh; talk to them on their level -- ow!" He winced as, while he was distracted, the girl who had been assaulting him punched him square in the stomach - right where Waterfalls had cracked a few of his ribs. "Hrgh...you lil' shit! I'm on YOUR side here!"

Glaring up at him, apparently suspicious but judging it worth exploring, the child stepped back and lifted a hand. She was apparently the leader of the group, because as soon as she did so, the others leaped off of O'Grady - who was now nearly ten feet tall and growing in an attempt to get them off him - and fell into line behind her. Even battered and all skin and bones, they looked intelligent, focused, and deadly; the 'wide-eyed terror' from before was gone; clearly nothing but an act. "Only five of you jumping us like weird little gremlins," Tony remarked. "Where's the sixth?"

The brown-haired girl jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the APC as Black Ant shrank back to normal. "Hurt in the crash, broken leg," she replied. "Your doing, I assume." Taskmaster didn't get a hint of a Russian accent, but those were pretty easy to hide for Red Room trainees. He'd have to ask if he wanted to know the truth. Rubbing at his ribs, he tested the damage with a series of small pokes. One definitely broken, another cracked; the rest just felt extremely bruised.

"Yeah, it was. Sorry; we didn't know they were transporting...live cargo." Just the words made him feel sick to his stomach, but even worse was the fact he knew that he'd considered using a bigger arrow for this task. What if he'd pulled a wide-band particle explosive, like that one he'd used years ago when dealing with The Thing? He could have killed them. He could have killed all of them. Would that have bothered him? The fact he legitimately didn't know certainly did.

"...Look, you kids are clearly trained to fight. You mind explaining the situation? I happen to be SHERIFF 'round these here parts--" Using his sword, he tapped at his badge. They couldn't see it, but he was smiling with genuine pride behind his mask. Then again, the skull face he wore did have a strange flexibility to it; at times it really did seem to reflect his expressions beneath. He chalked it up to good craftsmanship.

"--Oh my god," Eric interjected.

"--And I consider it my responsibility - no, my PRIVILEGE - to aid you in these dark and troubled times."

"I will tell you nothing. You are The Taskmaster," the girl said, jabbing a thumb behind her. "And that is The Black Ant. Gun-thugs for hire, loyal to nothing and nobody."

"Hey, we're famous!" Eric chirped, planting his hands proudly on his hips.

"...And you are to be TRUSTED with nothing and nobody, least of all my people. Get out of our way. We will escape on our own." Snorting authoritatively, the girl started back towards the APC. "Akeja! Load Sven up for transportation, fireman's carry." A slightly larger girl with half-ruined braids climbed into the vehicle, grabbing the wounded boy inside. "Got it, Commander!"

Exchanging a look, the two mercenaries watched the children methodically address their wounded comrade. "God, it's like an Oompa Loompa war film," Black Ant mused.

"Yeah, wait - that girl, Akeja," Taskmaster commented. "That was a Wakandan accent. Now I -really- gotta know what's going on."

"Better figure it out quick, they're leaving."

"To hell they are." Taskmaster set out to block the path of the children, who unanimously regarded him with threatening looks; even little Sven, blonde and blue-eyed, hanging across Akeja's shoulders like a limp weight.

"Look; I get it. You don't trust us, and I don't blame you. But if you know who we are, you know -where- we are. This is Bagalia; you can't go two blocks without stumbling onto supervillains, and they aren't even the worst people in this town. You think whoever was paying Waterfalls to transport you is going to let this go? He was high-end muscle; you all represent a significant investment."

"And you want to collect on us yourself," their 'Commander' responded. "You'll have to kill us all! We're NOT going back! Not for anything!" Her voice, which had made such an attempt at cool arrogance only a minute ago, was starting to break. She looked and sounded legitimately scared, and with Taskmaster's ability to read body language, he could tell that as she tensed up, she wasn't preparing to attack; she was trying to keep from collapsing.

Taskmaster greatly preferred to speak off the cuff. He had an extremely poor memory and he didn't like to come off rehearsed, but right now, he felt the rare need to choose his words carefully. He didn't bother squatting down in front of the kids; it felt disingenuous, plus he was pretty sure they were still thinking of jumping him and he didn't want to be off-balance. But he DID place his sword back at his belt; he'd just been using to to show off his badge anyways. "Look, I get it." He could do this. He could, just this once, actually take this seriously. "Yer wounded, tired, hungry, and scared -- don't gimme that look, there's no shame in it -- Ya been through a lot, and now you got someone who's famous for doing anything for money extending a helping hand. It ain't right, is it? Havin' to try and figure out what to do, not just for yourself, but your people? Being a leader sucks; trust me, I've been there. But I ain't asking you to follow me through the mean streets of Bagalia and hide out at my safehouse so I can turn ya over to someone else, alright? Wherever you six are from, whatever happened to bring you here; I wanna fix it. I -do- take my duties as Sheriff seriously, even if ya might not think I should. Just because this place has no laws don't mean it can't have -ethics-."

The children regarded him for a moment, then turned to their commander; then, they all turned inwards to whisper to each other in a language that even Taskmaster didn't recognize, and he spoke almost a dozen himself. There were hints of African, Chinese, Russian, and South American dialogues - but it all fused together into something that he suspected only these six kids could understand. This was -their- tongue. While they conversed, Taskmaster glanced up to check the skies. All grey, and the rain wasn't letting up. This was unpleasant, but it was also useful. Rain was easier to hide in.

So easy, in fact, someone else was doing it too. If not for the fact he was cycling his mask's thermal imaging systems out of sheer habit, he would have missed it. Next block over, in a sedan that had parked around the corner. Interesting.

Finally, their leader turned back to him. "...I am Mara," she said after a moment, "And we are the Scions; refugees from programs all over the world that exploit children as soldiers and killers. I will not explain more in public like this, but as you can likely surmise, we are highly sought after by the respective organizations that are pursuing us. We are placing our trust in you - however unwisely - at least until we can escape Bagalia. Will you help us, Taskmaster?"

"I will, but I'm gonna need some help. I gotta contact The Hub. They'll have an idea for how to do this quietly. Wait...Wakanda's training child soldiers?" He asked.

Akeja stiffened. "How DARE you! Of course not; I was stolen away from my home!"

"Yeah, yeah, just checking."

Mouthpiece and organizer for The Org, the mysterious criminal organization that facilitated mercenary work worldwide, The Hub served in many ways as Taskmaster's handler. The enigmatic woman was nothing more than a voice on the other end of the earpiece he was always wearing inside of his mask, the only number he always kept in his phone, and yet he trusted her more than anyone else alive. Even Tony wasn't sure why; she just...made him feel something, and he'd learned long ago to trust his gut.

"This...Hub can be trusted too?" Mara asked warily. "Will they not sell us out to other mercenaries?"

"No, no, Hub is good people. Promise. Come on, let's get out of this fucking rain while I call her." He ushered the children to follow him, but when Black Ant began to join them, Taskmaster intercepted him. "Eric, I got another job for you."

"What? You're cutting me out, old man?!" Black Ant threw his hands up. "You better not be about to sell these kids behind my back. I put up with a lot from you, but -- OW!" He doubled over as Taskmaster socked him in the gut. "You son of a..."

"Shut up," Tony hissed, leaning down. "Someone's watching us, two streets over. Probably backup for Waterfall's crew. I'm gonna hit you again, like I'm screwing you over here; I need you to go down. After we leave, they'll come to try and collect you. Surprise them and figure out who they're working for."

"...Okay, but you owe me for this."

"Yeah, sure."

"I mean it, you 'new car' owe me for this!" Eric whispered before collapsing as Taskmaster kneed him savagely in the stomach. "Too...real."

"Thanks, little buddy." Taskmaster turned and pursued the children with that, joining them as they ran into a nearby alleyway. It was still pouring, but the awnings of the adjacent buildings meant that the soaked kids were at least not still getting rained on. Taking the lead, Taskmaster crossed the alley and pointed at a large, black building a few blocks away. "We're heading there. Used to be Zemo's mansion before Punisher ran him out of town. Hub will likely want us to meet her people there to get you extracted."

"Fine," Mara replied. Taskmaster pressed a button on his phone, a 'hotdial' for The Org that connected to his mask. In the distance, he could hear the car approaching where he'd left Black Ant. He hoped he hadn't put Eric up against someone who was too much for him. Waterfall had been no joke, despite the name.

"Taskmaster," came the familiar female voice. Immediately, he relaxed despite the situation. She just had that effect on him. "Looking for work? Things are a bit slow right now, but for my best operative, I always--"

"--Sorry to cut ya off, Hub, but I'm actually already busy. I need an extraction." He felt weirdly guilty interrupting her.

"An extraction from Bagalia? I'm surprised anyone could drive you out of that hive."

"It's not for me. There's some...kids. Bunch of them."

"Oh, no, Tony," The Hub replied. "You didn't have anything to do with this, did you? Are your memories acting up?"

"What? No! NO!" He barked, offended. "I -saved- them! Jeez! You know I don't take work without running it by you. And I didn't -- look, don't worry about it. It's related to the King Shark gig. They were the...'cargo' he was overhearing." Wait. Did she just call him Tony? They never used names.

There was a pause, the kind he never expected. As professional as she was, The Hub almost never hesitated. "...Okay. I'll look into it, and I'm sending someone. Get them to Zemo's old helipad...stay safe, Taskmaster."

"Yeah, already on the way. Thanks." Cutting the call, Taskmaster glanced back over his shoulder to the children. "Alright, let's go back out. Try to move, but not -too- fast. That damned Hydro Man wannabe busted up my ribs somethin' fie--er...hi."

The children had already scattered, fleeing back towards the street. They were hiding behind another figure who'd just appeared, a small woman who nonetheless had the strength to hurl an unconscious Black Ant at Tony's feet.

"I knew you were low, Taskmaster...but this is bad, even for you."

Laura Kinney, the Wolverine, was blocking the only way back out of the alleyway, and wearing an expression of complete disgust.

[dylinski]

Watch Me Bleed (9/?)

Warnings: VIOLENCE, DEATH, BLOOD, ANGST

Relationships: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 4902

Author: @dylan-obrien-fanblog

A/N: This whole chapter is entirely from Mitch’s POV. Sorry it’s so long, but I just had a lot to put in there and didn’t want to break it up into two parts. I promise, all the chapters won’t be this long...unless that’s what you guys prefer. Please leave feedback! Tell me what you think or if you have any ideas. When you don’t give feedback it’s discouraging and makes me think that people aren’t reading it. Thank you to everyone who does though. I really appreciate all of you.

Chapter 9

Seven, eight, nine. Mitch had his back to the wall as bullets flew towards him from around the corner. Ten, eleven, twelve. The man shooting at him was using a Glock 19, which he knew held 15 rounds. Thirteen, fourteen. He hunkered down to wait until the assailant ran out of ammo and needed to reload. Mitch was too smart to waste his ammo on the man when he knew he couldn’t get a good shot. Fifteen. Now was his chance. As soon as the shot was fired, he rounded the corner, his Glock 17 already aimed. He squeezed the trigger twice, hitting the man perfectly between the eyes and in his heart. Keeping the gun up, he swept the room for any other threats. He ran through the doors that the dead man was guarding and hugged the walls as he made his way down the corridor. A man walked through a door right before he passed it, but Mitch shot him in the temple before he could register his presence there.

He reached the end of the hallway and found the double doors that led to the office of the man he had been sent to kill. He leaned against the door and could hear an old gruff voice yelling at someone to protect him. The sound of multiple guns being cocked that sounded like automatic rifles were muffled through the wood. Those would pose a problem if he stormed in and he knew they most likely had their guns trained on the doors, waiting for him to breach them. He scrunched his nose, annoyed at this and the fact that he didn’t know how many men were on the other side. He let his clip slip out and he counted how many rounds he had left, eight. Hopefully that would be enough. He pushed the clip back into its place and cocked the gun, then shoved it into his waistband at the small of his back. He went back a couple feet to where he shot the man in the temple. He searched his body and found a knife that he shoved in his boot. He picked the man up and dragged him to the door where the office was. He lifted him up so that he was shielding his body and then shot off the handle of the door. seven. He heard a woman scream from the other side of the door from the gunshot as he kicked the door open and shrunk behind the lifeless body.

Bullets instantly flew across the room as the door flung open. The men weren’t specifically aiming at him, but in his general direction as they unloaded their clips, bullets flying past Mitch and some hitting the corpse he was holding. It was pointless to count their rounds since they were firing them without fault. When he heard the click of the empty barrels, he threw the body to the side and immediately saw the two men in front of him. He shot the one to his right through the eye, six, and then aimed for the head of the man to his left, five, but he jumped out of the way just before the bullet pierced his skull. He flew to his left on the floor and slid a couple inches as he pulled a pistol from his waistband. Mitch jumped to his right and pulled the body on top of himself before the man got off the first shot. He fired six times and then Mitch peeked around the dead man's shoulder and shot in the other man's general direction, four. He got him in the shoulder and heard his screams when the bullet tore through his muscle. He pushed the body off as the man was distracted by the pain and shot him in the head, three, his shouts instantly silenced. He stood to his feet and swept the room. A woman was crying in the corner and started screaming when he pointed his gun at her. She was no threat, just a prostitute, so he turned his gun to face the target. He was an old fat man that was made of money. He sat in a chair at his desk and Mitch walked around it and pushed him away from it with his foot, keeping the barrel of the gun trained at the man’s nose.

“Please! Please! Do you want money? I have money!” The man pleaded with him, his hands raised in surrender. He searched Mitch’s face for falter or some semblance of humanity, but he found none. He stared at the criminal with a blank face, void of any conscience or morality. He terrified the man and knew he was here to kill him. The man continued to plead, but he was cut off by the sound of a bullet leaving the chamber, two, one. Both shots between the eyes, leaving a hole about the size of a quarter in his skull. He turned and saw the woman cowering as he shoved the empty glock into his waistband behind him, but ignored her as he left before backup or the police could arrive.

Mitch moved through the shadows of the night as he made his way back to the safe-house, changing routes to make sure he wasn’t being followed. After about an hour of going in circles, he deemed it safe and headed back but when he reached the door his senses lit up and the hair raised on the back of his neck. He went to grab his gun, but remembered it was empty, so he kneeled down slowly and slid the knife out of his boot. If the person inside had a gun, they would aim for his chest, so he stayed low, squatting so that the shooter wouldn’t expect it. He reached up and slowly turned the knob, then flung the door open and rolled forward into the room. The man inside jumped to his feet and pulled a gun but was well trained and immediately aimed it down at Mitch. He was fast, but Mitch was faster as he threw the knife up to the mans chest. The man with the gun had good reflexes so he jumped to the side, barely escaping its impact. “What the fuck Mitch?”

Mitch looked up with wide eyes surprised to see his handler, Stan Hurley. He stood up and rolled his eyes as he threw the gun on the bed in front of him. “What do you want?” He spat out, paying no mind to the man as he took the gun apart to dispose of later and make it less traceable.

“I have a mission for you.” Mitch stopped what he was doing and looked at the older man without moving his head. He gave him questioning eyebrows. It was unusual for Stan to show up to a safe house and even more unusual for him to be given two missions at the same time.

“Another mission? I haven’t finished this one yet.” “Is he dead?” Stan was blunt and annoyed.

“Yes.”

“Then it’s finished.” Mitch opened his mouth to respond but was cut off before sound left his lips. “His name is Rinaldo Askin.” Mitch returned to gathering his stuff and cleaning the place down while Stan went on. “He’s a mobster in Philadelphia.” Mitch froze again, his back facing Stan which he was thankful for. That’s where Y/N had been living for the past year. He had been keeping tabs on her since the day he left her alone in that bed, something that had come to be one of his very few regrets. “He’s the worst of the worst. Real piece of shit if you know what I mean.” Mitch turned around and nodded in agreement as he walked over to Stan. He threw the manila folder on the bed that sat between the two of them and Mitch leaned over to pick it up. As he skimmed through it, he sat down on the bed. “And Mitch, this one’s off the books.”

Mitch looked up at Stan, slightly amused, “They’re all off the books.” He shot him a crooked smile that he knew would piss Stan off. He shot darts at Mitch for his snarky comment, but otherwise ignored it.

“It’s a twelve hour train ride to Philly and this needs to be done in the next 48. So get your shit together. Here, take this.” He handed him what looked like a locker key and then marched out of the safe-house and left Mitch to mull over the file that told him of the man’s crimes, known associates, enemies, places of operation, and any other intel that had been accumulated and deemed important. After he memorized and learned everything he could, he tossed it in a metal trash bin and threw in a match. He watched as the paper became engulfed in the flames and danced against the metal.

He took a quick shower and got dressed, then left after he finished wiping down the rest of the room. He disposed of each part of the Glock 17 in different places as he made his way to the train station. He found the locker number that matched the key and found a small black duffel bag. He unzipped it and found another glock, two clips, a drivers license, and some cash. He zipped it back up, and pulled it out, slinging it over his shoulder. He wasted no time getting a ticket and boarding the next available train. He didn’t like that he had such a small time frame to do the job, but he would get it done nonetheless.

He found his seat and sat down, figuring he would try to sleep for at least a couple hours before he arrived. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually slept well. Irene and Stan had him running around on jobs non-stop for the last year, not that he was complaining. He had nothing outside of this life and needed the distraction. This was what he was good at, killing the scum of the earth and if he was completely honest, he liked it too. The feeling of taking a life, having that power and playing God was like a drug. The rush of the hunt and then the release of the kill. He wasn’t a sociopath, but when it came to killing these men, he felt no remorse.

Mitch found his mind running a million miles a minute, unable to settle and find a moment of sleep. He gave up and let his thoughts consume him. He thought about Y/N and how it had been four months since he last saw her. She had gotten a job at a hospital in the city as an ER doctor, he watched her as she crossed the parking lot holding a coffee, keeping his eyes locked on her until she vanished into the building. He smiled as he took in her beauty, remembering her scent and the taste of her lips. He caught himself biting his bottom lip and a heat rising in him. He threw the thoughts from his mind, feeling guilty about it all.

Stan had told him he was being sent on his first mission, and he thought nothing of it. He called down to Y/N and had her come meet the two of them to tell her that he needed to be taken to a hospital for an x-ray. She seemed to be pissed and it amused him. She was different and filled him with curiosity. He had never spoken to her before the last 24 hours, but he learned to read her like a book that he had committed to memory. She bothered him, but in a good way, something about her that he couldn’t figure out and it nagged at him. During their trip, he purposefully bugged her, knowing he was getting under her skin. For some reason, when he was with her he felt whole and a burning fire in him. Before her and when she wasn’t around he held nothing but anger, contemptment, and a constant lingering of agony. She was like a beacon of light that washed out the darkness in his soul. He had his fun with her and they had good moments too, but when she woke up screaming and jumped out of the car, that’s when it changed. He had no plans of following through on his feelings that he chalked up to lust and hormones, but when he found her in the field, nothing but a mess all he could see was her beauty behind all her pain.

He could tell she was hurting, and that made him hurt too. He hated that her pain wasn’t someone he could kill to rid her of the torment. In that moment, all he could do was hold her and give her what he so desperately craved himself but never received. This woman put him on edge and saw parts of him that others couldn’t, but now he saw her and wanted nothing more than to fix it. While he had been attempting to get under her skin, she had wormed her way under his, and now he couldn’t deny it. She didn’t seem to want to talk about what was wrong and he could only respect that, having his own crosses to bear. He felt safe with her, so for the first time he opened to someone; he opened up to her. Others had known what happened to him from reports and his files, but he had never told a soul what happened from his own lips. What he went through, what he saw.

When he bared his heart, it cemented a connection to her that he knew he would always have. He no longer had a desire to annoy or pester her but a longing for her; to know and understand her. That’s when it sunk in, he was leaving in the morning. There was no point in beginning something that wouldn’t have a chance to start, but both of them were unaware it already had⎯the moment they met everything had been set into motion, everything that had been, that was, and had yet to be. He had no intention of pursuing it, but then she offered him to come inside. His head and instincts all screamed to turn around and keep walking, but his heart cried for him to go to her. He was tired of following his rules and living with the darkness, so he denied all his inclinations and went inside towards the light.

The air was thick around them, tensions high after everything that had occurred over the last 24 hours. He found himself centimeters away from her lips on the couch, his skin on fire and begging for her touch to release the anxiety in his muscles. He could feel her breath ghost across his lips, the scent of beer and peppermint. She shot up from the couch and ran to her room, leaving him yearning for her warmth but he knew it was for the best. That damn girl just had to come back in, wearing those short shorts and the tank top that clung to her breasts. He used all of his strength to stave off his primitive impulses, but he couldn't take it. There was a fire raging in him that couldn’t be contained. When they connected, it was lust and desire at first, but it turned into something else; something between lust and love, something both of them never saw coming, something he knew would either drive them or destroy them.

After she fell asleep, it took everything in him to force himself out of that bed and away from her warmth. He always knew this moment was coming, but he relished in the time he had in between. Hopefully she would understand, move on and not waste her time on a lost soul like his. It was for the best because he could never give her what she needed. This road he had set himself on wasn’t going to lead to a happy ending and that’s all this woman deserved. He was a broken man, parts of him missing and she didn’t need that chaos in her life. He would never admit it to anyone and didn’t know it himself, but leaving her hurt almost as much as watching Katrina die. He had no intention of ever seeing her again, never touching her, kissing her...loving her.

Mitch finally found sleep and got six hours, giving him two before he arrived in the city. He found another file in the duffel bag and went over everything in it, telling him the location of the safe house as well as Askin’s itinerary for the next two days. When the train arrived, he took multiple taxis and then walked the rest of the distance to the safe house. He prepared for the mission, wearing dark jeans and a black tshirt so that he could easily go unseen. Before he headed to where Askin would be, he stopped by the hospital to check in on Y/N. The sun was starting to set and he could see her working in the ER through a large window. She was helping a patient and doing what she did best. He loved to see her in her element, it reminded him of when she would examine him and help with any injuries he got from training. She looked so tired though, yes physically but when he saw her eyes she looked exhausted from life. His smile melted away and he felt guilt, hoping he wasn’t the cause of this. He disappeared into the shadows and left to kill Rinaldo Askin.

When he arrived at Askin’s house, he did a sweep of the perimeter and found everything in the report he had been given to be accurate. There were six guards patrolling the grounds with pistols. If he timed it right, he would easily be able to slip past them and enter the house without being seen. According to what he read, the house was unguarded and empty with the exception of Askin, his wife, and two children. As long as he used the silencer, he could be in and out before anyone noticed. He memorized the patterns of the guards and found his opening, making his way to the back of the house to an entrance that gave access to a basement. The door was locked, but Mitch had a lock pick and managed to get the door open quickly. He slipped in, hidden by the lack of light. He pulled the glock from his waistband and switched off the safety, then proceeded to sweep the room.

He moved through the house silently and proficiently, clearing the basement and then the first floor. He climbed the stairs two at a time, constantly on high alert. When he reached the landing, he glided across the floor in large strides. He past an ajar door and peeked in, revealing the bedroom of a young boy that he remembered to be six years old. He passed a closed door that was painted pink which he assumed to be the bedroom of Askin’s daughter who was eight years old. He reached the end of the hallway and found an open door. Rounding the corner, he leaned through the door frame, peering into the large room. Askin was lying in his large bed with his wife, roughly eight feet from where Mitch stood. He took three large strides towards the foot of the bed and held the silenced gun up to aim at the man. He squeezed the trigger three times, hitting his body twice and his head once. It was hard to aim accurately with him under the comforter, so Mitch took the extra two shots in case.

He needed conformation of the kill, so he moved towards the side of the bed where the man slept. The closer he got, the more something didn’t feel right and the hairs on his arms stuck up like something in the air had changed. That’s when he could smell it, the scent of iron...of blood and lots of it; more than what could come from the three bullets he put into the man. He rolled the covers up and saw the sheets soaked in red, so he threw the rest of them off the bodies. Askin and his wife laid in their bed, lifeless and drenched in enough blood for two people who had bled out. The man looked like he had been shot at least seven times minus the three Mitch had given him. His wife had been shot four times, both of them receiving them in the chest and one each in the head.

A feeling arose in Mitch’s stomach, nothing he couldn’t handle but a sense of uneasiness. He didn’t like surprises or when plans had to change. He went to the corner of the room and tried to think of an explanation. Askin had plenty of enemies, but this was professional and resembled the same work that Mitch would leave behind. Someone had put a hit out on him, they must have. Mitch tensed as he heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, and he sprung into action. He hadn’t prepared for this, so he only had the one clip of seventeen rounds. He used three on Askin leaving him with fourteen. There was no need for the silencer at this point since they knew he was there, so he removed it since it would give him better accuracy. He ran over to the door and shutting and locking it, then ran over to the side of the bed facing away from the wall. Shit shit shit.

“They’re dead! Check on Askin and his wife!” He heard muffled shouts from the hall, but was confused by what they said. Who’s dead? Mitch hadn’t killed anyone else. The children. Horror grew on his face. They were the only other ones in the house. Mitch may have been a ruthless killer, but only of those who deserved it. What soulless bastard killed children?

“The door is locked!”

“Then break it down!” It sounded like there were at least five men outside the door by the number of footsteps. If they were the guards from outside they would only have their pistols which was a relief, but five was a lot even for Mitch. The sounds of someone ramming into the door echoed through the silent room. Mitch tightened the grip of his gun as he looked around for a better option. He faced a wall that was made entirely of glass that gave a perfect view of the grounds, but it was at least a twelve foot drop. He could make that, but not without serious injury and shattering the glass, alerting everyone of his location. It was looking like his best option was to face the men, but it was still a shitty option.

The man broke the door open and saw the bodies covered in blood, shouting back to the others that they were dead too. Mitch shot off a single bullet in his direction, thirteen, and they did exactly what he wanted them to do. They all retreated to the hallway except for the first one who entered. He had fallen to the ground, Mitch had shot him in the leg which the man shouted to the other men. Mitch shifted his body which ended up being a bad idea since the man on the floor saw his shadow and yelled to the others of his location. Two others walked in and started shooting from the other side of the bed along with the man on the floor. Most of the bullets hit the mattress, but Mitch still laid down on his stomach cowering under it. The three of them ran out of bullets and started reloading when the other two men entered and started emptying their clips as well. When they stopped, Mitch could see the man on the floor from under the bed, he aimed and shot him in the head, twelve. The other four men started shouting, saying they were going to rush him, assuming there was just one guy. This was it, his only other option is out the window. Mitch shot two of the men in their legs, eleven, ten, and then in the commotion shot the glass, nine. The window didn’t shatter, but it was cracked. The men were confused and took a minute to get it together. He jumped up and took the opportunity to shoot one of them in the head, eight. He ran towards the window and turned to shoot a couple more shots off as he jumped through, staggering the glass, seven, six. As he crashed through, he heard a shot go off from one of the men and then a piercing pain in his side. Mitch landed flat on his back, letting out a loud grunt as the wind was knocked from his lungs. He was covered in cuts and gashes from the glass when he went through and bruises from the landing. Hopefully he didn’t have any internal bleeding. He grabbed his side as he coughed and tasted blood in his mouth, that’s not good. He looked at his hand and saw it covered in blood, that’s definitely not good.

He heard the sound of more men running to his location and forced himself up. He moaned from the pain that seared through every muscle in his body. He limped as fast as he could, holding his right side with his left hand and his glock in the other. Men started shooting, so he threw his arm back as he tried running, shooting off aimless shots, five, four, three, two, one, click, click. He tossed the empty pistol on the ground and pushed himself to hightail it out of there. He kept running for at least five miles, something he could have easily done if he wasn’t in this condition but his lungs were on fire and his legs felt like they were going to give out any moment. He made it closer to the city and found an alleyway. He ran over to the side of a dumpster facing away from the road and leaned against the wall. It was hard for him to see from the blood running into his eyes from the cut above it. He wiped his face and winced as he brushed against the bruises and cuts. He looked down at his side and reached around to his back to feel for an exit wound. Nothing. He was in no shape or position to pull that thing out himself.

His legs started to become weak, so he slid down the wall keeping pressure on his wound. His thoughts were running wild. Who would have Askin and his whole family killed? His file said he had enemies, but none that were capable of that type of handywork. That was professional, surgical, and sadistic. Then is dawned on him. They weren’t the target...he was. Stan only had three rules: don’t get caught, don’t kill cops, and never kill innocents. If Mitch didn’t know about the other assassin, neither did Stan or Irene which would leave them to assume he was the one who killed all four of them and Askin’s men were witnesses to prove it. “FUCK.” Mitch shouted as another coughing fit followed. “Goddamn it.”

Mitch needed help, but going to a hospital was already dicey and now it was impossible. Orion would be on him in minutes and he needed to clear his name before they took him. He was a ghost, so they could do whatever they wanted to him, no judge or jury, no trial. Just Stan and Irene deciding his fate. They were both believers of evidence and what was in front of them, and right now everything damned him. He was still new to the game and had few contacts that would be willing to help and most of them were too far away to make it to him before he bled out. Without intending to do it, his mind drifted to Y/N. No, he can’t go to her for help. He would be dragging her into the middle of this, putting her life in danger and asking too much of her. He swore he would never see her again. This was the whole reason he had left her that morning in the first place, to keep her out of situations like this. Mitch threw his head back in pain as his adrenaline high came down and he could feel every part of his broken body. He started getting dizzy and noticed the pool of blood accumulating on the ground. He needed help now, or he was going to bleed out. Fuck, if he wants to live he has no choice. He used every last ounce of strength and will he had left and pulled himself up by clinging to the dumpster. He leaned against it, finding his balance and gasping for breath. He was only a couple blocks from where her apartment was. Hopefully she would be willing to help him, if he made it there first.

Previous ← Main → Next

Taglist:  @daisyxbuckley @xceafh @spazstiless

[theforestofeden]

Isabella and The Others- Sworn Partners

Word Count: 1709

Summary: A backstory involving James and Dalilah, detective work !!

Warnings!: Reader discretion is advised, descriptions of violence may be upsetting to some readers. 

June 17th, 1979 

"Ted Bundy? Seriously again?" Natasha grinned as she spoke and slid into the chair next to Nick. She poked her head over his shoulder to read the page he was on. He was reading "Ted Bundy, The Killer Next Door." The book was released within the week. Natasha had a feeling Nick camped outside of the local bookstore to get his hands on it.

"You introduced the man to me. How are you going to mock me and then sit down to read with me?" He looked up at her with his eyebrows arched, "As if you haven't read it dozens of times either," he added.

"Oh shut up and scoot over," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.Nick slid over to give his friend space and turned his attention back to the biography. The two friends sat at the back of their drama class, their heads dipped towards Nick's book. They seemed to be so entranced by the book they had blocked out the commotion going on in the class.

December 23, 1996, present day.

The sounds of someone knocking on her office door settled Dalilah back on earth. Times like this she needed to try to see the good people saw in Nick to want to befriend a monster like him. Natasha had rambled about conversations between her and Nick when asked when her friend first took an interest in murder during her own tapes. Dalilah would take those segments of conversations and fill in the gaps. She usually ended up nowhere and being disgusted by the man even more. Admittedly he wasn't the worst person that she's come across in her time, but since everyone else had gotten their justice Nick was the only current monster she was involved with. It was probably something she would need a psychiatrist to check out. Jem came in holding two cups of coffee and passed the sweeter one to his partner. He sat on the edge of the mahogany desk and looked at the piles of files he had inched aside.

"The Kim's asked for all the information about the newest "Golden State Killer"," Dalilah answered the question that she knew was in Jem's head.

"They're just putting themselves through more pain," he shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. He sounded as if he understood why, but couldn't understand how they were able to see more of their daughter's killer. "The mother had to leave the court room when they showed a clip from that tape. No wonder she burst into tears after she watched ninety percent of it."

"Other than the standard 'they want closure' phrase, I can't explain why they would want to watch and read the information we have of him." The detectives shook their heads in sync.

The standard clock on the wall of her office filled the silence with its monotonous ticking. Dalilah watched the hand move around the clock.

Tick... tick... tick...

She stood up when the clock hit twelve. She couldn't stand the silence between them anymore. The sound of her chair being pushed back caught Jem's attention.

"We should head out." Her voice rang out.

The Kim's had asked her to pull every piece of information the town of Brooklyn had on Nick Barnes. She had only picked up the confession tape. Files still needed to be gathered. Jem followed her out of her office and closed the door softly, his drink still in hand.

"Do you think we'll be able to get him to talk about the other possible murders?" Jem asked. He just wanted the silence between them to be little as possible.

"With his narcissistic ass? Probably. But it'll take time. The serial killers we've heard of took their sweet time. Even up till their death." Dalilah answered, a sharpness to her words.

Jem knew she was talking about Ted Bundy. His name was still buzzing around America, despite being dead for seven years. The same silence that fell over the usual chatty partners back in Dalilah's office fell over them again. A few minutes in and Jem was itching to talk to her again.

"We should talk about what happened two weeks ago." His voice was hushed, like he didn't want others to hear.

"Talk about what? Me saving your ass?" She spoke in a normal leveled voice, one that said she didn't care if people heard.

"About you not having any regard for your life." Jem rose his voice when he realized his partner didn't care about the other detectives knowing what happened.

"We swore an oath to protect each other. That is exactly what I did. I jumped infront of you because you weren't paying attention. That bullet would have gone straight through your chest." She stopped walking and stared at him. She watched the expression on his face change from concern to surprise. She raised her eyebrows before stalking off again. Jem followed wordlessly. He wanted to mention that she shouldn't be at work this soon because of the strain on her wound, but he knew she would be stubborn about it.

Dalilah shouldered open the door to the storage room and begin searching for the row marked "B-C". She grabbed the box marked "Nick Barnes" off of the shelf . The box wasn't heavy like everyone expected. There were only five measly folders of information in the one box they had of the suspected "mission" serial killer. After two decades, the killer was just now coming forward about the victims. As of now Nick was only talking about his first— Isabella Kim. Everyone that worked on his case suspected that there were others. A police officer that escorted him to his cell had reported Nick mumbling names. The cop had been able to catch one name; Carina.

"More like shoved me out of the way but whatever." He mumbled. "I just don't know why you have no regard for your safety." Jem said. He needed to talk about the incident. He couldn't stop thinking about that day.

They had been out on a standard questioning when the pair heard shots fire off and then the crackle of their Car radio sounding off, filling their Impala with the voice of the dispatcher. "All available units respond to a 211 in progress at the Wells Fargo bank between Sepúlveda Boulevard and Westchester Parkway. Two suspects, both white males wearing black hoodies and jeans, armed and dangerous. Code three. Multiple shots fired."  

It wasn't every day this pair of detectives were in an active shooting zone, let alone firing off their own guns. Dalilah started the Chevy  Nova as Jem picked up the radio speaker.

"10-4, responding code three to Wells Fargo at Sepúlveda Boulevard and Westchester Parkway."  He placed the speaker on its receiver and switched on the mini siren on top of the dashboard.

Pulling up to the bank was hectic. It wasn't like the two of them knew directly where the suspects were, so Dalilah really only had one option; to pull up to the other two squad cars that were already there. The movements of four cops shooting and dodging filled their senses. The two scrambled out of their car and stuck low to the ground. Or at least until Jem needed to reload his pistol. Going to the trunk of the Nova let him have a moment of security, but he had mixed up the direction he had came from. Instead of going right he went left, slamming the magazine into place. A gut wrenching feeling had told Dalilah to stand up and to shove him and thank the universe she did. She heard the shatter of her car window before she felt the stray bullet. The way they faced each other allowed for Dalilah's right shoulder to catch the bullet instead of Jem's heart.

"That's gonna leave a stain." Dalilah murmured as she doubled over onto the ground.

Jem's hands had already pressed themselves to her shoulder and warm blood already coated his large hands. "You ate a bullet and a stain is what you're worried about." Jem spoke mostly to himself, but he didn't shy his comment away from his partner. Despite the leveled voice he was using Dalilah could see him panicking.

"James, call an ambulance."

Seeing Dalilah bleed like that haunted him. If only he had kept track of which direction he was going in she wouldn't have gotten hit. Little did he know she would do it again and again for him. The only thing that would haunt Dalilah would be if she hadn't moved in front of him.Before walking out of the storage room, Dalilah stopped and looked at him. A little bit longer than necessary. She saw one of her worst fears flash before her mind's eye—her partner in the Intensive Care Unit. It wasn't so much that she had no regard for her life, but rather too much regard for Jem's life.

"And if this was you right now- wait it wouldn't be because you'd be dead or in the hospital. That bullet would be in your chest. I think with it in my shoulder and you alive is a win for both of us." She paused as Jem opened the door for her. "Besides, everyone looks at us like we're gods for escaping death."

The two settled back into Dalilah's office. Jem had pulled up a chair from one of the rookies' desks and was leaning on his partners mahogany desk. His coffee cup sat on top of a file, seemingly unimportant. As soon as Dalilah was back at her desk, she removed the cup and picked up the file. A ring was left in its place and she swatted Jem with it before handing it to him. Opening up the file, Jem realized why she had gotten irritated. The files he had pushed aside earlier and the one in his hand where missing women. More specifically women who looked like Miranda Cahill and were named Carina."Our night shift starts now," Dalilah said. She took a sip of her coffee and began digging into the files of case 243.

Oblivious to both of them was the fact that they both hoped for the silence to disappear. Regardless of being uncomfortable, neither of them tried to break the silence nor leave the other’s side. The monotonous sound of the clock and flipping of papers was better with company. 

Part 3- Carina Romano 

[crestedcurls-blog]

Come Home To Me

A commission piece for the lovely @idiotcrusader

SFW, Reaper76, some violence in the beginning.  

6.6k words

Read it on AO3

Los Muertos was a plague on the small town of Dorado. They had intercepted several weapons shipments and had used them to terrorize tourists and extort protection money from local businesses among other crimes. Their spree of violence had gone unchecked by the officials who were spread too thin to deal with the threat. It required an outside set of skills.

The vigilant had moved quickly after the first reports came in, moving from his search in Canada for answers to the warm streets of Mexico. After renting out a small hotel room--paid in cash, under a false name--he began his search, following the movements of the criminals. There was one skirmish involving a little girl and a grenade, but nothing had come of. He was simply left with some new bruises and the girl’s voice, ringing in his ears: You’re one of those heroes, aren’t you?

He was no hero. Not anymore.

76 geared up for another assault. This time, he would be ready for them.  A shipment was being moved and he needed to get ahead of it before the weapons could be used to hurt more. Oh, how he claimed he didn’t care, that he worked solely for himself and his own interests, but that was a damn lie to himself. 76 cared about every person who his actions saved. Which is exactly why he was here, and why the weapons needed to be stopped.

Into the darkness he moved, using only the glow of the visor to define the world. Los Muertos was not a quiet gang and he could hear the laughter of the grunts loading the expensive tools of war into crates before moving them onto the transport. Rapid fire Spanish echoed down the alley, a joke before sharp, barking laughs. Serious tones took over, and something about the guns were mentioned--god, 76 wished he remembered more Spanish. Despite his itchiness to head into the firefight, his training stayed his hand, forcing him to remain down the alley, out of view.

After minutes passed, his patience was rewarded and 76 was able to gain a better understanding of what opposed him. A team of gangbangers, armed with heavy weapons and perhaps a little too much of whatever drug had hit the market recently. Without taking his eyes off the scene, he took stock of his weapons--a couple of biotic canisters, several extra pulse clips, and a Beretta strapped to the outside of his thigh.

This was doable.

His inventory stocked and prepared, 76 waited for another minute, listening to their movements. His restraint was rewarded in the form of one of the scouts stumbling slowly down the alley that hid 76--it was go time.

Soldier 76 moved all at once, appearing from the shadows to grab the scrawny man by the jaw and slam his face against the wall, hearing the bones in his jaw and cheeks crack under the pressure. 76 didn’t stop to listen to his screams, climbing up the nearby fire escape before the fallen criminal’s friends could investigate too closely.

Three of the gangbangers moved into the dark alley, toting oversized weapons that even an experienced 76 regarded as lethal. Once they were below him, 76 dropped from the rusty metal, already firing his pulse rifle. The three barely had time to make a noise before high-powered shots slammed into their bodies and they fell to the ground.

Bullets peppered the ground around his feet, hardly missing the worn boots as 76 threw himself to the side. At the entrance of the alley, a man stood with a large minigun, and it was already spinning up for another onslaught, sure to shred the little cover that the vigilant had managed. Quick thinking led Jack to the fallen man that had originally tested his luck, and the belt of grenades slung so casually around his chest.

Grab, pop, throw and go.

He didn’t even look at the bomb hit the ground, blowing up the man with the impressive weapon and another who had been approaching as backup of sorts, toting additional ammunition for the gun.

That left only two more lackies and the two big guys who seemed to be calling the shots at the moment; Unsurprisingly, they remained back by the shipment in order to protect their precious stolen goods.

Turning, 76 barely had time to raise his rifle again before a bullet sliced through the skin of his right shoulder, cutting it in two down to the bone. With a grunt and a gasp of pain, he raised the pulse rifle with his non-dominant hand, feeling the pull of skin and muscle,  and blindly sprayed the alley, connecting with the taller of the two lackies and dropping him beside his fallen friends. The clip was now empty and one arm was solidly out of commission, but he had managed to cut down the crew that much more.

As the final underling advanced down the death-ridden alley, looking nervous, 76 cast aside his precious rifle in favor of the pistol strapped to his thigh. A full clip and the practiced ability to reload with one hand made for a better close-quarters weapons. The brute had three bullets emptied into him, killing him instantly. Rapid Spanish filled the air, the remaining few gang members growing concerned for their friends who had met their fate in the narrow alley.

76 rounded the corner to a hail of curses and bullets. Languages were never really his thing--there was no need for a foreign language in the fields of Indiana--but 76 managed to pick up on a few of the phrases from his time with--No, no.  No distractions. His friend was gone, he wasn’t worth 76 losing his life over too.

Dodging behind a pile of trash and old broken boxes, 76 let a curse slip from him. Jesus, he was too old for this anymore. How long could this firefight go on before someone gave up? Before everyone was dead? Before even he was running on total empty? It had been days since he had slept soundly, and the meager meals he had managed made it difficult to feed his super-soldier metabolism. Could he really keep this up?

The next second found him rolling forward, spraying bullets as fast as his sidearm would fire. One nailed its target but the others missed widely. 76 cursed the injured arm for his failure.

Almost in slow motion, 76 watched the large rifle nestle against the shoulder of the brute, watched him take aim and fire. Then, pain, raw and visceral, exploded in his left shoulder. Two more of the shots connected with 76’s legs, one with his stomach.

Soldier 76 let out a scream as he hit the ground.

Despair began to replace that resilient, bitter flame of hope that he had managed to keep kindled since the explosion. Now, death lurking at the corners of his eyes in an inky black smog that threatened to choke him. Bitter and unyielding, the soldier stayed on his knees, trying and failing to rise to his feet once again. Sensors in the visor picked out the backs of the escaping targets as they sped off through the streets with the stolen weapons. He failed to protect himself or the streets. He had failed the mission, failed the objective. 76 had lost.

God damn it.

The old soldier felt a tear slip down his face. That little girl, the shopkeepers, the homeowners, they were all relying on him to clear this evil out, to extinguish the crime spree that put all of their lives at risk. And now he was bleeding out in several places. Instinct told him to reach for a dwindling biotic canister, but exhaustion stayed his hand. Maybe it was his time. Maybe he could finally rest, and be done with all of this bullshit. 76 had been fighting it for so long, but now he was stuck. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Even Reaper, his ultimate adversary, had vanished like the ghost he was. And now 76 couldn’t even defeat a small gang in Mexico.

Pathetic. He could hear the voice of his old commander from the army screaming at him in his ear. The mission’s not over until you get your guy.

“The mission was long over,” 76 argued with the dead man in his head. “I failed, and my family paid the price. Let me rest.”

The mission’s not over until you get your guy. Reaper’s still out there. Go finish this.

Maybe it was the voice of the man who changed his life, who had saved him from a life on a dusty farm that had 76 reaching tiredly for one of the biotic canisters. Maybe it was just angry old spite and a need to finish something, anything, before he dies. Maybe it was just because he was too lazy to let himself bleed out and ultimately too scared to pull the trigger himself. Hell, who knows if the serum would even let him die then? No, it was much better to remain on his feet, even for a bit longer.

But his hand never made it to the small canisters at his hip, interrupted instead by the sensation of a shotgun resting against the back of his head. 76 didn’t move any further, just froze as much as the injury in his arms would allow him to. Looks like Death had found him in more ways than one.

“Soldier 76.” That ruined voice rasped at him.

“Reaper.”

“Didn’t think I’d find you cleaning up the trash in Méjico.”

“I figured you needed a break from me chasing you. But I guess you ended up chasing me anyway.” 76 bit back a grunt as more blood leaked from him. It had struck him that the old CO was right, he didn’t want to die, not yet, not like this. One hand creeped further toward the the canisters, hoping that Reaper might take this small mercy for him. “Can I just--”

The shotgun pressed harder against his skull, grinding into the bone. “I don’t think so.”

76 began to grow angry with the arrangement. It wasn’t meant to be like this; they were meant to meet on fair fields, faced off in a duel to a death. Not Reaper preparing to murder him, execution style. Twisting to look up at him, 76’s lips twisted up in a scowl; not that Reaper could see behind that mask, but the emotion was still there, clear in his voice. “Either kill me or tell me what you want, asshole.”

Behind the porcelain mask of his own, Reaper’s face gathered into a snarl as well. How dare he talked to him like this, this disrespectful little sh--

76’s face blanched, the blood loss making itself known. Screw the gun to his forehead, he was going for the canisters. And to his surprise, Reaper held his trigger finger. The crimson hands cracked the tube and bathed both of them in a golden hue, beginning to erase many of the fresh wounds and repleting his energy some.

The vigilant now distracted by the sudden relief and with dark eyes obscured by the hooked visage of the owl mask, Reaper gazed over the body that seemed so familiar. Stolen intel had referenced the fact that 76 may be the hero of before, the golden boy immortalized in a permanent statue. Funny how permanence had no place anymore. But here, now… Reaper’s suspicion had been confirmed. This was him, this is the man he once protected and cared for, a partner he had once loved. Once upon a time...

The gun against his head seemed to waver for a second. 76 glanced sharply up at the man, confused as the deadly weapon slipped from his forehead and back into a cloud of smoke. What was even more concerning than was watching the shadowy form fall to his knees facing 76, bowing his head in what seemed like a sorrowful gesture.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” The rasp was less pronounced, the words more familiar this time.

76 pulled back sharply, confusion lacing his brow. That voice…

“G-gabe?” He reached out toward the man, hands wrapping around his shoulders--The texture was bizarre, solid, but wispy around the edges.. “Gabriel Reyes?”

The hooded form nodded. “It’s me, Jack.”

“You’re a-alive.” Jack managed out, wounds still making it hard to focus. “What… what happened to you?”

Alarmed at the blood that refused to cease, Gabe chose to dodge that question in favor of wrapping himself around Jack, supporting his battered body. “C’mon, Jack, let’s get you safe.”

                                                      …

Jack was set carefully on the bed of the dingy motel room. The former strike commander enjoyed the security of the streets, of being anonymous, but nothing could beat a hot shower and a semi-decent bed and for as long as he planned on staying in Dorado, having both was a advantage to his cause.

He had fallen asleep as Gabe carried him back. Perhaps the blood loss was greater than he thought, or the day’s emotions were just too strong. Either way, Jack dropped off shortly after Gabe had scooped him up in those all-too-familiar broad arms. At the sensation of being set down into the cool sheets of his hotel bed, Jack slowly cracked his faded blue eyes. From behind the red visor, Gabe was regarded with suspicious eyes as the wraith bustled around, pulling the first aid kit and a glass of water from the small bathroom.  

Jack tried yanking the kit from the figure and insisting on doing it himself. Gabe couldn’t be trusted, not yet, and Jack was always the better medic of the two. But that wasn’t obvious by looking at Jack; he was tired, drained, and the boring eyes of Gabe didn’t help the crooked stitches and the gentle stabs with the tools that were meant to help, not harm. Where was Mercy when you needed her?

“Let me help you, Jack.”

“I don’t need your damn help.”

But nothing deterred Gabe as he settled down next to a wounded Jack. Something about this felt more familiar than either one of them would have liked to admit, but neither one commented on the eerie similarity to the past years. Jack watched him carefully as Gabe pulled out a knife, designed to cut away the ruined fabric of his pants. While he was aware of what Gabe’s goals were, it didn’t make the sensation of his enemy brandishing a weapon over his form any easier.

Gabe ignored the way that Jack reached automatically for the comforting feeling of the now-missing sidearm. Jack’s weapons had been collected by the wraith, sitting in a pile in the corner to be cleaned and fixed up, and to avoid Jack shooting him. He’d get the weapons back, later. For now, Gabe set to the gruesome job of slowly cutting away the ruined material, revealing the two major holes in Jack’s legs. Blood still leaked weakly from the bullet wounds, forcing Gabe into action before he could help with the rest of the battered soldier.

With the help of a set of tweezers and some sterile thread, Gabe was able to remove the bullets and close the wounds. Jack’s face had gone ashen silently, as he faded in and out of consciousness. The super soldier never attempted to escape. Healing needed to happen and honestly? It was nice to have someone else taking care of him.

Once satisfied that the injuries in Jack’s legs would heal, Gabe moved up to unzip that gaudy leather jacket with 76 depicted on the broad shoulders. Internally, he reminded himself to tease Jack about the ridiculous call sign later, after the danger was removed. Jack’s eyes flashed open behind the visor, but the man was too weak to fight Gabe off; He’d just have to have faith that he was here to help, not to harm.

And slowly, the old soldier was patched together again. Once satisfied that Jack wasn’t going to bleed out from the major injuries, Gabe cracked one of the biotic canisters in order to clean up some of the smaller scratches and bruises while Jack napped. Reassured that the vigilante would survive the night, Gabriel got up, gathering a small spread of snacks for the two and booted up the old TV to play some old novella while Reaper attempt to rest.

“Gabe?” Came the weak voice from beside him as he settled back into the bed. “What happened to you?”

“I was in the explosion. That witch Moira had been playing around with some of these nanites. Gave ‘em to me before a major mission in Dubai. Been using them since, but after the explosion--” Gabe remembered it bitterly, body burned and crushed under a piece of the Overwatch logo. He recalled the blood pooling in his mouth, in his shoulder, pain sparking from every nerve. Gabe desperately screaming, trying to get his hands to turn to wisps in order to free himself. It was only as he felt the life fading from him that Gabe’s entire body had splintered into pieces and escaped the embrace of twisted metal and concrete. He had never been able to maintain the same body again, too ruined to get every piece back where it should be. Now he was just some grotesque husk of a man once was, an abomination of humanity and death.

Shaking himself, he returned to the conversation at hand. “I was scattered into pieces after something fell on me. I’ve been piecing myself back together since but… It hurts. And I can never maintain it for long. I can never really go back to the way I was.” Gabe finally managed out the truths that had locked themselves away in his head for so long. “What happened to you, after the explosion?”

Jack laughed, a bitter, soulless laugh that hurt his stomach. “Everything. I was a mess. I just ran, Gabe. I just fucking ran. Been surviving, running, since. Trying to figure out what happened, but it’s just not there yet. I’m missing something and I have no idea what.”

Gabe nodded; he knew the feeling. Thankfully, Jack hadn’t mentioned anything about Gabe’s own viglianting, about the masked figure only known as Reaper. Gabe was scared to go back, scared to show what was left of the once powerful Blackwatch commander. He had signed on with Talon, if only to have O’Deorain there to maintenance the nanites. Since joining, Gabe had hidden behind the mask and cloak to prevent his identity from getting out. Anonymity was his protection.

Glancing over at him, the former Blackwatch Commander opened his mouth, just to close it again. A smear of red on Jack had caught his eye, something missed earlier. The large gash began just above his eyebrow and disappeared downward in a slant over his nose. “Jack, your face--!” Gabe reached out, claws moving slowly to Jack’s face, but the vigilant jerked away before he could touch him.

���Don’t touch it.” His voice was grim as he shifted away on the bed, carefully. Shit. That broken glass behind the boxes; he was too preoccupied by the gunshots at the time, the pain hadn’t registered. And now Gabe wanted to take the mask.

Jack had never told anyone about the poor eyesight that plagued him after the explosion; the smoke and bits of glass had shredded his corneas, rendering him completely blind at the time. The sight had returned somewhat, over the years, but everything remained blurry, colorful shapes.  The only thing that helped was the red visor, stolen from a locker in a long-forgotten Overwatch base. It had been made for him years ago, in case of a hands-free mission, but now provided his aid in day-to-day activities. Very rarely did the man go without it anymore, and never in the presence of others. Especially not Gabe.

Gabe sat up, brow furrowing under his own mask. Self-esteem issues plagued him too--a face that never seemed to be solid greeted him when he lifted up his own mask. It was a mockery of what he once was--handsome, with a strong jawline and a broad nose ever-so-crooked from the years of abuse that he endured in the military. Now, it was a mish-mash of a dead man reanimated, a travesty of who he was before.

It took concentration to keep his face together. Tiny wisps of inky black smoke billowed from it, the nanites keeping him alive burning off and regenerating at rates faster than he could keep track off. Without focusing, his face could be engulfed by the inky smoke, ruining his features and turning him into stuff of nightmares. A fair amount of mirrors had been broken over the new look. And so, the man devised his own disguise. A harbinger of death, someone to seek out the guilty and enact as judge, juror and executioner. It was a mission to hell paved with good intentions. After a while, Gabe lost sight of who was the good guy and who was the bad. And now he was just the Reaper, angry and lost, wandering the streets in search of a clue to his past life and what happened to Overwatch.

Gabe sucked in a breath, watching Jack carefully through the slits in the porcelain mask. It was obvious that the idea of being without his mask in front of Gabe made him uncomfortable, so it was up to Gabe change that. Clawed gloves rested over Jack’s hands, gently guiding them to his own white mask. Trust starts somewhere, and Gabe was willing to extend that olive branch.

“Are you sure?” Was Jack… concerned?

The pointed chin dipped down in a nod. It was time. Together, the old partners removed the owlish mask and set it aside.

At first, the space behind the mask was blank, a wall of inky darkness that resembled nothing that Jack had ever seen. After a couple of beats, though, Gabe’s face slowly began to solidify in the darkness. Smoke dripped from mounding nostrils as the blackness hardened to form tired eyes and a sagged face. Gabe released Jack’s hand, resisting the urge to hide himself from view.

Jack resisted the urge to pull back. The face was seemingly intact, but whatever lurked behind it was a smoky mess, wisping out from behind the hood to create a ghost-like effect. It was as monstrous as it was familiar--a hard jaw, peeking out from the elements, the half-curve of his lips into an amused smile, a richness deep within the man’s eyes. Jack had been in love with him since their days in the SEP but it was only after their promotions that his desperate pinnings had been realized.

In the back of his head, Jack remembered the first time they kissed; in his office, after Gabe had gotten back from a particularly dangerous mission. After weeks spent in the infirmary, Gabe had shown up with that infuriating half-smile and Jack found himself pinning him up against the wall, taking his lips angrily, hands roaming an injured body. It was only after a few minutes of kissing that they had broken apart, gasping and laughing.

Gabe had loved him.

In a way, Jack still loved him.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, huh.” Gabe interrupted Jack’s thoughts with a bitter laugh, running rampant of those hours spent in his office together. “Kids call me a monster. Maybe I am.”

Jack reached out with one hand, almost nervously. Red leather brushed against Gabe’s face as the long fingers of the super soldier curled around his jaw, resting his thumb on his nose and gently rubbing it. Though the mask could help him view, this was a better way to see. Gabe was alive. Hidden by his own visor, Jack began to weep, tears filling ruined eyes and dripping down a hooked nose to collect somewhere below his view.

“Easy, Jackie, I’ll put it back on. I know.” Gabe had cried, too, when he first saw himself. Or at least tried to. He couldn’t distinguish between tears and smoke anymore.

“N-no. Leave it off.” Came the command, thick in his throat. “I love it like this, love you like this.” His thumb rubbed carefully over Gabe’s face, mapping it out--as if it was impossible for Jack to have forgotten it in the first place. Jack spent the next minutes taking in his face, the scars and changes it had underwent since they had last seen each other, so many years ago.

After the moment had past and Gabe had shifted under Jack’s hands--clearly uncomfortable at the attention--Jack removed his hand. It was time for Jack to reciprocate the man’s trust and allow him to work on the gash that laced his own face.

With a similar nod, Jack indicated that he was ready for the removal of the visor. The claws came up to rest against the red glass, ready to catch it, as Jack reached back to undo the clasp that attached it to his face. With a click, it came undone and rested in Gabe’s hand for a moment, before he pulled it away from 76’s face and set it to the side of them, next to his own mask.

Milky blue eyes didn’t look up at Gabe. His face had been ruined by the explosion, debris burying itself in the soft flesh of his head and neck. Jack still remembering the metal pole that swung down, slicing his face in two as he pulled desperately at the rubble pinning him to the ground. Blood had blinded him, spilled into his mouth, choked him out. He had panicked, screaming and sobbing, but the oppressive darkness refused to respond, didn’t help him. Just miles and miles of crushed concrete, blood, that damn blue jacket…

He shook himself, bringing himself from the nightmares of the past that had left him with years of claustrophobia and blindness. Without the visor, Jack only had vague, colorful shapes to define his world; to go without it was a nightmare, but Gabe was right, he needed to clean the wound. Yet another scar slashed into his face--so handsome, in his youth--that would need to be cleaned up. Usually, he’d do it himself, cleaning the blood from his gear and stitching up the ruined skin by feel alone; But this time, smooth hands came up to brush against his face, making him jump nervously.

“Be calm, Jack. I’m not going to hurt you.” Gabe had removed his clawed gloves, revealing hands that certainly looked like his, but were too frighteningly flawless to be his. The nanites had forgotten the calluses and scars from years spent fighting, leaving only cold, too-soft skin. Knuckles brushed against Jack’s cheekbone, remembering the exact moment when he fell in love with his SEP partner.

It was just after they were deemed successes by the SEP scientists. Gabe and Jack had been deployed on a mission somewhere in South Asia to take care of a small group of insurgents who had been kidnapping and executing the local people there. Jack had volunteered to be some kind of distraction while Gabe had snuck around the back to successfully free some of the kidnapped. But before long, they had caught onto the trick and grabbed the nearest person, a girl no older than fifteen, and placed a gun to her head. Jack had volunteered himself, traded his life for the girl’s, and it was in that moment that Gabe got the satisfaction of putting a bullet through the insurgent’s head. It was also in that moment that he realized he was falling stupidly in love with the wide-eyed golden boy from Indiana of all places.

Gabe retrieved the first aid pack, practiced fingers wiping away the dried blood and removing the contaminants from the gash. The needle was strung and the ruined skin was pulled back together.

So far, Gabe hadn’t guessed the man’s weakness, but Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t soon. Jack was a twitchy mess, jumping slightly every time the creeping hands brushed against his face. Between his inability to see more than a cloudy shape near his eyes, and the fact that Gabe was Reaper, the current bane of his existence, Jack wanted nothing more than to sink through the bed and disappear. The pain of the needle barely registered; the old soldier was too distracted by his thoughts to even think about the minor prick against war-leathered skin.

Azure eyes finally looked up at Gabe shortly after he finished with the stitches. There was a pause as Gabe’s gaze devoured the man’s face, taking in each scar and bump, seeing the stories of the years between the explosion and now, the pain and weariness lurking just behind a carefully-constructed wall. But his eyes--there was something wrong. They weren’t the bright blue that took away Gabe’s breath as a young commander, the ones who burned memories in his brain of tired nights looking blankly over war plans, of weeks spent on the battlefield, serious and angry, of the time spent together when Gabe tried to teach Jack how to dance and then they were laughing and falling over each other, rough lips embracing each other in the early hours of the morning where nothing could touch them for those ten minutes--

“What happened to you?” Gabe finally managed out, around the torrent of memories that washed over him.

“War. What else?” Jack had been rasping like that since the explosion, doing everything he could to hide his identity. Today, he’s just Soldier: 76. He couldn’t go back to Jack Morrison even if he wanted. “Things have changed since we last saw each other.” Quietly, he prayed that Gabe didn’t see the way he tried to lean away, to hide his face.

“Jackie.” Gabe caught his chin and pulled his face back toward him. “Are you--the explosion… Are you blind, Jack?”

There was a long pause. Jack closed his eyes and released a long breath. If he didn’t talk about it, if he didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t true, it didn’t happen. But here came Gabe, destroying those foundations. Shit.

He didn’t realize, the one small tear that leaked from his ruined eyes. Jack hadn’t cried since the explosion, since extracting himself and turning his back on everything that he helped to build since he was a young adult. The crystalline drop fell from him, falling onto the blanket below. More followed it, just silently slipping from the closed eyes.

Gabe sat and watched the display for a couple of seconds before gently scooting forward and wrapping his hands around the man’s jaw and cheek. Jack didn’t fight him for the first time since they met. Ghostly hands, dripping in smoke, brushed over his nose, wiping away the tears, catching Jack as he leaned forward into the man’s hands. And just like that, Jack lost himself in the arms of the man he once loved, quietly crying with their foreheads pressed together.

They stayed like that, two old soldiers pressed together, holding each other through the horrors of the world once again. They were the seawall in the storm, standing strong together, finding faith within each other, weathering everything the world had to beat them down with. Nothing could touch either of them now.

Jack was the one to pull away and carefully wipe the rest of tears away. Cloudy eyes opened again and he could almost detect a smile where Gabe’s lips should be.

“I missed you, Jack Francis Morrison.”

Jack snorted at the use of his middle name. Gabe was the only one, aside from the legal documentation, who knew his full name. A name that he had left behind in Indiana, on a farm in the middle of dusty nowhere, where he wanted nothing more than to escape. Now, the only thing he wanted was to go home, but he wasn’t sure where home even was anymore.

“Ya know, Gabe, you never told me what your middle name was.” Jack laughed a bit, moving past the tender moments of before.

“Don’t have one.” The man shrugged, laughing with him. “Parents never gave me one.”

Jack slowly fell silent, the laughter disappearing from his face as the stitches pulled uncomfortably. “I’m not totally blind. Can see alright with the mask, but when I take it off…” A hand waved in front of his face. “It’s all gone. Just blurry shapes and colors.”

Gabe sat quietly next to him, introspecting, before slowly taking the vigilant’s hands. Jack tensed but didn’t pull away, moving forward with Gabe. Gabe carefully placed Jack’s hands on his chest before letting go, allowing Jack to feel him, to feel the sensation of his body disintegrating and repairing constantly. It took effort for him to maintain the shape of Gabriel; the nanites wanted to simply fall apart into a ghost-like matter, but for now, Gabe would keep the energy up to allow the man to feel him, feel what happened to him.

Jack pulled back a bit, shocked to find the man’s body thrumming beneath his hands. Jack had been with Gabe long enough to understand the full extent of what the super soldier bodies could do, but this was… too much. Frighteningly too much. It felt like there was a buzz of a current, throbbing beneath his touch.

“I’m a monster, Jack.”

“You’re my monster, Gabe.” A wry smirk touched scarred lips. “I still can’t believe you lived.”

“I wasn’t supposed to. It was everything that Moira did, that witch. Suppose I could thank her, but this life isn’t worth thanking her over.”  

The pair fell silent, thinking about what could have been, where they were in life now, and what’s to happen next. Jack would need more help than this, and his face still had to heal before he could go back out there. Gabe wasn’t welcome back with Overwatch, he figured, so the world awaited; after all those who caused the fall of Overwatch were still out there, and they still needed to be punished for what happened.

There was a sound next to him--Jack had fallen asleep. The day’s trauma had finally caught up with him. His body, though super, had faced enough trauma that just the act of relaxing was enough to push him over the edge into unconsciousness.

Gabe laughed in his smoky way and settled in next to him. The old ghost didn’t need to sleep anymore, but it was nice to play the illusion.

                                                         …

Gabe was up before him, having never gone to sleep. Not to be fooled by Jack’s tricks, though, he snatched the mask up from the bedside table, to prevent him from stealing out and leaving while Gabe was making some kind of food.

Minutes later, the sound of panic pulled him from the hot plate where eggs were cooking. Jack was on his feet, hands darting wildly around for his mask, for his only sense of vision that he had left anymore, that was clutched loosely in Gabe’s left hand. Unknowing of where he was in those few seconds, Jack snatched up his rifle from where it had been left, and pointed it squarely at Gabe.

“Where is it?!” There was a mess of red in Gabe’s hand, that could have been the mask. He considered diving for it, but Gabe would react too fast. If only Jack could see.

“Easy Jackie, easy. It’s right here.” Gabe lifted the mask, with the other hand outstretched slowly reaching for the barrel of the impressive weapon. Once he managed to point it toward the ground, Gabe handed Jack the mask back. Even the sensation of snapping the mask back into place relaxed the man some; Gabe was thrown into sharp relief against the light, and Jack felt himself soothed. The gun was replaced on the bed and Jack slowly moved forward, investigating what Gabe was making.

“Why’d you take it?” He asked warily, following the ghost-like shape into the other room.

“I didn’t want you to leave on me; we have to talk about what happens next, after all. And you’re notoriously slippery, Jack.”

“Ha! I always was the sneakier of the two of us.” The joke was light, a stress reliever of sorts.

At that, Gabe laughed out loud. “I was the one leading a covert strike team under cover of darkness and media blackout, and you had a goddamn statue. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The pair sat down to the eggs that would soon go cold. Neither one of them needed to eat much. For Jack, it meant going without the mask for even longer in order to eat, and that was out of the question for now. His sight was too important for that. But for now, the pair just sat over the quaint breakfast and continued their conversation, desperately yearning for some semblance of normalcy in a world wracked by war and anger.

“What happens next, Jack?” Gabe asked, sipping quietly at his coffee. Unlike Jack, Gabe didn’t mind going without his mask, so long he managed to avoid any reflective surfaces. Watching himself constantly disintegrate and regenerante was not his idea of a good time.

“I don’t know, honestly. Overwatch wants me back, wants us all back. Talon’s been getting too close, and Winston’s already faced them down twice. But at the same time, I don’t know if I can give up all of this.” Jack waved vaguely at the air around him, talking about his current profession of faceless heroism. If he were to step back into the eye of the world--even illegally, as the current Overwatch state was--Jack would be forced back into control, forced to take the helm of a sinking ship. That is, of course, if he revealed his identity. For now, Jack Morrison was enjoying the freedom that being dead gave to him. The thought of losing it scared the hell out of him.

“Heh, yeah. The monkey was always faster than I took him for.” Gabe mumbled softly with a small smirk. “I didn’t want to hurt him. He got in my way, everytime. If he just let me get past him, let me in, I would have taken the information I needed and been on my way.” At Jack’s questioning look, Gabe took another sip of his coffee. “I work independently of Talon. Sure, I work for them occasionally, as a contractor of sorts. Help them get what they need, while they help repair me when the nanites can’t. It’s a trade of power. they don’t have anything on me that I don’t want them to have.”

Jack nodded, quiet for a moment. He was thankful for the return of the mask, so his expression remained anonymous. “I want to go home, Gabi.”

“Me too, Jackie. I miss them.”

“I wonder if they’d accept a couple of old soldiers.”

“Something tells me they’ll take all the help they can get, even from a dead man and a ghost.”

                                                          …

And so they had began their journey back north, to where Overwatch was starting their roots again in the scorched Earth of where the former organization used to tower. Stops came along the way--raids on Talon bases, sidetracked days where they’d hunt down small cells of terrorists and gangs, helping the odd family in crisis, but they always trekked north. Something about it seemed so right; sleeping by day, moving under the cover of darkness at night, but being together and whole and right again.

There’s a Greek myth that humans used to come in pairs, with four arms and legs. Fearing their power, Zeus split these humans in two, dooming them to travel the world, constantly searching for their other half, their soulmate. And though Jack was no longer a religious man, he could understand the myth. He had found his other half.

Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes were whole again.

[siyeonrk]

MGA SEASON FIVE !      EP. 1 → PART ONE: CALLBACK PERFORMANCE       ( SINGING FLY 0:00 - 1:55 )

when she receives the email, she assumes it’s a politely-worded rejection letter ( albeit automated and thus, void of any actual sympathy ). it’s disguised a little like a positive note from the subject line, but siyeon’s received enough strongly worded emails from her parents about her behaviour at boarding school to know that’s how they reel you in — give you a false sense of serenity before hitting you with the hard stuff. so, she doesn’t rush to open it. she’s in the middle of her shift, hands ( and now phone ) covered in flour so she pushes it to the back of her mind and carries on through to the evening, the notification almost forgotten until she gets into the safety of her bedroom at home. 

a text from jeno lights up her screen but she barely reads the message. instead, her eyes are drawn to the box below it, the sender screaming at her loud and clear. mnet global auditions. yes, her rejection email, and so finally, she picks up her phone with little care, sighs as she clicks through to read it. 

congratulations. she thinks it strange to include the word on your final communication with someone, but the further she reads, the more it sinks in that this isn’t a rejection, far from it, actually. by some miracle, she’s through to the next round, one of far too many whittled down to a mere hundred— how had she sneaked her way in? endless wit and charm? potential for spinning a narrative down the line? she can barely believe it. 

so she reads it again, reloads and reloads as if closing the app or restarting her phone will prove to her that it’s just a figment of her imagination, that it isn’t real — that she hasn’t been contacted for a callback. if her phone hadn’t cost so much ( and hold so many memories ) she’d have dropped it straight to the hard floor. 

the next morning, when it’s all finally sunk in somewhat, she re-reads it again with a clear mind. two minutes, prepare a song, dance or rap for judges and the other ninety-nine contestants. for a moment, she feels a little nervous. she’s never sang for a group so large before, her biggest venue being her friend’s family-and-friends-only birthday party in late 2017 of about fifty people. or rather, forty-five that were actually awake by the time she took the microphone. god, who thought inviting their conservative extended family and all their grandparents to an 18th birthday party was a good idea? out of loyalty, she sang the full five songs she promised she would but after the second verse of the first, she was ready to call it a night. 

regardless, she has to do it. if not to be able to say she did, then to prove to herself that she can. her biggest problem is choosing a song. she already knows immediately that she’ll sing. what is the real question, though. for the auditions, she’d chosen something she felt would be entertaining and upbeat enough on a long day, but she doesn’t want to continue doing exactly the same thing. she’s not thinking too much about making herself memorable amongst so many likely far more talented contestants; in all honestly, the probably vital concept completely slips her mind. instead, she’s wondering how she can build upon what she auditioned with, how she can show something a little different without venturing so far out of her comfort zone that she risks it all. she wants to sing something familiar, something soft, without it being just another happy acoustic guitar and piano song. maybe something slow and sensual? an english ballad? 

in the end, spending hours scrolling through songs, she settles on something closer than she’d intended, but still distant enough that she feels that it gives off a different vibe. this time, she should have the chance to show off a little more colour to her voice. there’s a little tame belting, plenty of opportunities for her to adlib. it’s a great version of an otherwise very pop song, too, that she hopes most of the audience aren’t familiar with so it piques their interest when the backing track starts. 

only time will tell, and tell it will, as she spends the next few days practising it endlessly. her coworkers are fed up of her noise in the kitchen, her grandmother even grew tired of her singing wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, that she’d started going out on walks to the convenience store more, despite siyeon’s protests about her health. ( the doctor had said it’d be good for her to get out more, get fresh air and stretch her legs, but siyeon worries. she always worries. ) 

when the time comes, she nervously takes a seat, re-tucking her t-shirt into the waist of her jeans. the belt feels a little tight under all the lights and the pressure of so many eyes scanning by her as each contestant seems to be glancing at their competition. it’s hard not to run over the crowd growing when she knows there’ll be familiar faces amongst them, friends she’s not seen for a while because they’re all so busy with this and even a few ex-idols, too. her curiosity usually gets the better of her, after all. 

the hustle and bustle begins to die down as the next step of the auditioning process begins. now it feels like a tv show, with their elaborate stage and the lights dimming and cameramen whizzing around. she doesn’t know how much of today will make it into the first episode of the show, or how much of their previous round of auditions will either, but it’s a question long forgotten in the back of her mind when they announce the arrival of the judges. she expects it to be a group of known idols, seniors in the industry that are highly respected and regarded for their respective talents, like lc9 and myname members, or that phenomenal vocalist from she’z, but lo and behold, it’s another step up even from them as the ceos saunter in and suddenly siyeon thinks there’s no way I can do this and her palms begin to feel sweaty. 

this is so much pressure, she thinks, so much more than I expected. having to sing for a crowd so large already was enough to shake her a little bit, but she’d gotten over that with time. this, however, is an entirely different ball game— and she’d had no time to prepare for it. maybe if she’d known the ceos would be here, she’d have practised harder, brought something more extravagant to the game. they’ve seen countless talents in their lifetimes, what makes her think they’ll even bat an eyelash at her? 

but she’s here now and she’s worked so hard for it. she’s spent more hours than she has fingers and toes three times over readying herself for this moment — for being called down to sing and to show them what she’s capable of and hopefully, what she could be capable of in their experienced hands. she sucks in a deep breath. she has until she hears her name to centre herself and thankfully, with a hundred contestants, there’s plenty of time to get there. 

( and of course psych herself back out again, and then up again, then out, then up— and so forth. ) 

by the time she is called, she isn’t really sure what she’s feeling. it’s numb, surreal, and she thinks she’s probably going to trip on her way there just to ice that sweet, sweet carrot cake, but soon she’s standing before five of the most influential people in the industry and her palms are sweaty and her feet fidgeting and she’s bowing ninety degrees for a little too long. 

“I’m park siyeon and I’ll be singing fly by jiu.” she barely has time to shuffle her weight about to loosen herself up before the backing track is starting. 

it’s softer, already more subtle than the pop genre original, but siyeon honestly likes both reasonably equally. despite her usual affinity for acoustic tracks, she appreciates the harmonies and positive vibe of the first iteration of the song. after all, it’s a song about self love and that’s always best expressed through a happier beat, she thinks. but this version, the one she starts a few seconds in, comes from a different place. it might not entirely be something that’s overly important to her, to her own growth, but she knows confidence, spreading your wings, believing in yourself— they’re things so many people struggle with and if she can touch anyone with this deeper, more emotional rendition, then she’ll consider it a success. 

she does have to actually make it through the next two minutes first, though. 

invisible 안갯속에 나를 찾아야만 해 yeah 작은 불빛 그 희망은 상상만으로도 you’ll find

for the first verse and pre-chorus, her voice is much more gentle in tone. it’s akin to her audition, a little too breathy in places and a little too powerful in others as she moves into the chorus in due time. when she watches clips of these shows, so many contestants close their eyes, look as if they’re totally submerged in the moment but siyeon smiles, clicks along to the beat with a bit of bounce in her body. she wants to look relaxed, like she’s having fun ( and isn’t, instead, screaming for basically two minutes in her head not to forget the lyrics or mess up; no biggie ). of course, it means she probably looks like she’s trying too hard, but she’d rather appear nervous but trying than too dramatic, than emotionless or dry. delivery is just as important as actual talent, right? or maybe that’s just what she’s telling herself as she fails to see how else she might stand even a fraction of a chance against the other performers she’s seen thus far. 

높은 곳을 향해 손을 뻗어 볼 때 닿을 것만 같은 느낌 바라왔던 날들 가까워진 걸까 저 하늘에 그려져

just spread your wings 저 끝까지 가슴 뛰는 소릴 따라 두 눈을 감고 꿈을 펼쳐봐 you’re a hero, you can fly you can fly, oh, yeah, oh

the belted notes of the chorus are a contrast to what she’d handled in her audition. she doesn’t want to fall flat, so she always ends up putting a little too much gut into them, a little too much effort. on their own, they sound great. on their own, the softer verses sound great. together, her song is a little disjointed, her transitions between each unpolished but the potential is there. she lacks a little of the control they so likely desire, but it shows in her adlibs that she’s capable of it — if only she were to know what she was doing, if only she had someone to guide her along the way. 

though, again, maybe that’s just what she’s telling herself to plough through the worry that she’s already messing everything up. is there a world record for fastest mga audition to go wrong? at least she could stand a chance at that if all else fails. 

단 한 번도 보지 못한 세상이 펼쳐질 거야 구름 위로 날아올라 ‘cause your wings are made to fly

somehow, with the blink of an eye, she’s at the second verse and generously more than half way through her performance. she mellows back down to her quieter tone, though her bright smile doesn’t falter. she can’t let herself slip now; she’s made it this far and she’s determined to make it to the end. she’s no longer nervous about singing for the sheer number of people here, nor the ceos, instead a little elated despite other worries that she’d had the honour at all. after all, she can barely begin to imagine how many people auditioned and yet, here she is, one of the hundred the roster was whittled down to. that has to mean something, right? potential ( as a trainee or just as entertainment on the show, she doesn’t want to think too hard about ) shown, possibly, or even just to help buffer up their favourites for the show ( by comparison, she’s sure they’d look much more impressive ) but whatever it is, she’s here and she intends to savour every moment of it. 

due to the layering of the original, there’s a lot that’s missed in this subdued, single vocalist version. for that reason, she has to skip the first half of the opening line of the pre-chorus this time around, her voice projecting clearly with the run from the end of the verse. she’d practised it especially hard, recording herself to see how it sounded. she’d wanted them to think she’s professional, serious about this— isn’t fancy vocal tricks the way to do that? thankfully, she’s not able to overdo it, so it’s still quite tame as she executes a pretty adlib or two throughout. she wishes she could sing right through to the very last beat, show them how sweet her voice is in the slightly higher bridge, but her time is coming to an end. 

손을 뻗어 볼 때 닿을 것만 같은 느낌 바라왔던 날들 가까워진 걸까 저 하늘에 그려져

it’s not the most natural finish to a performance, but she does her best to fade out as the instrumental behind her does the same. the harsh cuts of her audition song had put her off, so she’d asked for help this time making sure she wouldn’t be remembered for making ninety-nine contestants and the five ceos jump out their seats at the sudden melody. 

when she’s done, satisfied, she bows once more and makes her way back to her seat. her heart’s thumping aggressively in her chest and the contestants sitting around her offer her encouraging smiles as she makes her way back over. her fingers shake against her thighs but she’s done and now it’s just a waiting game. a really horribly painful waiting game. 

[bananashemmo]

When We Collide (Part 47)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Masterlist: Here

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand

When We Collide on Wattpad

“The theories and articles are in fact, correct. Young movie director, Luke Hemmings, has in fact confirmed a kidnapping has been committed at his apartment. Investigators are currently performing their best to investigate the crime scene which is the director’s New York City luxurious penthouse apartment. The girl we are looking for is the director’s assistant, Y/N Y/L/N. Female, late in her pregnancy and with signatures looking like the following...” 

Words seemed so faint in the background Luke couldn’t really fully focus if it was actually happening beside him. 

His ass was so harshly pressed against the couch he was sure he would fall through the cushion and through the floor any second by now.

He felt completely numb. 

Say it would have been days. It felt like it, like the time was completely snailing through everything. But it wasn’t. It had only been minutes, maybe an hour before everyone had figured it out. 

Investigators were walking around the ‘crime scene’ talking about everything. He wasn’t listening. He was trying to think who wanted their revenge. 

Hands were pressed together the color on his skin had almost turned white. More likely a yellow, expressing that he was basically cutting off his blood system. 

It wasn’t that it hurt, he almost couldn’t feel it. The only thing he could feel was his heart pound faster than ever almost begging to come out from his chest. It was the only thing that actually hurt, besides the constant fear resting inside of him. 

If he looked over his shoulder he could hear people talk. It was serious, he could tell and he knew he most probably had to listen but he was completely stuck to the couch.

Only a question here and there was answered. Where did he see you the last time, what were the last words and what had you worn today. It was like the only thing he could remember was your face as you left. 

You should never have left in the first place, he thought. 

It would have changed everything. He wouldn’t have been in this position now. 

“The shirt is size XL. Suspect must be tall, at least 6′2 and fingerprints are about to get recognized from the sleeve.” A female investigator explained as she wore blue gloves and shared it with another worker. 

Shoe prints on the balcony floor are currently being scanned. Nobody touches the floor before we are done.” Another one said but Luke didn’t even want to turn around to look. 

He was in clear shock and everyone was giving him a small rest just to adjust what was going to happen. 

His eyes flicked towards the investigator with chestnut colored hair walking past him as she put the black hoodie in a plastic bag. 

He scanned it for a short second but it wasn’t something he could recognize. Like, everyone was wearing such shirts nowadays it would be impossible to remember one not wearing something like that. 

As the investigator walked out of the front door she almost collided into a tall Ashton and Calum wanting to get inside of the apartment. 

“It’s okay.” Luke held a hand in the air when one of the police officers held them outside to block them. 

“They’re with me.” 

For the first time in a while he stood up from his couch and walked forward. He could tell so many questions were crowded inside of Ashton’s head but there was no way possible he could answer them all. 

“What-, Uh-,” Calum was the one speaking up at first but he clearly couldn’t understand what in the world was going on. 

“Who took her?” Ashton was more settled with his question, eyes wide and dark just like the tone of his voice. 

“If I knew, you’d think all these people would fill up my apartment?” Luke asked back.

He didn’t want to be rude but with his mood and the many thoughts in his mind he couldn’t help but fire back a sneaky comment. 

Ashton understood right away the mood Luke was in, god he could totally relate to the situation he was standing in. Instead, he decided not to say something to it and ran a hand through his hair. 

“What is he doing here?” He decided to ask instead, referering to Michael talking to some sort of interviewer. 

“He was with me when she was kidnapped.” Luke explained, looking at Michael as well. He was baffling his arms in the air almost as if he was telling a story that was totally exaggerated. 

Ashton and Calum both glanced at Luke by the mention, one eyebrow being lifted but it took Luke some seconds to realize what they were thinking. 

“And that doesn’t ring a bell?” Calum asked and crossed his arms, “Don’t you think it’s just a tiny bit shady he’s in the apartment at the same time as your assistant slash pregnant roomie gets kidnapped?” 

Luke looked between the both of them and it took him a split second to hurry towards Michael and pull him away from the interviewer.

Michael was pretty startled by the sudden hands on his shoulders, he barely got the chance to apologize to the interviewer before he was pulled away completely and pressed into the kitchen with Calum and Ashton. 

“Woah, security guards, what is going on?” He almost raised his hands in surrender and looked between them with confused eyes. 

“Michael, look at me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this.” Luke looked at him seriously almost straight up in his face. There was no doubt in his tone that he needed the answer right away. 

“What?” Michael blinked twice, almost needing the question to be repeated. 

“You think I,” He pointed at himself, “Had anything to do with this?” 

Luke looked at Michael with a shrug in the shoulder. When he thought about it he couldn’t just accuse him of something there wasn’t any clues to but he just needed to be sure. The whole investigation could be pointless. 

“Luke come on.” Michael almost looked hurt, “After everything we’ve been through you believe I would steal your poor pregnant assistant? I could have easily bought myself a better one instead of just stealing her.” 

“Yeah, he didn’t do it.” Calum mouthed to Ashton in a whisper but Luke heard. 

“Don’t judge the guy, he’s blond.” Ashton muttered back, making both Luke and Michael turn their heads towards them. 

“I can’t believe you would think I could do such thin-,” 

“Yeah that’s great pretty boy.” Ashton mumbled and turned around quickly, “He’s out of suspect let’s hear what the police has to say.” 

Michael almost felt offended by being interrupted in his deep speech, his eyes blinking open and watched as Luke also turned around to leave. 

At first he just stared at them not realizing what was going on but afterwards he hurried to stand in their heels as they approached the investigators and the police. 

“Any news?” Luke asked, standing behind the lady officer sitting in front of the computers they had set up on the dinner table. 

“So far, nothing. We’ve checked camera rolls, video clips from down the streets but the suspect has been quiet the clever Cloe. No files seem to be erased yet there is nothing to find. It’s like whoever has stepped out from the apartment has completely vanished.” 

“Maybe you should reload some of the clips from the elevator? Maybe we can kind something in that.” Ashton suggested, standing next to Luke with furrowed eyebrows. 

“If the suspect hasn’t taken the stairs.” Calum mentioned quieter, already thinking forward but it was worth the shot. 

The lady officer nodded her head in agreement and typed things onto the keyboard. Files spread on the three large computer screens they had put up for the investigations and it was a lot of things to look through.

“There.” Ashton pointed at one clip, “That timing and date seems perfect.” 

“Let’s check it out.” The lady officer mumbled and she pressed her finger with a spare of cards symbol tattoo onto the mouse to load on the screen.

They all waited in anticipation as the file suddenly came up on the screen, showing someone stand with a black hoodie over their shoulders with the back facing the camera. 

“That must be him!” Ashton exclaimed intensely, “Or her, for the matter.” 

“I’m not sure if it’s the same hoodie. Seems more like a jacket.” The lady officer explained and when the second was at the most dramatic, everyone sighed in deep disappointment. 

“That’s Michael.” Luke almost wanted to smack his head against the table. 

As the person turned around and revealed who it was, the clear significant pointed to Michael. The blond hair, the stubble around the chin and the sunglasses to cover his face. 

“That’s me!” Michael commented in an exciting tone and a smile broke to his face. 

“Man, I look good in an elevator.”

Silence fell upon the room by the sudden comment, all eyes adverting to Michael who clearly didn’t understand the dramatic point of the situation. 

“You bring a flat iron with you?” Calum almost couldn’t ask the question as he looked on the tape. 

“What?” Michael asked and softly ran his fingers through his hair, “It’s hard to control the hair at cold months because it curls in the ends so I need to bring my straightener after leaving my house. I always carry it in my bag and it’s the reason why I wear my hoodie over the head. It protects the hair.” 

A moment of another silence was completely offered to Michael. At least twenty eyes were staring at him almost in disbelief and it wasn’t until Calum coughed attention went back to the screen. 

“The tapes are pointless. Calum is right. He or she must have taken the stairs.” The lady officer confirmed and another sigh of disappointment came from Luke. 

“We have to do something.” He almost wanted to pull his hair out in frustration. 

“Try give me your phone again.” She requested and Luke did as told, pulling it out from his pocket.  

“And you’re sure the I.D caller was Unknown?” She asked, almost not wanting to touch it because it being such a clue to the whole investigation.

“I’m completely sure. Neither did I recognize the voice. It was completely unknown to me and I meet a lot of people in life. That voice, I couldn’t remember.” 

The lady officer nodded her head in understanding and nodded a few people over to help. Luke and the others nodded intensely. 

“What we are going to do is to hope that the suspect has seen the flash news on TV and such. It makes them believe they are something important, that their mission is heading towards the right direction. Hopefully, we expect they are going to call you again as you still haven’t proceed to do something about the kidnapping.

“Well that’s because some officers haven’t allowed me to leave the place.” Luke said almost through gritted teeth and glared towards the door. 

“Exactly, but see it as a benefit, Mr. Hemmings.” The lady officer explained.

“What we are going to do is we will connect the phone to our system. If the phone calls again we will be able to track it all over the state at every mobile post that exist. It works almost 100% correct whether the I.D caller is known or Unknown.” 

“But how do I make it call again?” Luke asked, not but getting the answer he wanted. 

“We can’t decide that.” The lady officer saddened in her tone, “It’s all up to the suspects.” 

Luke sighed heavily and looked down at his feet. It felt like no matter how many times things seemed to head forward he was stuck in the same position as before. 

“We will wait.” He said bravely, “No matter if it takes all night then so be it.” 

Luke headed away from the table just to get a breath of air. He didn’t know where to go because it was impossible and it didn’t take long before another interviewer showed up to speak with him. 

“Luke?” She was careful in her tone, not wanting to disturb but still wanted to do her job. 

“Heather.” Luke said back, recognizing her bouncy blond curls. 

“I don’t want to disturb if you’re in deep thought,” She was still careful, “But is there anything you want to say to the world before we turn off for the night?” 

Luke looked at her ready to reject but then a sudden confusion came to his face. It changed quickly to something that seemed to settle on something he took the microphone out of her hand. 

His face was directed pointed towards the camera and he breathed in deeply to find the right words to say. 

“Whoever did this. Whoever had the heart to do something so idiotic as kidnapping someone to get a benefit is what god wishes as something only happening in the movies. I hope whoever have done this to not only me but also to the girl that I love have the baddest feeling in the mouth. Nobody wants to go through the feeling of doubt, confusion and the constant fear of nothing moving forward like the way I’m feeling right now. Trust me when I say that I can feel my heart ready to pound out of my chest. Trust me when I say I can feel my throat ready to turn upside down. Trust me when I say that I’m ready to commit a murder of whoever decided to kidnap Y/N because this won’t end well and heads will roll.” 

He looked at the kidnapper almost pressing the microphone into her chest, “That’s all I have to say to the idiots.” 

Heather looked pretty surprised by Luke’s words, a little speechless but she seemed satisfied with what she got. 

Luke cleared his mouth from the small bit of salvia that had arrived from not breathing through the words and his eyes were quick to glance back when movements came from behind him. 

“The phone is calling.” The lady officer announced loudly and waved her hand for Luke to come. 

“I.D caller is unknown, start the tracking devices.” She instructed harshly and Luke hurried over to grab the phone out of her hand. 

“Remember, no provocation.” She warned at him carefully, pointing a finger at him.

Luke nodded his head and swallowed thickly as he answered the phone and shut his eyes. 

“Hello?” 

His voice almost echoed in the apartment, it was so quiet. Nobody was speaking a word, they didn’t dare to. The only thing was low machine noises coming from the detectors trying to register where the phone call was from.

Seconds passed by but nobody said a word. Luke was almost confused if it was just someone else calling out of accident but then he heard small sounds coming from the other end of the phone. 

“Luke? Luke-, Please is that you?” 

When he heard your voice he almost couldn’t believe his words. It cut through his heart like a sharp knife.  

Ashton felt a jolt go through his body by your tone but Calum held him back from saying or doing something out of reaction. 

“Lu-, Luke please, you have to do somethin-,” When the line was completely cut off so did Luke’s breathing. 

“Did you get it?” Calum asked almost loudly as he watched the computers still trying to regestrate where it was coming from. 

It was a stressful situation, it was hard to tell what was going on. Ashton and Calum were staring at the screen while Luke stood completely frozen with the phone not believing his ears. 

“We’ve got it.” The lady officer announced when the screen changed with an address and google maps. 

“We’ve found the location of the phone.” 

“No time to fucking waste.” Luke, Ashton and Calum hurried towards the door with the rest of the crew. 

“We need to leave right in the second. Get spread in the cars.” 

Michael still stood by the computers looking confusedly around down at his fingers. It took him some time to register what had suddenly happened and he hurried towards the door as well. 

“I’m going with you! This could be the biggest comeback of a movie ever.” 

Luke barely heard what Michael had to say but neither did he care. Just the sound of your panic voice was enough to make him storm out of the door with a headed direction. 

Little didn’t he known how cold, alone and scared you felt tied to a chair. 

You had no idea for how long the drive had been, how you had suddenly appeared it almost felt like you had been drugged. You could have compared it to drinking and getting the blackouts. 

Nothing seemed to be remembered clearly and god how you just wished you could get the headache away. 

You were sure of one thing. You were tied to a chair. It was pretty obvious and you could feel how it was tightening around your stomach. They didn’t take anything for care and they had no hopes of believing you were okay. 

“Did you hear the sound of his voice? He sounded so panicked!” 

“Yeah I was pretty amazed too! Who could care that much for a poor girl and I baby. I wouldn’t. It doesn’t come with any benefits.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to smack your head back and hopefully hit the back of the chair. That was how tired you were of listening to the two large tall males who had kidnapped you the second you came down to the last floor of the apartment. 

They only went by the letters T and G. Most probably to cover up their original names and most importantly not to spoil anything when they had placed the phone to your mouth. 

“Did you see him on the TV? He’s a wimp and I’m most probably can’t do a thing about anything.” 

“Was he that bad in bed when he knocked you pregnant? He can’t even keep his arms up for a second I don’t believe he could do the same with his dick.” The guy to the left commented after banging his hand on the small TV.

His friend was laughing next to him, pretty amused by the situation. 

“How about the two of you shut up for a second and start telling me what the hell is going on?” You were both stubborn but scared at the same time. They seemed like losers but still remained scary with their tall shadows. 

“How about you shut up? I told you not to say anything as long as you were under our domand.” The guy to the right knocked on the TV once to get the channel right and headed towards you. 

“Or, do I need to remind you again?” He headed forward and cold shivers ran down your spine as he collected a knife. 

“You know that I can easily tear your pretty face with this?” He slowly pressed the blade against your cheek, “Or let’s say something else. An arm? Your stomach?” 

“You don’t touch her.” You said through gritted teeth teeth but gasped when he grazed the knife against your arm. 

“Oh so it’s a girl!” He said as if it actually impressed him and watched the blood leak from your arm. 

It wasn’t a deep cut but enough for you to flinch. You couldn’t even remove the droplet of blood because of your hands being tied but you watched it slowly fall down onto your lap. 

“Don’t act like you’re happy on my behalf.” You spat, almost not wanting to start the argument. 

“But I am.” He said and spread his arms, “A girl means she’s already wrapped around his little finger! That only adds up your chances of survival you know. If he gets here in time.” 

You watched him head towards a desk filled with cobweb. The place wasn’t really anything to brag about, it smelled horrible and could have been cut out from a scene. 

“What is this? Why did you kidnap me?” You had asked the question a couple of times now. 

“I’ve already answered you this.” The one still standing by the TV sighed. 

“You’re the key to the diamonds.” 

“I don’t get where you’re going.” You quivered an eyebrow and sincerely wished he could continue. 

“To get to Luke, you need to get close to the thing he loves the most.” 

“And that’s me?” You almost couldn’t believe his words. 

“It’s you.” He pointed at you with a smile and moved the knife down, “And the baby.” 

“But what about revenge?” You couldn’t get the things to seem right. Nothing seemed right about this, there was something he wasn’t telling you and you couldn’t figure it out. 

“Who wants revenge if it’s the diamonds that are demanded?” 

“I can’t tell you.” He shrugged like it was nothing and laughed. He was either being really stupid or just enjoying giving you this pain. You were left with no information. 

“But aren’t you the one wanting revenge? Wanting the diamonds.” You looked between them, “The both of you.”

“Nahh.” The other one shrugged and crossed his arms, “We’re just the ones taking orders.” 

You looked between them trying to read their faces but you couldn’t get them to say anything. You looked over their shoulders by the doors that were faintly covered by white duvets. 

It wasn’t clear to see but two shadows were also creeping behind, not wanting to reveal their faces but you could feel the lump in your throat ready to choke you. 

“Please tell me this is just a nightmare.” You whispered to yourself but as another droplet of blood hit your thigh you realized the reality. 

[renegadesrpg]

Dark Angels: Creation Part 30, Crossover with Rekindled. Honesty #RRPG. Zav, Truely, Adrian, Celia

Adrian: *I'd stayed invisible as I followed Zav and Truely to her apartment over the bakery and stationed myself on the small porch landing outside the door. I didn't like this set up much. Unless there was an interior door that led to the bakery, there was only one way in and one way out. And if there /was/ an inside door I doubt it was fortified appropriately. The human wouldn’t understand the need. Sounds of laughter echo through the door and as I start to mentally shake my head in amusement white light flares in my brain and a blinding pain nearly drives me to my knees. And I see it. We've been followed. They’re coming. The pain fades as I reach out to Celia. 'Rogues. They're coming. Get the humans out.' Simultaneously I bang on the door and shout*

ZAV! We're about to have company in the shop!

 Zav: *This day had been all I could have hoped for so far. Truely had felt our souls connect and was as into me as I was to her. We'd spent time talking and time doing ....smiling at the recent memory... "other" things and had begun making plans for our future. If I hadn't fully opened up yet as to just exactly /what/ I was, I was beginning to have real hope that might not be as big an obstacle as I'd thought it might be. Just as I grasp Truely's hand to go meet her friend Frederick and have a mid-afternoon lunch a banging on the door starts and Adrian bellows at me. Looking sharply at the door as I drop Truely's hand and manifest my angel's short sword in it, I tell her*

There's trouble. Stay here. Please. And, *grabbing one of the two medallions I wear around my neck, and handing it to her.* Wear this. I lost you once. I won't again.

 Truly: *I was having such a magical time with Zav. He was more than I could have ever asked for and I couldn't wait for our next chapter. I almost hated to breathe for fear I'd find out he wasn't real.* Who is that? *Suddenly there was a loud pounding on my door and Zav dropped my hand, his look of panic evident. Next thing I know he has a sword in hand and he's asking me to wear a pendant that was around his neck.*

Zav, who is at the door? What's going on? Are you in danger? Are Celia and my shop? *I was rambling. Whatever was happening was out of my realm of knowledge but I did hear Zav ask me to wait here though.* Fine, I'll stay. *I’m confused but I’m trusting Zav. So, I touch the pendant and just wait...for now.*

 Celia: *I'd just finished taking out another tray of cookies when Adrian's voice invaded my headspace in full force. Neither shifters, nor ghosts are naturally telepathic, but Sean and Sin had always managed to maintain a link with us. I hadn't expected Adrian to be able to do the same. Communication wasn't generally his gift. I stagger under the mental assault but manage to get the tray on the table without dropping them, then call out to Truely's assistant*

#Lucy, I need you back here for a second. *She hurries through the door to the kitchen...'What is it Celia? I just had two customers walk in the door.' *Dammit, I think just as loudly as I can in hopes Adrian hears, They're here!*

#Lucy, *I begin, forcing calm into my voice,* I'm out of vanilla and I don't know this town. Can you run to the supermarket and get some? I'll cover the counter while you're gone. *Lucy frowns and looks at me questioningly, because she probably knows damn well Truely has this place stocked to last through Armageddon, but she doesn't argue, just grabs her purse and starts back out the door to the front. I grab her arm, and turn her...*

Go out the back door. I'm sure it's closer to your car.

*She frowns at me but only answers 'Sure.' But I can see she's making mental notes to have a word with Truely about me. And that's just fine, assuming we make it through this. As the back door slams, Adrian mists in beside me, sword drawn and ready to fight. I hike up my sweater in and pull my .38 with its "kill anything that moves" bullets out of the holster at the small of my back.*

Was just too good to be true, huh?

 Adrian: We'd hoped they wouldn't find her but I think they must have been trailing us. I'm not sure how, but this isn't a coincidence.

*I can hear them out in front now, moving around and banging on that damned little counter bell for service. At that moment Zav materializes on the other side of Celia*

I think we might have led them to her Zav. I don't know how, but we need to figure it out.

 Zav: I'll be back. Keep the pendant on.

*Drawing her to me, I drop a quick hard kiss on her mouth and then I'm out the door. As soon as I'm out of her sight, I hone in on Adrian and mist to his side.*

Later. We'll figure it out once they're dead. Celia, stay back in the doorway and cover us. But don't hit us. Those bullets will kill us too, feel me? *She gives me an indignant look but just nods. As the sound of an insistent bell turns into glass breaking I cringe. Dammit, Truely is going to be upset.*

 Truly: *I'm standing here holding the pendant Zav gave me and I'm so confused. He gave me a quick kiss then left me.*

What the ever-loving hell is going on? *

As I absent-mindedly put on the pendant I hear a crash come from below.* What's going on in my shop? *I hear a couple more crashes and bangs and I realize I can't stand here twiddling my thumbs anymore. The man I love is in trouble, his friends could be too, and my shop, my livelihood is being destroyed.*

Nope, sorry my Star but I'm not going to stand here listening to my world get destroyed, just not happening. *I open my door, carefully look out in both directions, then run down my steps and around to my shop's back door. The scene I come on is one of nightmares. Creepy, smelly things fighting with Zav and Celia, and the blonde man. I see swords, fists, and bullets flying. My shop is in ruins and my temper boils over.*

Oh fuck no. *I whisper yell as I grab the first heavy thing I can find...my cast iron skillet. *I quietly move through my kitchen and get up behind one of the ugly beings. I raise the skillet and scream* NOOOO!* as I slam it on his head.*

You will not hurt my family. No! No! No! *with each yell I hit the being, fury that I've never felt taking over. I didn't recognize myself but I would rather die than have Zav hurt. Unfortunately, my energy isn't long lasting and now I don't know what to do. So, I lift the skillet and wait, my breath still heaving with effort...anger, fear, and frustration filling me.*

 Celia: *I watch in a combination of mixed horror and admiration as the human woman attacks a reaper with a skillet. Cast iron. That sucker has to be heavy. Adrian has one almost cornered between the oven and walk-in fridge and Zav...dammit, he dropped his guard when he heard Truely>and missed it when two more misted in. I shouted....* ZAV! *and swung up from behind the table I'd crouched behind, unloading my .38 into one, the volley of reaper-killing bullets opening up a center mass wound as he falls to the ground.

 Adrian: *I'd fought my foe into the corner. Celia had had to be careful not to hit me but she'd managed to place a well-aimed bullet into his weapon arm, which slowed him down considerably. I blocked and parried but he was tiring. The sounds of a cast iron skillet knocking against a skull hadn't really caught my attention, but when Celia yelled Zav's name I decided enough was enough and gutted the bastard, a mortal wound, dying, but not yet dead.  He falls as I turn just in time to see ...well... I'm not sure what I'm seeing.

Zav is starring at Truely... TRUELY? with a stunned look on his face as she stands there, in front of him, chest heaving from the exertion of swinging a frigging massive cast iron skillet. The reaper he'd been fighting was groaning, laying on the floor. There had only been two rogue reapers in my vision but now there were four. Two more had just misted in. The originals must have called for reinforcements before they'd fallen. One goes down, its chest exploding into a bloody mess from Celia's bullets, but the other one is headed straight for Truely. If it touches her....*

Gods dammit Zav, GET HER OUT!!!

 Zav: *Gods… Truly…. One minute I was fighting and the next minute I was staring into her flushed face with a reaper groaning on the floor in front of me. My eyes locked on hers in stunned admiration, and yeah, not a little fear for her, just as Adrian called out. Another reaper, a new one, had misted in and was making for what he assumed was the easiest target in the room, my woman. Time seems to slow down. I note the sound of Celia ejecting and reloading a new clip into her gun. Adrian is throwing himself at the new attacker. In the blink of an eye I leap over the prone rogue on the floor and grab Truely, misting her away from the attack, to just outside the back door. As I hear shots ring out I’m torn between going back and staying to protect her but I hear Celia’s glee as she shouts out  ‘And another one bites the dust!’. Heaving a breath of relief, I turn Truely’s face up to mine and frantically scan her eyes.*

Are you all right? Did it touch you? Are you hurt?

 Truly: *I'm huffing, puffing, and staring at mayhem in my shop and then the next thing I know, I’m outside and Zav asked how I am.*

I'm pissed. I'm stunned. I'm confused. What the hell Zav? What... *I lean over to catch my breath and that's when tears start falling and I just plop myself down on the ground. The realization that my shop is ruined, my man has a secret that turned deadly, and he could've died all hit at once.* Talk Zav, please. Am I losing my mind here?

 Celia: As the Zav misted out with Truely I shouted*

DOWN

*and opened fire hoping Adrian wouldn't get in the way. Of course, he was already on the move but he heard me and turned to mist, allowing the bullets to pass through harmlessly and embed in the chest of the last standing rogue. Slowly lowering my gun I look around at the carnage just in time to see the bad guy Truely ... damn, I have a lot more admiration for her now... Truely tried to pound into sand start to struggle to his feet and I raise my gun and put my last bullet between its eyes. The rogue fell to the ground, its physical body disappearing as it died and its untethered soul shimmering beside where it had fallen.*

We're going to need something to do with these souls so where Truely is doesn't get back to the Horseman and his boys.

 Adrian: *Looking around as a 2nd rogue followed suit*

Bryn used a Dybbuk box for the last crew. I'll reach out to her and have her send one. Meanwhile, *grabbing the disembodied souls each with one hand*

You two are with me.*

*Mentally I call to Bryn with my request and in seconds a box materializes in front of me as she conveys instructions on how to use it and where to take it when I'm done. Death Valley, with the other one. Of course. She's always had a gallows sense of humor.*

In you go...*softly chanting the spell Bryn had given me, watching the two souls being sucked into it. As the last two expired, their souls too were sucked into the box and I had the distinct feeling it was still hungry. Hastily I say the words that lock the box and pick it up, handing it to Celia.*

Put this somewhere safe and out of the way while I take care of this mess.

*Looking around at the rubble, I inhale and dematerialize it all, sending it to Brazil to be burned outside the safehouse.*

 Zav: *She's pissed. She's got a right to be but the cats out of the bag now and she's got a right to the truth. More, I want to tell her. As she sits down on the ground, I sink down cross-legged with her. I've fought with Adrian long enough to know he's already doing damage control in there. Now I have to do it out here.*

No, baby, no. You aren't crazy. I'm so sorry this followed us here. It's what I was trying to keep from happening to begin with. But everyone is all right and we're going to fix this, I promise. Just please, listen with an open heart. Because I can promise, whatever you're thinking right now? That's not what this was.

 Truely: *What I'm thinking? What I'm thinking is the Twilight Zone is being filmed again or Candid Camera, a really bad version of it. I'm thinking you could've been killed. I'm thinking my shop is destroyed, and...*

HOLY SHIT! Lucy! Where's Lucy? Is she ok, oh my god how could I have forgotten her. *I stop myself and take a deep breathe reaching out to touch Zav.* Ok, first...where is Lucy? Then explain so I don't go overboard in my thinking cuz right now...*deep breath* What I DO know is that I love you and trust you. What I don't know is why the secret, why the chaos. Please explain.

 Celia: *As I stand there holding the box in both hands I watch Adrian make a clean sweep of the place. Walking to the door to the front, I check to be sure it’s all gone too.*

Good job. It could pass a Health Department inspection. Now, since you're already in my head how about you materialize what needs to be replaced here. Yeah, yeah, *I dismiss as he opens his mouth to protest*  I know you can't make it out of thin air like the Boss can, but I know what she had and where it came from. Pick my brain. Literally. This is a small operation and I doubt she can afford to replace all this. I'm pretty sure her insurance doesn't cover damage from the Reaper Wars. Zav will see the funds get into the right accounts to cover it. He's picky about that stuff.

*Leaving him frowning as he invades my brain again, I turn and walk out the back door, still carrying the box, just in time to hear Truely freak out over Lucy.*

Lucy's fine. I got an advance heads up from Adrian...

*jerking my head back into the doorway* Tall, blonde and deadly in there.... and I sent her to the store. I told her you were out of vanilla.

 Adrian: *I frown as I rummage through Celia's brain and select the equipment needed replace what had been damaged. She might be a bossy ghost, but her thoughts were well organized and she provided me not only with the items, but brands as well. I materialized them from their manufacturer's warehouses and set them into their proper places, being sure to get the front of the shop covered, too, then follow Celia out the back door. Taking the Dybbuk box from her, I begin*

I've got the souls Zav. Bryn sent a Dybbuk box to hold them like she did the ones from Layla's place. She told me where to leave them. I'm going to stow them and I'll be back to watch your six shortly, so try to stay out of trouble until I get back. Oh, and Celia, the place is put back together to your specifications. *smirking at her raised eyebrow* What, you thought that would take time? You've lived with reapers long enough to know we're efficient.

But, Zav, you might be thinking up a story in case someone called in the gunfire. Something harmless like Celia was teaching Truely how to use a gun and it went off or something. Cops can't hold you but they could make life uncomfortable for your lady.

*Nodding, I dissolve into a fine black mist, to take care of this errand.

 Zav: I nod at Adrian as he goes. His method of leaving is going to cause more questions, but she needs to hear it all. Running my hands through my long hair and pushing it back from my face, I take a deep breath.*

Celia, I think Adrian's story will hold up since he repaired the damage. Can you go man the fort while Truely and I talk? We'll be right here if you need us.

*Celia nods and shoots me a quick look of sympathy. She's aware this won't be an easy discussion and I stand to lose everything if it doesn't go well.*

Truely...*licking my lips and sighing* I love you. And everything I've told you has been the truth. It just...the details are going to be hard for you to believe. But this won't happen again. I'll take steps to see you're protected. *sighing*

Humans had a great poet and playwright who once wrote "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Well he was right. There are more things in heaven and earth and the worlds beyond than humans comprehend. And I... and Adrian and Celia... are some of them.

 Truly: Shakespeare, Hamlet right? Ok, so what are you and what were those icky creatures that were trying to kill you? I want to understand this all, I really do. Please tell me everything Zav...everything.

 Zav: It might be easier to show you some of it. *Materializing a slim dagger, I hold out my forearm and make a fist, running the sharp blade across it. But what flows out isn't red blood. It's blue.*

That's grace. Not blood. It's the first part of what I am. An angel. *With a thought I allow my wings- enormous and capable of lifting my weight, and much more, in flight to materialize. The deep navy blue of them fades down into a pale blue at the bottom, the gloss of them catching the sunlight.*

And I'm more. *With another thought I dematerialize myself into a black mist and then reform.*

I'm also a reaper, a powerful being who collects mortal souls and helps them move on. *sighing* Once, long, long ago I and angels like me were sent to earth to teach humans. Some of us fell in love with them. But the white god...not the Creator, but one whom most humans believe is...he was jealous and afraid. The children we created with our human wives held great power. They had both soul and grace. So he had us all killed before they could grow up. Now, what happens to angels when they die is different that it is for humans or other mortal species. Most mortal souls move on to other lives. A few, when they are ready, ascend to a new plane of existence. But not angels. We go into the Long Sleep. So my wife and I could never be reunited. Not in new lives, not in ascension. But the reaper who came for me had been a friend once and he offered me the opportunity to join his corps. And to look for the soul of the wife that the white god...El Shaddai... had taken from me. And so... here I am.

 Truly: *I let out a squeak as I watch him materialize a knife. That squeak became a gasp when I see him cut himself. Then before I can say anything out runs blue blood. I watch it flow then stop. THEN the most beautiful set of wings appear... WINGS! I'm looking at actual angel wings. Then he's talking about angels and reapers and his dead wife.*

Wait. So you were an angel living among humans? Teach humans what though? Then you died or just your wife? *I shake my head*You are now a reaper? Or an angel? And you are not only taking dead people's souls to, their final resting place? But also searching for your dead wife? But if she's dead, why look on Earth? And where does this leave me if you are wanting her?

 Zav: *smiling in relief at how she's taking all this. Quietly I demat my wings. No point in keeping them exposed in case we do get a visit from other humans*

I taught them art, music...how to govern and care for a people, how to grow things. The Creator wanted humans to prosper. When I died I didn't lose my angel's grace or power. It would have gone into the Long Sleep with me. When a being surrenders his soul to Death to become a reaper, he brings with him all that he was in life. I have grace instead of a soul, which is a different kind of power than a soul has, but an immense one. So I am both angel and reaper now. Just not one who serves the Creator anymore.

*Pausing for a moment and inhaling before I continue. This was going to be the hardest of all.*

Her soul was human and it was not ready to ascend. It had more lives to live, more lessons to learn and grow from. If I had lived... and angels will live forever if they are not killed...my grace would have kept Kalare young and alive for as long as I was. Love is that strong.

But I don't have to look for her anymore. *looking deeply into her eyes* I've found her.

 Truely: *I stare into your eyes as you speak. I see and feel the truth but it's still overwhelming.* So, you are still an angel but also a reaper. And you said your grace could keep Kalare alive for as long as you...how? Like, she fed on it like a vampire? *damn do vampires exist too? Ok, not asking that right now. I just want to understand this man, his history, and how I fit into his present.* So, waaaaaaiiit.... *something he said just processed through my stuffed brain* You found her soul? Her reborn soul? *I squeak that last part out, then whisper...* me? You're saying I'm your dead wife reborn?

 Zav: *laughs softly and takes both her hands into mine* There are other ways of passing grace than drinking it. Humans don't have the teeth for it. My grace passed to her every time we made love. As it will pass to you. And yes, I have searched for her soul for 35,000 years. It has grown. Learned much. Been tempered by the experiences of the lives it has lived. Truely, the soul she bore in her mortal body now lives in yours. But you are not Kalare. You are Truely. And I am very aware of it.  And grateful for how her soul has grown and who it has become. How it has become you.

 Truely: *I'm...stunned*. 35,000 years? You searched that long to find her soul? But, but how can you know her soul is in me? *I touch my chest* And how *I shake my head trying to gather my thoughts* how are you sure its ME you love and not the idea of her soul being found? What, what do I do with this information Zav? *I stare into your eyes and absent-mindedly brush your hair out of your face as tears fall.* Is this why our connection was strong and fast? Is her essence like going to take over or how does that work?

 Zav: *taking her face in my hands I wipe away her tears with my thumbs. Kissing her gently,* I would have searched through eternity for it. It /is/ why we both felt such an instant connection, but I was not sure until I looked at your soul. *smiles* Yes, it is something reapers can do that angels can't. But the connection....*shaking my head and smiling a little* It was so instantaneous that I just knew it had to be from the moment you walked into my shop. But "she" doesn't take you over. You are her and she is you. There is no difference in the essence of your soul. What it's learned in each life, it brought to this one and made you who you are. The qualities that made her who she was then are still there now, and help make you who you are. I love you because you are Truely. Not because of who you were, but because of who /you/are.

 Truely: *I smile the tears drying up as I feel the truth and love in his words.* You said you had children. Does that mean their souls are out there too? And, um, can we have kids?

 Zav: *The smile fades from my face at this* Angels can. Reapers...cannot. I'm a mix. I still have my grace, but to be totally honest with you, I just don't know. Death is powerful.

 Truely: So, it’s one of those questions that has no answer ‘til we try. Right, then. What now Zav? What happens next and what about my shop?

 Zav: That's been taken care of. Reapers have the ability to materialize and dematerialize objects. Only our captain can reform molecules into other items, but we can all take it from one place to another. From what Adrian and Celia said, I can promise you your shop has been cleaned up, repaired and the equipment replaced. I'll see that the proper companies are paid for it. No one will lose by it. As for what happens now... *smile fading* I have to go to war.

The creatures that attacked us were rogue reapers. There's a struggle going on for the soul of the worlds. The Horseman of Death, whom I supposedly owe allegiance to, is in league with Lucifer and seeks to overthrow the Creator and rule the worlds with death. A group of us have broken away.

Our Captain is a very, very powerful being. As strong as the Horseman himself. And I owe him everything. I owe him finding you, as he was the one who offered me the Reaper Corps instead of The Long Sleep. He blocks The Horseman's hold on us. The rogues were souls that were corrupt before they died. So corrupt they were doomed for their respective Hell planes. Instead, The Horseman used them to create a fourth column of corruption in the corps, to help him alter the Fates’ decisions and let him take souls before their time to consume rather than let live and then move on to their new lives when it was time. *shaking my head* We fight for all the worlds, all universes.

Celia, I will leave here with you to protect you. She is not a reaper. She's a ghost and in life was a wolf shifter. She brought that ability over with her but her shooting is something she learned from Adrian. Her mate serves with us. I'll ward the shop and your home so this doesn't happen again. But go nowhere without her. Please.

 Truely: So, this Horseman is rebelling against his boss, siding with the devil, all for power and greed? Sounds kinda human. He should be ashamed to stoop to our level. And, um, you and your friends are going to stop him from taking souls that don't belong to him yet, if at all. Do I have it right? And Celia is a ghost who can bake and kick ass and you want me to hang with her 'til you come back to me?

 Zav: *laughs at her succinct summation* I love you. *shaking my head, then kissing her.* I really do.

We're going to do more than stop the Horseman. We're going to overthrow him, purge the ranks of his corruption and set the worlds back on their paths. But yes. Celia is all of that. And one of the other lieutenants is in constant contact with her mentally, so if there's trouble we'll know right away. *Pausing,* There is one more thing. *reaching out and taking the medallion by one finger.* Wear this. It contains a bit of my grace as well as some personal warding. It will make you harder for our enemies to focus in on and the grace will act as a homing beacon if anything should happen. Never take it off.

 Truely: *Returning the kiss* Ok, so you are going to go kick his ass, overthrow him, kill him and his lackeys, or all of the above. And this necklace will keep me safe from them. Right? Will Celia need one too or does being a ghost make it unnecessary? And lastly...when do you leave?

 Zav: She has one. It will /help/ keep you safe. And other things I will do before I leave will prevent both reapers and demons that do not possess a similar medal from entering. As for when I leave....I'm afraid this attempt on you means we are being more closely watched than we had hoped. Once I've warded everything I'll need to go and make a personal report to our Captain. I'm pretty sure it's going to speed up our timetable.

 Truely: Alright. So in a few minutes then or does this warding take longer than that?

 Zav: *Standing and drawing her to her feet* I'm afraid so. *huffing a sigh* I didn't want to tell you all this in quite this way, but I /was/ going to tell you. I never lied to you, but I didn't tell you everything. I promise, that will never happen again.

 Truely: *wrapping my arms around you I look into your face.* I'm going to hold you to that promise. I want our relationship based on truth and trust not just love. Can I help with the warding or what should I do now?

 Zav: *Lowering my lips to hers, I kiss her deeply, putting all my love into it. Finally breaking the kiss, I rest my chin on your head* I'm sorry I brought this to your door. And in the spirit of honesty *Looking down at you* I have to tell you there will always be enemies to guard against. I want you to know that going in. But I also want you to know that I'd die again to protect you. I won't let myself ever be caught unawares. *Not again. Not like the first time* And I think that I can teach you some of the warding so if you need to refresh it and I'm away you can. It's not hard, just some simple symbols in a certain order. The key is what you draw them with. Mortals /can/ do it with blood. It's more effective than paint, but like paint, blood will show and we don't want it to show. *smiles and chucks you under the chin* It would scare away the customers. So we're going to do it with my grace.

 Truely: *laughs* Yes it would. Ok, thank you for being honest. It’s a little scary to think about but I know you will protect me and I can learn to protect myself I'm sure. *leans up and kisses you letting you feel my love*

Alright, let’s do this and then, Zav...no weepy goodbye. Just smile and go, ok? I want to watch you go with us both standing strong. *knowing I'll fold later into a pile of mush but if he can be strong, so can I.*

 Zav: *materializing a small jar, I take the same slim dagger I'd used before and re-open the vein on my arm, letting silvery blue grace flow into it. When it's about three-quarters full, I materialize a gauze pad and place over it* I do heal fast, but not that fast, *I smile.* Next I need you to trust me. We are going to put these symbols on the inside of your shop but we are going to paint them in the half-world. It's where I am invisible to this world but it's visible to me. It's also where we fold time and space to walk the different worlds. *Shrugging my shoulders* It's complicated. But when we're done it won't be visible to the mortals. If you have to do it and I'm not here you'll have to do it where it can be seen but I've seen our resident reaper-witch do it so looks like decorations.

So to do this, I'll need you to grab hold of my belt and not let go. If you do, you'll just fall back into this reality, so it's nothing to fear, but to learn you need to be with me.

 Truely: Ok. This won’t be seen but if I have to use my blood to redo then make it look decorative. Got it. *I grin up at you.* I'm ready for the next step Zav. *I grab your belt tight as we shift into this, what I assume, is this half world you mentioned.*

 Zav: *I mist into the interior of the bakery with Truely at my side and then reform, keeping us in the half-world*

So, *Materializing a thick artists brush* we're going to paint symbols on the windows about 2 feet apart all around the outside walls of this room. If I needed to I could even paint it on the half-world air itself and it would just float there. I just did that for an area in New York state. But that takes a level of power you won't have on your own so we'll do it this way. There are four symbols we are going to use. This one *Drawing the first* is the equivalent of Gandalf the Gray facing down the Balrog and shouting "You Cannot Pass". And this one *drawing a new one* is for reapers. And this one *moving along the window and dipping my brush in the grace again* is for demons. And this one is for angels. Because not all angels are your friend. And then you start all over again. When we get to the wall that separates the kitchen we want to be right up against it and then start up with the next one right up against it on the other side. The wall itself won't impede the magic. Want to try?

 Truely: Yes! I like painting and these aren't overly complicated. I need to do this. *I dip the paint brush in the "grace" paint and mimic the symbols on the walls as he directed. When I finished the last one I turn to face you.* How was that? Did I do it right?

 Zav: *Grins and pats my chest* I feel like a proud papa. You did great. We'll just continue this around and then mist upstairs to do it. *Working quickly, we finish the downstairs and move up to Truely's apartment.*

 Truely: *I can't help but sneak glances at Zav as we work to protect my apartment. I know our time, for now, is just about to end and it's breaking my heart but I have to stay strong, I will stay strong.* Is that it then, we done?

 Zav: *Smiling down at her* Almost. *Reforming in her dimension, I take the dagger and slice the other forearm to refill the small jar with grace, then bandaging  it to match the other arm.*

If you have to do this where people can see it mix some of this with your blood. It will be almost as powerful as grace alone because of our connection. And combined it will kill the scent of blood make a nice purple shimmery color that will be easier to explain as decor. *When the jar is full I cap it tightly and hold my hand over it murmuring ag dúnadh go docht* When you need to open it say “oscailte” and then twist. *sitting it on the table and sighing* You don't know how much I really do not want to leave you. *drawing you into my arms again, I just hold you, memorizing the feel of you in my arms*

 Truely: *I tighten my hold on you not wanting to release you but knowing I have to. I inhale your scent, I absorb your heat, and I kiss your shoulder tasting your skin.* Ok my Star. You have to go, so you can come back. And you WILL come back or I'll go find you...no matter where or what rules I have to break. Take my love with you and let it be your shield. *I step back a step and smile holding back the tears I feel forming*

 Zav: *Fuck, how can I leave her, but how can I not? If Sin loses this fight all the worlds are screwed including this one. And they know about her now. They'll find her. I have to go. I have to fight, now more than ever. Reluctantly, I let her step away from me, letting my hands drop.*

It will be. It's my reason to survive this. *taking her hands and kissing her knuckles* I promise I /will/ come back. You are my heart and my soul. I will be back. *Stepping back, I mist away, calling to Celia to let her know I've gone and bidding her to guard my heart as I will guard hers. And now to find Sin.*

 #TBC #Renegades #RRPG #DarkAngels #Creation #Rekindled #BDBAU #Reapers #Angels #Vampires #Wolven

[deepseawritings]

Trapped (part 2/2)

EDIT: Part 1 is here

Fucking Dutier and his holier-than-thou attitude.  Good riddance to him and his chronic sourness, and to the endless accusations that were driving Lukash mad.

He continued messing with the damaged computer, illuminated only by the glare of the screen. He hummed as he worked. Despite the appearances, it wasn't a happy or contented hum. He was doing it for the same reason he started talking before: noise helped mask the buzzing in his head. It was really annoying, like having a mosquito following you all the time. So he hummed and talked to himself, hoping it soon would go away.

"Dancing on the ashes of the world, I behold the stars... c'mon you piece of shit... Heavy gale is blowing to my face... dammit!"

Maybe it was time to accept his hacking skills weren't up to the task. Or that the hard drive was corrupt beyond salvation.

Accepting defeat, he turned the computer off. The screen's light faded out of existence and the room was left in almost total darkness. There was one of the ever present emergency lights out on the corridor, but only a weak glow arrived inside the abandoned lab room. Blind in the shadows, Lukash stubbed his toe against the table's leg. Shit!

"Damn battery consuming anomaly," Lukash grunted while blindly rummaging his backpack, thinking on what he could use as a source of light. "Ah, right!"

The lighter, of course. Its flame was a poor substitute for the torchlight, but it was better than nothing. A loud noise followed by muffled shots came from somewhere far away. Looked like Voronin found a welcome party. Awesome, that meant less mutants Lukash would have to deal with.

He went to the dimly lit entrance of the room and into another corridor, which was blocked by an erratic electro. Thank goodness this could be bypassed simply throwing a bolt.

But his headache was killing him, the buzz getting louder and louder, like static in his mind, and he botched the timing between throwing the bolt and crossing. To avoid getting shocked he threw himself against the wall. To his luck, he fell against a door that burst opened under the sudden impact. The lighter’s flame was snuffed and his shoulder would develop a bruise the size of a mountain, but he was fine. Lukash re-lit the small flame of the lighter and decided to explore the place.

Getting lost in the small maze of interconnecting rooms was surprisingly easy, especially because all those rooms looked basically the same. But in the end he made it back to the corridor. The electro was behind him now, for which he was grateful. And further ahead the long corridor he glimpsed a hunched figure standing still in the semi darkness.

"Voronin?"

Had the Dutier lost his mind, stopping in the middle of the corridor in the dark like that? His eyes hurt from straining his vision in these conditions, and he saw everything blurry and greyed. His headache worsened considerably too. And the more he approached Voronin the more he felt something wasn't right.

The figure finally turned around, slowly. It most definitely wasn't Voronin. It wasn't even human anymore. A deformed face flashed in front of him, despite the fact neither of them had moved an inch. Reality spun wildly like a rollercoaster and Lukash nearly fell to his knees overwhelmed. Thinking was difficult, and reaching the GP-37 slung on his back proved to be a titanic effort since he barely knew what was up or down anymore. But he screwed his shut and focused on getting the weapon in his hands.

He succeeded, all the while the mutant's hideous mug flashed behind his closed eyes. Hoping he was gripping the rifle correctly -and not about to shoot himself- he opened fire. The accuracy left something to be desired, but at least he hit the mutant. The Controller either didn't realise it had been shot or didn't care, since it kept doing its weird mental voodoo.

Lukash wasted the whole clip on the Controller and when the ammo ran out, instead of reloading, he just took out his pistol and finished the job. He knew when the Controller died because he stopped feeling like someone put his brain on a blender. The pain stopped but his ears were still ringing and his vision was blurred. Oh God, this was way worse than the evilest of hangovers, everything kept spinning. Lukash sat on the floor while the world around him righted itself.

Slowly but surely he was getting better. Except for his vision, which had gone from blurry to unbearably bright. Fuck, it was like staring at a light bulb.

"Can you hear me?"

So he was actually staring at a light bulb. Sort of. "Get that damn thing out of my face!"

The torchlight's beam was redirected away from his eyes and Voronin even offered him a hand to get up. It was suspiciously nice of him.

"Oh, did you miss me? That's why you came back?" He swatted the hand away and got up on his own after picking up his rifle.

Voronin's answer was a sound of disgust mixed with annoyance. And yet he refrained from starting another of their vicious arguments.

"While you played with the computer I found more Burers. Killed one but the other smashed a barrel against me and escaped." Coming from Voronin that was as good as admitting he felt guilty, maybe even worried, by having left him behind to fend for himself.

But Lukash wanted an apology, damn it, so he pushed him further. "And you stumbled into me by coincidence, I'm sure."

The Dutier clenched his jaw and made a face like he swallowed a lemon. And then he surprised Lukash.

"Abandoning you in the dark was a bit extreme, I suppose I shouldn’t have lost my patience like that. I just couldn't think straight in that moment."

"I think this once it's understandable," Lukash kicked the Controller, making sure it was dead for good. "Man I hate Controllers and their ability to mess with people’s minds."

Voronin's answer was a stiff nod and an awkward silence fell upon them, neither sure of what to do after their little show of civility. Of course, Lukash broke it first, and with a rather unfortunate joke.

"Now we just have to agree about who ambushed who and we're as good as friends."

Talk about putting your feet on your mouth. Voronin gave him a hard look, clearly conveying the idea he thought him an idiot, and walked away, although at a slow enough pace that gave Lukash ample opportunity to catch up with him.

They walked in silence for a while, the torchlight's beam weakly illuminating the way. Lukash wondered if Voronin had an idea of where were they going, or if he simply went down the corridor because it was the easiest path.

"I think I may have an inkling about whose fault the ambush was," the Dutier said out of the blue when they reached a fork in their path. To the left there was a dead Burer slumped in the middle of the way. Vorornin went to the right. "And if I'm right I'll skin the son of a bitch alive"

"Ha, so he was one of yours!" Being proven right was amazing, more so when the admission came from the dour Duty General.

"He hasn't been one of mine for quite some time now," Voronin replied bitterly.

A deserter then. Probably someone with a grudge against his ex-faction, Lukash guessed.

They arrived to another big room full of old junk. Another lab presumably, like the one where they had their spat before going separate ways. A dark heap lay on the middle of the room.

They approached cautiously, until they were close enough to see it was a dead Burer. Must be the one that escaped from Voronin. Maybe he wounded it before it got away? Except, Lukash noticed with alarm, this one had the throat ripped open. Bullets didn't do that.

There was a single warning growl and fear doused him like an iced bucket of water. Then he saw a pair of malevolent yellow eyes too close to his face and pain bloomed on his chest. The bloodsucker clawed him from clavicle to hip and Lukash stumbled back. Voronin shot the mutant as soon as it became visible, drawing its attention away from Lukash. The bloodsucker turned around and jumped at the Dutier, attaching its tentacled maw on his neck with frightening efficiency. Lukash watched in sick fascination as the bullet wounds on its back slowly healed as the mutant drank blood, the flesh knitting back together in a scarred lump.

His rifle did nothing when he tried to shoot the mutant off of Voronin. Shit, he hadn't reloaded it since his encounter with the Controller! Mentally kicking himself for such a rookie mistake, he ditched the GP-37 in favour of the pistol, which he hoped still had some bullets in the clip. Unnatural regeneration ability or not, surviving a point blank range headshot was really difficult. Just to be sure, Lukash shot again. The creature went flaccid like a ragdoll and its mouth tentacles released its hold over Voronin's throat. The Dutier wasted no time in pushing the body away from him.

Even in the half-light of the room Lukash could see the wound on Voronin's throat with more detail he ever wanted. They needed to stop the bleeding right now. He started to frantically search in his bag. Fuck, and double fuck! Where were the bandages?! Or the Vinca, or... His hand closed around a soft bundle and he sighed in relief. Lukash shoved almost the entire roll of bandages in the wound and pressed hard, while still searching for the Vinca pills with his other hand. He would also need more bandages.

"Press here." He dragged Voronin's hand over the improvised patch and pressed it down hard until the Dutier winced in pain.

Lukash grabbed the fallen torchlight, because his blind search wasn't going that well, and for the first time saw the blood stain over his chest. At least he didn't feel much pain now, although that could be an effect of the adrenalin surge. He popped a Vinca pill and hoped it would be enough; he had a far more urgent wound to deal with.

#

He felt like something had tried to chew a piece of his neck off. His hand was still pressing down what felt like a mountain of bandages, and God it hurt. Being bitten by a bloodsucker usually was at the bottom of the list of survivable mutant attacks, usually because the bastards gorged themselves on their victims without restraint, and for the first time Voronin was really fucking glad for Lukash's presence. He tried to get up and the effort sent his head spinning, so he quickly sat down again.

"Ugh, water." Voronin wasn't sure if he said that aloud or not. But he must have, since Lukash materialised at his side with a canteen.

"How are you feeling?"

He grunted and drank more water. Was it really necessary to ask such stupid question? Lukash kept talking, seemingly unable to keep quiet for long.

"I think we managed to stop the bleeding, but if I were you I’d keep pressing down a little longer." Lukash tried to appear unconcerned, but he failed miserably.

Returning the canteen, Voronin looked at him and frowned at the dark stain covering his chest. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, just a scratch from our bloodsucking friend," Lukash waved his hand in a clearly dismissive gesture.

"If that's just a scratch then my neck wound is just a love bite," Voronin couldn’t keep the disapproval out of his voice. His wound was probably massive too, and he looked tired and drawn. Not like Voronin himself didn’t look any better, though, sitting on the floor and slumped against the wall to keep upright.

Ignoring his own injury, Lukash sat next to him and dragged his bag closer. He took a medkit out of the backpack and told Voronin he was going to take out the bloodied gauze and fix a proper dressing for the wound. Thankfully there was no more bleeding when he removed the ball of bandages.

"Seems like the bloodsucker didn't nick anything important when it gave you this hickey," even so, Lukash grimaced when the wound was uncovered. The resulting scar would be huge. "You're one lucky bastard."

The process of applying the butterfly stitches was unpleasant, the edges of the bite wound were pretty sensitive to being pinched together like that. Voronin schooled his face in a blank mask. The sooner Lukash was done with this the better.

The final dressing covering his neck was a bit shoddy and had a bit too much gauze, but Voronin didn't mind. After all, it's not like he would have done it better. He slowly got up. "Good. Now strip."

He didn't expect Lukash's startled laugh, though perhaps his choice of words hadn't been the most appropriate. "What? Isn't that a bit forward from your part?"

After mentally counting to ten, and fixing him with an unamused stare, he answered. "You know what I mean. Have you taken care of your own wound?"

"I took a Vinca pill? It didn't look as bad as your neck, you know?"

Okay, point taken. And yet that was no excuse. As they soon discovered, the dried blood made the clothing stick to the wound and water was necessary to peel it off without making the 'scratch' bleed again. He'd also been lucky, Voronin noticed. The slash went from his clavicle to mid chest, where it curled around his ribs and went down almost to the hip. With a little more force and with only a slightly different trajectory the bloodsucker could have easily gutted him.

"Hmm, I don't think you'll need stitches," was Voronin's verdict.

"Dude, you probably do. Proper stitches I mean, not the flimsy paper ones I used," Lukash admitted a touch worriedly. "But I'm afraid I'd make a butchery out of it."

"Yes, no offense but I don't think I'd let you try."

"Fair enough." Lukash seemed in an awful good mood. "Look at us, being nice to each other. Someone could even think we're friends!"

"I wouldn't take it that far." He slumped back again, searching the support of the wall. Damn, he tired so easily now. But they couldn’t afford to sit on their asses for long.

At Voronin's insistence, they soon retook the exploration of this place, but at a slower pace than usual. The rest of the rooms were pretty uninteresting: another lab, an empty room, a dormitory without a single mattress in the bunks. It was on this last one they found a dusty protective suit with an unknown badge sewn on it. It looked old and worn, but Lukash seized the opportunity to change his slashed suit for this one. Meanwhile he searched the rest of the lockers.

"How does it look?" The Freedomer asked, waving at his new ensemble. "Do I pass for an ecologist?"

"More like a merc. I don't think I've ever seen an ecologist in a blue suit." The suit had a greyish faded hue actually, but it could be guessed which colour it had originally been. "C'mon there's nothing else here."

Such affirmation could be broadly applied, as they soon learnt. The corridor led them to another infinite loop, like the one they found right after arriving. And the only other unexplored room turned out to be empty except for a badly rusted ladder going up to a hatch.  With much regret, Voronin had to admit he didn't feel up to the task of climbing up the ladder; this slow crawl through the rooms had been taxing enough. And Lukash readily agreed when he proposed to rest for a bit before investigating where did the ladder lead.

Finding no suitable place but the floor, Voronin sat down and sighed heavily as he turned off the torchlight. No need to waste their only battery when the room was lit by faint glow coming from the corridor. Although that made searching what he wanted a tad more difficult.

"Anything you want in exchange for one of those?" Lukash looked at the painkillers in his hand with hopeful eyes. His ‘simple scratch’ must hurt worse than he admitted.

He traded it for a can of energy drink. Perhaps not the best trade, but he was going to need a little pick me up to keep the pace, he felt drained and sluggish. They took their painkillers and enjoyed a bit of rest while he drank the energy drink, and then got moving.

The ladder wobbled under their weight and creaked ominously, but it endured. The nasty surprise came when they reached the end of the ladder. No matter how much force it was applied, the hatch’s door wouldn't budge. Both of them tried opening it, all to no avail.

Ten minutes later they had to face the truth: they were back like they started, with no way out of the bunker. A desperate need to have a glimmer of hope ensued, and they started to list all the places explored, in the hopes of noticing something they could have overlooked. Lukash carried a notebook and a pencil in his backpack, so they started drawing a map of the whole place cobbled from their memories.

About an hour later they had a very nice map and no idea of what to do next.

"Maybe we should sleep, take on this tomorrow with a fresh perspective." It was sound advice and Voronin had no choice but to agree.

So, deciding this room was as good as any other place, Voronin took out the sleeping bag and went to sleep in sullen silence. Neither of them thought about setting up a watch. According to their map they had explored every place that was accessible, and killed every mutant in their way.

#

Quiet sobs woke him in the dead of the night. Well, Lukash supposed it was night, but he had no idea what time it truly was.

Voronin was snoring loudly, so he wasn't the one making those sobs. Not like crying seemed to be his style. Was he imagining things? The crying got louder and Lukash was pretty sure it wasn't a hallucination. Then it hit him like a revelation: it must be the damn poltergeist! As far as he knew they hadn't been able to kill it yet, the sneaky bastard just floated away and they forgot about it. Well, this ended now.

He grabbed his pistol, made sure it was loaded, and set off in search of the damn mutant. Following the sound of crying he arrived to the dormitory room where he found his new suit. A thin figure stood hunched in the shadows behind one of the bunks. Whatever it was, it seemed to have its back towards him. Nevertheless, remembering the encounter with the Controller, he preferred to be cautious. Aiming to its head with the pistol, he used his other hand to throw a bolt at it. Nothing. Slowly, he got closer to see what it was. Could poltergeist adopt a form that wasn't a floating ball of energy?

The mysterious figure turned out to be a skeleton dressed in a ragged lab coat. And it was hovering a few inches above the floor. The floating skeleton suddenly lurched forward and Lukash shot it by pure instinct. The bones fell on him, gracelessly scattering upon the impact. And a second later the emergency light shattered in a thousand pieces, leaving Lukash in total darkness.

Why did these kind of things happen to him, and where the fuck was his lighter? He patted all his pockets in search of it, praying he hadn't stuffed it into the backpack. Just as he found it and grabbed it, something cold breathed down his neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

A deep seated surge of paranoia welled up in him and Lukash turned around quick like lightning, the flame of the lighter trembling at the sudden movement. He saw the glowing bastard between the bunks and shot it. The poltergeist retaliated by pushing one of the bunks against him. The impact made him stagger, the metallic frame hitting him right on the wound crossing his chest. The pain momentarily stole his breath away.

Nonetheless, he shot at the mutant again as soon as he was able to do so, then another shot rang in the air. The poltergeist died with what looked like a small implosion of energy, revealing its true appearance. Ugh, he preferred their energy ball form.

"You know, it's the second time I find you hunting mutants in the dark." Voronin pointed the torchlight at him, looking between irritated and slightly amused.

Lukash got closer to him and smirked teasingly. "And both times you came to my rescue, even if I had the situation under control. If I didn't know better I'd say –"

"Yes, yes, thank God you know better," Voronin hurriedly cut him with a put upon grunt.

Since they were both up and about, they decided to retrace their steps from yesterday, in the hopes they missed something, anything. The map they had made was flawless, though. Everything was reflected on the piece of paper, nothing had escaped their notice.  And they were still irremediably trapped down here. Eventually they reached the room with the collapsed floor, the time warping anomaly sitting right under it. Had it deflated a bit or did he blow it out of proportion in his memory?

"The smart thing would be to not get into it again," Lukash said, scuffing his boot on the floor and sending a rain of tiny pebbles down into the anomaly.

"I never liked the idea of getting inside it," Voronin looked with distaste at the purplish bubble.

Last time they lost three days and all their energy in there. And yet Lukash both stood at the edge of the hole, looking down with fascination as the pebbles he pushed down seemed to float once they went inside the anomaly. It would take quite some time until they reached the floor.

"Any other ideas?" Voronin didn't sound very hopeful.

Equally desperate to avoid or stall going down there, Lukas wracked his brain for a single idea. There was nothing left unexplored on this floor; what could they try that they hadn't before? The hatch wouldn't budge; it probably was controlled remotely...

"Would you flip your shit if I, what word did you use, play with the computer?" The word again hung in the air between them, unsaid but tangible.

With one last look down to the time anomaly, Voronin turned to him. "I guess it can't hurt to try."

#

Waiting while Lukash worked on the computer was boring. First he patrolled around the room and investigated every corner of it, just to do something. Then Lukash complained he couldn't concentrate with him wandering about, so Voronin picked up one of the rickety stools from the floor and sat on it.

Watching the Freedomer work was interesting, at least for a short while. He was so focused on it, clearly showing his frustration every time he found a setback. It was almost endearing. Ultimately it didn’t offer that much entertainment, though. Mostly because everything in the screen looked like gibberish to him.

Voronin took out his PDA. According to its clock, and not counting the three days apparently spent crossing the time anomaly, they'd been here for about forty-eight hours. Sometimes it seemed like a lifetime. The communications channel was still dead and he even doubted his last message was properly sent. Voronin decided to confirm his theory by sending another message, a simple S.O.S this time. It worked like the last time, with an error telling him the messaging system was out of line even if the message was sent. He hoped Lukash was having better luck with the computer.

"I can't make this fucking piece of junk work!" Lukash violently pushed the keyboard away. "I'm out of ideas."

They both knew this had been a desperate attempt that would most probably fail. And yet neither of them liked the idea to go with their other plan. However, they were out of options.

"We have no other choice, do we?" Lukash sighed, swivelling lightly from side to side on the stool he was perched on.

Indeed they didn't.  So they went back to the office with the collapsed floor, bypassing the electro in the middle of the corridor like they did before.

The time anomaly hadn't miraculously disappeared, but it certainly looked smaller than the last time. Curious how it expanded and contracted. However, while other person might marvel at it and wonder what induced those changes, Voronin only cared that it meant they would spend less time inside it. Perhaps then it would sap less energy out of them, he felt tired enough right now, he’d keel over if he spent too much time in the anomaly.

"Okay, here we go. On the count of three: one, two..." Lukash jumped down before arriving to three.

During the seconds it took Voronin to jump down as well the Freedomer seemed to float mid-air, suspended in time. The illusion was quickly shattered when he went inside the anomaly too.

Despite the energy draining effect, since it was smaller in diameter than the last time and they needn’t climb anywhere now, it didn't take them more than a minute to get out. This translated into actually losing about three hours, according to their PDAs.

Retracing their steps was even easier in this floor, just checking the map to make sure it was accurate. And just as before there was nothing they had missed. Eventually they found themselves going to the upper floor and facing once more the big metal door separating them from their escape.

Neither said anything, but a cloud of gloom had settled over them. They were going to die down here. Sooner or later it would happen, unless they found a way out. Shit, when Voronin thought about leaving a legacy like General Tachenko's he never included mysteriously disappearing into the package.

He stood there, contemplating their bleak future in silence. For once Lukash didn’t start to fill the silence like he usually did. And when he eventually stormed off, because he got sick of staring at a slab of metal, something exploded on the other side of the door.

#

Startled by the detonation Lukash took a step or two backwards. The door was slightly bent out of its normal shape, what the fuck just happened? Voronin came back in time to see the door slowly swinging open.

Both Lukash and Voronin grabbed their weapons and pointed them towards the opening.  The metal door was pushed to the side and revealed a single stalker, who looked completely floored to see them.

"Woah," the man raised his hands in a placating gesture when confronted with both of them aiming their rifles at him.  "There's no need to shoot!"

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" Voronin barked at the stalker with his command voice.

"I... I'm just a loner! I heard the road to Pripyat had been cleared recently and came to investigate."

That was enough explanation for Lukash, but not for his Dutier companion, who was a highly suspicious bastard.

"This isn't exactly the road to Pripyat, isn’t it?" Voronin squinted at the man with distrust.

"Just a small detour!" The man squeaked. "I've never been so close to the infamous Brain Scorcher before, which I'm very glad was turned off, by the way. I saw the outer door, with the number pad, and I thought I could find something of value inside."

Lukash lowered his weapon and nudged Voronin to lower his Val too. The stalker flashed him a nervous smile and lowered his hands as well.

"You said the outer door had a number pad, did you blow that one apart too?"  He was honestly curious to know.

"Yes, with a modified grenade." Well, well, well, this guy was certainly interesting. And he had some great ideas. Perhaps they could have tried to force their way out sooner like that, had they had any explosives.

"There's nothing down there except anomalies," Voronin cautioned him.

The stalker nodded eagerly took out a detector from his belt. "That's fine, I'm an artifact hunter."

Voronin looked pityingly at him and went towards the exit. Lukash shared his eagerness to get the hell out from here and followed him. However, he turned around to face the stalker one last time. "Friendly advice: stay away from the purple anomaly!"

Leaving the flabbergasted loner behind, he stepped outside and went down the ladder. Being able to see the sky again was amazing. And best of all, he recognised where he was! This was the Red Forest, more precisely it was the road that went to the Brain Scorcher. And for once it wasn't crawling with Monolith soldiers.

"We're out!" Voronin answered to his enthusiasm with a noncommittal hum. That wouldn't do.

He grabbed the Dutier by the shoulders, watching him intently to see if he was capable of expressing some positive emotion. And, before he could think what he was doing, he planted a kiss on the surprised General. It lasted a few seconds until Voronin pushed him away and crushed him against the same ladder they had descended from.

Realising what he'd just done, Lukash kept his mouth shut instead of blurting "I like it when you take control like that" like he'd been about to do. Even if it would have been mostly a joke he had the feeling Voronin wouldn't appreciate it.

"What the Hell Lukash." Voronin’s voice was startlingly rough. Lukash had no answer to his question, so instead he just held his gaze until Voronin released him.

"The Barrier is in this direction," he said, walking ahead to get away from Voronin's judging eyes.

It had felt nice but unremarkable. No reason to keep thinking about it, or to imagine how it would have been if the Dutier kissed back. Yeah.

The zombies coming from between the trees were a welcomed distraction, and that’s something he never imagined he would say. Killing them helped clean the atmosphere of any lingering awkwardness. Nonetheless, it was depressing to see so many zombified stalkers wearing Freedom's suits. Such was life in the Zone, and such was the price paid to keep control of the Barrier. At least they were outnumbered by zombified stalkers from Monolith, serves those bastards right.

The zombies kept dropping by all the time; a lone one now, then a pair or three of them together, then a lone straggler. Cleanse and repeat. In the end they opted to run and leave them behind before wasting all their ammo.

And soon they reached the control point that marked the entrance the end of Red Forest. The Barrier was just a road’s bend away.

#

A group of stalkers rushed from behind the abandoned cars near the booth at the control point. They all were from Freedom, and they weren’t very friendly, aiming their weapons at them.

"Stop and identify yourselves!"

Well, Voronin was almost impressed they hadn't shot him on the spot just for the uniform he wore.

"Max, don't you recognise me you idiot?" Lukash laughed in disbelief.

"All I see from here is a Dutier and a merc trying to cross into our territory!" The Freedomer, Max, replied. One of his comrades said something they didn't catch but had Max quickly checking his PDA. "Lukash?! Where the Hell have you been? And what are you doing with that Duty pig?"

"Stop pointing that rifle at my head for fuck's sake!"

"Sure, but what do we do with him?" No need to be a genius to know who the Freedomer was referring to.

"We grant him passage and let him go. Just this once." Lukash's idea wasn't very well received by his faction.

The Freedomers complained loudly about it and one even blamed him for Lukash's disappearance. Not a completely unexpected reaction, if he was honest. If the situation was reversed his men would probably do the same. Although Lukash didn't seem amused by their defiance.

"I said we let him go and that's final."

Truth be told, Voronin was surprised by Lukash's firm defence of him. Perhaps it should be expected after all they went through. In that hypothetical reversed situation, Voronin wouldn't let his men kill him on the spot either. It would feel wrong.

Deciding to cut this tense encounter short, Voronin voiced his agreement to Lukash’s terms. “I go my way and you go yours. Just this once, yes?"

It was just for a moment, but he saw a flash of disappointment on Lukash’s face. What had he expected? He couldn't go to Freedom's base for a last shot of vodka and a goodbye, they weren’t old friends, they were the leaders of enemy factions.

"Yeah. It's been... interesting." Lukash offered him his outstretched hand.

"It's been a nightmare, you mean." Voronin accepted the handshake.

"Only most of it." Lukash smirked and finally let go of his hand.

He waited while Lukash wrangled with the rest of the Freedomers until he managed to impose his will. In the meantime, he sent a message to his men to let them know he was alive and well. This way they would be expecting his arrival, and if he knew Petrenko well enough, he would dispatch a squad immediately. They would meet halfway if everything went well. And if for some reason Lukash’s men decided to not play fair and followed him, it was good to know reinforcements were on their way.

Once the last of the disgruntled Freedomers disappeared down the road then he went on his way. During his lonely trek back to Rostok he reflected on everything that happened. It was too much for only fifty hours, more or less. It seemed like he spent a lifetime trapped in that hellish bunker. And things didn't exactly go back to normal once they got out. And of course it had been the Freedomer’s fault. When Lukash kissed him his brain had short-circuited. He couldn’t even begin to fathom his intention for doing so, so Voronin decided to erase the incident from his memory. It never happened.

However, for something that according to him never happened, he spent quite some time thinking about it. More precisely, he spent the rest of the way to Rostok thinking about how Lukash's lips had felt against his own. Utter foolishness, even if it happened -which it didn’t, thank you very much- it was something best forgotten.

It would be much better to think about how he would enjoy finding Skull and killing him. He usually preferred to avoid making a public spectacle out of executions, but for him he would make an exception.

Author's note: I may be slow to write and edit, but I said the second part would be up in a few hours or tomorrow, so here it is.

[transgressivepistoleer]

FNV Bounties One Shot: Only Fitting

           Jericho crouched behind one of the few standing tombstones, her breath steaming fast and hard in the snowy sky. Her hands burned and cramped and bled. She hadn’t taken the time to let them heal from the cruel wounds they had received. She hadn’t had the time to take. Jericho had to strike when all her foes celebrated her burial, and Marko was out of the main town. Both were taking a breather in their dance to oblivion, and Jericho couldn’t help recall how she wound up here.

           The Mojave was far away from this frozen hell. Jericho missed the heat, the lights, the towns. She had come to find new appreciation for the smaller things in life after being dragged from her own grave, a bullet lodged in her skull. Things were up and down after that. She needed caps, so she joined a fledgling bounty hunter outfit and rose through the ranks to the top. Well, she guessed she was the only one besides Steven Randall, gods rest his soul. Judge Richter was what first brought her into the attention of Marko. The Judge was with some kind of syndicate, and possibly a child molester. It was hard to ask him with fifteen bullets clogging his lungs.

           Steven had been slain by one of the Judges hired guns, so Jericho was on her own. She had built a reputation then, in that near lawless desert. She tracked Red Bear, Marko’s second in command at one time, and convinced him to give up. He was tired. So very tired, and Jericho gave him a way out. She didn’t know if it was because of his hostages, the vast array of guns pointed in both directions, or a glimmer in the man’s eye, but it ended bloodlessly. Which was more than could be said for the Ghoul Gunslinger Johnny Rounder and Marko’s own brother, Sergio. Both fell to Jericho’s gun and will.

           It was Sergio’s death that made Marko snap. By his own admission, he would’ve left her well alone if she hadn’t brought family into this. She tried to explain there was no other way, but he refused to listen. Of course, this was way after she found a man named Virgil waiting for her by Steven Randall’s old shack. After Virgil showed her the backlash of her bounties. After Virgil took her to Utah. After Virgil unveiled himself to be Marko, and walked away into the blizzarding night before Jericho could fire upon him.

           Jericho found her way to Frosthill nearby, and the bounty hunter camp soon after, led by Steven Randall himself back from the dead. Sure, he was a Ghoul, but she had no trouble with that. The next week was spent slowly taking out Marko’s forces. One by one they surrendered or were shot where they stood. On the eve of the final confrontation, Jericho found a dirty secret. A bloody betrayal by the NCR official brought in to fund their group. In exchange for the town to be brought under NCR’s wing, Jericho and Randall were to be brought alive before Marko. And every other bounty hunter in the camp were in on it, save one.

           Jericho watched, gagged and helpless as Marko grandstanded before her, blew Steven Randall’s head into red mist, and then massacred the entire town. He took her hands and stabbed through them, hoping to prevent her from every handling a weapon again. Marko then took her up a hill, and buried her alive with her guns. “Only fitting,” he had said. Jericho didn’t know how long it was in that airless dark. She didn’t know if she screamed or saved what little breath she had. In her mind, she kept seeing those she had shot down, and wondered if they were as terrified as she was.

           The withered corpse of Mr. House had begged her for mercy. Ceaser had fought defiantly to the last man. President Kimball didn’t even know what hit him. But she had her reasons for all of them. Mr. House, the tyrant, the man who lived too long, who thought caps could buy any soul in the Mojave, had had to be put down before his madness could spread. Ceaser was a monster, plain and simple. His Legion boiled Jericho’s blood like no other. And Kimball was rabidly focused on bringing the Mojave under the NCR. So many resources and lives down the drain for his dream, Jericho found it a mercy to end his wasteful imperialism.

           All these thoughts swam through the darkness of her crypt. Jericho didn’t know if she was going to Hell, or if there even was one. Joshua Graham thought there was one. Dr. Mobius didn’t. Ulysses wasn’t sure with her. But Jericho was certain the she was going to die. Certain until she felt the earth above move, and light and air seeped into her coffin. What followed was a whirlwind of explanation and Stim-paks. One of the Bounty Hunters hadn’t joined with Marko and his crooked deal, instead hanging back. He had seen everything, and was petrified through it all. He dug Jericho up as soon as everyone had gone back to Frosthill. He offered to help her back to the Mojave, to let everyone think she was dead, to let her live in obscurity for the rest of her days.

           But Jericho couldn’t take him up on it. Not after the betrayal and the massacre. She couldn’t let Marko get away with this, couldn’t let that bastard live. Couldn’t let Ford celebrate his part in Randall’s death. Couldn’t let all those killed lay unavenged. So she geared up and headed down to Frosthill with fury in her heart.

           When Jericho kicked the door to the saloon open it was better than she hoped. Every turncoat was there, drinking and cheming up in celebration of them being rich. Every turncoat’s jaw dropped as Jericho stood in the doorway. Every turncoat fell as she let loose a tidal wave of lead and fire, screaming like the souls of the damned. She didn’t stop until the building groaned ominously, its supports riddled with holes and its floors soaked with blood. Jericho stepped outside and burned the saloon with the Incinerator she had taken taken from Cook Cook’s shredded corpse.

           As the embers lit up the night sky, Jericho turned towards the graveyard, where she had heard Marko say he was going. But before she left, she placed mines all around the edges of the saloon. She had escaped Death’s grip three times now, and she wasn’t going to let any of the treacherous bastards inside do the same. It was haphazard, it was dangerous, it took time, but Jericho was glad she did it. She was even more glad when she heard two go off behind her.

           And then it was time. She walked into the graveyard, Marko standing with his back to her over the fresh grave of Steven Randall. His surprise when he heard her boots in the snow and turned was delicious. His scathing words weren’t. They argued. They argued about determination and of destiny. Of legends and those who write them. They argued of sins and saints, bullets and bounties, and finally of who would walk out alive. Then the words fell silent, and only the freezing wind was heard.

           Marko slipped into V.A.T.S first. The shot from Old Scratch nicked Jericho’s arm. It might as well have taken it clean off from the inferno of pain it brought. Jericho returned the favor, her Jackal blasting rounds deep into Marko’s side. He winced, but didn’t fall. He fired again. Jericho coughed blood. She shot him in the leg. Marko roared in pain. The air was soon heavy with gun smoke, the ground littered with casings. Jericho fell back behind a tombstone and injected a Stim-pak. And it was here that she was, reloading Jackal, desperately thinking how to outdo the most dangerous man in the Wasteland.

           A bullet clipped her hiding place, sending stone shrapnel into one of her eyes. Jericho screamed, dropping Jackal and clutching at her bleeding eye. Bullets fell from her hands onto the ground. Through tears, Jericho saw something among one of them. A bullet of Jackal’s caliber, a red band around the casing. She didn’t know when she picked one of those up. Maybe during one of her spending binges she threw a few onto the pile. It didn’t matter though. All that mattered was that maybe the explosive round would give her the edge.

           Randall had frowned on using “unfair” ammo like that. He always said that if you couldn’t get by with the speed of your draw and the heat of your lead, then you shouldn’t be standing there in the first place. But Marko was just too good. Jericho knew she could never defeat him like that alone. But she still hesitated before picking it up.

           “What’s wrong, Bounty Hunter?” Marko’s voice came mockingly. “I thought you were, ‘going to show me the error of my ways.’” Jericho grimaced, and loaded the explosive shell into Jackal. Marko had cheated first. He had set the trap back in the camp, had pierced her hands so she might never handle a gun properly again, place an army of traitors between him and her. His evil would end here; she would make sure of it.

           Half blinded, Jericho stood and aimed at Marko. In V.A.T.S, she could see she couldn’t hit his head or any other vital organs. But then a thought occurred. She didn’t have to end him in one shot. All she had to do was make sure HE couldn’t do the same to her. So, shifting her aim to the left, Jericho fired.

           The bullet exploded violently by Marko’s right, causing him to cry out in pain. Jericho fired again and again, explosions tearing the earth asunder, and performing the simple task Jericho had in mind: crippling the right arm of Marko. Old Scratch dropped from his shattered grip, and he fell as his leg gave out from under him. He was alive, but could do no more.

           Jericho walked slowly up to him, pressing Jackal into his forehead. Marko stared venom into her, black hate an inferno in his eyes. Jericho stared back and cocked the hammer back. Then she saw the grave Marko lay against, and the name written there. Steven Randall. Jericho withdrew Jackal, and put it away. “What’s the matter, Bounty Hunter?” Marko spat. “Lose the nerve all of a sudden?”

           “No.” Jericho said, her voice hoarse from the cold. From her coat, she drew Steven’s gun. The gun she received from him in his will when he died the first time. The gun he had told her would slay the monster that disfigured him and slaughtered his wife and child. The gun that had felled Judge Richter, Johnny Rounder, and Sergio. The gun Jericho would no doubt give up to her successor, or to her killer, or to both. Sweet Revenge. “I thought it only fitting.”

*BANG*

[grimmtaless]

The Soldier & The Spartan

i just wanted to give a shout out to @dyde21 hes sorta motivated me to do this (thanks i guess).  this is my first ever attempt at any kind of story so i hope y'all like it. also i saw this idea as prompt cant remember who posted it, but this story idea wasn't mine from the get go, but i loved the idea so much i had to write it. 

quick summery- jaune is a ww1 solder who’s thrown back to ancient   Greece and meets a demi-god named Pyrrha. war, romance and a beginner attempt at pot awates.

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 1

The Soldier

   Jaune woke to the rhythmic sound of the Birtha guns pounding the German lines. The shelling has been going on all night, but only now had the bombardment moved to his sector. Each shell made a shaking in the ground that could only compared to an earthquake. Every time a shell exploded a little bit of the earth from his low ceiling would sprinkle down onto his face and his mouth.

     Over the last 2 years Jaune had learned to sleep through even the roughest of shelling, but inhaling bits of dirt drove him to wake up in a fit of coughing. When his coughing subsided he realized it was almost time of his watch, so he saw no point of trying to sleep any longer. He  begrudgingly got up and headed out of his small mud-hole he called a bunker. The time he expected was 2 in the morning. He had only slept for about an hour and he guessed he’d only get 1 hour of sleep the next night.

    As he walked down the trench to his post he grabbed the tin cup that he left out the evening before to catch rain water hoping to make tea when he got to his post. He slowly sloshed through the mud, he looked up into the night sky hoping to see the glint of stars or the pale glow of the moon but all he could see was the blackish gray of the rain clouds that persistently covered the sky. He got to his lookout post and he set the cup on a little burner to heat up the water. As Jaune waited for the water to come to a boil he took out a small packet of tea and waited to mix it all together. Once his tea was made he stood at his lookout sipping his tea and contemplating how he had gotten himself into to this pointless and bloody war.

“I just had to defend my homeland” he muttered before sipping some worm tea. Jaune had lived in America all his life but his parents were from France. He had been attending college to major in history with a minor in ancient Greek. When he heard that the Germans had attacked his fatherland he dropped everything and rushed over to Britain to join their expeditionary force going to be shipped off to aid his ancestral homeland. His delusions of grandeur blinded him but he soon realized what war was like. He spent the next two years in various trenches fighting the Germans.

He hated war, he hated killing, he hated every moment in this damn trench. He was fighting for a homeland he’d never lived in, for people he never knew, and for a cause he didn't  even knew. He hated war, but he knew what he was doing was considered honorable and that the side he fought for was the side of “good”, or so everyone he meet said.

“Sgt. Arc” his superior shouted. Jaune could tell captain Winchester was on one of his moods again. Sir Cardin Winchester was a pompis British officer who for some reason had it out for jaune. Every chance the Captain got he would chew Jaune out. Be it for a poorly a shaven face or the poor excuse for tea that Jaune made. Cardin thought their was no place for some American kid in his professional army.

“Yes Cpt” Jaune spat out  as he snapped to attention. He hated having to deal with Cardin he made him feel like a fool.

“WHY THE HELL ARE YOU COOKING. If those bloody Huns see the light from that burner we will catch hell in the form of shelling.”

“Sir I was just making some tea to wake me up…”

“ I don't care what you were doing just blow out that damned flame and keep a sharp eye out. There's been talk of a German attack floating around the line and I don't like it.” As if a god was listening to the exchange a loud screech was heard followed by an ear bursting change in presser. The next thing Jaune knew he was buried in a heap of dirt. His ears ringing, his body aching, and his wits scattered.

He slowly started to dig himself out of the dirt that covered his body. The concussive force that he felt had disoriented him and he had to peace his thoughts together.

There was an explosion...did a shell hit us?… It was close to me… I got to move i have to get ready for an attack.!

He quickened his pace and was soon free from his prison of dirt and mud. He stood up and surveyed the surrounding land. The little trench that he stood in was now a curator. His original lookout pit had only been a few yards away from the blast and somehow he’d been flung into the dirt by the shear force of the explosion.

As Jaune stood in awe of his miraculous survival he was spun around by Cpt Winchester who was as covered in filth and blood. He was shouting at him and saying something but the only thing Jaune could hear was an intense ringing noise. Thankfully Jaune slowly started to recover his hearing.

“GET READY FOR AN ATTA…” juanes hearing was fading in and out of ringing “THEIR LAUNCHING FLAI…” his hearing went out once more before he heard the last order his superior barked “JAUNE LISTEN, GRAB YOUR RIFLE AND COVER THIS AREA” with his last orders given Winchester turned and limped off down the trench barking orders and grabbing a revolver.

Jaune now fully aware of himself and his surroundings; realized what was going on and feverishly started to look for his Enfield rifle. He dug through the mud and grim looking for his lifeline and his only way to fight the incoming Germans. He soon found what he was looking for. A rifle with a worn beech wood stock that held in it his key to survival. He picked it up; the whole rifle was covered in a fresh coating of mud. He pulled the bolt back and made sure the bore was unobstructed by mud or debris once he was satisfied he pushed the bolt forward and chambered a new round.

He ran to part of the trench that wasn't destroyed and got in a position to repel the enemy. He waited for a line of soldiers to appear. He waited for what seemed like hours. He could tell the Germans had started to shell their lines lucky he was never the target. His heart pounded in his chest. His sweat dripping off his chin and brow. His mind racing and preparing himself for the fast approaching fight.

This was not his first battle. He had gone through the motions before. He knew to expect the sound of his friends dying, the sound of rifle fire, and explosions of grenades and bombs. He knew the pain of being shoot, he had received a round to the shoulder during his first encounter with the enemy 2 years earlier. He knew it was ether him or the poor sap marching towards him.. He knew he had to kill again.

Killing was something Jaune appold and wished he never had to do. Every time he took a life part of his soul would die with the soldier that he killed. He remembered the exact number of men that fell to his rifle. He was up to 22 a number he constantly prayed would never increase. Sadly he knew it had to if he wished to see the dawn of the next day.

Soon he saw the line of German soldiers calmly walking in his direction. They were no more than 100 yards out. Their gray uniforms illuminated by the steady stream of flairs. Jaune shouldered his rifle ready to fire. He set his sight on a young conscript directly in front of him, however before he could fire he heard the sound of a vickers gun and the young sap that his rifle was ready to kill fell along with 5 other of his comrades. As if the sound of the vickers was an order to charge the Germans surged forward shouting.

Jaune started to fire his rifle at whatever he could get his sights on. Each time his sights got close to a figure clad in gray he squeezed the trigger. The recoil jolted through his body and he chambered another round. He soon exhausted all the ammunition in his magazine. He crouched behind cover of the trench so that he could reload. The pulled out 2 stripper clips from a punch at his waist and loaded his gun. He soon popped back up and fired off a round. This time his aim was true and a gray figure fell to the ground.

As the fighting carried on Jaune could tell the defenses were faltering. Every German hun they fell another one would take his place. Jaune himself had already killed another 5 solders. But as the Germans crept closer it became harder to find an opening. Every time he reviled himself to fire another round the Germans would pepper the land around him with bullets forcing Jaune to take cover again.    

Some time had passed since the assault had commenced. He was tired and sore. He had used all his backup ammo all that remained was the ten rounds in his rifle. Jaune could tell his actions were useless and that he should pull back when he heard “ARC..ARC” over the sound of bullets and explosions. Cpt WInchester was calling him from down the trench. Jaune guessed that Cardin was near the Machine gun nest.

“ARC GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE. MAKE IT QUICK” the urgency in his voice grabbed Jaunes attention and he quickly started heading down the trench towards the sound of his Cpts voice.

. As he ran through the trenches he could fully see the extent of their losses. Bodies scattered the narrow passageway. Men were still screaming in pain as they clutched the part of their body that was bleeding while the rest were dead and would only serve as food for the buzzards. Only a few soldiers were still standing all whom were starting to retreat down various passageways.

Soon he made it to the dug out and found his commanding officer sitting at on the wall with his hands  covering his chest.

“Jaune” his voice was calm reassuring  “I've called for our line to pull back but we need to provide some cover for them. I would do myself but it looks like my tickets been punched” as he stated this he lifted his hands to reveal a massive cavity that presented his entrails to the open air. Cardin started to laugh as he laid his hands over his wound

“Jaune you have to do this; everyone else is either dead or has already left, it's up to you to ensure they get back alive” Jaune was in complete shock. He knew that their defenses were being hammered but he didn't expect the line to be virtually wiped out.

“Cpt if I stay I will die”

“Yea… yea you will, but in doing so you will save the lives of our allies. Oh and don't worry I'm going to be right here dying right along with you” with the new weight on Jaunes shoulders he knew he must do as his superior said. He crawled up to the massive gun. The 2 original operators lay dead at the base. Jaune looked at the bodies and recognized the figure beside the gun as Pvt Russell. He moved Russell’s and the gunners body aside and took up the gun and started to fire short bursts into the advancing horde of Huns.

As he fired he could tell he had slowed the advance. His enemies were crouching behind what ever cover they could find to protect them from the new threat. They only popped out to take potshots at Juanes little bunker. Each round Jaune could hear hit the sandbags or the earth behind him

“ ILS NE PASSERONT PAS” Jaune shouted out in his parents tongue. His gun fired another burst into the field of Germans. As he prepared to fire another burst he felt the familiar pain of a bullet ripping into his flesh. He fell back onto the ground as he gripped his left shoulder while blood poured out of the thumb sized hole.

“Shit Jaune you still alive”  Winchester leaned over not being able to crawl over to Jaune.

“Yea I'm fine” Jaune was able to sputter out as he got back up to the gun and fired another burst. Every few shots Jaune would look behind him to ensure no German had snuck up behind them.

“Hey blonde I’ll cover the back just focus on what's in front” Cardin sputtered out. He then revealed his revolver being kept under his leg. He raised it and kept up pointed at the entrance. With the new insurance of not being shot in the back Jaune upped his firing rate. Soon heard the click of the gun indicating that there was a jam. As Jaune leaned forward to cycle the gun another round found its mark in his right arm.

Blood sprang from his arm as he screamed in pain. The pain was something he had never experienced before. It was different from when he was shot in the shoulder the pain was more intense. It burned like hell and bleed profusely. In a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding grasped the base of his forearm but it did little to stop the pain or the flow of blood.

He quickly gathered his wits and grabbed the bolt of the gun to free up the jam, but when he attempted to pull it back, the bolt stuck tight. He looked down to see the bullet that had shredded his arm had buried itself inside the Vickers gun. His machine-gun was gone, his Cpt was fading fast, and Jaune knew he was going to die.

“Oi Cpt you still alive” Jaune shouted as he drug himself to his superiors position on the wall.

“Yea but I'm not going to last much longer how about yourself”

“I'm doing better than you” Jaune posed then asked a question that had burned in him sense he met Cardin.

“Why do you hate me” it was an odd question especially when both men were facing their mortality.

“A young idiot like yourself has no right to be out on this killing-field. You should be at school learning how to prevent shit like this from ever happening. I mean come on you only a ki…” he was interrupted as a German charged through the door. Cardin dropped the intruder with a quick pull of the trigger but was too slow to prevent  another German from following his comrade in. the German soldier quickly shot Cardin finally ending his suffering,

Jaune shot, falling the enemy. He was now alone there was no one left. He was surrounded by the enemy. With only a rifle and a pistol. Soon he could hear the Germans outsides, he knew he was going to die soon. Another German soldier charged in but Jaune was ready he put 2 in his attackers chest.

The outside erupted with shouts and then all was quiet. Jaune did not know what was about to happen but he could guess it wasn't going to be good. He was right.

“British soldier come out with your hands up” a German shouted with a heavy accent

“Come and get me you pigs” Jaune spat. He raised his rifle and fired 3 rounds through the open door to get his point across. After a few seconds of silence 2 more soldiers cropped to the door but were killed by juane and his last rifle rounds. He dropped his Enfield and drew his revolver and readied himself for the next assault.

Instead of a straight on attack the German soldiers fired freely into room from a safe distance. 2 more rounds hit Jaune. 1 in his thigh and the other hit his helmet knocking hit off his head revealing the moppy golden locks of hair.  

“Come on you Flachwichser is that the best you can do, I'm still alive” Jaune could barely say anything the pain consumed his entire being. The pain in his shoulder had turned to being a dull and numb feeling while his arm and leg burned with a new intensity. He knew he was near death, there was no way he could hold them off any longer. He thought might as well get them to due their last attack but nothing came.

An eerie calm settled. It remained that way for a few precious seconds then Jaune saw the grenade that was thrown into the little room. It seemed the Germans no longer wanted to charge in guns blazing. Jaune saw the flat gray steel clump land at his outstretched feet. he closed his eyes accepting his fate and waiting for his life to end. He had now killed 45 men (he thought) and he knew this was his retribution. He was calm. Then the blast and all went black.

Jaune knew he had died or at least he thought he had. He actually couldn't tell, should he be able to feel his heart pumping, should he feel the rise and fall of his chest. Certainly he should not feel all if this if he had died. However, his shoulder was no longer numb and the areas where the bullets had struck him no longer burned. It felt like he had never been shot in the first place only in death should one feel the pain of the mortal world. Jaune was stumped he could not tell if he’d died or not. His body was no longer cold his body was warm and felt like he was basking under a worm sun. Then he realized his eyes were shut.

As Jaune opened his eyes, his retinas were flooded with a bright sunny sky.

“I'm most definitely dead” he mumbled to himself there was no way that the hell hole he was once in had turned to a worm sunny field over the span of a black out. Finally, when he had finished concluding that he was in fact dead he realized there was a large spear tip pressed against his neck.

_______________________________________________________

so yea that my first chapter more is on its way but it will take a while. yea i know it was sorta dark but i promise that it will get more light hearted as we go. if you saw any grammatical mistakes feel free to msg and tell where i f’ed up at( that would really help)

next chapters about a curtain red spartan .

[bromfieldhall]

“Redwood” - A Mentalist Fanfiction

TIMELINE: Set some time after season five episode, ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’. Goes AU from there.

SYNOPISIS: Jane and Lisbon are forced into a deadly game when they try and catch a new serial killer.

PAIRING: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon - Jisbon

Previous Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

CHAPTER 9

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the woods pulling Zack and Wade up short. They glanced at each other then hurried on.

Zack took the lead, eager to find out what had happened. He just hoped to God that his uncle had merely maimed one of them and not killed them outright.

"The dogs are onto something," called Wade from behind as the hounds noticeably picked up their speed.

"It's about time," Zack groused irritably. "I can't believe Ben let those Fed's get this far."

The dogs began to whine and the two young men broke into a jog to keep up with them as they began tugging hard on their leashes. Zack expected to see his uncle step out and tell them to keep the noise down any minute but instead the dogs veered off into a patch of ferns.

"What the…?" he exclaimed then broke off as he was greeted with the gruesome sight of his dead uncle.

The dogs whined as they sniffed around the corpse and pawed anxiously at the ground while Zack surveyed the scene impassively. He noted the blood and splatter that coated the leaves and tree bark in the surrounding area then returned his gaze to his deceased uncle. He bent and touched his hand, noting it was still warm then stood again. The bullet hole in his uncle's forehead was perfectly dead centre. Whichever of the Fed's did it was an excellent shot. He'd have to remember that.

"Oh my God! No. Dad!" cried Wade in horror as he pushed passed his cousin and fell to the ground by the side of his father. He reached out and desperately shook the inert body as if it might miraculously bring him back to life. "Dad? Dad!"

"Save it, Wade, he's not going to hear you," Zack sneered, a cruel smile lifting his lips. Frankly, he was glad the old bastard was dead. It saved him having to do it. Although, in a way he had, it was his gun they'd used after all.

"Shut up, Zack," Wade snapped angrily, tears running down his cheeks as he looked up and gave the other man a furious glare only to see red when he saw that he was smiling.

He'd always known his cousin was a cold son of a bitch but that was too much. The grief and devastation of losing his father quickly mutated to an overwhelming anger against the person he ultimately held responsible. He stood up suddenly then lunged at Zack, swinging his arm wildly as he attempted to hit him.

Zack dodged him easily and laughed derisively when his cousin stumbled over onto the ground. Wade went to get up but, all of a sudden, his stomach churned ominously, the stark reality of seeing his father shot in the head too much for him to take. He managed to get onto his hands and knees just in time before he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the leaf strewn ground.

Zack snorted in disgust and shook his head. He was about to comment when one of the dogs suddenly tilted its head back and let out a mournful howl as it realised that its master wasn't just asleep. Seconds later, the other hound joined in causing him to wince in annoyance at the noise.

"Can't you shut those damn mutts up?" he demanded brusquely as he placed a hard kick on the side of the one that he held on a leash causing it to yelp in pain. "The Fed's will know where we are."

Wade stood and wiped a shaky hand across his mouth. His stomach ached from the strain of vomiting and his throat burned.

"Quiet," he ordered hoarsely then repeated himself a little louder when the one still yarling didn't immediately obey. "I said quiet!"

It stopped and looked at him with a whine. He went over and picked up its leash and his rifle, where he'd dropped it to run to his father and tried not to let his eyes stray to the body again. He couldn't stomach it.

"Body's still warm, that means the Fed's can't be far," Zack stated dispassionately as he turned away. "If you've finished puking, we can go get them."

Wade watched him walk off, a mixture of disgust and hatred swirling around inside of him. His father had been so right about Zack. He'd always said that his nephew's erratic behaviour would bring everything crashing down about their ears and it had, with his dad paying the price. Indirectly, it was true, but it was still all down to Zack and his inability to curb his increasingly psychotic behaviour.

"It's your fault Dad's dead," Wade accused raggedly, his grip tightening on his rifle as his mouth thinned into a determined line.

Zack stopped and turned around slowly, eyebrows raised.

"I didn't kill him, the Fed's did," he corrected casually.

"And who brought them here? Who let them escape?" his cousin demanded, his voice cracking as he pointed his gun at him. "It was you, all you, Zack."

The dark haired man tensed at the obvious threat then noticed the way Wade's hands trembled and how he shifted a little nervously from foot to foot. Slowly, he smiled and took a step towards him.

"So what if it was? What are you going to do about it, Wade? Shoot me?" he goaded mockingly before sneering, "You don't have the balls, the past few months have proved that…always a little too slow to make it to the final kill, aren't you? Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Just shut the hell up," his cousin ground out as more tears made their way down his face at the taunts.

"How about if I tell you that I don't care that Ben got it? That the Fed's did me a favour and I just wish I'd been here to see it," Zack jeered nastily. "Does that give you the guts to pull the trigger, cousin?"

Wade drew in a sharp breath, his whole body jerking from trying to control the grief and anger that Zack had ignited within him. Knowing the gun was primed to fire, his finger rested against the trigger and he willed himself to squeeze the little metal clip back.

Zack watched him for a few moments, noting the way the gun wavered and the conflicted expression that contorted his cousin's face as he warred with himself.

Suddenly, Wade let out a tortured cry of frustration and despair that he couldn't go through with it and lowered the rifle with a stifled sob. Zack shook his head and looked at his cousin pityingly.

"I knew you couldn't do it, Wade. Too much of a coward to shoot me when I'm facing you…but I can't take the chance that you won't do it when my back's turned," he said on a sigh then, before his cousin had any notion of what was about to happen, Zack raised his gun and shot him right in the stomach. At such close range, the other young man didn't stand a chance.

Wade cried out in shock and pain as he fell backwards writhing in agony. The dogs started barking crazily and Zack coolly turned then fired off two more shots effectively silencing them for good before turning back to his cousin. He walked over and looked down at him blankly. The young man was gasping shallowly now, his life slowly ebbing away. Normally he liked to watch them bleed out, enjoyed seeing them take their last breaths, but he knew the noise would've alerted the Fed's and he had to move quickly now.

Without a second thought he levelled the gun and blasted a bullet right into Wade's head. 'Like father, like son,' he thought in amusement before calmly reloading his rifle then turning and jogging away.

xxTheMentalistxx

Lisbon ran quickly to the fork her feet moving swiftly through the undergrowth that had thinned out into a wider, easier track that she assumed the van had driven along to take them to the cabin.

She moved over to one side trying to use the trees as some kind of protection when she could. Rifle in one hand and cellphone in the other, she glanced at it every few seconds willing just one tiny bar to appear so that she might try and call Cho.

The entire time she ran her thoughts were on Jane, desperately hoping that he was going to hold on. She'd felt his hand getting colder and colder as they'd spoken, knew if he wasn't seen by a doctor soon it would be too late. Just past the fork and around a bend, she checked her phone again then felt her heart skip as she saw a single lone bar in the top corner. It wasn't lost on her that had they just managed to take the right path in the first place, none of this would've happened. She stopped and darted behind a tree as she pressed Cho's speed dial number with slightly trembling hands.

"Come on, come on," she muttered urgently as she waited for the sound of a ring tone to come down the extremely crackly line. When it went straight to voicemail, Lisbon felt the disappointment of it like a stab to the heart and before she could even leave a message the call suddenly disconnected, the signal lost. "Damn it."

She was about to continue on when the sound of a car engine reached her ears. Her immediate inclination was to run towards it but then she thought better of it and moved back further behind the tree just in case. She peeked around the trunk and a couple of seconds later a police car rolled into view. Lisbon felt such an enormous wave of relief crash through her that she had to cling to the bark for a moment to keep herself upright before finding her legs again and dashing out from her hiding place.

"Oh, thank God," she said as Sheriff Newland stopped the car and got out.

"Agent Lisbon, are you alright? We've been searching for you," he said, his surprise at seeing her not forced. He had expected to find her at the cabin. Obviously she'd escaped. It was worse than he'd originally thought.

Just then, three gunshots echoed loudly through the woods causing Lisbon to spin around in her tracks and stare back at where she came from in shock. Her body seemed to go ice cold before heating up suddenly as a feeling of nausea took hold.

"No," she murmured fearfully before looking over at the Sheriff and ordering curtly, "Radio in for back up and an ambulance. Now!"

Turning away, she started to run; her only thought to get back to Jane. Another shot sounded and her stomach lurched sickeningly. There could only be one reason for the gunfire and the mental image of her consultant sitting there unprotected and in no state to even put up a fight as he was executed tortured her relentlessly, spurring her on.

She'd never forgive herself for leaving him. Ever.

XxTheMentalistxx

Zack came to a halt and looked down at a patch of bloody leaves in interest. There was a trail of blood drops leading away and he began to follow it slowly. It appeared that Ben had managed to get a good hit on one of the Fed's before he bought it himself. That was something at least. Zack had had visions of chasing them clear back to Arcata.

At least now he knew that they were hindered and from the relatively consistent drops of blood that the injured one was leaving in their wake, they were pathetically easy to follow too. It was disappointing in a way, took the fun out of it.

He walked on a couple more steps then saw that there were a few red droplets close to each other then nothing. He held his rifle a little tighter and checked the surrounding area until he spied another splash of blood on a light coloured leaf a little further along on his left.

He went over to it and then saw another a little further over again. He followed the new trail then looked up and saw that it seemed to be heading towards a particular tree just a few feet away. A slow smile spread across his face as he readied his gun and headed over.

xxTheMentalistxx

Breathing heavily, Lisbon rounded the bend and came to the fork. She slowed down to a walk and raised her gun as she edged forwards. Through the trees, she suddenly caught sight of Zack standing a few feet away from her consultant's hiding place and her stomach rolled unpleasantly. In her head, seeing him there merely confirmed her dreadful fear that he'd killed Jane. It didn't even register that when he began moving it were toward the tree rather than away.

Tears threatened again but she blinked the moisture away, stubbornly refusing to let them fall this time. She'd mourn later when she was alone. Not now. Not when she still had to get the guy that had taken Jane from her.

"Hold it right there," she called out, her voice strong and commanding despite the grief she felt. Zack froze then slowly turned to look at her, a malicious grin blooming on his face. Lisbon fought the near irresistible urge to just pull the trigger and the consequences by damned. Instead she quickly approached him and warned curtly, "Put down the gun, right now."

Zack stared back at her completely unconcerned. "And what if I don't?" he asked challengingly.

"I'll shoot you," the agent replied without hesitation.

"I don't think so, Agent Lisbon," suddenly came the Sheriff's voice from just behind her.

Her head snapped around in surprise. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked incredulously as she warily eyed the pistol that he had trained, not on the killer, but her instead.

"I would've thought that was obvious," he replied, releasing the safety on his gun. "I'm protecting my son."

Lisbon looked back at him aghast. His son? Suddenly, the lack of evidence for any of the victims made sense now. He'd obviously been covering it up and probably paid Hicks off too. Hard on the heels of that enlightenment was the terrifying realisation that Newland most definitely wouldn't have called for back up.

There would be no one to help her now, she was all alone.

Taking an involuntary step back, she grasped her rifle tighter as she channelled all her grief and fear into a steely new resolve. A determined expression settled on her face as her gaze flicked from one man to the other assessing which one she was going to go for first.

The odds might be stacked heavily against her, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to go down fighting.

END CHAPTER 9

[d-ndy]

May God Have Mercy

‘Cause I Won’t

summary; los Santos is nothing less than a wild ride. from The gas station robberies to full out bank heists, the city provides far more than enough to keep a person entertained.

rating; m

wc; 2065

ao3

i. smash it up

“Stupid fucker!” Oh boy, how he loved the people who thought that combination of words was anything but menacing. It was pathetic, really. Sure the man in front of him was considerably larger, in width rather than height, but the blue-eyed beauty knew much better than to let himself get in any position where an excessive amount of weight would have an advantage on him. The bowling ball, though? That man thought he was the greatest fighter. Jackie Chan had nothing on his moves.

“Are you going to hit me or just keep swinging those meat bags of yours around?” The Vagabond laughed at his own insult, taking no time in dodging the measly punch. He returned it with a harsh blow to the man’s jaw, an unceremonious cackle pouring from his lips. Everything from the man’s footwork to his shitty combover was sloppy, and it was rather cringe worthy to watch him try to fling his abdomen extensions in an attempt to harm the other.

“Shut the fuck up, Vagabond. Once my men get here, you’re toast.”

“Why can’t I be a bagel instead?”

“Wh--” The Vagabond took the man’s momentary confusion as a window of opportunity to shove the tip of his favorite blade into his neck. The big boy gurgled as blood flooded his airways, and with a swift blow to the side of his knee he went down.

“Tell your men I love them, mmkay?” His words were crooned, and as he ripped the knife from the man’s flesh the man could hear doors being kicked open and guns firing randomly. Well that was unexpected. Not that he wasn’t prepared to take care of them, but it was just a surprise that Tubby’s men were so close. The Vagabond stepped away from the man on the ground and went to slide a new magazine into his gun. It was a gorgeous platinum-plated AK-12, one that the Vagabond took everywhere with him. Sure it was a Russian gun but it fired beautifully. He raised it, barrel aimed carefully at the height where he knew heads would appear once the door swung open. It was an acquired talent, guessing the average height of the infiltrators, and the Vagabond was rather good at it. He once even killed three people with one bullet, which he insisted gave him bragging rights.

The moment the door opened his finger squeezed the trigger. The recoil, the pop and bang of each bullet, was all too familiar to react. His feet stayed planted firmly, his shoulder relaxed to account for the recoil from the butt of the gun. Bullets hit directly where they were meant to, and in no time the four men at the door were now four men on the floor. Sure those guys were dead but the Vagabond wasn’t stupid. Of course there were more waiting outside for him. The men he killed were probably rookies, pawns. Too bad, so sad. That’s what they got for working for a sweaty mouth breather. Cocking his gun after reloading with a fresh clip, the masked man stepped out of the office as if he hadn’t just murdered five people in cold blood. He didn’t. It was in warm blood. Humans were warm-blooded. Dumbass. His footsteps were nigh silent as he walked along, the art of silence something he practiced on a daily basis. It was embarrassing, how the Vagabond could effortlessly slip fingers into a back pocket. Sure it was an intermediate skill to have but when it came down to stealing key cards and codes, it was very beneficial. Blue eyes scanned the area, barrel raising immediately after the blur of shadows to his right moved just a little too much. The man dropped to the floor in a crumpled pile of limbs and oozing blood, the Vagabond’s lip curling beneath the rubber that separated him from the filth before him. He began forward, finger curled around the trigger of his rifle held like a child in his arms. Nothing could separate them. Except, maybe, if his arms got chopped off. Surely he’d hear a saw or something similar before that’d happen, though.

The hallways were empty as he strolled through the office building, whole body tense with excited anticipation for the next stupid head to pop out. Nothing was better than catching some dumb idiot off-guard, especially when the poor lad thought he was prepared to fire a gun. Usually the dumb idiot wouldn’t even know how to handle the recoil. If they were lucky they’d land a few shots relatively close, but to their dismay the Vagabond would have his sights set on them before anything else could happen. It was amusing, the amount of bullets he’d heard and felt whizz by. Inexperienced gunmen were his favorite, especially when it was obvious that they were trying their hardest.

“Come out, come out, and play!” The Vagabond’s singsong voice echoed, the peeling wallpaper seemingly unamused as the mold hidden within rotted its adhesive. He hummed a simple tune as boots tread lightly across dirty carpet, rifle resting on his shoulder as if it were an accessory and not a murder weapon. His heart beat echoed in his ears, the silence around him making it feel ten times louder. It was too quiet. Blue eyes flickered between the staircase to his left and the open window at the end of the hallway, holding his breath as he approached said window. The Vagabond made it about halfway before the lights around him went out and he was sent into darkness. He turned around, silhouetted by the neon lights that shone in through the curtains fluttering over the window. It was still as silent as the death that littered the floor, but blue eyes were wide and alert. No movement would go unnoticed, and as he went to spin around to look behind him, the failed electrician made a fatal move.

The masked man whipped back around, meeting the barrel of a high caliber rifle pointed at his throat. Without even thinking the Vagabond drew his own weapon, instinct telling him to shoot but reason telling him to wait. He knew that this person was meaning to hurt him, withdraw information, or was simply defensive, and so the masked man waited. Silence filled the air around them once more, and while the shadows hid his features, the Vagabond could tell that the man that stood before him intentions other than murdering him.

“Vagabond,” the man’s voice rang out. It sounded like firecrackers in a cooking pot, piercing his ears. He had an idea of who this stranger was, and as his brain whirred with ideas of what to say, he saw that the other was not alone. A bright red dot danced over his chest and shadows moved to his right and left. It was easy to tell that these people weren’t riding their first rodeo, and as the Vagabond let the silence settle he immediately disrupted it.

“Fakes,” he replied. The masked man barked out a laugh as the man in front of him seemed to falter a tad. Or, well, that’s what it seemed like to the mercenary. The barrel quivered, and so to him, it fell into the category of a falter. A nervous, semi-conscious behavior that revealed far more kryptonites than a normal person would perceive. The Vagabond did more things than a ‘normal’ person anyways. Murdering five people without batting an eyelash was beyond “normal” and even a little weird.

“What do you want, and why are you using an ASh-12.7? This is Los Santos, not Moscow.” The man scoffed and took a step closer, the aforementioned assault rifle now pressed against the hollow between his collarbones.

“Listen, Vagabond. I’m not fucking around here. You know why we’re here, and if you don’t give us the money and jewelry in ten seconds I’ll blow that fuckin’ stone cold heart right outta your chest.” Ah, the redhead. What a charming man. The Vagabond scoffed and relaxed, dropping his weapon to a relaxed position, barrel still aimed at vital parts of the other.

“It’s been a while, Mogar. Cooled off any?” To be honest, the Vagabond hadn’t seen Mogar for months. He hadn’t seen Mogar or the rest of his crew for that matter. While the Vagabond was busy being cocky he didn’t catch the sight of a fist in his peripheral vision. Another had snuck up behind him, knocked the gun from his hands, and caught him clean in the jaw. He stumbled but drew another gun, miraculously, from a hidden holster. Mogar had moved while he had been blindsided, and now the Vagabond could see the silhouette of their sniper perched on the rooftop across from them. “If you’ve come to mug me, I’ll be happy to inform you that there is, in fact, no money or jewels hidden within my possession.” The Vagabond scanned the area around him again and, a rather idiotic move on his part, backed toward the window. Once his shoulder blades pressed against the glass the Vagabond looked at men around him, Mogar not the only familiar one that joined him in what was supposed to be his solo hit.

“Working for the lowest of lows now? Or are you just bored.” A gravelly voice to his right brought his gaze over. Before him stood the King of the Idiots, Geoffrey Ramsey. The Vagabond barked out a laugh, shouldering his rifle once more. It was accessible at any moment, but showing the kingpin any sort of disrespect was something the masked man relished in.

“Please. God knows I’d never take a job from you,” he smirked. It wasn’t visible to the crew but his tone said everything. “If you’d excuse me, ladies, I have a bank safe to crack.” The Vagabond waved his hand lightly as he stepped forward to push through the four, ignoring the hands of a shorter man that pressed against his chest. He spun a bit to dislodge the midget’s arms and continued toward the stairs, ears alert for any sort of footstep or shuffle. When nobody came after him the mercenary began down the stairs, humming softly.

He’d reached the landing of the stairs when an ugly vase next to him exploded. Blue eyes locked onto the shattered glass, lips pressed into a line as the gears in his head spun. A hand hovered over the holster strapped securely to his thigh, fingers twitching as he anticipated something to happen. Sure, he’d been cocky, but the Vagabond knew better than to let the enemy think they won. Turning on his heel he looked up at them, gaze shifting from their shadowed faces to the handgun aimed at him. Guns didn’t scare him. If anything, guns were a challenge. The Vagabond shifted his weight before sliding his rifle from under his arm like a purse to across his chest, thumb switching the safety off. It clicked, audible to all, and as he stared up at Mogar, Geoffrey, and the other two, the Vagabond smirked beneath the rubber covering his face.

“A threat or a challenge?” His voice was smooth, monotonous. It filled the air and hung in the men’s ears, a pleasant sensation in his chest left behind. The aesthetic didn’t last long, though.

“You have what we need. Physical money or not, we need that passcode.” Ramsey’s voice sliced through the air, and as blue eyes flickered their gaze to him the Vagabond laughed.

“You need it like I need a goiter. Don’t you have any convenience stores to be robbing? If you have serious business inquiries regarding child’s play, talk to someone who gives a shit.” He turned again, an angry headache starting as the mercenary proceeded to take a step down the stairs again. A shuffle behind him made him hesitate, and just as the masked man was about to swing at whoever was approaching him, the sight of a metal bat glinted in the moonlight from the window. The aluminum struck the side of his head, his vision blurring. The Vagabond stumbled and before he knew it his knees had buckled beneath him.

“You have what we need,” the Fake kingpin hissed in his ear. It was the only thing he remembered before the pulsating throb in his temple took over.