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deepfriedtwinkie · 7 years ago

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Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. IX)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~3,500w, ****THE BIG FINALE**** (choreographed violence set to 80s music ahead)

No one ever told them whereabouts in England the compound was located, despite how long it’s been their address. It was always shuttle here, shuttle there. Clearly it’s far enough from London to justify a plane ride, albeit a very short one.

They forfeit their altitude just as Harry emerges from the quarters in the back, clad tie-to-toe in Simons’s finished product. Every seam is flawless, as if he were born in it. His chest swells as he examines the mirror. Not only does he look his new part, but feels every bit of it, too.

Except for one thing. “Here,” Martin says, approaching with a small case in hand. “Put these on. And don’t ever be without them. They cost the devil’s own fucking ransom to replace.”

Harry takes the case, opening it carefully. Inside is a pair of glasses, these in dark tortoiseshell, in same style he’s seen all the agents wearing. Up to now, he’s just assumed they all had cataract problems.

A monumentally stupid assumption, he realizes, the moment he slides them on.

The whole world is enhanced. He’d thought his vision was already twenty-twenty, but through these eyes, he second-guesses everything he knows. The picture is sharper than any television—or reality, for that matter—is capable of. When he faces Martin, a green mess of boxy digits appears, framing him in binary code that rearranges into statistics. MARTIN TURNER. ALIAS: LAMORAK. 54. FRIENDLY. He blinks, and they pixelate, then disappear.

“These are the new model,” Martin says. “They’ll identify anyone they recognize, mark the rest as possible hostiles, and broadcast video directly to the control room. Calendar and calculator functions, too. And a crap version of Pac-Man. Engineers had a bit of a laugh with that one, I think.”

The cabin lights dim, signaling descent. Pulled from his astonishment, Harry pounces on one of the windows. There’s nowhere to land, nothing but city below, full of teeming crowds and police barriers. Every Englishman knows what day it is, except, apparently, for the pilot.

“Should we be concerned?” he asks Lamorak. It’s dialed back a bit, at that.

A good call on his part. Lamorak smiles. “You’ll see.”

Flying low, the plane does a loop, away from the path of the paparazzi’s helicopters. Half a mile away from the chaos in general, if not more. They make a pass above a dead-end road, blocked off to all traffic, between two commercial buildings with ‘CLOSED’ in nearly every window. ‘FOR LEASE’ in some.

When they pass again, the street itself opens like a mailing box.

Harry watches, enrapt, as they ease down the ‘runway’ and into the earth, then gives his mentor an impressed eyebrow. “No, I wouldn’t say concern is necessary.”

“I didn’t think so.”

They disembark into an underground hangar, identified only by a single circle-K beneath the plane. Markings on the mildewed walls identify this place as a now-defunct bomb shelter, left over from the second World War. It’s a long, continuous tunnel toward the center of the city, running directly parallel to the route the royal motorcade’s soon to take. Several more branch off down the way.

“You’d think there ought to be a police presence down here,” Harry remarks.

“There would be, I’m sure, if anyone knew about it. You’d be amazed the schematics you can vanish from city records with a little ingenuity.”

“And gadgetry.”

“That too.”

It’s a long walk ahead, and they keep up the pace. Lamorak stops only once, a minute or so in, leaning one-handed against a wall to pull something from the heel of his shoe. A spiral cord follows. It’s a phone. A fucking phone, for God’s sake. He’d left that one out on the tour.

“The glasses are a two-way radio as well, but there’s fuck-all reception down here,” he explains as it rings. Then someone picks up. “This is Lamorak. Landing secured. Approaching target now. Is the way clear?”

Harry knows the answer without needing to overhear it.

Largely because it’s speeding toward them on motorcycles.

“Oh, fucking bollocks.�� The phone clatters to the cement as Lamorak grips his umbrella. “Shield up, Galahad!”

He’s on it before the words have even left his mentor’s mouth, raising the cane like a rifle and deploying the canopy. A greenish disc displays their assailants as if in night vision, slaloming to dodge the spray of bullets from Lamorak’s weapon. Harry joins the fire, and the motorists deflect that too.

“Don’t turn your back to them!”

It’s impossible; the three bikes fan out before they can take any cover, circling like vultures, making caged birds of the Kingsman. Lamorak only manages to take out one before another yells in Russian, and whirling his spent shotgun, catches Lamorak upside the head. He drops like a sack of flour.

“Shit!”

A second biker skids into the wall before Harry knows it was his bullet’s doing. The third, he catches on the next go, blasting him clean away from the beast he rode in on.

He drops to his knees beside Agent Lamorak, pressing two fingers beneath the left side of his collar. Then he scrambles for the dropped phone.

“Is anyone there?” Fuck’s sake, tell me someone’s there. Now would be a wonderful time for someone to be there! “This is Galahad; can anyone hear me? Lamorak’s been decommissioned, but he’s alive. We’ve been ambushed by hostiles, three of them, of unconfirmed origin, though one of them spoke Russian. Hello?”

If anything, he expects to hear Arthur. Or static, if he’s particularly unlucky.

What he hears instead is Hamish, panicked.

“Galahad, we’ve got a problem.”

Oh, have we? Do tell! I was just hoping for a problem!

“What’s going on?” Harry barks, eyes vigilant around the tunnel. “How the hell did Arthur miss those incomings?”

“He’s unconscious, that’s how.”

Oh, wonderful, that’s it, keep them coming! One isn’t near exciting enough! “What do you mean ‘he’s unconscious?’ Has someone infiltrated us?”

“No, there’s no breach. I found him on the ground when I got here. When I checked his pulse I found a medical ID. He’s fucking diabetic. I’ve called for help but Lancelot’s just left on assignment, I don’t think there’s anyone left in the whole wing but me.”

Well, then that’s going to have to be enough, isn’t it? I could do far worse.

Wish me luck, mother.

“We’re going to have to do this alone.” Harry fleetingly evaluates the three crashed motorbikes and picks the one least damaged—so not the one in flames, then—tilting it upright by the handlebars, swinging a leg over the side. There’s a gun holster on the panel that he co-opts for his umbrella. Meantime, in keeping the phone to his ear, he’s taken Lamorak’s shoe with him. He’d like a word with whomever depicted this job to be glamorous.

He tests the engine with a few revs over Hamish’s protests, partly because there’s little time, and partly because his friend sounds like this is the worst idea he’s ever heard, and that sort of negativity isn’t helpful at the moment. “You don’t even know the objective, Galahad. You don’t know who you’re looking for. And I’m not authorized to make any call yet without Arthur’s consent. We’ve got to stand down and wait for a senior agent.”

‘Stand down’ translates to ‘kickstand up.’ His hearing’s always been peculiar that way. “There isn’t time. Are you going to help me or not?”

The wait is under half a second, ended by the sound of some material object in motion. Harry knows it marks the donning of Merlin’s headset.

“Go.”

He’s off. The bike swerves beneath him as he rockets through the tunnel, unused to its carriage, making him hunch against inertia. His attempt to change the gear turns on the radio instead.

The winner takes it all The loser has to fall It’s simple and it’s plain Why should I complain?

“I’m in, I’ve found Agent Lamorak’s file,” Merlin shouts over the noise. “Take a right! Now!”

Harry barely manages to bank over without becoming a fascinating stain on the concrete.

“Two ahead, incoming!”

Up goes the Rainmaker. Four one-handed shots pick off the hostiles, sending vehicles tumbling. He rides an S curve around the wreckage.

“In case it’s on the agenda, a hint as to what the devil I’m doing would be marvelous about now!”

“It’s Margaret Thatcher.”

“I sincerely hope that came out wrong!”

“No—I mean, yes. She’s a guest at the wedding. Some vigilante offshoot of the KGB’s got plans to kill her the moment she arrives. They’re trying to start a war proper.”

He can’t spare the energy to hold his tongue at the moment. “By assassinating Margaret Thatcher? Wouldn’t Charles and Diana make more sense as targets, considering they’re actually liked?”

“They’re more heavily protected—look, the next time I take afternoon tea with Soviet renegades, I’ll ask, all right? Take a left!”

This time the bike curves obediently. It’s a relief he’s got the hang of it, at least until he sees what’s ahead.

Double doors of solid steel.

“Merlin, I can’t get through.” He races to scan. There’s no padlock, no keypad, no access point. “Open the doors. You can do that, right?”

“Hang on, I’ve got to unscramble the access code.”

Harry tries everything, but can’t get the bike to brake. There’s no room to either side to turn around. “Merlin, nothing’s happening. I can’t possibly oversell the urgency of the situation.”

“Will you give me a fucking minute?”

“I haven’t got a fucking minute to give!” he panics. “For the love of God, you have to–”

The doors pull apart just in time to slide unscathed through the opening.

“You’ve reached your destination.”

Now the brakes work. He unsticks them with a slam of his heel, pivoting to a clean stop, and turns down the kickstand, clearing his throat. “Fine timing, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I’d just like to say you’re doing wonderfully so far, by the way.”

“Save it for headquarters, get a move on.”

“Right.”

The sound of ABBA recedes in his wake as Harry moves away from the motorbike, expanding the Rainmaker again, Lamorak’s shoe-phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. He moves ahead with caution, eyes shifting to all sides.

“Switch the glasses to thermal. There’s a setting for that,” Merlin says. “Turn the dial in the frame below the right lens. Two clicks counter-clockwise.”

One click paints his vision all in technicolor. The next reveals sketchy red blobs of humanoid shape around the upcoming corner. Four of them. In poses that give away machine guns.

“Do you need an alternate route?”

This, he can handle without question. “Ask me again in a moment.”

Digging into his pocket, he comes up with a gold lighter. His thumb flicks the cap. Rearing his arm back, he pitches.

The explosion from the next room is a cluster of crimson through his lenses. When it dissipates, there’s none left whatsoever.

“Nicely done,” Merlin commends as Harry switches modes back.

“All in the written test.”

There’s no point in asking where to go from here. It’s obvious. The only way out of this room is a lift, just ahead at his ten o’clock. Harry hurries for it, closing his umbrella, praying to no particular god that he’s still on Lamorak’s schedule. Or, if not, that at least no one will be dead by the time he catches up. Lamorak and Arthur included.

“Is there any code?”

“Not that I’m seeing, no. It should op–”

It opens with a fist to Harry’s jaw. His glasses skew; Lamorak’s phone goes scattering across the floor. He stumbles backward. A second hit draws blood.

It’s the moment he’s grabbed by the lapels that his reflex decides he’s through with this.

Bashing the Rainmaker upward breaks his attacker’s hold. Then it breaks his teeth in. Both of them grappling for it, they stagger into the lift, closing the doors. It starts to move.

A sudden hefty twist of the cane rips at his arms; his back goes slamming into the wall, feet wrenched from under him. The ringing in his ears picks up tin music from the overhead speaker.

Crack that whip Give the past the slip Step on a crack Break your momma’s back

He’s up in time to dodge a kick to the abdomen, rounding on his attacker as the steel-toed boot gongs into the baseboard. A clutch of the man’s ear threatens to tear it off as he throws him to the floor. A leg sweep brings Harry down alongside.

“Harry!” It comes from his glasses. They must be aboveground.

Answering would spend the breath he needs; it goes to a snap-roll instead. On his feet, he digs the Rainmaker’s point into the enemy’s chest, opening to keep him down, then firing. A burst of blood fills the umbrella’s screen just in time for a gentle ding from the lift’s floor indicator.

“Just a bit of trouble,” he says to Merlin, heart pounding. “Hardly worth mentioning.”

“No time to rest,” Merlin warns. “I count five on the rooftop. Lamorak’s intel says they’ll be dressed like Scotland Yard, but that’s them. They’re the snipers.”

Five of them, Jesus Christ. He fights his breathing into check. “Anything you can do to level the playing field?”

“Not from here.” Then, just as quickly, he corrects himself, rapid clacking filling the background. “There’s one thing I can try, but I dunno if it’ll work. There’s a powered circulation vent on the roof.”

“What can you do with that?”

A few more clacks come over the line, the last more decisive than the rest. From outside the lift, Harry hears the erratic zapping noise of an electrical surge, accompanied by the very distinct screams of two men. Then two whumps of collapse.

“Oh, not much.” The smirk in Merlin’s voice is plain to hear. “How’s three against one sound?”

His jaw aches behind the smile that’s drawing on.

“Manageable.”

The lift doors slide open. One more time, Harry raises the Rainmaker to aim level, deployed at the ready. He creeps with careful sideways steps around the cover of a rooftop heating unit. Sounds of celebration float up from the streets below, hollering, whooping and cheering, and his peripheral vision catches the flutter of multicolored confetti. The crowd begins to sing “God Save the Queen.”

“Oh, shit—Galahad, the car’s approaching now.” The alarm has returned to Merlin’s voice. “I’m looking at the paparazzi’s video feed right now; that’s her license plate. She’s in that car. You’ve got no time at all.”

The thermal function of his glasses re-activates with the touch of a thumb. He’s not sure how it happened, but every bone in his body is perfectly calm.

“Harry, it’s got to be now!”

The red shapes that had flocked to their electrocuted friends begin to fan out. Two headed for the street-facing corners of the rooftop. The third moving backward, posing himself as a lookout.

No one notices when the third man disappears, dragged from the top of the unit with Harry’s tie around his throat. A twist of his chin, and his dead weight drops to the asphalt.

“They’re in position!”

Harry edges his way silently around the heating unit, sights set. His first shot lands square in the back of the nearest gunman, crumpling him in place.

He turns to take aim at the second.

Who’s nowhere to be found.

The crack of a rifle butt comes down across the back of his head. All at once his body gives out underneath him. He collapses like a ragdoll.

“Who the fuck have we here?”

The words filter blearily into Harry’s throbbing head. Another gruff Russian accent.

“Harry? Harry! What’s going on?”

Blinking away spots, he manages to turn himself over, glaring murder at the man with a rifle now pointed at his skull. He’s squinting down at him from under a portly brow, leaning slightly forward, inspecting him like a maggot in a pile of shit.

“Looks like some kind of dandy to me.”

The throngs still sing. “Oh, Lord, our God, arise;”

Below, the sound of engines is a block away, if that.

“Scatter her enemies;”

“How come you choose today to die, dandy-boy?”

“And make them fall…”

Bloody-lipped, Harry peels into a wicked grin.

“Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I was hoping you’d tell me.”

A flip of his ankles, one over the other, catches the man off-balance. He goes pitching to the side, arms pinwheeling in midair for a grasp that never comes, aim forgotten. Then a swift final kick sends him toppling over the rooftop’s edge, his short scream ending with a crack and a bang in the alleyway below.

Almost frantically, Harry crawls to the edge, peering over. The limp Russian lies at the bottom of a rusted dumpster, eyes open, blood pooled beneath his bloated head.

He looks left toward the motorcade route in time to see Margaret Thatcher, accompanied by aides, wave her way into St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Only then does he flatten to his back, heaving a sigh to end them all.

“Fucking spectacular!” Harry chuffs out a haggard laugh. He’d almost forgotten Hamish was on the line. “Well done, Harry! Well done Galahad.”

It’s incredibly likely he’s not catching his breath for weeks after this. “And you,” he tells his friend, wiping blood away from his lip. “Anything on Arthur?”

“The medics are here to help him now. He’s gonna be all right. And we’ve got transport on the way for Lamorak as well.”

All’s well that ends well.

“My turn to ask you a question?” Hamish queries.

He’s exhausted enough to let fair play win. “I don’t see why not.”

“How fucking hard is that head of yours?”

This time, there’s considerably more strength in Harry’s laugh.

“Very, I’ve been told.”

Simons redundantly proves his worth as headtailor when Harry finds a box waiting for him upon return. It’s a second tie, a clone of the one he’d garroted the Russian with.

Let’s do hope this one lasts longer than a day, sir, says the note enclosed. Fondly, -S.

Harry smiles. He’s not sure he can promise it won’t be a habit.

Then again, he’ll be here quite long enough to find out.

Debriefs, so they’re told, typically take place in the dining room. Today, in deference to Arthur’s health, they report to the infirmary instead. An unconscious Lamorak nurses his concussion in the bed adjacent, monitors beeping steadily that all else is well, while Arthur sits upright in his own, setting aside an empty cup of applesauce on his bedside tray.

“Two bloody hours,” he says. “Two bloody hours, and the two of you have already managed to completely defy every convention of order upon which the Kingsman operation depends.”

Standing at attention before him, arms folded behind their backs, Harry and Hamish trade a glance. This can’t possibly be a reprimand, don’t you think?

Arthur smiles. “Bravo.”

Ah, there, you see? I didn’t think so either.

Their new boss looks to Hamish first. “Merlin.” Harry is aware without looking of his friend’s immediate snap in posture, no matter how straight it already was. “I am quite impressed with your conduct this morning. Both in my own assistance and the navigation of Galahad’s mission. Three people are alive today because of your quick work. That’s something to be very proud of.”

He is. Harry can tell. He steals a peek, and the quiet way it radiates from him is unmistakable. It might be the most chuffed he’s been in his lifetime. It’s good to see.

“Thank you, sir.”

Your aunt would be proud as well, he thinks, making a mental note to tell him later.

Then Arthur’s focus is on him. “Agent Galahad.” He straightens extra in the same way, defiant of his injuries with pride. “You saw to the completion of your fellow agent’s objective, despite all reason to the contrary, and eliminated no fewer than a dozen immediate threats to not only national security, but the continued peace of the developed world. I had a feeling you were going to be a pain in my arse, frankly, and that you may yet turn out to be… But you should know that you have proven yourself more a Kingsman than any who’ve come before you.”

It’s more than he anticipated. More than he ever could’ve dreamt. He hopes the brimming of his eyes won’t be held against him.

“Thank you, sir,” he somehow manages at an audible volume. “I’m honored.”

You can’t possibly know how much.

Arthur levels his best authoritative gaze on them both. “Now. Since you’ve proven yourselves so capable, rest up. Tomorrow you’re to meet me in the dining room at oh-nine-hundred sharp. We will discuss your next assignment.”

Breaking into an insuppressible grin, Harry looks at Hamish, finding him returning the same.

Here goes the rest of our lives.

“Fall out.”

#Kingsman #Harry Hart #Agent Merlin #Kingsman: The Secret Service #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #fanfic #oh look Aud did a thing

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dukereviewstv · 5 years ago

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Duke Reviews TV: Smallville 1x13 Kinetic

Hi, Everyone, I'm Andrew Leduc And Welcome To Duke Reviews TV Where We Are Continuing Our Look At Smallville By Talking About Episode 13 Of Season 1, Kinetic...

This Episode Sees Whitney, Falling Into A Bad Crowd After He Loses His Football Scholarship. Given Tattoos That Give Them The Ability To Walk Through Walls, They Put Chloe In The Hospital And Blackmail Lex. Will Whitney Be Able To Get Out Of This With The Help Of Clark And Lana?...

Let's Find Out As We Watch Kinetic...

The Episode Starts At The Luthor Mansion Where Lex Is Doing An Interview With Chloe While Clark Films It But When Lex Gets A Phone Call From Lionel, Lex Makes An Abrupt Exit Leaving Chloe And Clark Waiting...

But While They Look Around The Mansion, 3 Burglars Appear To Go Through Lex's Vault And I Mean Through Lex's Vault Like They Literally Walk Through The Wall And Into Lex's Vault...

Honestly, Why Does Lex Not Have A Security System In Place Whenever He's Not In The Vault?, That's Just Stupid Especially For Lex Luthor...

Taking Whatever They Want From The Vault, They Eventually Find A Red Disk And Decide To Take It With Them, But In Leaving The Vault, They're Discovered By Clark And Chloe, Who Have Returned To The Library Of The Mansion To Discover Their Money Bags...

With The Crooks Grabbing Clark (Who's Unable To Due Anything Due To The Crooks Kryptonite Tattoos) He Tells Chloe To Run Which She Does But Unfortunately She Gets Caught By One Of The Crooks Who Tosses Her Out Of A Window...

Hanging On By A Thread...

The Crooks Leave With Their Loot So Clark Can Go Rescue Chloe But He Arrives Too Late As Chloe Falls To Her Death...

Yeah, She's Dead...From A Fall That High You Are Deader Than Dead And Any Chance To Save You Would Be No Less Than A Miracle...

The Next Day At The Hospital, We See That Chloe's Alive?!? HI, How Is She Alive After That Fall!?!

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(Start At 0:24, End At 0:37)

Broken Arm And Concussion, My Ass?!? Unless The Best Doctor In Metropolis Is God No Doctor On Earth Could Possibly Help Her, She Is Dead, Plain And Simple, She Has Kicked The Bucket, She's Shuffled Off The Mortal Coil, Run Down The Curtain And Joined The Fricken Choir Invisible! THIS SHOULD BE AN EX-PERSON!

With Clark Blaming Himself For What Happened To Chloe, Lex Tells Him Not To As He Explains That These Crooks Have Hit Places All Over The County, Getting In And Out Of Places Without Breaking A Single Lock, They Even Tried Breaking Into The Smallville Savings And Loan But The Alarm System Went Off...

Not Hearing About That Robbery, Lex Tells Clark That The Banks Don't Publicize When They've Been Robbed As It's Bad For Their Image...

Asking If The Police Can Trace The Stuff They Stole From Lex, He Tells Clark That Nothing Was Stolen, Despite Clark Knowing That They Had 2 Bags That Were Filled But Saying That All That Matters Now Is Finding Them And When Lex Does He Tells Clark That He'll Deal With It Accordingly...

Meaning...

Running Into Whitney Outside Of Her Aunt's Shop, She Asks Whitney Why She Didn't Meet Him At The Hospital Only For Him To Tell Her That He Forgot...

Noticing Something Wrong In His Tone, Lana Asks Whitney If Something Is Wrong And If It Involves His Dad To Which Whitney Blows Her Off By Saying That He's Got To Do Inventory At His Dad's Store...

Karate Chopping Wood To Let Off Some Steam...

Jonathan And Martha Tell Clark The Same Thing Everyone Else Has Told Him And That Becoming An Adult Means Learning A Lot Of Hard Lessons One Being That You Can't Save Everyone No Matter Who You Are...

Telling Them About Feeling The Same Effect As The Meteor Rocks But He Just Didnt Know Where It Was Coming From, This Leads Them To Suggest That Clark Go Out And Discover What He Can Instead Of Feeling Sorry For Himself By Karate Chopping Wood...

Oh, I'm Sorry According To Martha Here, I Played The Wrong Song When Clark Was Karate Chopping Wood Instead It Should Apparently Be This...

Packing Up Inside The Talon, Aunt Nell Asks Lana About Her Sudden Interest In The Talon Which Leads Me To Show This Clip From The Last Episode...

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(Start At 0:28, End At 1:00)

But Nell Tells Lana That One Screen Can't Compete With A Multiplex And The Fact That Nell Wants To Be Able To Send Lana To Any College She Wishes...

However, Not Willing To Give Up So Easily, Lana Asks Who The New Owner Is So She Could Possibly Convince Them To Renovate, Telling Lana That It's Lex, Lana Realizes That She Might Have An Opportunity Since They're Friends...

Going To The Smallville Savings And Loan With Pete As The Criminals Tried To Hit There, Clark X-Rays The Vault To Discover An Arm Inside Of The Vault Door...

Meanwhile At The Criminals HQ, Their Leader, Wade, Looks For News About The Robbery But Unfortunately, There's Nothing On Any News Channels About It To Which Another Member, Scott Believes That Lex Hasn't Reported It Because He Doesn't Miss It As Even Though They Took Stuff He's Still Rich To The Point He Even Compares Him With Scrooge McDuck Saying That He Probably Has A Pit Full Of Money That He Probably Swims In...

Only Problem Is If They Had Stuck Around They Would Have Ended Up Dead As The Energy From The Tatoos Only Lasts For Short Periods And What's Worse They're Dying From It...

Believing They Need New Meat To Keep Their Dream Alive. They Eventually Figure Out Why Lex Didn't File A Report With The Police, Turns Out Lex Has Hacked Into Daddy Lionel's Computer, So, Paying Lex A Visit, They Want...

From Lex And Mention That If He Tells Anyone About This, They'll Upload The Disc To The Internet. Handing Lex A Mobile Phone, They Leave...

Running Into Whitney At His Dad's Store, Clark Like Lana Knows That Something Is Wrong With Whitney Which Leads Whitney To Tell Clark That He Lost His Scholarship...

But While Talking With Whitney, Scott Interrupts Asking Whitney If Some Shoes They Sell Come In A Size 12. With Clark Noticing Scott's Tattoos He's Like (Like Biff Tannen) What're You Looking At, Butthead?...

Showing Scott Some Shoes, Whitney Runs Into Wade Who's An Avid Fan...

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(Start At 1:45, End At 2:26)

Inviting Whitney To A Party Tonight After He Closes Up, He Shows Up To Which Wade Gives Him A Tour And Offers Him The Chance To Join Them Saying That Guys Like Them Have To Stick Together...

That's Evangeline Lilly, Wade Is Kissing After Taking A Shot, The Way I See This Is That This Is Hope Van Dyne In Her Rebellious Teenage Years Before She Became The Wasp Or Her And Ant-Man Are Involved In An Undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. Operation Involving These Guys...

Well, A Guy Has To Try To At Least Get Marvel And DC To Work Together In Peace Instead Of Fighting Like Children Over Whose Films Are Better To Which Marvel Wins By A Infinity Gauntlet Snap...

Showing Whitney To A Back Room, He's Not Exactly Interested In Getting A Tattoo...

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(Start At 1:03)

The Next Day, Chloe Is Awake At The Hospital (Don't See How Since...But I Digress) And Clark Goes To Visit Her Where She Notices All The Flowers She Got Including The Ones From Lex That Make Her Feel Like She Won The Kentucky Derby...

Asking If She Remembers Anything, Chloe Mentions The Tattoo Of An Octagon To Which Clark Tells Her To Sit Tight While He Does Some Digging...

Meanwhile At The Talon, Lana Tries To Convince Lex Not To Bulldoze The Talon Into A Parking Lot But Her Reasonings Aren't Good Enough To Change His Mind...

Talking To Whitney At His Dad's Store About Scott, He Tells Clark That He Doesn't Remember A Guy With Tattoo But When Clark Accidentally Hits Whitney's Tattoo, Clark Questions Him On It And Tells Him That If He's Involved With Them To Stay Away From Them...

But Unwilling To Take Advice From Clark, Since He Spends Most Of His Time Going After Lana, Whitney Tells Clark To Get Out...

Calling Lana On This, She Tells Clark That When She Asked What Was Going On, Whitney Told Her That He Went Out With Some New Friends Yesterday, Blowing Off Some Steam And When She Confronted Him On It He Got Mad At Lana The Same Way He Did At Clark, So, She Decided To Back Off...

This Leads Clark To Tell Her About Whitney's Scholarship (Even Though It's Not Really His Place To Tell Her, But When The Girl Of Dream's Boyfriend Goes Cuckoo, All Bets Are Off) Searching The Torch, Clark Finds Yearbook Pictures Of Whitney's New Friends...

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(Start At 2:00, End At 2:39)

Telling Clark About What Happened With Lex, He Suggests That What Lex Said To Lana Wasn't More Of A Rejection But A Challenge To Give Him More Of A Business Reasoning Like He Wants And Less Of An Emotional One...

Closing Up His Dad's Store, Whitney Goes With Wade, Scott And Derek For A Little "Fun", And By Fun Wade Means Meeting Lex To Make The Exchange...

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(Start At 1:10, End At 2:37)

Taking Whitney Back To Their Base, Whitney Tells The Others That He Didn't Join Them To Kill People, With Wade Believing Whitney Wants Out, Whitney Lies Telling Them That That's Not The Case He Just Doesn't Think That Lex Is An Idiot To Which Wade Tells Whitney Not To Worry About Lex As He Has The Fear Of God In Him...

Standing Up For Whitney, By Telling The Other Members That It Was Basically Just A Case Of The Jitters, Wade Tells Whitney To Not Screw Up Again Or Else...

Asking What Lex Was Doing With Those Guys, He Partially Tells Clark The Truth, By Saying That They Blackmailed Him For Money In Exchange For Confidential Luthorcorp Information...

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(Start At 2:15, End At 2:36)

Yeah And You're My First One, Buddy, Congratulations...

Wondering What Lex's Next Move Is Going To Be, He Tells Clark Not To Worry Because They'll Soon Discover That No One Robs From Lex Luthor...

Asking About Whitney, Lex Tells Clark That It Depends On What Side He's On...

The Next Day At The Hospital, Pete Visits To Give Chloe Her Laptop Computer, Which Even Clark Knows Is A Bad Idea As Chloe Should Be Resting (Six Feet Under) But Tired Of Rest, She Asks Clark To Let Her Do This And To Not Cut Her Out...

Asking What She Has, She Comes Up With The Theory That The Meteor Rock Tattoos Are Speeding Up Their Metabolism Making Their Molecules Move At Hyper Speed, Causing Them To (In SpeedForce Terms) Vibrate Through The Wall...

Comparing It To An Ultimate Rush, Chloe Points Out That One Or Another It's Not Good For Them Either As Their Bodies Can't Handle The Stress For Long Which Explains Why They're Dying...

Confronting Lana At The Talon, Whitney Tells Her Everything As For The First Time In His Life, He's Scared...

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(Start At 1:53, End At 2:29)

Taking Clark Into The Gang's Loft To Find It Empty, Clark Finds The Disc Using His X-Ray Vision, But Unfortunately Wade And His Crew Return Where Wade Is Like...

So, Having His Boys Grab Whitney, Wade Tells Clark To Give Him Back The Disc To Which Clark Turns It Into Dust So, Wade Puts His Hand Into Clark's Chest To Cause Him Pain Even Though Again, It Should Kill Him...

I Mean If The Reverse Flash Can Phase His Hand Into Cisco Ramon To Kill Him, Then That Should Kill Clark In The Same Way It Killed Cisco...

But With Clark Surviving, They Leave Derek To Guard Him, Only For Lex To Use A Taser On Derek To Stun Him...

At Least He Didn't Do It The Selina Kyle Way...

And All I Can Say About That Guy Is That He's Getting A Lot More Cowbell In Hell...

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(Start At 2:15, End At 3:05)

Now....Life....Has Killed The Dream I Dreamed...

With Derek And Scott Arrested By The Cops, Lex Tells The Police That They Broke Into Lex's House And Both Whitney And Clark Figured It Out And Tried To Be Heroes. But Before Scott And Derek Pull Away In Their Police Car, Lex Tells Them That If They Keep His Secret, He'll Keep There's And If They Don't They'll Find Out That They're Not The Ones That Can Phase Through Walls...

Later That Evening, Chloe Is Released From The Hospital While Lana Gives Her New Proposal To Lex...

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(Start At 1:25, End At 2:30)

And That's Kinetic And Despite My Complaints That 2 People Should Have Died In This Episode, It's An Okay Episode...

Yes, It Has It's Flaws And It Makes Feel Happy That I Don't Have Any Tattoos But While The Story Was Okay, The Characters Were Decently Written And The Episode Sees Lana And Lex Becoming Partners In The Talon So That Sees Progress In A Storyline So,I Guess I Say See It Just Don't Go Swearing On Your Tattoo That You'll Get A Good Episode...

Till Next Time, This Is Duke, Signing Off...

#smallville #the wb #the cw #tom welling #kristen kreuk #michael rosenbaum #tv reviews #television #arrowverse #dc comics #superman

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whifferdills · 8 years ago

Text

"Landscape With the Fall of Icarus" Braxiatel and his brother. Gen, with some background Brax/OFC and Brax/Romana. ~3k words.

alternately read on the Ao3

"It's from the war to come," Arkadian says, grinning wolfishly. "Or so my source says. You know how tricky provenance can be. But it's got a certain...something. Don't you agree?"

The Council is dispersing. Braxiatel tries very hard to ignore the reporter who's been hounding him (and everyone else) since the referendum had passed. Mostly just him and the other aides and assistants and advisors, though. He wills himself to vanish into the crowd. Eyes averted, a swift gait. No joy. He grits his teeth as Atrade scampers to catch up with him.

"Braxiatel. I heard a rumor."

"Yes?" He draws the syllable out, like he could put all the needed nonchalance into it. He fails.

"About your career change. Tell me-"

"Still a tutor and an advisor to Vansell, Atrade."

"-All the details. Open up, you can trust me. I'm one of your closest friends and colleagues. I am a trustworthy individual." Atrade slings an arm around Braxiatel's shoulders.

Brax shrugs him off. "Patently untrue. You're a snake in the grass. You've told me so yourself."

"Right. So. Yes, I understand your qualms about consorting with the enemy, the enemy in your case being any sort of investigative body, especially one which examines the various timelines for criminal manipulation. I feel your anxiety on this matter. But. Braxiatel."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"They're calling you the Deadagogue. I made that up, they're not really calling you that. But the CIA grunts, believe me, the halls of Old Tranley are buzzing with the news. An assassin being called, for one."

"Atrade-"

"Which hasn't happened for decades. And for two, that it's an assistant lecturer. Brother of famed muckraker. As the hidden hand of Rassilon. You are aware the job involves killing people, yes?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Brax stares straight ahead.

There is an opening: an express elevator down to the street, a path through the throng. He takes it.

(His brother is not the only one in their family who knows how to run away from their problems.)

The pouch comes skidding under his office door half past seven the next morning. The messenger's gone by the time he thinks to check, and the surveillance files will be deleted when he checks those. It's an object divorced from cause and effect. Lying there on the carpeted floor of his office, innocent as anything.

Department of Internal Security. Eyes only, read and burn, a blue square to put his thumbprint on. Inside is, predictably enough, a staser with the serial numbers filed off and the track/lock mechanism not there at all, and a disposable file card. A thumbprint to open that too, and here he is, squinting down at a tiny screen scrolling information on his first job. What's the Earth expression? A hit.

A date, time and place, a series of precautions and general instructions, and he knows what's about to happen before he even gets to the name. Which, there it is. The full dossier like he doesn't know, like his brother is a stranger. Twelve pages of details, known associates, statistically likely actions, past attempts at flight. Access codes for the Oubliette.

The Council is dispersing. He assumes Atrade will be there, and picks his pace up accordingly.

"So I was right," Atrade says, breathing hard as he struggles to keep up.

"Unlikely."

"I have proof that you've been working with the CIA, in a - a less than above-board fashion. And who you've been tasked with...following."

Braxiatel stops short, stuck calmly in one spot as Atrade tumbles forward.

"You have nothing," he says quietly.

"I have - I have more than nothing. I've enough."

"You have nothing. And even if you did - so what? Do you really think you could do anything? Change anything for the better? What happens is what happens, Atrade."

Still regulating his breath, re-adjusting his robes. Composing himself. "Forget the - the everything else. Just. Baseline, in terms of morals, in terms of family. Regardless of whatever is actually happening, something is happening with You Know Who. And surely, there's something you can change there for the better."

"I'm not my brother's keeper," Braxiatel says.

"Talk to him."

"There's no talking to him. He's unreachable. He does what he does."

"Talk to him. Or, the next thing is-" Atrade looks to the ceiling and then to the floor and then delicately massages the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "You know what happens."

"Exile. Do I look like I care?"

"Not - not exile." He pauses, holds his hands up like he's conducting an orchestra. "Braxiatel. They don't want him exiled. I know this, you know this. They want you to take care of him. Is this making sense yet."

"They want me to talk to him." He knows, he knows. He knows what he's been asked to do.

"They want you to take care of the problem. I'm saying, talk to him first. For your sake."

“I’ll see what I can do,” Brax says. He smiles politely, and makes his exit.

Brax had long ago realized he was looking for something without knowing precisely what it was. The act of acquisition in and of itself seemed necessary, the gathering of things, a series of transactions. He was looking for something and at a certain point had bid on a lot, a random thing, had put up his hand without paying attention. The casual escalation of price, the opposing bidder warring with red face and urgent mobile-phone communications, Brax feeling a sort of perverse determination to win simply so the other man would lose.

He'd smiled the affable no-hard-feelings smile at the final gavel, the gentleman's battlefield smile, and went to collect his ticket. The other man vibrating with frustration as Brax swept past him to the auctioneer, the seller unconcerned with the small dramas of loss and desire, handing him the key to a storage locker and a thick black binder of documentation. Which, opening it, Brax discovered he'd just bought a collection of antique weapons. Sometimes he thought it didn't matter what he was looking for. It's the search, maybe.

And in the locker, located deep in a self-store warehouse, the emerging cloud of must and old gunpowder, gun oil, wood and steel and pearl inlay, a history of fetishized violence, someone else's nostalgia, another search for meaning in manufactured objects. The safety release, the spark and shot. The boyhood fantasy acted out with capguns in treehouses or back alleys, the peculiar human fascination, war games, cops and robbers, grown up into a man's dissatisfaction and impotence. A locker filled with weapons that hadn't been used for centuries. He'd lifted each one from its custom-built display, continually suprised by the weight, how his wrists and forearms were unequal to the task of aiming. Look down the sight, feel the spring-resistance of the trigger. Imagine the brutality of propelled metal ripping through flesh and bone.

The other man so desperate, so invested, that he refused to meet Brax's eyes. Spooling out his life's savings for this. A foreign compulsion, an alien culture's shared dream of power. Imagine arterial spray, imagine the recoil insistent against your shoulder. The lovingly cared-for Winchester '73.

Gallifreyan weapons, he's discovered, are plastic and fully automated. No moving parts. The staser feels like nothing in his hands. The staser feels like a toy. Wide-spray burns and precise holes. He practices in the Chancellery Guard firing range, after hours. He shoots at holograms. The electric pop and whine, the light beam. He figures he should at least know enough to be able to miss.

Arkadian is smiling broadly, falsely.

Brax grimaces back distastefully. "Let's make this swift, shall we?"

"Why rush? Some things deserve a bit of pomp and circumstance." Arkadian leans back and props his feet on the edge of the desk.

Today is not a day in which Braxiatel will kill someone. It is not. "Some things. Not whatever tat you're trying to pawn off on me. Do you know how many people try to sell me war memorabilia? And do you know how much of it is worth the blood on their hands? I'll give you a hint: you're looking for a number smaller than one."

"Sadly, there will always be those who attempt to profit from the suffering of others. I understand your trepidation."

"Do you?" Braxiatel asks. "Time may have passed, and we are neither of us the men we were, but you must know I cannot trust you. I'm not a very trusting man as a general rule, but you, well."

"I'm a con man and a thief. There's no need to mince words, not now. But you're a collector, and I, for all my many faults, am in possession of one of the finest, rarest artifacts this universe has to offer." Arkadian reaches into his ticket pocket and produced a small red bundle. "I'll let it do the talking," he says, and hands it to Braxiatel.

"Let me guess, you found it in your dear departed grandfather's attic," Braxiatel murmurs. He gingerly pulls the fabric apart, spreads the handkerchief flat on the desk. In the middle is - a medallion? A monocle? A black disc, mirrored, maybe two inches in diameter, ringed in silver. He feels the most curious sensation, as if the thing is inviting him in, asking him to keep it. He feels suddenly, obscurely, possessive.

"It's from the war to come," Arkadian says, grinning wolfishly. "Or so my source says. You know how tricky provenance can be. But it's got a certain...something. Don't you agree?"

His brother is defiantly old. His brother is frail and slow-moving, clinging onto his body like he's afraid he's wasted it. His brother, teetering on the edge of regeneration, has decided that now is the right time to run away.

The staser is in his pocket. The disc is in his other pocket. This is a fixed point. This has always happened, he thinks. The disc pulses in response.

His brother is playing at senility to make it past the guards. His brother's granddaughter is trailing close behind, smiling winningly, making excuses, carrying a pocketbook that probably holds all their worldly belongings. Wanderlust skipped a generation: her mother is still at work, sitting behind the same desk she's always had, processing the same paperwork. Her mother has committed a sin her grandfather cannot forgive, has failed him in some obscure way.

Susan, leaving everything behind, and she doesn't know that the man she's following must necessarily leave her. You can't take home with you when you go. Susan picking up the hem of her robes. Susan laughing like this is the most wonderful adventure. He's got a staser in his pocket and he's wondering what would happen if he actually went through with this. He won't, of course; he can't. This is his brother and grandniece, this is blood kin, Lungbarrow sitting silent and ancient in their hearts.

His brother playing the doddering fool. Still, the guards will catch on soon enough. Brax steps in.

"Oh, it's you," his brother says. "I don't have time for you right now. Perhaps later."

He takes a deep breath. "If you don't let me help you, you'll be dead within the span."

"Dead? Me? No no no. You must be mistaken. I'm perfectly healthy."

"Listen. For once. Listen. You know they won't let you out of here alive. Take a TARDIS from the bay and they'll recall you before you make the vortex. You've been planning this for centuries and you still haven't thought this through. Listen to me. There's an assassin-" He stops, thinks, plows on. "There's an assassin coming. You'll be wiped from history. She'll be wiped from history. If you don't pay attention and for once do what I say."

There's a bright, hard intelligence buried somewhere beneath the pretense. His brother hooks his thumbs around his braces and leans back. "If you have a suggestion. Potentially I'd follow it. Not that I am, of course, in the habit of committing crimes. I'm simply going for a walk."

"Transmat to the museum. The ships are unregistered and no one watches the security video. Take a TARDIS and leave. I'll hold them off for as long as I can. And."

"Yes?"

"Don't come back."

His brother smiles. "A trip to the museum sounds lovely. Susan? Would you enjoy a little educational diversion?"

Susan grinning and bouncing on the heels of her feet, like what fun this all is. "That would be wonderful, Grandfather. I do so love the dioramas."

"And the interactive displays, musn't forget those. Til we meet again, Braxiatel." He doffs his cap then dashes off, going faster than any decrepit old man has the right to go, Susan in tow.

"Which will be never," Brax calls out, but he's already disappeared down a corridor.

There's a matter to attend to. A death has been contracted, and there's a balance to these things: if his brother lives, then someone else can't.

His brother is a rapidly fading memory. His brother is in a tin can with faltering circuits, plunging into the unknown. His idiot brother, and there's a tiny part of him that's envious.

There is a woman in the foyer of the Collection. A beautiful woman, and a strange one, and a quietly powerful one. Brax slips a hand into his pocket and strokes the edge of the disc. It's warmer than usual, or maybe that's just his imagination.

She says her name is Sophia (no surname), which is most likely a lie, but that's fine with him; he wasn't born Irving, after all. She says Sophia, charmed to meet you and holds out her hand, not sideways for a shake or palm up as a gesture of openness but palm down, fingers bent, to be taken gently and kissed. He obliges, as there are few things in life he enjoys more than being a gentleman in the classical sense. Mr. Braxiatel of the pocket squares and doffed hat.

Sophia sells paintings. The provenance is iffy but the quality is undeniable, and he isn't above acquiring stolen goods.

"I've sent you our full catalogue," she says as they meander deeper into the halls of the Collection, their hands almost but not quite touching. "Though you strike me as the sort of man who knows what he wants."

He watches her out of the corner of his eye. "A reasonable assessment," he says.

He kisses her in the greenhouse and then fucks her in the Antiquities Wing. History, history. The disc burns red-hot through the silk lining of his coat as he slips it off.

She moans a name out, but it isn't his. In the morning, they strike a reasonable deal. He saves her contact information and blows a kiss as she leaves.

(The painting arrives swiftly and discreetly, wrapped in brown paper. Two men and a robot unload it off the clipper. He has them leave it by the stairs - he can take care of the installation, thank you.

And they leave, and it's silent again, and he slowly tears the paper off. Yves Klein, IKB 191. The bluest blue. He spends the rest of the day staring at it, an armchair pulled up and a clock, somewhere, ticking.)

Time passes, history happens. Braxiatel falls through the world and the disc falls with him. He stands up and dusts himself off. He can feel the disc, can sense it - not pulsing, now, but tugging. Back to where he came from.

From the war, Arkadian had said. The war to come.

"So let it," Brax says to a startled-looking bird. "It's not my concern anymore."

He lives here, he lives here. He garrotes himself with piano wire and watches himself die and neatly disposes of the remains. He lives here, now. The Collection is almost exactly as he left it. IKB 191 hangs high in the foyer, looming down at him.

There's a woman in his bed and she is beautiful. She says her name is Sofya, and if that's a lie he cannot judge her for it. Nor can he judge her for not being someone else, though part of him would like to - would hold her up to an ideal.

One of his hearts with Sophia and the other with...well. Everyone makes compromises, don't they, Madame President?

He won't judge Sofya for those things but he will judge her for the lie that arrived, vacuum-sealed, off the clipper three mornings ago. He will judge her for thinking so little of him to assume he wouldn't notice.

"It's a fake," he says quietly, the words pressed into the skin of her neck. "You've never tried to sell me a fake before."

"It's not a digital copy, if that's what you mean."

"It's not a Bruegel. That's what I mean." He'd meant to remain calm, stay detached and almost amused, but he finds himself becoming angry, like this was a trust that has been betrayed, like there'd been an intrusion into not just the Collection's system but himself. A 'how dare you' wavering gauche and banal at the back of his mind.

"Does it move you less now that you know it's a forgery?" Sofya rolls over and props herself up on her elbows, hands tucked beneath her chin. She has a look on her face like this has been a test and he's just failed. "Does its power and beauty diminish? The market value does, of course. Nobody wants an anonymous painting. But the painting itself."

"This is a museum, not a charity shop. I'm not in the business of exhibiting paint-by-numbers."

"The painting itself should exist outside all your machines and experts and auctions."

"It doesn't. I don't." He stares up at the ceiling, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound terribly bourgeois.

"So lie," she says. "It took you long enough to figure it out. No one else will care, they'll believe you."

"I can't lie to myself."

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, you can. You're excellent at it. And besides, even if you can't, or won't, does it matter? Does a person's name mean that much? Are you collecting art or brands, is I suppose the question."

His suit jacket hung up neatly by the closet. The disc in the suit pocket. The war on the other side. He can hear it, nearly. Can feel it tugging at the space between his hearts.

"I collect moments," he says, turning back towards her. "Of which this is certainly one." He's not the only brother who knows how to run away.

She smiles, teeth bright white in the dim lighting, and she kisses him. Above them, in the forgery hung high on the wall, the laborer toils unaware as Icarus falls into the sea.

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zombierunfiction · 8 years ago

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Season 1 Mission 12: Alternates

The next morning bright and early Charlotte was woken up by Maxine who asked for a private meeting with her after breakfast. Charlotte had a quick shower and tied her hair back into a low ponytail and threw on a green t-shirt and black jacket with black pants and tennis shoes. She walked over to the hospital where Maxine was shakingly checking on a new person before letting another person take over. She quickly led Charlotte out of the hospital and took her behind the building.

"I'm sorry to pull you away so abruptly but I had to speak with you privately." She says running her hand through her short black hair.

Charlotte shook her head. "It's no problem Dr. Myers."

"Maxine. You can call me Maxine."

"Alright then Maxine. So what's going on?" Charlotte asked softly.

"That box you brought back... with my name on it. It had papers from Paula and everything but... it also had a CD with it. The only place in Abel where I can listen to it is in Sam's comms room." Maxine said still shaking somewhat.

"And Janine doesn't want you to waste the fuel to run the generator just to hear your lovers death? Such a heart she has." Charlotte says sarcasticly. "We could play it for a run." She suggests.

"Oh would you? It would mean a great deal to me." Maxine asked taking Charlotte's hand. "It wouldn't be a bad run just something simple."

"No problem Maxine. I know how important that disc is. Let me get my pack and stuff ready." Charlotte said holding her hands gently.

Maxine smiles and hugs Charlotte tight before rushing off. Charlotte walked over to the packs getting one ready before grabbing her headset and ax. She walked over to the coms shack where Sam had on a blue sweat shirt showing Maxine how to work the machine.

"Hey Char. Thanks for this. I had already offered my coms shack but I didn't know if you would be okay with doing this." Sam said as Charlotte planted a kiss to his cheek.

"Hey this is important. Besides I would want to hear Amir's last words even if their bad." Charlotte said as Sam nodded.

Sam shut the door as Charlotte got ready. Once the gate was opened Charlotte took off.

"So... can we, uh..." Maxine said softly.

"Yeah, yup, it's fine. I'll tell them... well, how long do you think you'll need?" Sam asked.

"Just a normal run should be fine." Maxine said softly.

"I'll tell them it's a meds run. I know you guys are okay for supplies for the moment but I'll say you're running low on, um... cotton balls? Strepsils? Condoms?" Sam suggested making Charlotte laugh at the last one.

"Tell them we're running low on penicilin alternates for people with allergies. It's true, anyway." Maxine said as Charlotte nodded running towards an area that she knew would have some of the supplies.

"Okay. So, then... my corrugated iron shack is yours for as long as it takes. And, uh... call if you need me!" Sam says reassuringly.

"I'll be fine." Maxine says shackingly.

"If I could find a way to let you use the equipment completely alone-" Sam says softly.

"I know! But it's okay. Runner five could have died retrieving that box. It's why I asked her to do this for me. If anyone deserves to know what's in it, you do Five. As I told you Five, amongst some research notes and samples, Paula left me an audio recording, and um, I'm gonna play it now for both of us." The sound of the door shutting is heard as machines whurl to live. "It still surprises me she made a CD. A CD! Like it was 1998." She said laughing slightly. "I guess she thought I'd be more likely to find somethin gto play it on... or that rain wouldn't damage it, like if she'd left me an iPod? Or maybe she wanted her iPod." She breathes deeply. "Okay, I can do it, I can do this..." The sound of the CD being inserted is heard. "Here we go."

There was a small amount of static before a soft husky voice appears. "Hello, sweetheart." The feminine voice said as Maxine's breathing hitched as the voice continued to speak. "If you are my sweetheart, that is. I suppose anyone could be listening to this, but I'm choosing to put that thought out of my mind. This is for my Maxie." She says softly as Charlotte continued to run not wanting to interrupt this for Maxine. "Because the phones have stopped working, and I need to believe you're still alive, and that you'll hear this, one day." She took a deep breath. "I love you. And I had to tell you, darling, best one. I want to imagine that I'm telling you what I saw, because when I imagine that I'm talking to you, I can feel your arms around my shoulders, and that makes it easier. I know you wouldn't judge me, or panic. And you... you've always been able to calm me down when I felt afraid." There was a pause as Paula's voice lowers. "I'm so afraid Maxie... I'm just so scared! I think... Oh, Maxie, I think I know who patient zero was!" She whispers.

"Patient zero..." Charlotte said. "Isn't that the term givin to the person or thing that starts an outbreak?"

Maxine sniffled. "Yes... the first person infected with the virus that starts the domino effect."

"I'm just going to try and tell you exactly how it was, okay?" Suddenly Paula's voice changes into an accented different from her normal American one. "Just the facts, ma'am!" She changes back. "We were working on something, and well I don't even know how to begin to explain it. If you're Maxie listening to this, you'll know what it was already. And if no, well, you're looking for the research notes on VS-72 in the secure facility on Tessandori Street, and... well, I don't know how you'd ever get in there, and there are only about 15 people in the world who can understand those notes anyway, but, well... if uh... Professor Van Ark is still alive, you can try taking it to him. Or there's Hubner, who I think is in Milan..." Paula laughs softly. "Can't say I'm holding out hope. If you find it all, Maxie you've probably got a better chance that most of working out what went wrong." Paula says softly as Maxine whimpers letting out a soft sob.

Charlotte got to the old warehouse and started to pack up as much penicilin alternates as she could find. "You ok Maxine?" She asked. Maxine whimpers a soft yes as Paula continues.

"We were working on VS-72, which we thought- I know it sounds crazy, but you know I'm not- we thought we might help people. Really change the world, really make things better! It was suppouse to... it was about cell regeneration. Like, making people heal more quickly, that was the aim. We'd been working toward it for more than ten years, and the first trials in rats were amazing. Beyond what we'd hoped. We saw more total limb regeneration! In adult rats! It was... well, we thought we'd win the Nobel Prize!" Paula said exciteably before the sound of the fence rattling in the background. "We think they're going to get in soon, the... people! The walking dead! We used to have soldiers here guarding us, but they've been picked off one by one." Paula's voice hitches. "God, I miss you so much rightnow. I want to be able to talk to you because I think, together, we'd work out what to do, and... I miss snuggling up next to you! Holding you. I miss you arms around me Maxine." Maxine started crying hard as Charlotte felt her heart breaking at how sad Paula sounded, not to mention how torn up Maxine sounded. "I miss the way you smell... I'm starting to think I'll never see you again." Paula starts to cry as well when the recording stopped.

"I'm sorry, I... I need to take a break." Maxine said as she sniffled.

"Go ahead. I'm fine out here. No zombies for miles." Charlotte said as she zipped up her bag and ran to another room keeping an ear out for zombies that she knew could show up at any time. She was rifling through one of the filing cabinets finding a bottle of untouched whiskey. "Jackpot!" She quickly stashed it into the bag.

"Ok... I'm back." Maxine says sniffling. "I think I can keep going."

"If your sure. If it helps I just found a bottle of whiskey we can drown our sorrows in." Charlotte said encouragingly.

Maxine chuckles wetly before starting up the CD again. Paula's crying comes back full force. "We never meant any of this, Maxine, you know we didn't." She sniffled softly. "It was our first human trial of our 'wonder drug'. Just two weeks ago. It seemed like we were going to save the world! We injected 50 people with their first shot, no problems. Sent them all home. And the one man, Patient 29- his wife called. He'd started to run a fever. She broguht him in, we took a look. Seemed like nothing serious. We sent him home..." She whimpered softly. "God... we sent him home. She called again the next morning. Overnight, he'd... the fever spiked. She took him to hospital. He collapsed, and they thought he had died. And then he woke up and bit someone. We were so sure it had nothing to do with us. I mean... biting. Had to be rabies, maybe or mental health issues. We were so sure." She stressed as she breathed slowly. "Until it was too late, we were so sure it had nothing to do with us. But Maxine, this happened to only one patient out of 50! There must have been something about him. There must have been something different. But you need to find them. Patient 29. I never knew his name, it wasn't allowed. Patient 29. Go and look for Professor Van Ark's files at Tessandori. Find out what was different about him. It's the only way we can start to find out what's happened." Paula stressed more as gunshots rang out making Paula and Maxine both gasp. "Oh! It's okay... It's okay, they haven't broken through yet. But we think they will." Paula started to cry again. "Oh Maxine! I wish I was with you right now! I wish I could go on talking to you forever. But we're all taking a turn at recording a CD for someone in the hope that they'll find it, so I have to stop in a minute. I'll put this CD in a sample case with your name on it." Maxine starts crying again as Paula continues to talk. "We haven't got very far, but we've been trying to make a vaccine. There should be a way. If it were only VS-72, there could be a way to stop it. If you find it, maybe you'll succeed where we failed. We're going to fail. There isn't enough time." Paula pauses as she sniffled softly. "Maxine... this is all I really have to say: I love you... I love you, I love you!" She said with more conviction before her voice drops to a whisper. "I love you." The recording ends with a click as Maxine's cries become full sobs.

Charlotte took a moment to close her eyes and hope that Paula was alright and that this wouldn't be the last thing Maxine had to remember her love by. She opened her eyes fast when she heard the groans of the undead outside. "Maxine I know this is a bad time to ask but are there any zombies outside the warehouse a mile outside of Abel?"

Maxine sniffles looking at the cameras. "Theres 3 of them just outside of the warehouse." She says softly as the door opens in the coms shack.

"Knock knock! I uh... sorry, it's not the start of a joke. Actually, you're probably pleased it's not the start of one of my jokes. Just, there are people waiting to use the- oh..." Sam said as he closed the door behind him.

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine! Just give me a minute, I'll be fine..." Maxine said as she sniffled softly.

"Just a second." Sam said before the door opens again. "No you can't come in yet, there's been a- ugh, yeah, I've arsed up the equipment again, sorry! Yeah, yeah, yeah, sorry! Sorry. I'll sort it out. You'll have to come back in a little while though, okay?"

"No, no, it's okay, I can leave. It's okay, there's no reason to-" Maxine started before Sam turned to her shutting the door.

"They'll be back in a little while. You can take your time. Um... do you want me to leave you alone?" Sam asks as he sits down with her.

"No!" Maxine says before quieting down slightly. "Stay. I'm gonna play it again... Can you get Runner Five back to Abel?"

"Um... yeah, okay." Sam said restarting the CD as he switched to a seperate com with Charlotte.

The CD started again.

"Hello, sweetheart."

*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ < 12 >

Season 1 Beginning

#zombie #zombies run #zombiesrun #zombierunapp #run #runner 5 #runner five #runner5 #runnerfive #fanfiction #fanfic

2 notes · View notes

love-transparentstudentarca-blog · 7 years ago

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Milwaukee Wisconsin Cheap car insurance quotes zip 53214

"Milwaukee Wisconsin Cheap car insurance quotes zip 53214

Milwaukee Wisconsin Cheap car insurance quotes zip 53214

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://howmuchisinsurance.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr

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I had Gastric Bypass in May of this year. I am on unemployment and wanted to pay out of pocket for insurance because I have had complications. I applied but was denied because of the surgery in the past. I have searched for a job and nothing. Ive been with my Boyfriend for the past 4 months, but his insurance says something about domestic partnership but only after 12 months of living together. How can I get around this, I need health insurance. Anyone else have the same issues? Let me know I am confused here.""

Which insurance companies will have to pay to fix my car? Mine or the other guy?

I had a car accident two days ago. I was hit by other one but police said that's a miner damage. And it seems to be my fault. No police report make. Today, I went to a body shop to estimate the repair. It's about around $2200-3000. It's a lot. kinda scared me actually. No idea should i call my insurance company to tell them or? That's my first time to have a car accident. My insurance has $200 deductible. Can anyone tell me what does that mean?""

Vw Lupo S insurance group 1.4L?

What insurance group would a 1.4L Lupo be in. Also roughly what price would it be in that group. Im 17 and after a quote with no modifications.

Phoenix Auto Insurance?

Where can I get auto insurance in Phoenix? What do you recommend? I bought a car recently and I'd like to find a cheap way to insure it.

Cheapest auto insurance company?

Currently have Geico. paying close to 2k / year for auto insurance (full cover). Can anyone recommend a cheaper insurance company? I have 13 years of driving experience with clean record (not a single traffic violation or speeding ticket)

Motorcycle insurance for a 17 year old?

i Live in Texas and I'm gonna get a yamaha and it's a cruiser and has a 942cc engine, would my insurance be crazy exspensive or reasonable?""

How much is auto insurance for a minor?

I'm about to get my license, how much is it to add me (16) to my parents car insurance? Don't give me anything like, It's different for everyone. I know. Just tell me what you are paying, or what you used to pay.""

Do you have health insurance?

If you dont then why ?

Someone hit me and they cancelled their car insurance?

I was hit by a moving truck (chevy), while I was in a parking lot. My car was not moving at the time the truck hit me. He gave me his car insurance info and phone number. I tried calling his number and I reached a dead end. I started a claim through Farmers insurance and I got a call today saying the claim was cancelled, because the gentleman in question cancelled his insurance the day the accident took place. What do I do now?""

How much might my car insurance be?

I want to know how much would my car insurance be if im sixteen and im driving a 94 dodge stealth. I am also a guy. I know sports cars cost more to insure so could you please include the price of insurance for a normal car as well??? Located in Tampa, Florida Thanks for any help you can offer, -Kyle""

How do you find affordable medical insurance to cover family after the breadwinner becomes disabled?

How to make health insurance more affordable/cheaper?

can someone give me some sites to provide me with information? i have to do a problem-solution speech on economic change. sites with statistics are definitely desired.

What is the best insurance for a new driver in nyc?

I've been driving for 2 yrs now but got my license about 2 months ago. Im 21 and limited on cash. I need a cheap auto insurance because driving right now is essential with the MTA fare hike.

Milwaukee Wisconsin Cheap car insurance quotes zip 53214

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/auto-insurance-employer-jacob-andrews/"

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