#but stepping down as his handler and apparently cutting ties

[firebirdsdaughter]

Something I wish…

… Was that we had had a villain exclusive to Peter. Adler, Keller, James, Pratt, even Hagen and Rachel, their focus is on Neal, their connections are to Neal. Sure, we had Kramer, but he was more of an antagonist than an outright villain. Never tried to kill anyone, at least. Maybe if they hadn’t been cancelled they would have gotten around to it, but I’d’ve loved an arc villain who was more focused on Peter than Neal, or only focused on Neal bc of Peter. Some old case, some enemy from the past. Peter had a life outside for Neal, and he’s good, I’m sure he made some enemies of his own. Woulda been nice to have the plot flipped or even just have the target be Peter himself for once.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked. 

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins. 

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent. 

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[reddus-sideblog]

M.E.R.C.s - Tripwire

9-07-890 AR

The roar of motors further filled the disquiet darkness. The brisk fall night was already punctuated by the dull roar of clashing crowds and melees, but the sudden addition to the chorus of the uproarious hellsect was noticeable immediately. Mrs. Fortune hopped off the hood of the large van, readying her handheld radio as she took a few steps across the vast parking lot towards the sound of the approaching vehicles. They sounded distant, yet close, as though they were-

    She flicked on the radio, “Someone’s coming in through the canals. I’ll keep you updated.”

    “Right!” came the brief response of Orwell on the other side of the radio channel. His clipped acknowledgement was cut short by a muffled bang and something between a scream and a whinny. A powerful gunshot echoed across the sector to where the handler was standing, but the demonic beast’s screech was blending into the sounds of chaos that were all throughout the hellsect.

    “Who do you think it is? Feds?” asked the brunette catboy hanging out the van’s passenger window. He and the devilkin woman had been watching the van while the two androids and the human handled the rampant Hell creature. They were dressed to opposing standards, with the chimera wearing a loose t-shirt and thick house robe, while the devilkin woman was in her business suit and pencil skirt, topped off with her thick black shades and assortment of gold jewelry. However, over the course of the night, Mrs. Fortune’s usually fastidious appearance had been disintegrating from a mixture of stress, crying, and nervous tics emerging. On top of all of that her right eye was beginning to glow a sinister silver tone from behind her shades, as some trace of her Hellish blood became apparent from the stress of the night. 

    This whole business was bad. If the demonic creature on the loose was tied back to her it could ruin her chances at any future gambits, the last thing she needed now was attention and scrutiny on her.

    “Urgh, I don’t fucking know,” she eventually yelled back. Federal Police showing up was the absolute last thing she needed, but this hellsect was well outside of any federal jurisdiction’s care or control. It was one of the few things about this evening that wasn’t going to be a huge problem. If the MERCs could get rid of that damn Hell beast of her mother’s then she could walk away and wash her hands of this whole affair. Being the bastard daughter of a father in the Fortune Bio-Solutions noble line was troublesome enough, but having a demon for a mother only amplified how “interesting” her life got on a day-to-day basis.

    The handler stood at the edge of the embankment that looked down at the canals. The water was only a foot or two deep here, and the near end of the concrete-lined channel disappeared through an archway into the depths of Newland’s underground. The vehicles were approaching, and Mrs. Fortune’s skinny, arrow-tipped tail flicked in anxious anticipation. A pair of motorbikes, each bearing two riders, emerged from the tunnel first. At the end of the pack was a truck, laden down with a machine gun and a number of weapon-bearing combatants. More startling than that was the vaguely humanoid, truck-sized vehicle that was keeping pace with the convoy as they climbed the embankment and drove off into the hellsect proper. All of the vehicles were decorated in a light turquoise color scheme, accentuated by decorative, intricate banding of rusty red. She had no idea what kind of gang or group they belonged to, but she knew that they weren’t going to make her MERC’s lives any easier.

    She keyed the radio again, “Orwell, Rokusho, Mel, we’ve got incoming vehicles, they’ve got some kind of mechanoid with them too!”

***

Orwell stared at the radio headset’s mic in disbelief.

    He was coated in the still-slick, chrome blood of the equine hellbeast, and currently trying to catch his breath while not choking on the reek of the creature’s unearthly organs that were now strewn across the pavement. The white business shirt that he was wearing was beyond salvaging, and the anti-material rifle he was holding in one hand was feeling disconcertingly light. 

    “A... WHAT?!” he managed to choke out. The roaring of engines was getting closer.

    The young man was rapidly starting to feel out of his league. Going out in the middle of the night to an out of control hellsect to murder a creature from Hell was one thing, but facing down a mecha on foot was quite another entirely. This was only his second job as MERC, even though it would likely stay off the books if what Mrs. Fortune had said was true, and he was starting to wonder if every job was going to be like this.

    The low lights on the side street shimmered off of the ghostly white hide of the fallen hellbeast, and the mess of offal that had spilled out of its body was glistening with a slick wetness that was simply offensive to look at. When he’d hit the creature in the middle of its horse-like head with the anti-mat rifle, his shot had ripped through the entirety of the thing’s body, splitting it open like an overstuffed sausage.

    If it weren’t for his two android companions Orwell knew he’d have been ripped apart by the demon’s carnivorous maw, or trampled under the unsettling amount of hooved feet that the creature had. Its ghostly white eyes were solely fixed on him for the entirety of the fight, no matter how much Rokusho grappled the beast. Mel had blocked every lunge that the creature had made at Orwell with unerring accuracy, and both the stark white android and his large shield were dented from the numerous kicks and bites that he’d intercepted. As much as he’d been wary of entering a hellsect with such an obviously Divinist android, Mel had saved his life far more than he’d endangered it thus far.

    Rokusho had also gotten a bit banged up in the course of the fight. His ornate, deep blue Shogaian style armor was crumpled in a few parts and cracks from the savage trampling that he’d endured were evident on some of his plates. Still, the android’s crimson eyes were glaring out from under his fearsome faceplate, and while he seemed to be contemplating the slaughtered creature’s carcass, he would be ready when the time came.

    “Ideas?” said Orwell, trying not to let the stress he was feeling show in his inflection. 

    “Well…” started Mel, as he looked over the gore-splattered scene. There were bits of debris from the faulty missile launcher they’d brought with them scattered all about, and the plassteel chain they’d used to trip up the many-legged hellbeast was still anchored and stretched across the street.

    Rokusho interrupted in his usual, forceful, clipped speech, “We ready ourselves once more. The lady hanyo will expect us to perform admirably.”

    Orwell couldn’t muster up the energy to sigh at the android’s bizarre refusal to call Mrs. Fortune by her name. He also found his gaze wandering over to the chain. It had worked well enough the first time, maybe it could work again. He motioned the androids to follow him onto the street, with Mel crouching down to guard the blonde human and himself behind his huge shield. Orwell rested the rifle on the multi-armed android’s shoulder, looking down the iron sights at the end of the street, which was only about fifty meters away. Rokusho stood to the side of the duo, arms crossed as he glared down the midnight street, daring a challenger to approach the M.E.R.C.s.

    As if to answer his challenge, a pair of teal-colored motorbikes flew around the corner,  and began approaching at rapid speed. The two vehicles must have been the vanguard for the convoy, as they had outstripped the rest of the group. 

    Orwell looked down the sights at the two Nomahdi on the bike. This was very different from the job he’d taken three years of business school for. He inhaled sharply as he kept his aim trained. While he was living out of a van with his chimera boyfriend he felt more free than he had for the entirety of his previous life. He slowly pulled back the trigger. There was no going back to an office day job after this. The trigger pulled all the way back as the deafening bang of the anti-material rifle filled the night once more. The pair of wastelanders tumbled off of the bike as the enormous hole in both of their torsos painted the pavement blood red.

    As Orwell began racking the bolt to slide the final shot for the rifle into the chamber Rokusho exploded into action. He sprinted at the oncoming bike as it neared the plassteel chain, his maul in hand, ready to swing. The android leapt over the chain and descended upon the motorbike, smashing down on the riders with the speed of a lightning bolt. Somehow the driver managed to duck Rokusho’s strike, but his passenger wasn’t so lucky. The bike’s velocity and the strength of the Shogaian’s robotic arm were such that when combined he knocked the Nomahdi rider off of the bike instantly, eliciting a noise somewhere between a grunt of pain, a scream of surprise, and a cracking of bones.

    The driver, heedless of the plassteel chain, sped into the obstruction. As it was barely a half-meter off the ground it hit the front of his bike’s tire, stopping the vehicle instantly, throwing the Nomahdi from the seat. He careened across the street, past Orwell and Mel, into a building a few car’s lengths behind them. The biker collided with a wet thud that sounded like a bag of brittle plastic and meat being slammed against a wall. 

    Orwell whipped around to look at the end of the road again, not letting himself be too distracted by the sudden death that Rokusho had inflicted on the high-speed wastelanders. As he did, a car horn blared out. Another pair of engines, these two much heavier than the mere motorbikes, revved and roared as they accelerated another duo of vehicles towards the M.E.R.C.s. The tall human panted, watching the truck laden with Nomahdi and the mechanoid speed towards him. The humanoid machine had an autocannon replacing one of its arms, but the much more alarming armament was the mecha-sized heat axe it was wielding. The axe glowed a bright orange, as the mecha’s pilot was quite ready to bisect anything that got in his way.

    The pilot of the mecha yelled something in Wastese over the machine’s loudspeaker. Orwell hadn’t brushed up on his Wastese in years, but it seemed like he had said something about a demon’s bounty, a claim, and declaring himself as a patriarch. Orwell barely caught any of it, as he was stepping back in trepidation from the multiple tons of metal bearing down on him. The mechanoid obviously had a secondary wheel-drive system that was letting it keep pace with the truck, and the two of them crashing into the chain together were going to snap it easily. 

    Mel must have realized this too, as he jumped up from his crouched position to get in front of the chain and brace himself in the truck’s path. 

“I’ll stop the truck, you get the mecha!” he yelled.

    Orwell acknowledged the android. Stop the mecha. With his one remaining anti-material rifle round. Simple.

    The human M.E.R.C. kept backing away as the vehicles approached. The mecha wasn’t slowing down, and it was raising the enormous heat axe high in the air.

    There was a solid, crumpling thunk as the Nomahdi truck impacted with Mel followed by the screech of tires as the vehicle skidded to a stop. As heavy and braced as he was, the android couldn’t really stop the speeding vehicle, but he did make the driver hit the brakes at the perfect moment. Mel’s head got slammed into the hood of the truck before his chassis was sent sprawling by the force of the impact. He tumbled and rolled a good distance, his frame limply coming to rest at the end of the block. 

    Rokusho didn’t waste a second, he clambered into the back of the vehicle and started a proper brawl, forcing the Nomahdi to confront the terrifying android with their useless skinning knives. A few tried to use their pistols against him, but the close quarters and their own numbers worked against them, ending up with a few of the wastelanders accidentally shooting one another. Rokusho began roaring something about honor and death in Shogaian, but Orwell wasn’t able to give it his full attention as the Nomahdi mecha was just about to reach him.

    The mecha was decorated in the elaborate garb of the Nomahdi, painted mostly in a teal paint, with deep red embellishments lining the edges of its armored plates, and each of its joints were covered in worn canvases, to keep out sand and silt. Orwell appreciated the fine details, as he knew it was likely the last thing he was going to see. The war machine was barely a dozen meters away from him, and the huge heat axe it held aloft was glowing a bright, buttery yellow as the blade neared the apex of its cutting power. Then, the axe descended towards him, making the air sizzle as it sweeped downwards.

    Orwell kept backing up, clutching the huge rifle in hand. The axe continued descending.  Downwards into the road, as the mecha slammed down into the pavement, and slid forwards towards the MERC. A distinct snap and jangle followed the machine’s descent as the chain finally gave way, having done its job. The impact must have rattled the pilot, as he did nothing to right himself. Sparks flew as the metal armor of the mecha scraped across the already cracked hellsect asphalt. The towering war machine kept sliding forwards, losing momentum, before stopping just an arm’s span away from Orwell.

    Barely thinking, he lowered the anti-material rifle to aim at the pilot’s compartment inside the mecha, and pulled the trigger on the final round in the weapon. The armor buckled and a sudden, fist-sized hole appeared in the lighter part of the machine’s plating. After a few moments a flood of red lifeblood began seeping out from the punctured underside of the mecha, stretching across the pavement to Orwell’s feet.

    With a second screech of tires on pavement the Nomahdi truck began peeling out of the sector, and Orwell heard Rokusho leap off the back bed of the vehicle. His eyes were now quite fixated on the downed mecha. Mel also stirred, pushing himself off of the sidewalk he’d landed on after his rendezvous with the Nomahdi’s hood ornament.

    “Quite a kill. It seems that you will make a great hunter yet, young Orwell,” said Rokusho, his stern, synthesized voice almost betraying a hint of encouragement.

    Orwell put the rifle over his shoulder as he sat on the ground, looking up to the light-soaked sky of Newland. He’d now taken down both a demonic horse and a mecha in the same night, while only armed with this rifle. He couldn’t think of a single day back at the office that even came close to the rush he was feeling right now. He began laughing as he started realizing just how close to death he had been, and how he’d trusted his life to a plassteel chain held in place by a $1 carabiner. Quitting his accounting job at the Durreign Industrial Corporation and becoming a M.E.R.C. was one of the most stupid decisions he’d made in his life, but picking up his cellphone to answer Mrs. Fortune’s call tonight was a close second.

[vegalocity]

10/18 spicynoodles plis

Prompt meme || @deborahsworld

10.A Shy Kiss/18. Holding Hands

Hell yeah time for fluff

--

Okay... first date....Going pretty well so far. The Movie was okay—MK wasn't very big on horror movies even ones as old as this one was, but Red Son was really excited when he saw it was being played for a ‘foreign movies’ night at the movie theater and what, could have have argued against such enthusiasm?—if a bit slow going and atmospheric.

Though after the heroes found the monster frozen and seemingly dead in the abandoned Norwegian outpost, all twisted and malformed, he really hoped his appetite wouldn't be killed by the end of this with even worse when the monsters started actually moving.

And then the monsters actually started moving.

The dog turning into a monster and killing the other dogs hurt the animal lover inside him, and he felt a bit of his latent arachnophobia begin to rear its head when the hairy legs sprouted from its back, and then the actual form the monster, halfway through killing the remaining trapped dogs had sent a chill up his spine and then-

“See how they were able to make the monster look goopy? It's not really very goopy except during the close up shots, because it's an animatronic so it had to be dry most of the time, they got the shine effect by piling liquid latex ontop of the finished paintjob until it started drying while it trailed off of the frame. And that right there? When it took the hurt dog? That was actually filmed in reverse, having the tentacles start out around the dog puppet and then rapidly pull away so when they reversed it it looked like they actually moved and had torque behind the action.”

“Really?”

“Yeah it's really fascinating how they went about effects before computer graphics were refined, everything had to be practical so even if it doesn't look the best, it doesn't hit that uncanny valley that bad CGI makes because even if it doesn't look real it looks real enough.”

It didn't feel quite as disturbing with that rattling around in his head, focusing on how much work must have been done to make the monster move as realistically as possible, how many times they'd practiced and trained in a controlled sound stage and adapting it to the set...

They weren't the only ones in the theater, but it was a mostly empty showing, as was usually the case with foreign films as old as this one. So it wasn't like they were disturbing anyone with Red Son leaning over to whisper interesting details MK would have never even thought to look up to make the overall experience less scary. Red Son seemed aware that he wasn't the biggest horror fan, and was trying to soften the blows the more intense moments would bring by talking through them and bringing back  the reality that it was just a movie they were watching.

“I was alive in this era and I can state with general expertise that computers were certainly not that advanced yet. Computer AI wasn't past that of your average graphing calculator until at least the mid 1990's.”

��They got that sound effect by putting a microphone in a tin trash can and recording the sound of a racecar zooming by and put it in a reverb chamber until it sounded completely unrecognizable”

“Blair is already a Thing at this point, you remember when he was dissecting the Norwegian base's monster? He was using a pencil eraser to point out that era in its chest and then he'd touched the eraser to his lip! And since it started by probably just a small contingent of shed cells it probably took him longer to assimilate than the others.”

“This is actually really cool! The stunt double for Copper that they got for the scene actually was a double amputee! They made fake hands for him out of latex, filled them with fake blood, and styled the chest jaw like a bear trap for that disgusting pulling shot.”

Though... That one didn't work as well... When the long tendril shot from the Thing's stomach and sprouted slider legs and a second head, the extending neck hissing and glaring down at the heroes, he felt his gut turn, even as the heroes took the flamethrower to the monster.

The monster's first head ripped from its body and grew spider legs. And Oh GOD that was disgusting, without thinking he reached for the edge of the armrest to grip as the heroes had to play cat and mouse with a severed, spider head. He'd missed, and his hand clapped down atop of Red Son's and squeezed.

Red Son jolted beside him and MK saw him turn in his direction in his periphery.

“You know if this is freaking you out too much we can leave.”

“No! No, it's okay. You like this movie! You wouldn't know so much about it if you didn't like it!” Besides, he shouldn't be getting so spooked about some kinda gross kinda spidery horror movie from the 1980s, what kind of hero got freaked out at a little practical effects?

He couldn't see Red Son's face very well with only the light of the movie itself to see by, but he made a strange sort of humming noise and slipped his hand out of MK's, moving his arm to put the arm rest up and then slide his hand back into his own.

“Here, that should be more comfortable then.”

And it was. Red Son's factoids and chatter alongside the movie were doing well at cutting the edge off of it again, and it was aided by not just their connected hands, but now by his physical closeness as well.

“I've heard the director had this stylistic rule about after the Things start invading, the idea is that if a character has light reflecting off their eyes they're human, if not they're a Thing.”

“Most people think Palmers was the shadow the dog assimilated back earlier but I think it was Norris, Palmers didn't get turned into a thing until after they go and talk to Blair again I don't think.”

“Actually...I don't think I like that translation very much. Like yeah it's more polite and Gary's a gentleman, but 'I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter tied to this fucking couch' emphasizes the stress of the situation better.”

And then came the time of the final confrontation, MK braced himself, squeezed Red Son's hand in his own. It was indeed gross, and frightful, and the puppetry alone was REALLY good. All those moving parts and there's no way that THAT was an animatronic so it HAD to be a puppet. And wow that was a REALLY good explosion.

...huh...Apparently he could do it too.

The movie ended with what MK felt like was a tentatively optimistic note. The remaining two heroes sharing a drink as the research facility and the monsters it housed burned around them. And you maybe get the feeling the two of them won't survive the cold, but they stopped the monsters and that’s what matters.

Though MK was right to worry over the movie killing his apatite because by the time the lights went up and the credits rolled he found he wasn't very hungry. Which felt ridiculous since he was always in need of quick carbs for Monkie Kid things. But Red Son had lost his own apatite as well apparently and the two of them could do nothing but laugh a bit awkwardly at their date being derailed by a movie being a bit too gross.

So MK pulled him into a nearby park and they went for a walk instead of the restaurant they'd planned for.

“Most people think that Childs is a Thing and I'm tempted to agree, He doesn't have the eye shine but neither does MacReady and we know he's not a Thing, but MacReady's breath is steaming and Childs' doesn't until the very end there, and MacReady wasn't drinking, those were Molotov Cocktails, that was gasoline and Childs just downed it without a thought to taste or smell.”

“So you think the Thing won at the end?”

“I don't know, but they do have one flamethrower left and Childs whether he's a Thing or not just drank gasoline. So MacReady as a person is probably as good as dead.”

“I Dunno, I like the idea that he wasn't a Thing in the end, gives it something not dissimilar to a happy ending, but like, it's not like they hadn't been wrong about who was a Thing before. The dog handler wasn't a Thing but he got shot anyway.”

“That's very true.”

It was about there that MK realized he'd yet to let go of Red Son's hand.

Well... he hadn't pulled away... MK squeezed Red Son's hand in his own, and Red Son—on a tangent about how in the time before CGI they'd made the stylistic title card with use of a fishtank, garbage bag, flash paper and a lot of smoke—squeezed him back.

A few hours and a plate or two of street vendor food when either of their appetites returned later and Red Son had insisted on walking him home. He was staying in a penthouse that his family technically owned but he was the only one who actually knew about it, and he wanted to be a gentleman before he headed back there.

“Well,  I hope you enjoyed yourself a bit. I feel as though I should apologize for choosing such a niche film, mother always said I was the only one who cared about foreign horror movies and just because I find movie effects fascinating especially in a time before technology was as advanced as it is now doesn't mean I should subject others to my incessant yammering.”

he didn't really think Red Son could pull off shy, but he'd folded his arms tightly and was very pointedly NOT looking at him now. And Sure, this felt like a big step, but that playfully self deprecating tone wasn’t gonna fly here. He moved slowly, giving Red Son time to pull away if desired. Placing one hand on Red Son's shoulder, the other on the side of his face to turn his head. He had to get on his tiptoes to make it to his level, but he leaned in-

It was nice. Soft, and Red Son of course ran hotter than an average person so it was warm too. He pulled away just as he felt Red Son start to press back against him. When MK opened his eyes, he noticed Red Son's were still closed for a moment longer before fluttering open.

“I like your incessant yammering.” He had such a cute blush. “it means you're passionate about something.” 

“You... wanna come in? Monkey King gave me this new tea blend I've been meaning to try out.”

--

Prompt meme (I’ll stop when y’all stop sending stuff)

[notmydayjob]

a walk in two worlds | john laurens x reader.

words: 1.8k

warnings: a little bit about slavery just because its john, parent death, fluff and some possibly sexual comments if you think on it

desc: your father is british general whose been called to fight in georgia, with him gone and you alone in new york things are bound to happen, especially after you meet a certain soldier boy.

this is my first hamilton fic and I wanted to say a couple things before it got it started. First of all I am white writer and I write my fics to be inclusive but there may be things that I may not realize are excluding people because I’ve had the privilege of not being excluded so if you notice anything then please message me and I’ll be more than happy to edit it. second i wrote this at 3 am and even if nobody reads it i’ll probably make a pt2 but lemme know.

i kinda picked and choosed what i wanted to use from hamilton and real life so obviously not historically accurate 

There’s nothing quite like summer in the city, children running in the streets, the sound of hooves on the brick laid roads, and the hot sun shining down on busy men and women. You had just moved into the city with your father but soon after you arrived your father was called away to join the fight in Georgia. You were left behind with only your housekeeper who functioned as a Nanny when you were a child. Your mother had died when you were very young and your father worked so Joan was the closest thing to family you had. Before your father left he gave you three instructions. One, the city can be a dangerous place for a young beautiful girl, don’t go downtown. Two, if you must stray from the house never go anywhere unaccompanied. Three, the revolutionists are reckless and ruinous, stay away. Your father was a smart man but often worried too much especially for you. It took nearly three days to convince Joan to let you leave the house. “I will come with you then, just let me finish my chores, and then we may go, but we are staying uptown, it’s nice here, awfully quiet too.” She said when she finally caved. You thanked her profusely but unbeknownst to her when she turned her back to you, you slipped out the back door. When your father left he took the carriage with him and the coachman had not yet returned so you had to walk into the city. You weren’t complaining though, the weather was warm and the fresh air was refreshing after a  week of house arrest. As you approached the downtown district of Manhattan you noticed a noticeable drop in wealth due to many of its residents being either college students, revolutionists, or merchants. A young man stood on a soapbox in the city square ranting about the unjust taxes and the recent events in Boston while a large crowd cheered around him. Propaganda flyers were hung on every storefront and street lamp, you took one and quickly shoved it into the bottom of your basket next to a small bag of coins. For about 20 minutes you strolled around going between stands of vendors selling fruits, fans, furniture, and everything in between. You stopped at the stand of a man selling vegetables and began picking out a few. You clearly felt a presence behind you but stayed focused on your task. “What is a pretty young lady like you doin’ in the city all by herself.” The presence spoke smoothly. You looked up from under the brim of your hat to see a man around your age maybe a few years older. His curly black hair was tied up tightly at the back of his head. Your eyes then traveled to the rich blue coat he proudly wore. “Minding my own business.” You said flatly as you turned back to what you were doing. “You know there are a lot of dangerous people out here who might want to take advantage of such a pretty girl.” He said clearly thinking he was very smooth. “Is that so?” You responded as you paid for your goods. Maybe you were naive but he didn’t seem threatening, he seemed young, reckless, and a flirt which could be just as bad. “Yes ma’am, maybe I should be your escort to-” He began again but you cut him off. “What’s your name, sir.” You asked him curtly and for once turned to fully face him. “John Laurens.” He tipped his head to you. “Don’t you have something to protest Mr. Laurens.” You brushed past him and continued down the street but he was quick to follow you. “I’m a wonderful multitasker.” He chuckled softly at his own joke. You wanted to hate him, you wanted to believe everything your father said about revolutionists but this man was charming and had a gravitational pull that was nearly impossible for you to resist. You knew if he stopped following you then you would follow him, you just hoped he didn’t know that. “I’ve never seen you around here before.” “Is that supposed to be a question, Mr. Laurens.” From the side of your vision, you could see the grin on his face, he liked having you riled up. “My father and I just moved uptown.” “So a rich pretty girl.” He said to himself with the full intention of you hearing to which you scoffed. “Am I wrong?” He stepped out in front of you locking his honey brown eyes with yours. You simply rolled your eyes in protest. “That’s what I thought.” His smirk was so genuine and charming it made you smile back to which he beamed brightly. “So what does the pretty girl’s father do for such wealth.” He posed. “Old money.” You stated simply to avoid the topic but he was clearly not satisfied. “He’s a general.” You stared intently over at him to gauge his reaction. John immediately stopped in his tracks and the smirk on his fell. “I take it we’re on different sides of the war.” He nodded slowly not meeting your eyes. His sudden quietness intrigued you, it seemed like that would have only made him mouthier. “That’s right.” Your voice was nearly inaudible but your beg for him not to turn away was loud enough for him to stay even for just a moment longer. You were not content with those being your last words so you continued: “My father believes that the King is a just one.” You chose your words intentionally, hoping he would take the bait yet shocked when he did. “And what do you believe?” You didn’t quite know how to respond to his question. No one had ever asked for your political opinion, especially not a man. “Well,” The small grin was already appearing on your face. “The price of tea is far too high nowadays.” The smile was quick to come to his face though he played it off with a joking scoff and eye roll. “So, does the beautiful young lady have a name?” “Y/n.” “Y/n,” He repeated your words testing it out to see if he liked it, apparently he did because the next thing he asked was where the two of you were headed next. You went to the silversmith, and he talked about growing up on a plantation in South Carolina and the things he saw happen to his father’s slaves. You went to the bakery and he told you his dreams of giving those men their freedom so they could join him in fighting in the war. You found him more endearing the longer you talked to him. You let your guard down and showed him your interest in what he had to say and you no longer tried to hide the laughs and smiles that he pulled out of you. “What about you?” He asked as he held the door to the general store open for you. “What about me?” You asked promptly. “Oh, come on, I’ve done nothing but talk, you have to return the favor.” His smirk grew quickly. You simply rolled your eyes but let yourself smile to show that you found the joke at least a little funny. “There’s not much to tell until two weeks ago I stayed in my home back in London and did what I was asked.” You explained. “Will you grab the jam jar on the top shelf for me?” You could probably reach it but you wanted to see how quickly he would please you. He in fact did follow your request but not before taking a step closer to you, pressing you against the shelf as he reached over you to grab the jar above your head. “You don’t seem like the type to quietly obey.” John’s voice was low, lower than you’d ever heard it before and quiet enough so that you were the only one who heard his words. He did this on the purpose of course, what he said was only for you. He brought his hand down to give you the jar, your hand resting on his for just a moment. That’s when you realized this was the first time you’d touched, and now that’s all you wanted to do and the brushing of hands wasn’t nearly enough. As you went to stutter out an answer the shouting that was coming through the front door pulled both of you out of your moment. “Y/n M/n L/n, there you are, oh my god!” Joan ran straight for you. Her pale cheeks flushed and grey hair falling loose from her low bun. “I thought you’d run away, do you know how upset your father will be?” “Father isn’t here, you don’t have to tell him anything.” You proposed. “Is this your mother?” John interjected as he held his hand out for her to take. “No, she’s my handler.” You said with a hint of annoyance. Joan gave John her hand and he promptly placed a kiss on the back of it, you felt yourself become envious of her hand. Her cheeks turned bright red, you were sure she would tell you about how she hasn’t gotten this much attention from men since she was 20. “Joan this is John Laurens, John Laurens this is Joan.” You nearly groaned out. Joan quickly spoke up again right when you saw her eyes fall on Johns’s coat. “Oh my! Y/n we must be headed home now!” She grabbed your hand and began to drag you to the door. “Joan, Joan!” You shouted for attention before dangling your basket in front of her face. “I’ll pay for these.” She took the basket from your hands. “You wait outside.” She shooed you away. You exited the shop making sure that John was following. “Maybe we should make a run for it.” You turned to John as he chuckled. “I don’t think so, you’ll give the poor woman a heart attack.” He said then a silence fell between you. “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you though.” “Neither do I.” You said softly. “May I write you?” John quickly turned towards you, swooping your hands into his and holding them close to his heart. “Yes.” You nodded as you stared intently and how he held you. “John, this won’t be easy, my father would never-” “I know.” He said simply as he smiled at you and for just a moment you didn’t care about what your father would say. “Alright, Y/n, it’s time for us to head home,” Joan said as she came out the door. “Goodbye, Y/n.” He took your hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “Goodbye, John Laurens.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Interrogation, Part One

Also known as Jake and The Real Bad Week, Part One. Directly follows Come Back. I’ll alternate these with Chris, so you get an idea of what’s happening to both at about the same time. 

CW: Violent beating, electric shock, references to past noncon to another person, institutional brutality, pet whump setting, box boy setting, referenced past domestic abuse

Tagging @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp (@stxck-fxck, it won’t let me tag you!)

“You know,” Jake says, feeling blood thick on his tongue, “usually for something to be considered interrogating, you have to ask a fucking question.” He spits off to the side, trying not to think about the copper taste, the pinkish saliva on the floor. 

“Thanks for telling me how to do my job,” The guy says. He’s older, has a blocky face with a rough-cut jawline, looks like the kind of guy you call the muscle in a movie. His hair is a light sandy blond, graying with age. Could be late forties, early fifties. Could be younger and just lived kind of a shitty life. 

“Well, you haven’t done it so far, so I figured, maybe you just need the help.” Jake keeps his voice low, almost calm, although anger boils in his veins, alongside worry. This is what his mother always told him would happen, if he kept getting deeper into the movement. If you stick your neck out for somebody, Jake, sooner or later someone else is going to come cut your head off.

Fuck if he cares. Somebody has to stick their necks out for the rescues.

Jake thinks of Chris the night he came, the shivering boy with his hair plastered to his head in the rain, silent and with his hands always in tight fists, held perfectly still, at his side. Wide green eyes, rainwater running down his face like tears. Wrapped in a blanket and wearing nothing but a loose pair of nearly-sheer pants that rain had made stick to his legs. Nat, speaking in hurried half-whispers with Vince, who had picked the boy up from some woman he knew and brought him here in the dead hours of the night.

He doesn’t know why he’s here. He doesn’t know anything. His captor called him Baldur. 

Jake thought of taking one look at the delicately wrought, beautiful face and thinking, there’s no fucking way you were eighteen when they found you.

The guy cracks his knuckles. Jake doesn’t flinch.

“I’ve asked you enough questions,” The guy says, kicking out a chair like he’s going to sit, but he doesn’t. “Jakob Collins Stanton-… Collins is a weird middle name.”

“Mother’s maiden name,” Jake shrugs, as best he can. “Mom’s from the South, they do that down there.”

“Hm. My people are Southern, too.” 

“Must be where you get all this fuckin’ hospitality.”

The guy’s fist cracks across his cheekbone and Jake groans, but feels a weird sense of victory, anyway. Pissed you off, nyah nyah, sing-songs a bratty little voice somewhere inside his had. 

“So,” The guy says, like nothing happened. “Jakob Stanton, Junior at the university, but you’re, what, mid-twenties?”

“Non-traditional.”

“Can’t blame you. College is a fucking money-sink these days. Better off going into a business like mine.”

“What, law enforcement?”

There’s a pause. Then, “Yes,” The guy says. Jake raises his eyebrows. “Anyway. You’ve been working at this shelter for… let’s see here… two years. How’d you meet Natalie Yoder, anyway? She’s a known dangerous entity.”

Nat, wild-haired in her housecoat and pajamas, screaming obscenities at the cops to make sure the sounds were loud enough to cover the sound of Jake getting Chris safely hidden in the false-backed closet. The sound of someone slapping her, and the way it didn’t even slow her down.

The red marks on her face when they’d loaded her into the back of one squad car and Jake into the back of the other.

The relief on her face when no one came out of the house with Chris. The way Jake’s pounding heart had leapt, seeing the officers empty-handed, knowing that it meant Chris had understood, had stayed hidden, silent, safe.

Jake closes his eyes, hoping, praying someone will find him and help him. Chris can’t be on his own, not yet, he doesn’t have any of the skills. They hadn’t had time to work on adult life skillsets, yet, just getting him settled, letting him remember what it was like to live in his own skin again. 

Please, please don’t leave the house. Please be safe there. Please, please, please, Chris. I’m coming back for you. They can’t hold me forever.

Please. You deserve someone who keeps their promises, please let me keep my promise to you.

Please let me be able to.

“Yeah, lady who runs a homeless shelter and volunteers at a fucking soup kitchen, she’s a real menace to society,” Jake says dryly.

“You know damn well I’m not talking about her volunteer work. She’s been on our radar for… oh, ten, fifteen years?” 

“Whose?”

The guy stills, then. “What?”

Jake stares into the guy’s flat gray eyes. “Whose radar, man? Whose radar is Nat on? Whose radar picked me up?”

The guy looks at him for another long moment, then looks down at the papers littered across the table. There’s one of those mirrors along the wall, where people on the other side can see you but you can’t see them, but Jake doesn’t think anyone is watching. They’ll want plausible deniability, they’ll want no one to have seen him getting the shit kicked out of him by some asshole on a low-level power trip.

“I asked you a question.”

“I don’t give a fuck. You don’t ask the questions here.” The guy slides a slim manila folder out from underneath the other scattered papers. Jake’s eyes scan the front, where someone has handwritten 223499. The number means nothing to him, beyond a simple certainty that there’s a Box Boy or Box Babe in that folder.

Antoni? Leila? Krista? Chris? Kauri? Could be any of them. Could be one of the others that’ve moved on or moved out. Transitioned back into the lives they deserve, not the cages they’d been locked up in, so WRU could convince them they signed up to suffer.

“‘You don’t ask the questions here’,” Jake mocks him, knowing he’s treading a delicate line, but his palms are starting to sweat and his face hurts and he’s fucking had it with this. “What is this, a movie? Jesus, do they feed you lines to learn at the Academy, or…?”

The guy laughs, a dry, mirthless chuckle. He keeps his fingertips on the folder, then straightens his spine and stands back straight, looking at Jake. “Does it matter? It’s true, cliché or not.”

“Look. I get that you’re enjoying yourself, but I’m more than a little bit over this. Just let me leave, you don’t have shit.” Jake’s been here for hours, and he’s fucking exhausted running on the like three and a half hours of sleep he’d gotten before the raid. He’s got class on Tuesday, he needs someone to take notes since apparently he’s going to be in fucking jail.

Well, unless they have nothing, the way he thinks they do.

“How do you know if we have something on you or not?” The guy asks, his voice low, but genuinely curious. The silence stretches out between them.

Something is off about this.

“What are you charging me with?” Jake asks, watching cautiously as the older man shifts back, steps casually around the table. Jake’s eyes follow his movements. His hands are zip-tied behind him, and he keeps feeling the hard edge of the plastic rubbing against his wrists. It’s starting to hurt, and he’s sure that’s the whole idea of leaving him like this. 

Well, his wrists can join the parade of everything else that already hurts, it’s a club now, and his throbbing, burgeoning black eye is the current reigning president. 

“Whatever we want,” The guy replies, and Jake snorts, then winces as that aggravates whatever happened to his nose on the last punch. It’s not broken, but it’s definitely pissed, and probably his nose is as responsible for the taste of blood in his mouth as biting his tongue is. He can feel something running down the back of his throat, making him clear his throat and cough. Could b blood.

“Well, that tells me something,” Jake says, sitting slowly back in the seat, looking up at the guy. “You’re not a fucking cop, are you?”

It’s a shot in the dark. Just a hunch, something that itches between his shoulder blades. Something about the way the guy moves, the way his uniform doesn’t look quite the same as the other cops, like it’s old-fashioned or something. 

Something about the way the cop looks at him, not like a cop looking at a suspect, more like a butcher looking at a cow and figuring how much he’s going to pay to cut it up.

The guy goes still, before he laughs that dry little rumbling cackle again, and it’s all the answer Jake needs and definitely not the answer he wants. Because if he’s not a cop…

“I know what you are.” Jake’s voice goes nearly breathless, something not quite like panic. Deeper than that is the anger.

Finally, I get to see one of you fuckers face to face.

“And what,” The guy asks, rolling his sleeves up, a carefully practiced gesture of intimidation that makes Jake wonder if he does this in the mirror every morning just to be impressed with himself. “… is that?”

“You’re one of them.”

“Them?” The guy’s gray eyes, flat and lifeless, are on his again. Jake smiles, blood smeared wet across his teeth. Got you.

“You’re WRU.” Jake laughs, then coughs a little and spits more blood from his tongue onto the floor. “You’re fucking Facility assholes. Fucking handler. What, you paid the cops off to raid a fucking halfway house for homeless kids? Jesus, does no one actually sign up willingly? Is this how you get ‘em, you fucks with your goddamn bullshit about changing your life circumst-”

The backhand slams into the side of his face and Jake’s head snaps to the side, his body moving with it, and without his hands he can’t stop himself and he crashes to the ground on his side, head bouncing off the floor with a sickening crack, the chair he was sitting in clattering down after him.

But he’s still kind of laughing, through pain and the air that’s been knocked out of his lungs. What are the fucking odds, huh? He’s been training for cops, for law enforcement helping prop up a shitty system because the government makes the laws and we follow the laws, but that’s the thing, sometimes the laws are bullshit and leave hurting, fucked up, terrified people scattered around in their wake.

And sometimes people like Jake can see it happening.

Stick out your neck, Jake, and the cops’ll find out and cut your head off. This isn’t your fight.

Well, it sure as fuck is now, isn’t it?

He can’t stop laughing, now, because they made him practice how to talk to cops, but nobody ever figured he’d have to deal with a goddamn handler, assholes brainwashing kids like cult leaders into losing their memories, their lives, their independence, their personalities, burying it all under a wall of pain and drugs and fear.

Why didn’t he train for handlers?

Jake laughs, and spits more blood on the floor. Then he laughs some more.

“Shut up. Just keep your fucking mouth shut,” The guy growls at him, and Jake’s head pounds alongside all the other pieces of him, the pain that stitches him together. He’s a puzzle made of aches, and that has him laughing, too. What doesn’t make him laugh, right now? What doesn’t?

The kick of a steel-toed boot to his stomach definitely cuts the sound off, at least, and Jake lets out a low grunt of pain, curling in on himself trying to protect the soft parts, but the guy isn’t interested in kicking his organs, at least not now. He rights the chair and drags Jake back up into it. A fist slams into his face, and then it happens again, and again. 

Jake’s head hangs low, and he’s barely going to be able to see out of one of his eyes tomorrow, but he’s getting the feeling that’s the least of his problems.

“You’re right,” The guy says, and takes a seat across the table, calm as can be. He slides the manila folder across, spins it around so it’ll be right side up when Jake looks at it. Jake stares down, then slowly raises his eyes back up. The guy’s a bit blurred, now, and the pain is a constant of agony through his body. 

Vince has some fake teeth, from what Kauri’s owner did to him when they were kids. Jake wonders idly if Vince will pay for Jake to get some teeth replaced, since this guy’s going to knock some of them out if he keeps this up much longer. 

“I’m not with the cops. They’re going to charge you with resisting arrest-”

“Oh, fuck that bullshit,” Jake says, and his lower lip is swelling, the words are slurred more than he likes between that and his bitten tongue. “I didn’t resist shit.”

“They had to throw you into a wall,” The guy says, calmly.

“You did that!”

“Not on the paperwork, I didn’t, and you sure as fuck can’t prove otherwise. Oh no, you kicked up a fuss, as they say. That’s gonna get you a nice hefty fine.”

Jake thinks of Vince and Nat arguing, some nights, when the movie star stops by to be a fucking nuisance. I don’t do the rescuing, Nat, I just write the goddamn checks.

It’d be nice if Jake had that kind of money. Then again, he wouldn’t want to survive what Vince survived to get there - all the child actor grossness, the predatory producers and directors, Owen Grant drugging him and making him lie about what happened to save his career-

“Hey.” Fingers snap under his nose, and Jake flinches back. The guy grins. “That’s better. I like them flinchy. I told you to take a good look and see if this is anyone you recognize. This is who I’m here to recover.”

Jake’s eyes drop to the open folder laid out in front of him.

Chris looks back at him, standing with his shoulders hunched, staring with empty, blank green eyes in the white t-shirt and black shorts Jake has seen in other photos, before, snuck out by the informants who work in WRU. The flash of the black shock collar around his throat makes Jake’s teeth grind together hard enough to add that ache to the list of pains he’s already feeling.

His hair’s the same, he’s maybe a little thinner, but it’s the empty look in his eyes that gets Jake’s blood running cold, like it always does when he sees them like this. All sense of themselves shoved aside, pushed under the surface, drowning in conditioned responses in place of identity. 

And he’s just a kid.

“You know who this is, don’t you?” The guy asks, and Jake stares into Chris’s eyes. Blank. 

The boy’s hands are motionless fists like stones at the ends of his arms. Still as a statue, not moving at all. No blur of happiness, no taps on the walls, no cold feet pressed against Jake’s legs, no spiderlegs movement into his bed when the night scares him too much to get through alone.

“I’ve never seen this boy in my life,” Jake says, lips numb, and it’s the truth.

Jake only knows Chris.

This photo isn’t of Chris. It’s of an empty slate, ready to be filled with whatever they want to put there, ready to serve, to be an active participant, ready to tilt his head just so to the side and put on a smile that never reaches his eyes and say in a breathy voice, I want this. I want you. 

Just like they all do.

Because if they don’t get it just right, they’re tortured until they do.

“You’re lying to me,” The guy says, tapping his finger on the photo again. He moves the paper aside, and there’s another photo underneath. The same boy, a metal collar around his neck hooked to a chain on the wall. There’s an IV in his arm, and a bag just off to the side. His hands are tied behind his back, and there are deep, deep shadows under the boy’s eyes, wide with tears and pain and fear.

“I’m telling you, I’ve never seen this kid.” Jake’s voice is a little less confident, then. But he doesn’t know this one, either, because this is whoever Chris was, before he was a number, before he was a teenage slave, before he was destroyed and rebuilt.

“Oh, really? I’ve got one more photo I think will change your mind.”

Don’t show me what I think you’re going to show me. Don’t do it. Don’t don’t don’t don’t-

The next photo is of Chris, too. 

He’s crying in it.

Jake has barely allowed his brain to comprehend what exactly is happening to Chris in the final photo - and he will not allow himself to remember it, not ever, never again - before he’s moving, pushing himself to his feet and then crouching to get his shoulder under the table that isn’t bolted into the floor, but it should be.

“Go to fucking hell, you piece of shit,” Jake growls, and pushes the table over with his shoulder.

It falls nearly on top of the asshole in his chair, knocking him back with a low yelp and scattering photos everywhere, paperwork slipping across the floor like stones skimming the surface of a lake. By the time the guy has started to stand back up, Jake is kicking the table at him, all of it happening in some deep slow motion of misery in his mind.

Chris deserved better. Chris deserved a family. Chris deserved to be safe. They all deserve to be safe. They all deserve something other than this.

The guy gets back to his feet, baring his teeth at Jake in a snarl. They stand, staring at each other, as the guy pulls a slim back baton off his belt, hits a button, and there’s the distinct crackle of electricity.

Jake’s eyes widen, panting still with the exertion that came with pushing the table over, his leg muscles stretched and protesting. “I know what that is,” He says, his tongue a leaden weight in his mouth. His heart drops to his knees.

They hurt us all the fucking time with their sticks, Kauri whispers in his mind. Again and again and again, until we’re not bad any longer. 

“Struck a nerve,” The guy says, and wipes at his mouth with the back of one hand. Jake doesn’t take his eyes off the baton. “You do know who that is, don’t you? We’re in the market to get him back where he belongs.”

Jake slowly looks up to meet the guy’s flat gray eyes.

He’s already hurting so fucking much. What’s a little more pain, when there’s someone else’s life on the line?

It’s not your fight, Jake. If you stick your neck out-

I’m making it my fight, Mom. Let them cut my fucking head off.

I was tired of having to stand and watch and not be able to help when I was ten and the bruises were on you, I sure as fuck don’t have to stand and watch when the pain is in him. 

I can help now.

Try and stop me.

“I have no clue who that is,” Jake sneers, tightening his hands into fists behind his back. This is going to hurt. This is going to hurt and hurt and hurt, and it’s not going to stop, not until he’s not bad anymore, and Jake has no intention of being good. “But I know you’re the fucking pervert in the photo with him. You got a name so I can get you turned in to the real cops?”

The guy snorts, trying on a sneering smile, but Jake’s move with the table threw him off his smug little rhythm, and the smile isn’t real. “You can call me Mr. Everly. Or Sir.”

My Sir used to lock me outside when it stormed when I was bad

There were hooks in the wall for me in Sir’s bedroom

I had to stay in the basement sometimes so no one would see me

Jake swallows, hard. How far can anger carry you, against pain? He’s about to find out. His mother’s going to be ashamed of him, when she finds out he did this. But sometimes people are ashamed of you when you do the right thing. And right now there’s a boy waiting somewhere for Jake to keep his promise.

“All right, then, Everly. My name is Jake Stanton. I’m a junior in college. I’m twenty-five years old and I work in a homeless shelter for at-risk young adults and Nat Yoder’s been my boss for two years and I’ve never seen that kid before in my fucking life.”

“I don’t believe you.” The guy advances on him, and Jake backs up, right into a wall. It’s just the two of them, in here, and he’s sure that the camera in the corner near the ceiling is turned off. He’s going to walk out of here, but he might not be walking when he does it. He might not be crawling, either.

But he’s not going to give this guy a single piece of information he can use to ruin a life so fragile, so recently built.

Wait for me, Chris.

“I don’t give a shit if you believe me, it’s the truth.”

The guy raises the baton, brings it down, and Jake collapses to the ground, screaming at the pain that runs through every muscle as they lock up, nerves sparking with electricity. It comes down again, and again, and again, and everything is pain, and Jake’s eyes close tight and he doesn’t try to be strong, to hold out. He screams, and cries, and he holds green eyes in his mind, he holds backflips and yoga, and swinging from the high bars to the low bars, landing on his feet.

A bright and sunny smile as Chris lands on his feet, arms in the air, and immediately asks if Jake will watch him do it again.

Don’t leave, don’t run, don’t go somewhere you’re not safe, we’re coming back for you.

The baton turns into fists, into the ends of those steel-toed boots, into bruises that blossom and the sounds Jake is making are barely human as he curls up on the ground. When he’s hauled up into the chair again, the guy asks him more questions.

Jake stares at him, body singing with pain, and says nothing at all.

“You’re going to be annoying,” The guy says. “I can tell.”

Jake grins at him, bitterly, and spits a little more blood on the floor. 

“I sure fuckin’ hope so. I want my goddamn phone call.”

“Thought you said I wasn’t a cop.”

“You’re not. But I want my phone call, anyway.” Jake stares at him, bleary and blurry thanks to the blood running into his eyes. “And I know you want to listen to it.”

The guy pauses, is quiet for a second. Jake doesn’t breathe.

“Fine.”

I’m coming back for you, Chris, I promise, but first I’m going to send someone who can help. If she can find you. 

Please, please be waiting where she can find you.

[thevoiceinbuckyshead]

Sometimes the Soldier Remembers

A Soldier bound unwilling to his handlers, finds comfort in a memory and a kindness done.

The Soldier didn’t try to blend with local humanity. Shoulder tucked casual against a door frame, disinterest projected, the marketplace bustling past a man standing incongruous.

A soul inept might stare, questioning choice of apparel for a sweltering climate. Utilitarian muted tones fitted leather, strapped and buckled, not discreet weapons. The curious would glance, then hurry past, deterred by a body’s tacit intimidation.

The brave or the foolish might connect with his icy gaze, emotions buried in a void reflected in steel-gray eyes.

To those well versed in how to look the other way, the Soldier was invisible.

Cooler night air hovered above the heated canopy of a noisy shuffling crowd. Swaying lines of dingy bulbs added a yellow pall to skin and market fair.

The Soldier observed without moving, statue-still, not betraying the urgency that ticked beneath his skin.

This assignment mundane for his talents, unique well-honed, far beyond a task deemed dull. If he were free to have an opinion, he might have spent energy on why he was chosen, what purpose it served to have the Soldier pursue an easy mark.

Even if opinions were allowed, the aftermath of each mission preparation left his mind empty of himself. Tools and tactics all remaining.

Struggling against his handler’s routine abandoned long ago, compliance keeping repercussions at bay.

This job, directives clear: Obtain embezzled information, eliminate the target, negative evidence of his intervention.

The Soldier waited and watched beneath ghosted dreams stirring restless in his heart.

Words, shouts, cries, slipped into a hum of white noise. The lilt of children laughing, music pulsing in the distance, all underscored a sliver of a memory. Salt smell of ocean, wet sand imprinted by bare feet, rhythmic cycle of crashing surf beyond a wooden boardwalk.

A tremor unwanted, deep protected recollections betrayed. A blond-haired boy, thin frame body familiar lying skin pressed to skin embraced by sun-heated sand. The surfacing images came with a warm sensation in his gut, not a familiar feeling except when the boy flirted with his mind.

He welcomed the warmth, uncertain why he felt it or who the boy was, embracing the comfort before the image dissipated.

That dream always costly. He’d spoken of it before, to his handlers, the price high. He could remember that.

Shoulder rolled precise, shifting tension downward to settle in fingertips, refocusing his mind on the task at hand.

A rich-dressed woman strolled past, oblivious to his following eye. Clipped along with a purpose trailed by two young girls, bearing the marks of indentured service.

He watched them with as much curiosity as he would allow.

She pointed and hissed to indicate her choices, the girls jumped to satisfy. Purchases noted the way a Soldier takes account of his enemy’s details. Two melons, a string of peppers, and a fold of emerald-colored cloth.

He moved through the crowded alley using height as an advantage, hanging back without thinking. The mark oblivious to his watching. It wasn’t hard to focus on her progress.

He allowed a brief excursion of his attention.

Teasing aroma of curry and oil, bartering voices rise and fall. Feather-filled cages that cawed and swayed. It all passed through his awareness.

The distractions lulled his sense of alertness. Maybe it was all too easy.

A high pitched voice too near pulled at his attention, a glance to find one of the servant girls staring.

He flinched — not a typical response on his part.

She pointed past at a vendor; they launched a haggling exchange lost on the Soldier. An altered gaze towards the items being offered to defuse his indiscretion.

He focused on a stack of metal cages pressed against his thighs. He hadn’t noticed the contents until now. Stuffed with fur, tight-packed, bulging out through wires.

A thought passed fleeting, why a cage filled with fur?

The young girl’s voice bringing him back to his work. A covert glance revealed two small dogs in her arms licking, wriggling bundles that pulled laughter flirting joy.

It cost her in the end, her mistress’s displeasure expressed, a stick’s rapped sting marring skin.

Heat flared through his mind, a feeling long-suppressed. His eye caught rapt on tears wiped shamed from her cheek.

The child ran after her mistress.

A step to follow stopped. A tickle warm and wet against his hand. Not a touch that was frightening or abrupt but hesitant gentle.

He looked down.

A moment spent sorting the jigsaw puzzle of parts and limbs, within a few heartbeats, he could make it out. The pink flicker of a tongue slipping between the wires of the cage, connecting with his skin.

He blinked the image into focus, the creatures in the cage alive, trust hidden behind the void reflected in their eyes. Unnaturally silent and still. Except the one small being who dared to reach out.

The Soldier drawn in, uncertain of why.

Tenuous press of flesh against the cage, seconds longer than he should allow, cutting through a focus cold. A shudder breaking their connection.

He turned to follow his target.

Rush of night air cooled the sweat on his neck and brushed too-long hair across his vision. He shook his head without thinking.

Moving beyond the market now no more time for daydreaming. He sought out shadows tailing the entourage to a walled estate nestled in solitude on the outskirts of town.

Patient allowing them to settle into their nightly routine before he scaled the wall and traversed along its narrow cap to reach an open window.

He entered her world in silence.

The bedroom lay empty. The sounds of the house distant. A clock ticking. A muffled voice humming.

He moved with precision in the darkened room, crossed to the bed, stripping the pillows out of the covers, efficient and noiseless he made his way through the house unseen.

The target in a room on the first level, an office with opulent drapes, thick carpets, heavy leather, wood furniture. All the items that would serve to muffle the sounds of his work.

His path brought him past a cook in the kitchen. The sound of their humming louder now. Metal on wood rhythmic thud of a knife chopping ingredients. The aroma of turmeric and ginger wafted through the hallway.

His stomach rolled, he paused to allow the smell to settle in his nostrils, hungered gnawing taking focus. A faint tremor shook his hair; he pushed away thoughts of food or how long it had been since he’d eaten.

Nausea abating, he took another step, eyes drawn to movement beyond the doorway inside the kitchen. Two small dogs tied to a table leg, wiggling and yapping, their eyes dancing bright when they saw him.

The solution apparent when a human encountered. Lethal force for an enemy, enforced silence for a non-combatant. This was unexpected. The warm sensation spread in his belly again.

Thoughts of repercussions helped dissipate the warmth. It would be safer to keep that kind of heat at bay.

The Soldier retreated to an alternate approach through large french doors, the entry simple for a man with his skills. His steps light and cautious as he materialized behind the woman sitting before a computer. She saw his shadow too late to run or scream. Her mouth caught between hands cold and efficient.

No effort to lift her off her feet; she dangled and danced in a hold impassive. She swung and slapped, kicking and writhing; he remained unpersuaded until a body fell limp.

The thumb drive slid into place; he followed his handler’s instructions to download the requisite data. The woman unconscious on the floor at his feet; the computer whirring disapproval.

He crossed to a picture on the wall that protected a safe. His hand paused before touching it, eyes drawn to bold charcoal strokes. Rows of tenement homes, a tree-lined street, two boys walking, one with an arm possessive around the other.

This warmth brought on a stronger memory. The heat of flesh under his flesh, fingers tenuous stroked down his chest, a distant sound, sweet moan of pleasure. His tongue recalled the taste of salt and soap and hungry mouths engaged in the dark. Breath caught abrupt by the image.

Movement tore him from the ghosted embrace. He swung around to see two young girls, mouths agape, staring at him, their mistress, back to him. Training dictated his next choice, end their lives with little more than a twist of his fingers.

Perhaps the breach of his recollections worked to soften his brutal approach. He held his step and raised one finger to his lips, then pointed to the corner of the room.

The girls obeyed.

In the end, he snapped the woman’s neck after he sent the girls into the hallway. He filled the pillowcases with cash and jewels, pocketed the thumb drive, and shook off the sense that he had somehow been reduced to being a common thug.

Next mission will be glorious, he told himself.

The Soldier moved silently down the hallway towards the kitchen; unsolicited followers stayed close without interfering.

No humming or sounds of preparation, the scent of spices dulled, the lights dimmed. He peered inside with near an expectation of two wiggling dancing creatures struggling to reach him. A lightness fleeting unfamiliar crossed his heart.

A gaze trained scanning the darkness, searching the empty floor. Tenuous fingers slipped into his palm; he glanced down at the girl. She pointed towards the sink.

Still hanging bodies evident. Eyes bright flicker of hope fading, lingering for as long as it took to dissipate the lightness and embrace the void again.

The Soldier’s world an endless loop of simple tasks and inevitable outcomes. Accomplish the assignments, gain a reward, sleep in the comforting cold. The only real pain was the cyclic eradication of his life, a temporary measure as he learned repeated.

A heartbeat spent in the pain, he moved on.

The girls followed his retreat, quiet certain, down a hall, through the gardens. No words exchanged, he lifted them over the wall. Trailing him down the dirt road, arms wrapping possessive, away from the only home they could recall.

None of them looked back.

It was dawn when the Soldier pulled the old produce truck into the courtyard of a sprawling fenced complex.

The sleeping girls in the front seat curled together, all arms and legs, moved another memory. Waking to a city’s morning sounds, thin arms owning his body, legs tangled, breath close, matched to the rhythm of one another. Lips pressed to the neck of a blond boy, a name wisped out of reach of a mind erased repeated.

He shook away the weight of his visions. He was late; there would be a price to pay.

His expertise in handling multiple vehicles couldn’t save the stripped gears. The noise of his arrival woke the residents, a cacophony greeting the squeal of a truck door pried open. A young man emerged from the old building to greet him with a quizzical look and a scratch of his unbrushed hair.

The Soldier began his self-appointed task unloading each crate with the kind of care that he’d long ago abandoned. Each one tore open, creatures hesitant growing braver, tumbling free under a gaze watchful, spark of hope hinted faint.

Frightened eyes flourished playful, bodies crushed unwilling, set free to run and squirm and dance met by laughter, the girl’s rush to help the Soldier finishing his mission.

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

An accounting inevitable, the Soldier faced his handlers.

He turned over the required findings, a thumb drive, and a handful of gaudy jewelry, the value irrelevant in a mind subservient. Rough demands regarding cash; no explanation offered, his silence clear, as bold as he dared to allow.

His punishment would come whether he answered or not.

A calculation weighed brief, a choice he found clear.

Dusk drawing near when finally shoved into a cell, stripped and bruised, not dead or maimed. Too valuable for scarring retribution; he could remember that, had counted on it.

Night falling beyond a cell sounds carried through a barred window overhead.

The Soldier curled in a corner, arms cradling knees drawn to chest, letting a mind wander free.

Two girls laughing, a pillowcase full of cash, a hundred squirming, barking, dogs jumping on legs lapping hands, leaping around feet.

A boy with blond hair.

The Soldier listened to the howling night a sanctuary for the lost and found. A memory held tight-bound until it would be stolen once again.

[im-just-bea]

Here in the Ashes part 2

**This was hanging out in my google docs for over a year, I wasn’t planning on publishing the other parts but here we go, more parts coming soon~ish as I proofread and make changes.. but enough about me. Onto the story**

TW: kidnapping, violence, kicking

“Hey Natasha, you wanna do something about this rain?” Diego asks looking at Ash. She responds by raising an eyebrow, pointing in front of him sending a few bolts of lightning through her fingers. He jumps back.

“Would anyone like to say a few words?” Pogo asks

There’s a few moments of silence before someone speaks.

“He lived a very fulfilling life ..accomplished many great things, and I hope in the end it was quick and painless.” Ash pauses as if deep in thought, “In my heart of hearts.. I know that he’s looking up at us right now.”

“Did she just?” Diego asks after registering what Ash said

“I like this new Natasha” Klaus chuckles

“Enough” Luther demands holding the urn. “He was still our Dad, Let’s show a little respect.”

Ash snorts and rolls her eyes

“Mr. Luther, please so the honors.” Pogo asks as Luther dumps the ashes on the ground. It’s very anticlimactic.

“This would be better with some wind” everyone looks over at Ash who rolls her eyes and flicks her wrist sending a light gust of wind towards the ashes.

“Thank you Miss Natasha” Pogo sighs

Soon things get heated and Luther and Diego start fighting.

“Really guys?! At your father’s funeral!” Ash yells over the chaos

“Hit him!!” Klaus says amused

“We don’t have time for this” Five mutters taking Ash’s hand and leading her back into the house”

————————-

“You look like hell” Ash observes after Five teleports into her room. “What happened to ‘I’m going to get a decent cup of coffee’ Coffee doesn’t take 2 hours. And-”

He cuts her off with a hug “Hey there….”

“They found us, well me, at Griddy’s. Wasn’t pretty”

“Oh my god.”

“I need to make sure they didn’t put a tracker on you too.” He pulls out some kind of device and scans her. His face falls. “I found something.. sit tight” he kisses her cheek before teleporting out.”

When he returns he has a first aid kit and a knife. He sits on the floor in front of her and gets ready to cut out the tracker.

“I’m sorry ”, he gently grabbed her arm and made an incision.

She squeezes her eyes shut and grimaces

“You know, you don’t have to act tough around me” he says after a few moments

She lets out a breath she was holding and groans when he starts digging around her arm. She squeezes his leg with her free hand.

“I know I know, I’m sorry… almost” he pulls out what looks like a blinking pill, and locks eyes with her before teleporting away and coming back a second later

“I wanted that thing far away from you. You’re doing great honey” he grabs some alcohol to disinfect the wound, once he’s done he wraps her arm with a bandage.

“I told Vanya. She didn’t believe me, she thinks I’m crazy”

“The others will too, what should we do now?” Ash asks getting to her feet

“Right now you need to get some rest.” He answers kissing her bandaged arm

————

Ash rolls her eyes. Watching Klaus “act”. The scientist at the prosthetics center pretty much brushed off Five when he stopped by this morning asking about the owner of the eye, that damned glass eye he had been carrying around for the past 40 years. He thought bringing an adult, physical adult, would help get him answers and Ash tagged along. She was glad she did because things were going nowhere and fast.

“Okay enough!” She yelled after Klaus backhanded Five. She storms over to the scientist and places a hand on his shoulder and sends a small current of lightning through her palm, shocking him. He yelps “Answer his questions.” She grabs his other hand as he reaches for the phone and chuckles. “Ah ah ah. I’m not in the mood to play with your friends. Name.Now.” She says intensifying the electricity

Five gives her a horrified look while Klaus looks mildly impressed .

“Okay okay I’ll tell you. Just make her stop” he pleads

Five pulls her away from him and he starts typing away on his computer.

“Young lady you’re grounded” Klaus chastises pretending to be horrified.

“Oh shut up”

————

“Useless” Five says looking up at Klaus, “You’re all useless!” They we’re currently outside of the facility, Five’s investigation had hit a dead end and he was pretty upset.

“Excuse you? I’m the one who got you answers” Ash says glaring up at him.

“Oh don’t even get me started on you” He says turning to Ash. “You… You can’t just torture people to get answers.” he scolds.

“Okay first of all ,I do what I want; and quit yelling at me like I’m a child.” Ash says rolling her eyes

Five pinches the bridge of his nose.“You are a child”

“You are a child” Ash mocks, “You’re welcome by the way”

“I didn’t say thank you”

“No Shit.”

She stands and walks over to him, “You’re so..”

“What? I’m so what?” He challenges

“Ugh!” She groans in annoyance

“You know ,you two bicker like an old married couple” Klaus laughs from his place on the steps.

Five sighs looking at Ash. “Well we kind of are”

“30 long years,” Ash adds crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

“Awww that is so cute!” Klaus coos “I remember being in love, the best 3 weeks of my life..”

She sees Five roll his eyes in her peripheral and before she can react he grabs her and teleports them away.

————-

“I want you to stay here.” Five . After leaving Klaus at the science facility the two took a cab home, where Five was once again trying to leave Ash.

“No. I’m going with you. For better or worse right?” Ash argues crossing her arms

“That was nowhere in our vows. Look the less you know the better. They know I’m here and the last thing I want is for them to find you too” Five

“I can take care of myself,” Ash crosses her arms, “I helped earlier didn’t I?”

“Yes and I saw a side of you that I never want to see again” he closes the distance between them and gently kisses her. “Please just stay here? I promise I’ll be back tonight?”

“Fine” Ash grumbled. Five smiles and makes sure to kiss her goodbye before leaving.

She spends the next few hours wandering around the academy, (and avoiding Allison) even taking a bubble bath,she’s making her way back to her room when she sees Five sitting on his bed with a large pack carefully placed on a nearby chair.

“You’re back..” Ash whispers lingering in his doorway.

“Yeah” Five replies standing and teleporting inches away from her. He pulls on her robe to pull her closer. “Please stay” he asks wrapping his arms around her.

“I.. Okay” Ash answers closing the door.

When she woke up the next morning, Five was trying to sneak out.

“Five?” She asks sleepily, sitting up, they lock eyes for a moment before he climbs down the fire escape

“Great.”

Allison ambushed her on her way down to breakfast.

“We should have some sister time today” Allison suggests, sitting across from her

“Sister time?” Allison asks hesitantly. She and Allison never had “sister time”.

“Yes!” Allison urges “we can get our nails done! Or maybe go to the hair salon and get something done about your hair”

Ash self-consciously touches her messy bun, she wore her hair short for the past 30 years and didn’t have a clue or the patience to deal with it now- especially since her appearance has always been pretty low on her list of priorities.

“I don’t know..” Ash utters hesitantly

“My treat?” Allison offers in a kinder tone, “everyone deserves to feel pretty every now and then.”

“Okay” Ash smiles.

When they get to the salon she debates with Allison and the stylist for a few minutes on just how much hair to cut off. Ash wants her hair no longer than past her ears, her hair was currently near her chest and she hated it, but in the end Allison talks her into getting it cut shoulder length.

Having someone else wash and deep condition her hair is a luxury that Ash wasn’t used to. A few hours later her hair was cut, pressed and styled with curls; and for the first time in decades Ash really felt pretty.

“I told you you’d enjoy this!” Allison beams as she watches Ash admire her reflection.

They’re walking down the street to find Vanya, when it happens. One minute Allison is rattling on about who-knows-what, and the next time suddenly stops. She waves her hand in front of a frozen Allison’s face before a few goons in masks swarm her,she tries fighting them off but is seriously outnumbered. After a blow to the head her world goes dark.

—————-

When she came to; she was tied up and handcuffed in a chair across from the Handler who was wearing a faux sympathetic frown. Apparently Five had been busier than he let on and had a run-in with a couple of assassins from the commission. In a department store of all places

“Delores..” She mutters

“What was that Natasha?” The handler asks looking at her skeptically. Ash chose to keep her mouth shit but frowned.

She had a feeling something was up but having her suspicions confirmed and knowing that he left her to be with someone else really stung.

“Try not to look so sad my dear, sweet Natasha. We just want your… partner. My people left him a note so it’s only a matter of time before he comes and saves you, No hard feelings right?” she gags Ash and walks away muttering something about dead weight before leaving.

Once alone, she struggles with her bindings, silently wondering if she should wait for Five, but a pounding in her head soon answers that question and she’s soon fighting a losing battle with consciousness.. I could snap the metal, or at least stretch it out… ouch...focus Ash find the impurities… and burn the….the and she’s out.

———-

“It’s been 24 hours. Where is Five? The Handler asks calmly as one of her goons remove Ash’s gag”

“I don’t know” Ash answers

The Handler sighs and nods. One of the masked goons immediately punches Ash in the face and she lets out a cry.

“Where is Five?” She asks again not changing her tone.

“I don’t know!” Ash cries “He wouldn’t tell me his plan, he was gone when I woke up yesterday morning and I haven’t seen him since! I swear I’m telling the truth”

One of the masked goons kicks her in the stomach, knocking over her chair.

The Handler tuts condescendingly as Ash coughs. “I feel like you’re lying to us and your efforts to protect him are sweet considering he left you alone and defenseless. He obviously doesn’t care about you, you’re just dead weight to him. Last chance.”

“I really don’t know….. please.” Ash whimpers as the masked goons approach her,.

Once she’s alone again she lets out a muffled sob, too weak to even try to escape and too emotionally drained to hope for rescue. It’s been 24 hours and she doubts Five or anyone else even notices or cares that she’s gone. Her hands are numb so breaking out is out of the question. She tried to stay awake to think of an escape plan, but soon the pounding in her head gets so intense she once again loses consciousness.

——————-

She wakes up to the faint sound of Five teleporting into the room; but she’s broken and too overcome with exhaustion to react.

“Shit..” he runs over to her and reaches out to touch her, but she flinches away.

“Please….” she whimpers once he removes her gag “I don’t know where he is”

“I’m right here honey..” He gently touches her face, inspecting her bruises.

“F-five?” She asks confused and squinting,after everything The Handler said to her she doesn’t know if she’s happy to see him…… and to be honest she’s not sure he’s actually there.

Wasting no more time , he quickly unties her and picks the locks to her handcuffs. Once she’s free, he gently touches her wrists earning another flinch “What did they do to you?” She doesn’t answer and he sighs. “I’m getting you out of here” he puts an arm under her and stands, gently bringing her up with him before teleporting out.

They reappear in a room full of tubes and Five lowers Ash to the floor before hurriedly sending out a couple of messages. Suddenly the Handler appears.

“I see you found my special guest.” She announces making Five teleport himself protectively in front of Ash.

“This had nothing to do with her.” He growls

“I know.” The Handler shrugs “She was just an unfortunate casualty in our pursuit. You knew what involving her would do, yet you still did it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again Five, you really need to drop the dead weight.”

“She is not dead weight.” Five argues.

The handler groans,“You’re a first-rate pragmatist. You belong here with us, not playing house with some little girl.”

“I don’t belong anywhere thanks to you. You made me a killer.”Five retorts.

The Handler then angrily pulls out a gun and starts shooting, in response Five grabs Ash and teleports around the room, avoiding the bullets.

“Everyone has a limit Five, even you” She taunts.

In response Five waves a grenade before throwing it and teleporting out of the room.

They appear in the briefcase room where Five hastily grabs one and pulls Ash out of the room,he tosses another grenade into the room ,grabs Ash while subtly shielding her from the explosion, and activates the suitcase.

—————

“Oh my god” Allison exclaimes as Five and Ash fall from the ceiling and crash into the bar. They roll off it and Ash pushes herself up, now rebuffing Five’s attempts to help her up.

“Where have you two been?”

“I got kidnapped….. Spent the past 2…… 2 days getting the crap beat out of me while this….. this Jackass was playing house with a goddamn mannequin.” Ash chokes lowering herself to the ground, trying to walk was a bad idea

“So you found out about Delores?” Klaus asks

“Ash-” Five starts

“Fuck you Five.” She snaps as she once again loses consciousness.

—————-

She wakes up a few hours later with a start and immediately regrets jumping up. She takes a moment to focus on her surroundings. She’s back in her room at the academy, safe. Someone also took the liberty of bandaging up her wrists and stomach. She also notices that her uniform is nowhere to be found meaning that she’s….. in a state of undress.

She quickly pulls her comforter up to her chin when the door opens, relaxing only when she sees it’s mom.

“You gave us quite the scare Natasha”

“Mom?”

“You must be starving” she smiles and sits a tray on her nightstand.

“Wh...what happened?”

“You passed out and were brought up here, then I patched you up and let you rest. Your body went through a lot of trauma and you need to rest now.” She removes the cover from her plate. “I made your favorite, try to get some more sleep when you’re done. I’ll check on you later okay?” She flashes a still confused Ash a comforting smile and leaves.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Pick Your Battles: Part 4/5

Pairing: Five x Reader

“You can make this nice and easy,” the man with the gun had said, but he obviously hadn’t wanted to make it easy. He’d chosen the hard option and not left the diner when Five had given him the option to. Now Five’s going to have to get his hands dirty, and he hasn’t even been back to the future a day. The Commission never sleeps, apparently.

One second Five is snapping the neck of the man that had been trying to run away, and the next a cold barrel is pressed against his head steadily. The adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins goes cold, all action halted immediately. Even he’s not fast enough to jump if this person pulls the trigger. Not if the barrel’s against his head, not if he can’t see the person’s face to gauge when they’re going to pull it.

“Hands up,” the voice of a female child orders Five, and in shock he puts his hands up. He’s not going to hurt a child, even though he may look like one.

“Do you know what’s going on here?” he asks slowly, not daring to move an inch. “Is the Commission really recruiting children now? That’s low.” He can make out the person’s shadow on the ground, but the flickering lights make it hard for him to make out any details about them.

“I’m not a child,” the person says bitterly, “and neither are you. Now, are you going to comply or not?”

Something about the person’s voice makes Five feel like he knows them. It carries a weird accent not native to where Five lives. He can’t place it, though; who would he know that’s a child? All his siblings are adults now. The only other people he really knows are Y/N and the Handler.

Wait. Y/N. She’d been going to get a new body. And this person has an accent.

Pretty convenient Five’s back in his child body too.

“Y/N?” he asks, hesitant. The gun on his head doesn’t waver.

“Long time no see,” you reply.

Five relaxes, his hands going down, and he turns around. It’s definitely you; there’s that brand on your collarbone you’d said was the symbol of your patron goddess. “Y/N! What are you talking about, it’s only been—” He halts when you load the chamber of the gun, face stone-cold. You’ll shoot. What? “It’s only been a day!”

“It’s been three years,” you snap, “since you left me on that mission to assassinate President John F. Kennedy. Nice to know we’re a team, jackass. What did I do for you to rescind the invitation?”

No doubt it would have been a cutting insult had your voice not broken a tiny bit. Five opens his mouth—it’s been a day; he really was planning on finding you—but you cut him off.

“I’m not even interested in your half-assed excuse. Just come with me.”

Of course the Commission would send Five’s former partner, the one person that would catch him off guard and the only possible person that could kill him. You know all his tricks, and you have far more tricks from your years at the Commission than Five can count. Even if he jumps now, the tracker in his arm will tell them where he is. He jumps and you’ll even be waiting for him wherever he jumps to.

The perks of your enemies being time travelers, Five thinks bitterly. “Okay.”

“Don’t try anything,” you warn. You always could read him. He never could read you.

“I’m not going to,” Five lies.

“You’re lying.”

Five insists, “I’m not! Y/N, you’re my oldest friend—what do you think I’m going to do, kill you?”

“I’d kill you,” you say quietly. “Don’t say for a second you wouldn’t hesitate to kill a friend that was threatening you.”

“Never one for sentiment, were you?”

“I killed my own mother,” you snap. “Who are you to me?”

Five flinches at that, a little bit. Maybe you really didn’t return any of his feelings. He doesn’t want to hurt you, though. He says softly, “Y/N, what’s the Commission done to you?”

“Nothing,” you snap. “You left. You promised that we could stop the apocalypse together and then you left.”

“Y/N, you’ve gotta understand,” Five says desperately, “It’s been a day! I honestly was going to find you!”

“Bull,” you snort. “You haven’t thought about me since you got back. You’re too obsessed with the apocalypse.”

“Just take me back,” Five sighs. He knows you’re suspicious; you possess a talent for spotting liars that would lead him to believe you’re one of the 43 children and that’s your power if you hadn’t been born in Sparta thousands of year before he was.

Like the choreographed fights you two had performed for years while working together, you both lunge at the same time. At the end of the day, Five has superpowers and no matter how skilled you are, you’ll never be able to jump through space and time without a briefcase.

You fire your gun and it grazes Five. He won’t be so lucky next time you shoot and he knows it, so he jumps behind you—you’re already spinning around; you’d seen the way his eyes flickered and you’d seen where he was jumping, but he connects your turning jaw with a heavy dinner plate.

The hit catches you off guard and you take a step back to keep yourself from falling (it’s the first time Five’s managed to throw you off-balance) and fire off another shot just before Five hits you again. If he hadn’t managed to jump just in time, he would have been killed instantly.

Yes, you’re good. But you don’t have superpowers.

Five kneels by your crumpled unconscious form to check if you’re still breathing. You’d taken it easy on him. You’d hesitated. It’s almost as if you’d wanted to be taken captive.

He dismisses that thought. You were willing to help him before. He just needs to explain to you without a gun pointed at his face.

You wake up when people start to argue, but you don’t let anyone know. Experimentally, you tense up and try to move infinitesimally, but your hands are tied behind your back and one of your ankles is tied to something else. You’ve got a sore jaw and a roaring headache. From the feel of things, you’re in a bed. Pain radiates up your right arm from your forearm, right where your Commission tracker is. Probably was, now. It’s wrapped up tightly in some sort of bandage. Yep, definitely was.

Five is good. He really is.

Well, you’ve gotten out of stickier situations. You’re not really sure if you want to get out of this one, though; you’re quickly growing sick of the Commission. The future Five had proposed to you—living out the rest of your lives together, probably sniping at each other, in a world that is decidedly still turning—sounded so good, and you’d gotten your hopes up.

Then he abandons you during one of his missions, and you spend the next three years wondering if he was just waiting until he was left alone to run away. You’d thought you were the one thing keeping him at the Commission, and you were, but not in the way you’d hoped.

Hope. The thing with feathers, or so says Emily Dickinson, and it’s poisoned you. Spartans don’t hope. They go out and get the thing they were hoping for.

“Five, we can excuse a lot of things, but we can’t excuse you kidnapping a child!” a man with a deep voice says, sounding scandalized. You can capitalize on his sympathy for you, you know.

“Y/N’s a child about as much as I’m a child,” Five replies. “She was my partner when I was working at the Commission. She’s going to help us stop the apocalypse.”

“I’m sorry, didn’t you say she was sent to kill you?” another man says. “That doesn’t seem like she cares much about you or the apocalypse.”

“She was willing to help me yesterday,” Five replies. “Or three years ago.”

“What?”

“It was yesterday for me, but, well, for Y/N it’s been about three years since I left. The Commission never sleeps, after all, not even if your partner goes missing.”

A distinctly feminine voice speaks up. “Was it really necessary to knock her out and tie her up? And what’s wrong with her arm?”

“I had to cut her tracker out,” Five replies, to general uproar.

“You can’t cut unconscious people, Five!”

“What tracker?”

“Is that why you’re bleeding too?”

Five yells over the noise, “Shut up!” When everyone quiets, he says slowly, “The Commission puts trackers in every one of its agents ‘if they go missing’.” You can picture him doing the air quotes. “That’s part of the reason, but the real reason is if they run away. Agents do that a lot, actually. And I don’t need them breathing down our necks while we plan how to stop the apocalypse. Y/N, any ideas?”

“Untie me and I’ll share them with you,” you reply in a bored tone, sitting up and opening your eyes. You should have known he’d never believe you’d stay sleeping through all that shouting. You hope nothing on your face gives away how much it hurts to talk around what must be at least a terribly bruised jaw.

An odd assortment of people greet you. You can assume who they are from Five’s stories.

You meet Five’s eyes unflinchingly. Chameleon be damned. Sympathy be damned. You’ll be just as nasty to these people as you want. Five’s likely warned them all about you anyway.

It’s what a Spartan would do. Spartans don’t pretend to be weak.

“How’s your head?” the girl wearing fashionable clothes asks, reaching out for you. You know who she is. You’ve seen part of one of her movies when you had to sneak into a movie theatre to kill a woman with smallpox that threatened to infect young Barack Obama pre-presidency.

“Touch me and I’ll kill you,” you say without looking at her. She recoils instantly. The largest man in the room scowls and opens his mouth to say something, but you keep talking, transferring your gaze to the only other woman in the room. “Ah, and you must be Vanya, correct? I remember Five was always… scribbling in your book. Isn’t it funny when the wolf doesn’t even know it’s a wolf?”

Five’s eyes widen. “She does it? You’ve seen it happen?”

“The White Violin,” you say, dipping your head at Vanya, “it’s an honor to make your acquaintance. Maybe this time around you won’t destroy the world? And will someone untie me?”

It takes a long time for the family to reach the agreement that they would untie you. Between your threats about castrating anyone that touched you without your permission and the bombshell you’d dropped on everyone that’d knocked even Five off his feet, nobody was feeling very huggy towards you.

Except Vanya. Well, she wasn’t feeling huggy, but she completely ignored your threats and asked you what you were talking about.

You’re not dumb enough to threaten the person powerful enough to destroy the world because of a temper tantrum, so you explain to her in clipped sentences and everyone else just listens in.

Only Five hears the strain in your voice, the way you slur your English despite your accent. Nobody else sees the awkward way you hold yourself and your arm. You may be younger now, but he still knows you. It was necessary, he tells himself. The Commission would have found us immediately.

Nearly breaking your jaw wasn’t, but you had been trying to kill him. So maybe it was.

You still know him. He’s been avoiding your accusing gaze since you said that Vanya causes the apocalypse.

The necessity of his actions doesn’t change the guilt that makes his stomach feel upset when he thinks about how the first time you see him in three years he knocks you out, cuts out your tracker, and kidnaps you. Then again, you’ve never been under any delusions that Five would act any other way.

“Look in the journal underneath Leonard’s bed,” you say carelessly. “His real name is Harold Jenkins and he’s just manipulating you until you kill your siblings, by the way. Your father knew about your powers and wrote about it in his journal.”

You get them to untie you through sheer willpower and manipulation alone, and it’s nice to see that you haven’t changed at all. Five’s almost proud of you. It might have only been a day, but god he’d missed you.

You immediately sock Five in the jaw. The Handler wasn’t kidding when she said ‘denser muscles’; he feels like Luther had just hit him.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed at all,” Five mutters and spits a mouthful of blood on the ground.

Umbrella Academy Taglist:

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[imaginetonyandbucky]

Broken People Chapter 4

(AO3)

“What did you do to my arm?” Bucky growled, grabbing Tony by his throat and lifting him onto his toes.  He heard the guards down the hall stop in their tracks to stare.

“I don’t know what- I’m sorry, I can fix it!” Tony pleaded. “Don’t-“ he made a gurgling sound like Bucky was choking him into silence.

“Now,” Bucky demanded, narrowing his eyes at Tony warningly. He shoved Tony towards the maintenance shop, stalking after him as Tony hurried down the hall. Behind them the guards said something to each other, and Bucky prayed they wouldn’t come investigate. But eventually they just kept walking the other way, and his shoulders relaxed in relief.

Tony hurried to let himself into the maintenance shop and came around one of the desks as if grateful to put it between him and a furious Winter Soldier. As soon as Bucky came through the door and slammed it behind him, Tony hit a button and the red lights on the cameras in the room started to blink.

“Ha,” Tony said, and held up his middle fingers at them. Bucky found himself smiling, and when Tony turned to face him, looking smug and victorious, he leaned over and pressed his lips to Tony’s.

When he pulled back, Tony looked stunned.  Bucky immediately felt ashamed. “I’m s-”

But Tony silenced him with another kiss. “No more apologies,” he whispered against Bucky’s mouth. Bucky felt hands framing his face, cool and rough with callouses, as Tony kissed him again and that was the happiest Bucky could ever remember feeling.

(Watch out for the break!)

Too soon, though, Tony pulled away.  “We don’t have much time,” he said regretfully, and Bucky nodded as they got to work.

Bucky had negotiated thirty minutes of time alone with Tony once he woke up, and he spent the time holding his hands as he gave him back their memories, every word that they had ever passed back and forth after the chair.  A knock on the door was a one minute warning so he squeezed Tony’s hands one last time and let go.  “There are people here who need to talk to you, doctors to make sure that you’re ok.  They’ll give you everything you need, yeah?”

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?” Tony glanced at the door and Bucky understood.  “If you want to see me again, just ask. I'm not going to be far away.” Bucky’s hands itched to touch, wanting to wrap around Tony and never let go, but instead he clasped them behind his back and stepped aside for the doctors to come in.

Bucky was dozing lightly when voices in the hall woke him. He sat up sharply when he realized that one of those voices was Tony’s, yelling angrily. Then his cell door was opened and Tony was shoved through, still cursing.

“This one is starting to forget who’s in charge around here,” one of the guards said with a sneer. “Put him in his place.”

When he saw the purple swelling near Tony’s eye and the blood on his chin from a split lip, Bucky didn’t have to fake an angry snarl as he stood and approached the guards.  The guards backed away quickly and slammed the door, this time apparently more interested in making a quick escape than staying to watch.

“Bastards,” Tony spat, kicking the door. “I caught them stealing from the armory and they threw me in here for plausible deniability.”

With a long exhale, Bucky captured Tony’s chin and held him still while he pressed cool metal fingers to the bruise around his eye.  After a moment Tony sighed and leaned his head into the touch.  “I think what really might have pissed them off is when I kicked one of them in the nuts,” Tony admitted. Bucky snorted in amusement.

“Anywhere else?” Tony wasn’t moving like he was injured, but-

“Them or me?” Bucky huffed and Tony grinned like he thought he was clever.  He pointed to the cut on his lip and said, “Kiss it and make it better?”

Bucky had been wrong. This was the happiest he could ever remember feeling.  With a slow smile he buried his hands in Tony's silky hair, feeling the strands curl lightly around his fingers, and held Tony still as he leaned over to brush a barely there kiss across the cut on Tony's mouth, tongue flicking over it lightly. Tony made a quiet noise, almost like a sigh, and his eyes slid closed whiel Bucky pressed another feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his eyelids and temple.  He rested his forehead against Tony's and they breathed together for a few moments; then Tony made a thoughtful noise deep in his chest and tilted his head up to capture Bucky's mouth, tongue running over the seam of his lips until Bucky let him inside with a groan.  As his tongue thrust inside, hot and wet and eager, curling around Bucky's, setting a rhythm that Bucky felt at the base of his spine, Tony's hands slid under Bucky's shirt.  Bucky inhaled a ragged breath at the feeling of Tony's hands on his skin, nails raking up his ribs and leaving goosebumps in their wake.  Bucky went still, breathing shallowly, not wanting to do anything that would make Tony stop, that would interfere with the miracle of Tony's body pressed eagerly against his own.  His knees got weak when he felt how hard Tony was; he wanted to drop to the floor and put his mouth on him, press his thumbs to the hip bones that sometimes showed above the line of Tony's pants and hear the noises as Tony came apart above him -

Noises.

"The guards," Bucky whispered against Tony's mouth with whimper.  They were approaching quickly; someone must have noticed that Tony wasn't where he was supposed to be.

Tony groaned and bit Bucky's lip as he pulled away, then suddenly there was a screwdriver pressed against Bucky's carotid artery.  Bucky suppressed a smile as Tony said, "Get your fucking hands off me," and backed away, almost running into the guards as they opened the cell door.  Bucky sat down on his cot, knees wide, and saw Tony's eyes go dark as he eyed the thick line of Bucky's erection.

"Did we interrupt your fun?" One of the guards leered but Bucky ignored him, keeping his eyes on Tony's until the cell door slammed closed.

“So?” Steve asked expectantly as Bucky joined him in one of the observation rooms. “How did it go?”

Bucky shrugged.  “It will take a while for all of the memories to come back.” He watched the video feed as Tony submitted to the doctors’ poking and prodding. “What’s going to happen now?”

Steve sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, which meant that he disagreed with what he was about to say but wasn’t committed to fighting about it yet.  “Fury got a warrant allowing him to keep Tony here until ‘such times as he can be proven to not be a threat to national security.’”

Bucky went still as rage swept through him.  “So he just went from one prison to another?” He said carefully.

Steve heard the note in his voice and stepped between him and the door, holding his hands up even though Bucky hadn't moved. “Look, you have to admit that there is at least a possibility that he has trigger words you don’t know about.  Fury's just playing it safe.”

Bucky’s mouth opened to protest and then he shut it again, turning away and running his hands through his hair, tugging a bit in frustration.  “How do you prove something like that?”

Steve shrugged helplessly.  “But it sounds like Stark Industries is trying its best to get Tony out of here, so maybe let the lawyers duke it out while Tony…” They both glanced at the screen, where Tony was staring into space while doctors recorded his vitals and took blood. “Gets better,” Steve finished.

Bucky stared hard at Tony as they sat across from each other in the personnel carrier, flanked by members of the insertion team on each side.  His handler had decided that Tony was to assist in the mission, to gather intel and leave behind a computer virus.  Bucky had gotten a sinking feeling when he’d heard the mission briefing, and the longer Tony avoided meeting his eyes, the worse it got.

It’s a test, Bucky’s instincts were screaming.  Tony’s obedience was being tested, and from the set of Tony’s shoulders, he was going to fail. As Bucky went the motions for the mission, every step felt like he was going to an execution.  He knew exactly when Tony would make his move, and he knew the others were expecting it too, knew it from the way they were watching him.

Don’t, Bucky pleaded in his mind. He wanted to pull Tony back, pull him away from the wolves that were waiting for him to run.  But when the team split he left without looking back.

When his mission was done, he jogged back to the extraction point with barely concealed urgency.  The personnel carrier was waiting with the engine running and Tony had been thrown into the back, arms and legs bound with military grade zip ties. He was scraped up and bloody but alive. His eyes were unrepentant when they met Bucky’s.

The team leader grinned and nudged Tony with the toe of his boot.  “Caught him trying to escape, just like the boss thought.  What do you think is going to happen to him?”

Bucky went cold and his chest tightened as he climbed into the carrier, remembering what they’d done to him when he’d tried to escape.

“Tony’s been asking for you,” Steve said, finally cornering Bucky in the kitchen.

“I know," Bucky sighed and braced himself on the counter, hanging his head. “But I can’t just…make small talk while I wait for him to remember all the things I…to remember everything.”  When Steve was silent, Bucky glanced up to see Steve studying him. “What?”

“Buck, what do you want to happen here? With Tony?”

“I want him to be happy.  After everything, he deserves that, to be able to do whatever he wants and not be afraid anymore.”  Bucky’s heart squeezed at the thought; God, Tony was going to change the world and Bucky couldn’t wait to see it happen.

“Do you want to be a part of that?”

“I…” Bucky took a deep breath to keep his voice steady.  “He deserves better,” he said instead of answering.  Tony deserved someone beautiful and smart and competent, someone who could lift Tony up instead of dragging him down.  He looked down at his hands and remembered washing Tony’s blood off of them and swallowed against the queasiness.

“Bucky, you deserve good things, too,” Steve said softly. “You deserve to be happy.”

Bucky shook his head. “You don’t understand, Steve.”  “Hit him again,” his handler ordered. “Until he learns to stay down.”  When he met Steve’s eyes, his gaze was bleak. “With Hydra, he was my reward.  But I was his punishment.”

“Well, this would be disappointing if it wasn’t so predictable,” his handler said as he considered Tony, still bound and little more banged up from where the insertion team had dragged him inside and thrown him into the sparring cage. The other Winter Soldiers were starting to circle and in the corners of the room guards were taking bets. “What should we do with him?”

As suggestions were called out Tony blanched and struggled to sit. Bucky’s hands curled into fists at the cruder ones, stomach turning.  His mind raced for an out, a way to shield Tony from-

After a moment the handler waved his hand and everyone fell silent, silent enough to hear Tony’s harsh breathing.  “Well, you know, if he wants to be free so badly, maybe we should let him go.”  A nasty laughter erupted through the room.  “How long do you think it will take for him to beg to come back?”

Bucky forced himself to stay, to listen to Tony pounding on the metal door to the bunker and pleading to come back inside.   He listened while the pounding grew weaker and weaker until his handler checked his watch and gave Bucky the nod.  The sub-zero temperatures hit Bucky like a wall of ice as opened the door, the wind gusting snow inside the entrance.  He picked Tony’s limp body up and carried him to medical, praying that it wasn’t too late.

“So how long are you going to keep him here, Fury?” Bucky said, slamming the door to Fury’s office while his secretary winced behind him.  “It’s been a week.  You haven’t found any triggers and Tony has jumped through all your little hoops and passed with flying colors.”

“Barnes,” Fury said calmly, waving a hand at the chair across from him.  “Have a seat. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Bucky scowled and closed the door behind him. “What?”

Fury leaned his elbows over the desk and interlaced his fingers. “You said in your report that you were instructed to bring Tony Stark to Hydra after Howard and Maria Stark were dead.”

“Yes,” Bucky said flatly, never happy to be reminded if that. "And?"

“Did you ever find out who gave the order?”

“My handl- Pierce,” Bucky corrected.  “Everything went through Pierce.”

“Did you ever wonder why? Why take Tony? Why not kill him too, or leave him at the scene?”

“No,” Bucky said slowly, after a long moment of thought.  “I assumed Hydra saw him as a potential asset, so…”

“Possibly,” Fury allowed, leaning back in his chair. “But what if it was less about what Hydra was getting, and more about Hydra was…removing?”

Bucky sat back too, and thought.  “You think Hydra was getting Tony out of the way? Why? For who?”

Fury nodded.  “Obadiah Stane took over Stark Industries as a temporary measure when Tony Stark went missing.  He’s never taken the steps to have Tony declared dead, even after all this time. Odd, since he's been gone for almost two decades.  But then, if he had, the company would probably gone public and he would have lost control of the company and the Stark fortune.”

“And now Stane is trying to get you to release Tony,” Bucky said, feeling his insides go cold.  “But...that would mean that Stane would have to step down, right?”

“Unless a tragic accident happens.” Fury spread his hands wide.  “I mean, the possibilities are endless.” He started counting on his fingers.  “Suicide, he snaps and attacks someone and is killed in self-defense, crazed fan kills him in a murder suicide, even a car accident.”

“So you’ve been keeping him here for his own safety? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Until I know how Stane found out that Tony was here, I don’t trust anyone but you and Steve.  But Steve’s got a shit poker face, so. Right now, it’s just me and you.”

Bucky ran his hands over his face. “Fuck.  So what are we going to do?”

“Well, first, you’re going to have to suck it up and talk to him,” Fury said.  “Because he hasn’t stopped asking for you, and I’m afraid of what he’ll do if he starts to think we’re keeping you separated on purpose.”

[joylessholland]

Shard (Part 3)

PETERPARKERXREADER

(1,784 words)

Warning: Slight violence, Swearing, fluff, my shit 3am writing, It was a dream, people!

A/N: This is part took me a few days to write but I finally got it how I want it, Please send requests I’m running out of ideas!!!! 

Masterlist   !Requests!    Part One   Part  Two

“How did we get stuck with stakeout” Agent J sighed bringing his binoculars to his eyes, “You said Black widow had a nice ass, I played galaga at my desk again.” Agent H said munching on a chip “All hell has broken loose with that telepath out there, how many agents has she taken” J asks grabbing a chip “3, no one knows why she went all evil.” “I heard Mr. Stark talking, apparently it’s not her. It’s this guy codename Puppetmaster. He made all those creatures last week.” Agent H said with a shutter crumpling up the empty chip bag. Pulling out his phone he flips through it yawning. The silence of the night is shattered along with the driver’s side window, turning Agent H stares in horror as a spike of pure diamond protrudes from his partner neck. The driver’s door opens with a click and agent J is slowly lifted from his seat and laid on the road. Reaching for his gun Agent H finds his body frozen in place. Sitting in the seat next to him is a beautiful woman made of crystal “four agents gone, won’t you please have the info I need.” She coos placing a hard, cold hand on his forehead “I’m not gonna lie Sugar, this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it’s it gonna hurt me” winking she closes her eyes and the night is filled with the loud screams of Agent H.

“Peter, you have to calm down your wound still pretty fresh,” Tony says trying to get Peter back in bed “A week Tony, a fucking week” he snaps pushing past his mentor “Look, kid, I’m sorry” Tony pleads grabbing his arm “Oh, she’s fine Pete. Just recovering Pete. When you’re better she will be too.” Peter yells tearing his arm from Tony’s grasp “Fine, you want to help her come with me and we’ll get you briefed” Tony tries seeing the pure anger on Peter’s features “Fine” he finally sighs walking with Tony to the conference room.

“Agent Fanter, Moulance, and McGregor have all gone missing since Y/n went awol.” Tony says flipping through slides “She didn’t go awol, you know what happened. I could have saved her” Peter snaps flipping through a folder stopping on a photo of you wearing a grey overcoat arm and arm with the Puppetmaster. “What about this dude?” he asks pointing at the man on the screen “Dr. Hugo Shultz, HYDRA, very powerful mentally but physically he can be taken out by my Nana, that’s why he needs Y/n. She’s strong, fast, and powerful” Tony says as the doors fly open and the team funnels in “What’s happening” “Look,” Steve says grabbing the remote and turning to a news channel.

“Hello World, I am…Shard and this is…” you laugh “The Puppet Master” you laugh again through the screen making Peter’s heart drop “Aw, he doesn’t feel very social today…but you know who does? Agent Carlos Hask.” Y/n says moving the screen to show a sweaty man tied to a chair with many cuts and bruises on his face “say Hello” a thick German accent says from the background “Hello” the man chokes “Good boy” you mumble turning the camera back to you “So sorry about your partner by the way” Y/n giggles “This message is for everyone police, military,” you pause for dramatic effect “Avengers. You won’t find us unless we wanna be found, you won’t stop us unless we let you, and you most definitely won’t save me. Thank you for your time, and remember. We’re coming” she snickers again dropping the camera to the ground, the screen goes to white noise and snow before the new returns to the air “Um, what do we do?” the anchor says as the screen goes black

“That wasn’t her,” Peter says forcing the lump in his throat down “How can be sure whatever he did to her isn’t permanent,” Nat says holding up a picture of Agent J “I trained her, I was her handler. I know her, that’s that doctor he’s twisting her” “We believe you kid, it’s just a lot. I know how you felt about her” Steve says putting a hand on Peters' shoulder “That’s not the point, She’s an Avenger. I’m not gonna let her be manipulated by this man any longer” Peter says standing up to fast hissing in pain “See now you’ve done it” Tony snaps lifting his arm “Broke a stitch” he sighs practically dragging him back to the med bay not without protest of course.

“Learned our lesson this time, that won’t open again,” the doctor says patting Peters bare shoulder “Thanks, doc,” he says pulling his shirt over his head, pulling his head out the top he sees you standing in front of him “Get out, now” you whisper the warning. Blinking and shaking his head you disappear. The sound of a loud boom rocks the facility as the alarm begins blaring and red lights flash. “All Avengers to level Six protect the central unit at all costs,” FRIDAY says over the speaker system. Jumping off the table Peter runs out into the hall and sees three large grey skinned men “Hey” Peter yells shooting a web ripping the gun from the man's hand and knocking him out with it. Shooting a few more webs Peter runs past the three men all immobile on the floor. “What’s happening” Peter yells into his coms “She’s here” Tony’s voice is staticky over the coms before it cuts off completely. Jumping over the railing Peter falls five stories catching the railing just in front of the sixth-floor access door. Taking a deep breath, he swings the door open.

The sight of your fingers forming a small blade and plunging into an agent’s side causes Peter to scream out your name. Letting the body hit the floor you slowly turn around “Hey sugar” you smile “Y/n this…” you cut him off by shooting a small shard at him “Don’t even try it bug boy. Dr. Hugo already trained me for this.” You say shooting another shard at his, dodging it he shakes his head “I’m not gonna fight you” he says tears forming in his eyes “Then you’ll die” you shout lunging at him with your hands formed into small diamond blades. Grunting and hissing you try your hardest to slice into Peter “Please stop this” he pleads as you scream out in pain “Stop talking” you snap swiping at him, again flipping out of the way he keeps talking “Y/n I know somewhere in there it’s you, I know deep in your mind you remember me, Peter,,.” He pleads as you fall to one knee “stop” you shout as he keeps talking inching closer and closer. Your skin changes back to flesh as he steps even closer “It hurts Peter” you cry “Why didn’t you save me” you cry again tears falling down your face as he steps closer once again “Y/n I’m so…” pouncing your body shimmers back to crystal and you hold a sharp hand to Peters' throat “You have haunted my dreams, for the longest time. It’s time I end it” you hiss raising your arm “I’m sorry Y/n,” Peter says as a sharp pain radiates through your body, your diamond skin burns and electricity crackle across your skin until it returns to normal and you lose consciousness. Holding you in his arms Peter lets out a small sod tearing the small piece of taser web off your leg “I’m so sorry” he says raising to his feet with you in his arms.

A steady beep annoys you to the point of death as you open your eyes to the bright light of the hospital room. “Y/n?” Peter says next to you grabbing your hand “Peter” you breathe as he kisses you knuckles “You’re back” he says with a sigh of relief “What happen…” the memories of the past week flow through your mind bringing you to tears “Y/n don’t do this to yourself, none of that was you” Peter pleads gripping your hand tightly “I…please go” you sob. “What?” Peter huffs “Please go, send Tony in” you snap between sods.

Looking out at New York from the roof Peter sighs loudly as you tap his shoulder. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me,” Peter says forcing himself not to look at you “Peter, please,” you say as he reluctantly turns to see your watery eyes, grabbing his face you softly press his lips to yours in a tender loving kiss. “Thank you for stopping me,” you say breaking the kiss lingering above Peters' lips “None of this would have happened if I would have saved you,” He says turning away in shame. Grabbing his chin, you peck his lips “Stop beating yourself up about it, there was nothing you could have done. But there is something you can do for me now” you coo caressing his cheek “just die” you snap grabbing is wrists tearing his web shooters off before kicking him from the roof.

“Peter,” you say waving a hand in front of his face “You spaced out” you smile as he blushes “Sorry um, what” “I asked if you could do something for me.” You say caressing his cheek “What?” he asks as a helicopter land on the other end of the roof “Can you let me go? I can’t stay here Peter, that men he…made me do things I could never forgive myself for.” “But Y/n“ Peter interrupts “I know it wasn’t me but in a way, it was. He controlled me but in the end, it was still me. Peter please just let me go” you plead. Grabbing your arm, he looks to the agent bringing your bags to the aircraft “Y/n I think I might love you and…I can’t lose you again.” He pleads making a tear slip down your face “I think I might love you too, and that’s why I have to go. What if hurt you, again. I couldn’t live with myself. I love you Peter” you say running your hand down his arm you take his hand before walking to the helicopter. Stepping on you blow Peter one last kiss before you fly off. Looking down, in his hand Peter clutches and small diamond heart with a spider on the front. Bringing the small trinket to his lips he presses a small kiss against the smooth crystal.

“So where we headed,” the pilot asks as you sit next to him “Not too far, have a feeling I’ll be back soon enough” you smile raising your hand changing it to diamond “Crystals are my specialty”

@midtownvaledictorian @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked@tiemeupspidey @champagneholland @fangirltopic@marveltomjunkie @kingquackdaddy @panicatttckiss@seilamigliorcosacheabbiamaivisto @casualprincess77 @ging3r-fall@rivedale @holland-osterfield101 @parkerscupcake@lanilovespsychos @clairesrainbow

[reformedkingsmanagent]

Do 103: “ Well that’s pretty rude of you to say. ”? Your writing always makes my day!

AN: omg thank you so much! I hope you like this!

Prompt: #103: “Well that’s pretty rude of you to say.”

Pairing: Charlie x reader

Word Count: 2282

You were walking by the lab but stopped when you heard raised voices. There shouldn’t have been anyone else down here at this time. You were preparing for the next mission. Things had been so busy around there that you were admittedly losing out on sleep. You could feel the effects. You were a little moodier, you had even less patience for bullshit than usual, and you hadn’t talked to anyone like you usually did.

You really should’ve been in bed trying to fall asleep, but you felt like you were wasting time sitting there in the dark. You could be doing other more important things. Of course Merlin had noticed you staying up later and later, but he had been nice enough not to say anything. You were working on it. You had to. Falling asleep or losing focus while directing an agent would be more than embarrassing- it would be lethal.

“I do not-” The raised voice was lowered as the individual repeated themselves. “I do not have feelings for her.” You paused outside the door, interest piqued.

“Oh please, every time she says anything at all to you, you just smile. She could be yelling at you and you’d just smile at her. There’s no point in denying it.” You recognized that voice. It was Roxy, a good friend of yours. You had been her handler on countless missions while Merlin was tied up dealing with Eggsy and-

“Exactly! Charlie, come on man. You’re so obvious I bet even she knows.” Eggsy and Roxy had apparently made it their mission to pressure Charlie into….into what?

“It’s not important.” Who did Charlie have feelings for and why did it make you feel suddenly jealous, as if you had a right to be? The two of you had barely even spoken to each other.

You wanted to turn around and head back, to pretend you had never heard any of this conversation. He definitely couldn’t mean you. It wasn’t his fault you formed irrational crushes in seconds. You didn’t even know Charlie, not really. He was a great agent, and you had assisted him a few times while he was on missions and encountered him around HQ once or twice, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

“Okay, but remember that meeting last month? The one where you were caught staring at her? I think you have a problem, mate-” You stopped mid-way through turning around to leave. You could hear the amusement in Eggsy’s voice.

Roxy cut Eggsy off. “And you’re lucky Merlin was in a good mood or he would’ve announced it to everyone.” No. No no no, that didn’t happen. You had convinced yourself that maybe he was dazed or daydreaming and you just happened to be standing across from him, clipboard in hand, as Merlin lectured. You always read too much into situations when attractive men were involved. Kingsman was torture in that regard. You refused to believe what they were saying. You needed to leave.

“If you two are done embarrassing me, I’m going to bed.” Shit. Move!

The large door swung open and you were caught standing in the middle of the hallway, the light coming from the lab illuminating your face. “Oh, hi there.”

Charlie looked just as frozen as you felt. He took up most of the space in the doorway and you couldn’t see the others. “What the hell are you doing down here?” It seemed his nerves turned to hostility.

“Well that’s pretty rude of you to say.” You weren’t irritated with him, but you were in a bad mood. You sounded just as hostile as he had.

He paused, and squinted down at you as if seeing you for the first time. He didn’t seem too impressed with what he saw. “How much of that did you hear?”

“None. Not a word. I was just passing through.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You’re a bad liar.” He took a step closer to you but you stood your ground. You were a handler, training under Merlin. They had to respect you. “What are you doing out here?”

“It’s absolutely none of your business what I am doing. I should be asking all three of you what you are doing in the lab so late at night.” You raised your voice. You almost never had to pull rank, but you were at a loss on how to handle this situation. Charlie stood up straight, a surprised expression on his face. You were still extremely concerned about what you had overheard, but at the same time you didn’t want anything to do with it. Things could have remained the same, where you didn’t hope for anything beyond a simple “hello” here and there, if you had just gone to bed.

Just forget you heard any of it.

“I’m going to bed.” Roxy announced, darting past Charlie before you could bring yourself to stop her.

“Me too, yeah?” Eggsy also moved to pass Charlie. Eggsy roughly patted his shoulder before leaving the hallway, loudly whispering “just charm your way out of this” as if only Charlie could hear him. Charlie cleared his throat and moved a few inches away from Eggsy. “See ya, Y/N.” Eggsy’s casual use of your name always bugged Merlin. It didn’t bother you unless he said it on purpose to diminish your authority. Like right now. You frowned at him as he disappeared up the stairs behind Roxy.

Which left just you and Charlie standing in the poorly-lit hallway.

“I should go. You should too.” You turned to head back up the stairs yourself, but you felt one of his hands grab you at your elbow. He was gentle, which somehow surprised you. The touch itself had made you jump a little though you were decent at hiding it.

“Wait.” You turned to face him and he released your elbow. You looked up at him, expecting an explanation. You were waiting for him to say that what you heard had nothing to do with you, that they were just giving him a hard time- “I know this is against the rules, but…” He paused and you were ready to faint. What was against the rules? There were a lot of things that were against the rules. Killing a fellow agent? Against the rules. Harassment? Against the rules. “Oh god, I can see the wheels turning in your head.” He said it like it was a bad thing and you turned and started walking towards the stairs again. This time, he had to jog a little to reach you.

“Please, I’m sorry.” He moved in front of you, blocking your path up the stairs. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t control the words coming out of my mouth.” He shook his head, smiling at himself. “It looks like I don’t need tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum around to embarrass me. I do a fine job of it on my own,” he said.

“What were you saying, before all this happened?” He looked confused at your question. “You said it was against the rules?”

“Oh, right. That. It’s really nothing. ” You didn’t believe him for a second, but you couldn’t exactly fact check him.

“It didn’t seem like nothing.” You kept an eye on him and his face softened as he looked you over.

“You need sleep.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You almost ducked out of the way, not expecting him to do something like that, but you were glad you didn’t. His fingertips grazed your cheek and left a line of searing heat in their wake. “You do too much for us.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He cupped your face in his hands and you felt your lungs give out.

“You try to hide it, but I’ve noticed it. You aren’t getting good rest. Did Merlin put you up to this? Running around all night?” The concern for you in his voice was flattering, but this was an incredibly inappropriate level of intimacy. It was even more unusual, coming from him. You forced yourself to take a step back, out of his reach. You could feel the imprint of warmth on your face even after his hands left your cheeks. “Have I upset you? Did I misunderstand?”

You shook your head and turned towards the archives, in the opposite direction of the stairs. Maybe getting lost in an old book would help clear your mind and set your priorities straight. You couldn’t think about Charlie that way.

“Y/N, wait!” You didn’t wait. You couldn’t entertain the idea of him. You allowed yourself your crush, but that should have been the end of it. You weren’t allowed anything else, especially not with an agent. There was no point to it.

The next time you saw Charlie was a few days later. You passed Merlin’s office and overheard a heated exchange, though it was muffled too much for you to know what was being said. Before you could reach the end of the hallway, the door had slammed open and Charlie stormed out in the opposite direction. Merlin followed soon after, but he paused in the doorway. You kept walking, hoping this had nothing to do with you.

“I’ve been accused of being too hard on you,” Merlin spoke as he sat down beside you at the monitors. Roxy was on her way to the extraction point, mission handled expertly. You turned to look at him and he was smiling.

“Who said that to you?” You asked, though you felt you already knew it had something to do with the argument Charlie and Merlin had.

“Charlie did, if you can believe it.” You knew from looking at Merlin that he assumed you were aware of some part of this or had discussed it with Charlie at some point. You hadn’t spoken to him since that night. “Is there anything I need to be worried about?”

“No, sir. I’m fine. We’re not even friends, I don’t know why he would say something like that.” Or why he would care. You felt the urge to say it, to continue your sentence, but you didn’t.

“Well he clearly cares for you.” Hearing someone else say it made it worse. Or maybe it was because it was Merlin saying it. What confused you was the lack of disapproval you had expected to hear. “He just hasn’t said anything to you, I gather.”

“Nor should he.” You returned your eyes to the screens, noting that Roxy was safe and on her way back to HQ. Just keep doing your job.

“I think it would do you some good. Charlie’s a good man, don’t you think?” You couldn’t hide the shock in your face as you turned to look at a grinning Merlin, your jaw nearly on the floor. “Oh, come on. He’s not that bad, is he?”

“But, sir-“

“Listen. I’ll tell you exactly what I told him. Those rules? They’re old, outdated. As long as you are here, doing your job, showing no bias, that is all I ask. To forbid relationships is futile. It’ll just happen in secret and blow up in everyone’s faces later on.” He sounded as if he was speaking from personal experience. “Besides, I trust you to use your best judgment.” Before you could react or ask him anything more, he got up, mug in hand, and walked away. You were left feeling more conflicted than ever.

“Hey.” There was a knock on the door and it swung open, revealing Charlie. He seemed to be fresh off a mission and you were immediately wondering why on earth he hadn’t gone to clean up. He had a few cuts above an eyebrow, and he had been sweating quite a bit.

“Charlie?” You internally cursed, wondering why you hadn’t used his agent name. You were letting this whole situation get to you. Your thoughts were never this muddled. “What are you doing here?” You slid off the edge of your bed and stood up, suddenly realizing you were in your pajamas. Nothing too revealing, but it felt too casual. You were without your usual uniform and everything felt off. “You should get to medical.” You approached him, lifting your hands to examine the cuts on his face.

Before you could move away again, he grabbed both your wrists in one of his hands and pulled you against him, pressing his lips to yours. You were in shock for a few moments immediately after, but you soon recovered and leaned into him. After you started kissing him back, he released your wrists and your hands went up to become tangled in his hair. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you close to him. After a few long minutes, he separated from you, resting his forehead against yours. You were gasping for air, still completely shocked.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait. I just…I had a moment out there where I thought about some things I regretted. I just- I had to tell you how I felt.” He met your eyes. “I’ve given myself time to be sure that this isn’t just infatuation, or a situation arising from proximity…”

“I’ve not allowed myself to think of anyone as anything other than a colleague, though you have been testing my limits,” you confessed. “We should talk.”

“Yes, we should,” he agreed. He took one of your hands in his.

“After you visit medical.” His face fell for a moment but he smiled soon after.

“Yes ma’am.” He quickly pressed a kiss to your cheek before leaving the room.

[blackcroweamon]

Black Crow- Part 1: Angel of Death

Hey. It’s been a while since I was on this blog. I just didn’t have the motivation to continue with Eamon and I just went on what could’ve been a permanent hiatus for him. 

Yet, I found myself starting to miss him and, eventually, I decided to go back and write about him again. This might turn into an ongoing series, but I won’t make any promises like I did before. 

Other than that, I hope you like it ^^. 

(Side note: If there’s any suggestions on how I can improve on this, let me know)

I wonder how long I’ve been doing this? Walking through life, putting on an act by day, and peeling back the layers by night. It gets tiring, but somehow, I’ve managed to get through it all.

After a few moments, I turned off the faucet, allowing my face to simply float in the water for a moment before stepping back. My reflection hasn’t gotten any better. I stared back at the person in the mirror; a pale-skin kid with green eyes and brown hair. Water dripping down from his disheveled hair and onto his face. The bags under his eyes made it clear that he’s gone several nights without sleep. Yet that was the life of Eamon Brown, the Black Crow.

“… Back to it then.”, I sighed.

I walked back over to my laptop on the bed. Nearby, the TV was still tuned in on the news. Recently, there hasn’t been any reports of crimes going around; causing me some problems. Not that no crimes weren’t good, but it was becoming difficult to meet my manager’s quota every month. I might have to start taking more visits to the nearby prison if I wanted to catch up.

Not that there was any rush to do so. I had already turn in my mask a few days ago for this month’s quota, but it was better to start on the next month’s quota rather than waiting for the last second.

After a moment of getting situated, I started to scroll through my messages and alerts, but it was just the usual. Notices for quota deadlines, concert schedules for next month, old updates on crimes, and messages from Horace, the Leghorn Chicken, regarding our training sessions. I clicked on the later, a smile creeping onto my face as I read it. It seems he wanted to meet with me tomorrow.

Training with Horace was probably one of the only two things I enjoy doing. He’s a bit eccentric and seems a bit foolish, but he’s a great mentor. He also seems to be the only one in the company to care about my wellbeing as well.

A loud beep shook me from my thoughts as I turned my attention the new alert that appeared on screen. It was a police report from New Haven street. The report seemed to mention an on-going hostage situation that was taking place in the abandon Aaron Company warehouse. Three armed thugs and a single hostage…

Quickly, I grabbed my hoodie and made my way toward the door, grabbing my mask as I went. Looks like another hunt for the Reaper…

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I arrived on the scene about ten minutes later. Already the warehouse was surrounded by a blockade of police cars and vans. Men and woman rushed around to position themselves; the dogs braying wildly as they tugged against their handlers’ leashes. Didn’t look like there would be anyway to get in and out without being spotted, but, if there was one good thing I can say about my manager, it was that he knew the right contacts.

As was expected, Officer Roy was waiting for me in a nearby alley. Even to this day I was uncertain what sort of ties he had to the company. Whether he was being bribed to help me or was secretly part of the company, I was never sure. Yet, every time I’ve gone after these cases or sneaked into the prisons, he was always there as the inside man.

After a few moments, he spotted me and waved with that disarming grin of his. You’d think he was a clean guy if you didn’t know anything about the Sirens.

“Was wondering when you’d show up.”, Roy said, extending his hand in greeting. After a few seconds of realizing that I wasn’t going to shake his hand, he shrugged. “Had to try every once in a while.”

“What’s the situation…”, I asked, allowing my annoyance to creep into my voice.

“… A couple of days ago, we got a tip on a new drug gang opening up shop near the Delta train station. Nothing major, just a few punks looking to make a quick buck, but, well, you know how it can escalate. Small time drug dealers are one thing, but it starts to become a problem if they get themselves organized.” He stepped back and leaned against the wall. “Anyway, we busted their operation, but a few of them managed to escape. They nab a bystander and barricaded themselves in the warehouse.”

I gave him a small nod and prompted, “Is there a way in?”

“Yea. There’s a ladder in this alley that can reach the roof top. From there, you’ll have yourself a thirty foot drop down onto the warehouse itself. Most guys might break their legs jumping down, but, well, I’m sure you got that covered.”

I touched my mask. “You could say that.”

“Figured as much. Though the problem will be the drug dealers themselves. Two of them are armed with pistols and they’re all paranoid. They hear even a peep and they’ll pull the trigger on the hostage.” He rubbed his face wearily, like a person that was about to ask something difficult. “I know who you guys are, but... I ask that-“

I place a hand on him, cutting him off. “I won’t let them kill the hostage.”

I understood what he meant. The company I work for doesn’t just take the lives of a single group. They go after everyone. Young, old, innocent, or corrupted. It didn’t matter. All that mattered to the company was taking the life force of others.

A look of relief passes over his face. “Oh… good. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” I moved back. “Now… show me where this ladder is.”

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That was a pretty big drop.

I felt my stomach quiver when I peeked over the edge. I wasn’t afraid of heights, I’ve been on the upper balconies at the company building before, but this was the first time that I was actually going to jump off and hope to land on the warehouse instead of the street floor a hundred feet below.

I took a few deep breathes to calm my nerves. It wasn’t as bad as I was making it out. I had a large margin for error so it wasn’t likely that I was going to miss the landing. Plus, I had my mask in my pocket.

Pulling it out now, I allowed myself a few seconds to look at it. It was quite the ornate piece of work. The mask was a mix of black and white with a black nose piece and gold outlines. Musical notes danced under the right eye socket. It looked like something you would find in an opera house, but it’s purpose was far more sinister.

Taking one last breath, I put the mask on. In the brief moment, a strange sensation overcame me, culminating onto my back. Flexing, my wings spread out to either side of me, the black feathers blending into the shadows around me.

Suddenly I felt calm; my body relaxing as I looked back over the edge. Truthfully, I never used my wings in this fashion before. Despite appearances, we couldn’t fly, but Horace had taught me how I could use them to glide. Though this would be the first time I’ve every tried it outside of a training session.

“No second thoughts now.”, I whispered, jumping off the edge. I allowed my wings to spread out parallel to me as I was taught and, for a moment, I feared that it wasn’t going to work. However, my wings soon took effect and I started to glide down onto the warehouse.

I stumbled as I landed; wincing in pain as I fell down onto my hands and knees. I turned my hands over and, sure enough, my palms were scraped. Could’ve been worse, I thought to myself as I stood up. Fortunately, it didn’t appear that anyone had noticed my sudden landing.

Carefully, I looked around for an entry into the warehouse and spotted a door. As I got closer to it though, it was apparent that it was boarded and locked on the other side. I slammed my fist into the door in frustration. All this effort and I can’t even get in.

I closed my eyes, furious, but then I froze. I could hear the sound of fluttering wings. Opening my eyes, I looked over my shoulder and spotted a crow perched on my wing. It’s beady, black eyes stared at me for a moment before flying past me into the side of the door. Curious, I walked around to the side and spotted a hole.

It wasn’t that big, but the wall itself seemed to be crumbling apart in certain spots. Seeing it as my best way in, I tore at the hole bit by bit until I had myself a hole big enough to crawl through if I removed my mask. I smiled slightly as the crow cawed at me. Seems like this wasn’t a waste of time after all.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The voices were starting to get louder as I neared the bottom floor. Peering through a crack in a wall, I could make out a larger room. Crates and broken-down cars dotted the room. Overheard, support beams and walkways overlooked the room. A few windows shined into the room, but, otherwise, it was mostly dark. The two front doors outside were completely closed off by crates, but there appeared to be a side entrance that the thugs appeared to have left open if escape was necessary.

One of them, a nervous looking kid in ragged clothing, muttered, “David… what are we going to do? They have us surrounded.”

Out of sight, a gruff voice replied, “Shut up Daniel! We’ll be fine. They won’t be try anything while we have the hostage.”

“B-but what if-“

“Will you just chill?!” Another man in a hoodie walked into sight. “Don’t you think I want to be freaking out now? Just calm down and don’t worry so much. Ma told me to look after you and I’m not about to let my little bro get caught, ok?”

“O-ok Zack…”

The kid seemed to calm down as his body relax slightly. Though it was obvious that he was tense… and for good reason. It would be safe to leave him last when I start taking them out. However, first I needed to locate the hostage.

I quietly made my way onto one of the upper walkways and quickly spotted the hostage tied up and gagged against one of the pillars in the room. She appeared to be around my age; her black hair roughed up and her dark skin bruised from their mistreatment. Yet, her green eyes were alert and defiant as she stared at one to the other.

The last thug, a big guy in a white top and black pants, was looking out through one of the windows. As far as I could see, no one was paying any real attention to the hostage. Perhaps they were confident that she couldn’t escape or incompetent in general, but now was the perfect time to act.

Carefully, I climbed down onto the warehouse floor, making an effort to not make a sound, and carefully moved toward the girl. After a few seconds, her eyes widen as she made out my figure in the shadows, but she was smart enough to look away as one of the thugs, the hooded guy, Daniel, turned to her.

Time seemed to go by slowly as the thug checked her bindings. A small, irrational part of myself feared that they would hear my rapid heart beat as they drew close to me, but, eventually, the thug walked away.

I allowed a few more seconds to past before crawling up to her. Quickly and quietly, I undid her bindings, making sure to not make a sound as I worked. As she reached up to pulled away her gag, I grabbed her hand and whispered as quietly as possible, “Leave it on until you’re out of here. I need you to be as quiet as possible.”

I looked into her eyes to make sure she understood before removing the last of the bindings. Gently, I pushed her toward the side entrance, placing the crates between us and the thugs.

Perhaps some six-sense warned him or maybe we made a noise, but, suddenly, the big man turned around, shouting as he pulled out his pistol. Unconsciously, I pushed the girl aside as a burning sensation burrowed its way into my side.

I gasped as the pain wracked my body, but I ignored it and shoved the girl towards the door.

“Run! I’ll be right behind you.”, I lied.

She looked like she was about to stay and help, but, after looking into my eyes, she simply nodded and quickly ran through the door. Meanwhile, I crawled behind one of the nearby crates as the sound of the thugs’ footsteps came closer.

“Shit! She got away.”

“We need to get out of here! If they-“

“We can’t. They’ll be looking that way now that the hostage escaped.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We find the person who freed her. They’re still in here. I can feel it…”

As they talked, I had moved myself into one of the crates. I didn’t have a lot of time before they found me. Carefully, I took out my phone and shined the light on my wound. I stared at the wound as fresh waves of pain went through my body. This was the first time I’ve ever been shot and seeing wound made me feel sick. The bullet had gone clearly through my side and I knew I was losing blood fast.

I considered making a break through and try to escape, but an inner voice told me that I needed to take care of these guys first. They were criminals and they were willing to kill an innocent person for their own selfishness. They deserved to die.

Silently, I put on my mask as adrenaline started to kick in. I crawled out of my hiding spot a carefully walked around the crates. The thugs were spread out, peeking around cars and into crates. Without making a sound, I moved toward the big thug. As I got closer, the man turned around to face me, but it was too late. I quickly delivered a jab into his gut, causing him to bend over, before bring my elbow down on the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

The man’s groans quickly caught the other thugs’ attention as they ran over, but I already moved behind one of the cars.

Zack quickly looked around, clearly terrified as he shouted, “Where are you!?”

I stayed silent, which caused them to become more unsettled as they looked around. Carefully, I made my way around and, before Zack could react, I tackled Daniel and dragged him behind another stack of crates; choking him as we crawled behind a stack of pallets.  

I could hear the few wild shots Zack had shot at me as I tackled his brother and, now, I could hear the terror in his voice as he searched through the crates. “Daniel! W-what did you do to him!”

As his brother’s struggles slowly came to a stop, I whispered, “Nothing… yet.”

Quickly, he turned to where he thought the voice was coming from, his gun raised. “Who the hell are you!?”

I crawled up behind him, a smile creeping into my voice as I simply said, “The Angel of Death.”

Before Zack could turn around, I flapped my wings and used them to propel me into Zack; elbowing him in the back of his head. His body crumpled onto the ground and I allowed myself a small sigh of relief as I observed my work.

“Now… onto business…”, I whispered as I started to sing.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I stared at my reflection in the mirror and grimaced. My left side was bandaged heavily and my injuries was covered with enough gauze for several wounds. The landlord of the apartment complex wasn’t the type of person that took things in moderation, but at least he said I was going to be fine. Would’ve been a bit difficult to get admitted into a hospital and explain what happened. Not that my manager would’ve allowed me to go anyway. At least I was alive though. I suppose that’s all that matters. Sighing, I walked back out into the living room; the tv tuned to the news channel as they reported on last night’s incident.

“… the drug dealers were found dead on the site, but there were no signs of what caused their deaths. The hostage, Lisa Jones, told reporters that a male individual freed her and helped her escape the situation. When asked if she could identify the person in question, she said that he wore black clothing and a hoodie, but she was unable to make out his face. Whoever it may have been, we would like t-“

I turned off the tv with a sigh. I was afraid that she would’ve remembered my face. Fortunately, it seems my fears were unfounded. As I laid back on the couch to get some rest before meeting up with Horace, a knock suddenly came from the door. Great, I thought, and just when I was about to get some sleep.

Angrily, I stormed toward the door and swung it open.

“What is i- “I stopped, my eyes staring in disbelief as I found myself face to face with the same girl from last night. A wide grin broke out on her face when she saw me as she held out a CD of one of Tsuba’s latest hit songs.

“Hey! I never got the chance to thank you for last night. My name is Lisa and it’s nice to meet you!”

[sportsgameqia-blog-blog]

Boys' basketball: Late dry spell foils Scott County's bid for Beach Ball title | Sports | news-graphic.com

New Post has been published on https://sportsgamesqia.com/trending/boys-basketball-late-dry-spell-foils-scott-countys-bid-for-beach-ball-title-sports-news-graphic-com/

Boys' basketball: Late dry spell foils Scott County's bid for Beach Ball title | Sports | news-graphic.com

The edges of the old peach basket turned fickle for the final seven minutes Monday night, sabotaging Scott County’s hopes for an elusive championship at the Beach Ball Classic.

While SC failed to make a field goal and missed numerous other chances to salt away the win at the free-throw line during that stretch, Westchester of Los Angeles closed with a 12-2 run to swipe a 42-41 victory at Myrtle Beach (South Carolina) Convention Center.

Kaelen Allen sank both ends of one-and-one after a Scott County turnover and loose ball foul with 26.1 seconds remaining to put the Comets in front.

“They’re bigger and quicker than us. They have enough athleticism that they kicked it up a notch,” SC coach Billy Hicks said. “It just wears on you, because they let you be physical down here and in these big national tournaments.

SC owned the last shot and enjoyed multiple looks at the rim. Diablo Stewart first drove and kicked to Bryce Long for a 3-pointer that was off the mark.

Lorenzo Williams won a scramble for the rebound and located Cam Fluker, whose bid caromed off the back of the iron as time expired.

“We had a wide-open shot,” Hicks said.

Both nationally ranked teams are 13-1, with Scott County returning to Kentucky as a heavy favorite to run the table to win the school’s third KHSAA state title.

Williams led the Cardinals with 12 points. Stewart supplied 10, as did Glenn Covington, whose 31 points staved off North Little Rock, Arkansas, in Saturday’s semifinal.

“We had to work so hard to get shots. They were not going to let Diablo or Glenn get a shot,” Hicks said, “Lorenzo hit some good ones in the first half. Then he got really tired, didn’t have any legs and had a hard time putting that thing in.”

Scott County played the final 10 quarters of the tournament without star Michael Moreno, who suffered a hairline fracture in his right foot against Cox Mill of North Carolina on Friday. 

His absence put SC at a decided size disadvantage, but the Cards used brilliant ball handling to control the tempo and lights-out 3-point shooting to grab the lead.

“Michael helps us in a lot of ways, but the two biggest ways we miss him are his shot blocking and intimidation, and his passing,” Hicks said. “If we had Michael, we could have done a lot with them. The only offense we could really run was top-to-top.”

Westchester simply locked down those outside looks as the evening progressed, and the emotional, high-octane nature of SC’s weekend appeared to take its toll on the Cards’ shooting legs in the second half.

Jordan Brinson led the Comets with 19 points. Allen finished with 11.

“I was really proud of how hard we scrapped. They were L.A. champs last year. They’re going to be a top-10 team in the country, and to be able to play them within one, without Michael, gosh,” Hicks said. “We just gutted it out. The people down here fell in love with us. We had the crowd behind us.”

Scott County, which normally shoots 52 percent from the field and 74 percent from the line, was limited to 15-for-36 (41.7 percent) against rangy Westchester. The Cards didn’t get to the line at all in the first half and missed four of eight after intermission.

Westchester jumped out to a 5-0 lead before SC settled in with threes by Fluker and Williams. The second of Williams’ three bonus balls in the first half gave the Cards their first lead, 13-12, with 7:39 remaining in the half.

“I’ve never had a team play any harder than what they did,” Hicks said. “And that’s our goal every game, to see how hard we can play.”

Covington and Williams continued the barrage from outside, increasing the lead to five before four consecutive points from Brinson and a layup by Jeremiah Turley put the Comets back in front late in the half.

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Terrin Hamilton retrieved the lead for Scott County at the horn with a put-back of Long’s floater off the front of the rim.

Again, Westchester drew first blood in the second half with six straight points form Brinson before SC took apparent command. Covington tied the game in a 52-second flourish, first on a backdoor cut off a brilliant bullet pass from Fluker, then with a 3-pointer.

Williams scored off a steal and Fluker stuck a step-back jumper to notch a pair of lead changes. Fluker’s shot touched off a 10-0 run, with a Stewart three sandwiched between baskets from Covington and Hamilton.

“Terrin played a lot stronger tonight against their big guys,” Hicks said. “Down the stretch I probably could have gone with a little more size, but I knew they were going to come at us hard, pressing, and I had to get our better ball handlers in the game.”

Hamilton’s hoop with 7:49 left, stunningly, was the final field goal. Turley buried a three to begin Westchester’s gritty comeback.

The teams met two years ago in a consolation game, with the Comets rallying in eerily similar fashion for a 54-53 win.

Williams and Covington were named to the all-tournament team, with Williams receiving defensive MVP honors.

“That’s hard to do in this tournament,” Hicks said of the honors.

SC is 22-19 all-time in 11 trip to the tournament, which has featured countless future NBA and NCAA stars since its inception in 1981. The Cards’ best previous finish was third.

Scott County will resume its 42nd District schedule at Henry Clay at 7:30 p.m. Friday.

“Now we’ve got to get back and learn to play without Michael for a little while. Then once we get Michael back, we’ll be better than ever,” Hicks said. “We’ll have to suck it up for a while. Two of our toughest games of the year are Friday and Saturday. We’ve got to find a way to do it.”

Source

http://www.news-graphic.com/sports/boys-basketball-late-dry-spell-foils-scott-county-s-bid/article_cedc5efc-0d6f-11e9-89b5-97cf505f16e4.html

[lanternsraised]

CxM: The Twilight Ward Ch 4 - (draft,WIP)

Draft, unfinished chapter. WIP, more to transcribe as I mostly write this in meetings because ADDchild is ADD.

In which Kitsune realizes that she doesn’t have enough for Takeru to do, so a separate plotline in which Mikuni realizes Zero assassinated him and reveals that Takeru’s deal has been broken ensues. Takeru’s side will focus on Takeru, Mikuni, Shiraishi, Akito, and 19(anOC who hates Shiraishi/14 for damn good reason).

Angsty will occur after Shiraishi’s side as Okazaki is about to have a VERY bad day.

Side: Takeru Sasazuka

Akito Sera spent a lot of his time in the room Sasazuka used as an office. As far as companions went, he was far less irritating than Mineo. When the boy did speak, the questions were often semi-intelligent, usually about different hacking techniques. Today, the high school student was silent, face pale and drawn.

While Sasazuka noted this, it didn’t particularly trouble him. He had little intention of getting close to his new Adonis co-conspirators unless they were of some use to him.

That said, he could practically hear Ichika’s voice in the back of his mind. “Please take care of Akito. He’s really a good kid, and Kazuki is worried about him.

Right, a “good kid” prone to blowing up buildings at the behest of a terrorist organization.

 He scoffed at the very thought, somewhat surprised when Akito jumped in response to the sudden noise. The teenager had knees drawn up to his chest as he watched a television broadcast. The drone of the newscasters, background noise while Sasazuka worked, came to the forefront. Flashing banners and red warnings littered the screen, and the faces of those on the screen seemed grim. A burning shell of a building displayed on the screen, and with a start he realized the metropolitan building had been attacked.

He sauntered up behind Akito, “Ah. Did you attack the metropolitan building?”

Akito slouched his shoulders, pulling his legs even closer to his chest. He didn’t respond, and the tv droned on, “The death count is confirmed at 30 and rising. It is feared that the diet members that were there to speak did not survive the attack. Again, Rei Mikuni and four other local politicians…”

“It was after hours. I didn’t know he was there. It makes no sense for Mikuni-san to be there. He’s one of the executors, the one that tells us Zero’s orders. If I knew…” Akito’s look was one of horror.

“If you knew, would you have had a choice to disobey that order?” Takeru asked in response, emotionless as usual when dealing with problems.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and Akito sighed, “No, I would be beholden to Zero’s orders, as we all are. That’s how it works here, isn’t it?”

“You would know better than I. For the most part I avoid any of them.” Sasazuka shrugged. It was true. He had demanded a quiet environment, and been placed in a dark hallway in the back of the compound. For the most part, only Akito and the Adonis handlers came to visit.

The silence continued for a time, and Sasazuka returned to typing. As time went on, the death count climbed and the questions about Adonis’ involvement were asked. Looking at the guilt on Akito’s face, the answer was already obvious to those in the room.

As if his earlier thoughts had cursed his peaceful isolation, the door to Takeru’s office flew open and a young girl slipped inside. Her flame-red hair was tied back from her face, the smell of burning followed her and with it he noticed the singed ends and scrapes on her palms. Small cuts smattered her face and arms, and bruises were already starting to form on pale skin.

This girl looks like she’s been through hell. Still, this isn’t an infirmary - so why is she here? He mused, eyes narrowed.

The girl scanned the room with grey eyes like thunderclouds, taking in the state of the scene before her. When her gaze fell on Akito she let out a short bark of laughter. “How Ironic. You wait here, Sera-san. Who’s this with you?” She pointed at him, an angry jab before opening the door a crack. “Sir? The room has been repurposed as an office. Akito Sera is here with another individual I don’t recognize. Orders?”

“It’s Takeru Sasazuka!” Akito said, voice louder than it had been all evening. It wavered slightly, as if afraid of what would come next.

A voice came through the opening, tired and muted. “That’s fine, Juukyuuban. I have questions for Sera.”

The girl opened the door with a sharp tug in response, ushering in a man in one of Adonis’ tan cloaks. She stuck her head out after he passed through, sweeping the hallway for any witnesses.

The scene put Takeru on edge. While he hadn’t met them, Akito had explained the numbered agents to the hacker shortly after he started hanging around. Apparently they were elite forces trained from an early age to support the cult. The concept made his skin crawl, and he didn’t want to consider where Adonis got these people from.

So why was such an elite agent acting like she was under attack in her own base of operations? Had the police found them already? Unlikely with the chaos at the metropolitan office. Satisfied that no one was watching, the girl sighed before locking the door and leaning against it.

While she was trying to seem tough, it was clearly more of a slump. She was more like a kitten than a tiger, if he was being honest. So far he wasn’t impressed with the elite agent. He’d seen some folks go through more punishment than that.

Her companion pulled the hood away from his face before stepping forward, revealing the face of Rei Mikuni. Akito jumped to his feet in shock, “Mikuni-san. Thank goodness you’re alright. I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

“It’s fine, Sera-kun.” Mikuni held up a hand, offering an exhausted smile in response. His state was similar to Juukyuuban behind him. “I’m sure that you weren’t privy to the plan in its entirety. Even I was unaware the attack would be taking place.” The statement hung in the air, implications unspoken but clear as day in the subtext.

Someone had tried to assassinate Rei Mikuni. That someone was the leader of his own organization. This meant a split in Adonis’ leadership, and the sloppy job would divide those loyal to the organization. He couldn’t help but feel grim satisfaction at this turn of events. Hopefully the stupid cat would be able to take advantage of this turn of events.

“I see the news of your death was exaggerated.” Sasazuka said blandly, continuing to type on his keyboard idly as he watched the scene play out before him.

The politician nodded, running a hand through blood-matted hair. “Yes, thankfully. So you’re Takeru Sasazuka. Good, I wanted to speak with you as well. What are your thoughts on recent events?”

“I think that I’m here because your organization freed someone important to me. I’m waiting on Zero to fulfill the second part of this bargain.” He kept his tone even, though somewhat impatient. “I think you don’t pay pawns like me to give opinions, let alone spend time talking to us.”

That elicited a laugh from the powerful man, “This is true, for the most part. Would you say that our methods are extreme?”

The hacker narrowed crimson eyes, wishing that the soft-spoken man would just get to the point. “I think most sane people would think so, though some of us wish so desperately for revenge the how of the operation has been put aside.”

Mikuni gave a satisfied nod, then parried again with his next sentence. This method of saying so much with so little was Takeru’s least favorite part of navigating the social structure of the police force, but at least he’d learned a lot from those days. “Would you believe me if I told you that the depths of depravity of the X-day incidents were not originally planned as such?”

“I can easily see this operation getting out of control, depending on who was at the helm.” He responded, casually. Mikuni clearly wished to lead him to a certain conclusion,and if it got him more information he was willing to play along for the moment.

“True. I’m afraid that’s where we find ourselves now, you see.” Mikuni tilted his head to regard Takeru, then winced slightly at the motion. “I’m sure he won’t fulfill his end of your deal until he no longer has use for you.”

If he does it at all, of course.

“I will be frank, if you don’t mind. Are you really both here to support Adonis, or do you do it through fear? Fear that your loved ones will be harmed if you don’t comply?” Mikuni asked. “Do you stay here hoping for scraps that will help turn the tide against our plans?”

Akito started, the truth plain on his features. Sasazuka just scowled, “What do you think, Mikuni? And why would even answer that? How do we know this attack on your person wasn’t a ruse to ferret out those that might be having second thoughts?”

“This entire time, I have been a voice for reason against Zero. Tonight, he tried to silence that voice. I love him, but he’s consistently proven he’s gone too far.” Mikuni sighed, brow furrowed in thought. “I also wish to see the world reborn anew. That goal hasn’t changed. Just...not like this.”

The man started to pace, a stiff limping gait. “I have no proof to give, other than we will all go down together if it came to it. I don’t have much time. Once Zero finds out that I survived, I will be either under close watch or killed. This task will mostly fall on the three of you to execute. That said, they will come from me so my head will also be sacrificed as well. I beg you, please help me set this right. I would see our course corrected before we’re too far gone to save.” He bowed deeply to those he pleaded with.

There was a high chance that Mikuni was full of shit. He was a politician after all. As Sasazuka pondered the options, Akito spoke up. The young man pushed his glasses up, and took a shaky breath, “I would like to help, Mikuni-san. It’s the least I can do for the trap I helped set, even unknowingly. I… don’t want people to suffer anymore. My life is forfeit for my crimes, but I want Kazuki and Isshiki, even Kazuki’s nee-san to live on happily.”

Mikuni nodded, satisfied. “And what about you, Juukyuuban?” He turned to look at the girl behind him, who seemed shocked at the attention. “I know you were only assigned as my agent recently, but I’m asking a lot of you.”

She scuffed one of her trainers against the ground, frowning. “Mikuni-sama, this is not how it’s supposed to work. I am here to follow your orders, after all.”

He gave a very uncharacteristic snort of amusement in response. “19, I’ve known you long enough to know you’re much more clever than you’re acting. You were there tonight. Do you truly have no thoughts on the events that took place?” He paused, as if hesitant to face an unpleasant truth. “ I … understand we try to take a lot of that away, but the dossier mentioned this has been a “problem” for you in the past.” His lips quirked into a smile, “This assignment was frankly considered by our leadership as  the last chance to redeem you. Zero felt your graduation from the program must have been a mistake.”

The girl’s face flushed with shame at that, “I--” she cut herself off, as if biting off her own words, “Mikuni-sama, on top of this assignment I owe you my life for tonight. I… appreciate your vision of the future. You have my loyalty, but I’m sure you’re aware of my limitations.”

A lot seemed to go unspoken between the two, and Takeru found the exchange curiously notable as a result. Mikuni smiled, pleased by the response the girl gave regardless. “Thank you, Juukyuuban-chan. I think that we can find strength in what the others felt was weakness. I appreciate your support in this.”

Then all eyes present turned on Takeru. He sighed, cursing how troublesome this organization had become. “Look-”

He was interrupted by a soft hiss, “Mikuni-sama, there’s someone on the other side of the door.”

The room fell silent, and the handle ceased jiggling in response. From the other side of the door, Sasazuka could barely hear an annoyed voice.

“Eeeh? It’s locked. That won’t do.”

The agent shoved herself off the door in response, moving quickly. “Sir, they’re picking the lock. I can handle --”

“No need, 19. I invited him. Please let him in.” Mikuni gave an apologetic smile. In response, the girl flicked open the lock and opened the door, standing behind it as if ready to initiate a surprise attack if the new individual tried anything.

Shiraishi kneeled on the other side, lockpicks in hand. His eyes flicked up at those present and he gave an easy smile in response. Takeru felt himself start, seeing his old investigations teammate. Who knew the profiler was part of Adonis? How had he  not seen that coming?

“Juuyonban, please join us.” Mikuni waved Shiraishi in. “I have something important to present to you as well.”

Mikuni calls him 14? Oh, shit. Let this be a joke, already.

But unfortunately a lot made sense with that information in mind. How the letters from Adonis had been planted so easily, for one.

Shiraishi sauntered in, “How’s it going Takeru-kun?” The damned smile never left his face,as if he was greeting the hacker at another day at work.

On the other side of the door, 19 seemed to puff up like an angry cat as she stared at Mikuni in horror. “All will be explained in a moment, 19. First, Juuyonban, can you explain how Zero has broken his word and contacted Ichika Hoshino?”

“Of course. I came right away, once you called me.” The spy turned, grabbing the lip of the steel door and slamming it shut. The knob wrenched out of Juukyuuban’s hands and she clawed for it almost comically in desperation, far too late. With a flick, Shiraishi had it locked before his eyes settled on the girl behind the door and he paused like he’d seen a spectre.

Mikuni interjected then, voice soft. “Juuyonban, this is the thing you needed to know going forward. This is what Zero, and the rest of us,  kept from you.”

If Takeru wasn’t so impatient to hear about Ichika, he would take more pleasure in the look of shock on the profiler’s face. It was so rare to see him thrown off his game, and he was certain Sakuragawa would want to be a fly on the wall if she could.

Shiraishi’s green eyes continued to stare at the girl in front of him, face pale. “Kagura...chan?”  Something in the profiler’s tone made the hacker pause, however. This wasn’t Kageyuki Shiraishi’s normal mischievous reaction in the slightest.

Fire ignited in the girl’s eyes in response, as she spat back venomous words. “Kagura Tsukigami is dead, Juuyonban. You killed her years ago.”

I did not sign up for this drama, dammit. Sasazaka groused internally as he prepared himself for a long night ahead.

~Side Shiraishi~

The supernatural did not fit into Shiraishi’s paradigm, and horror movies had never held any interest to him. Still, he would swear that a vengeful ghost stood before him in the moment. The girl that stared up at him with hostile eyes looked like she wished to rip him apart and feast on his heart.

It was a pity the agent no longer had one to sate his old friend.

Years of training kept the turmoil from his features, but inside his thoughts raced faster than light. There are very few possibilities which could result in this outcome logically. The last I checked, the supernatural is right out no matter what cultists and laymen may believe. Mikuni mentioned this was kept from me. Was there a way to fool my training back then? Despite my programming, I admit being far from composed during the final exam…

Still, Mikuni expected an answer and the Adonis executive waited with half-lidded eyes. Takeru stood with arms crossed, as annoyed as always by the world around him. The girl he used to know was grown up, and doing her best impression of a spitting cat in his direction.

Part of him wanted to pet her like a kitten and risk the claws, but now was not the time for his usual mischief.

Instead, he did his best to shove aside any emotion, and be Juuyonban instead of Kageyuki Shiraishi. “If Kagura is dead, who are you now?” He asked calmly.

When stony silence was her only response, Mikuni stepped in to dig the knife deeper, “She is known as Juukyuuban now, the 19th agent. She was placed in the program after your graduation, though the results were not nearly to the satisfaction of the elders and executives.”

Alarm shot through him, but he remained still as stone as the other man continued, “Did you think that they would keep their word to a small pawn? The organization never had any intention of sparing the others around you as requested. It merely delayed their suffering for a time. They were put through training once you left, starting with 19. Most of them didn’t make it out the other side.”

As a child, the thought of such a fate for his companions caused him agony. Years later, he couldn’t even be surprised by the numb reaction. Of course this was the outcome, one he witnessed first hand when other children dropped like flies as part of the churning of Adonis’ machine.

“Will you debrief me on this information at your convenience?” He inquired, voice even. “If you wish me to know about what was hidden from me, it would likely assist in my assignment.”

Mikuni’s lips twitched into a small smile, both men aware that the information had little bearing on the current assignment. Still, the man wanted the agent to know this truth to some end, and Shiraishi wanted to know why.

In all likelihood, Mikuni would reveal that reason before the talk actually occurred.  The agent gave a slow nod, looking away from 19 in front of him. “Right. I was delivering the report on the target’s actions.”

Shiraishi briefed the group on the struggle with Hana, and the events of the past few days. When he mentioned Zero contacting Ichika, the profiler noted Sasazuka sucking in a sharp breath. Almost in response, Mikuni’s lips curled up. Of course, the pair were leading Sasazuka by the hand to a pre-ordained conclusion. The trick would be doing so without the notice of the hacker. He wasn’t a fool.

The profiler paused long enough for the silence to linger uncomfortably. Long enough to spark the hacker’s impatience. The green haired man crossed his arms again, words snapping like firecrackers, “What happened  next, Shiraishi?”

Shiraishi hummed to himself, pleased to get the desired rise out of former teammate. “Well, Ichika forze for a moment, and then she responded. She was always stupidly brave, you see-”

~3 hours Earlier~

There was a phrase “like a deer caught in the headlights” that appeared frequently in Western literature. Having seen pictures of this phenomenon, Shiraishi found that this occurred a lot less in humans than authors would have readers believe.

That said, he had the rare pleasure of seeing this reaction in Ichika. He could easily imagine the conflicting emotions within the girl. Did she feel horror or disgust at hearing Zero’s voice so soon after her hard-earned freedom? Relief that this turn of events meant that she could get an inkling to her precious Takeru’s whereabouts? He wished he could crawl into the corners of her mind to see her reactions in real time.

Slowly, he watched the tension drain from the rookie’s form and she took a deep breath before speaking, voice loud and clear. ‘What do you want?” Such a simple question, with an undoubtedly loaded answer.

“We wished to see if you still sought truth even with the collar removed. We wish to see the strength of your resolve.” The creepy voice’s monotone emanated from the speaker like a cold wind. Shiraishi thought it was believable that he shiver in response, even if it was not for the reason that Ichika would think if she noticed.

She frowned at that, “My resolve won’t change. It may continue to grow now that you have stopped stifling it. I no longer have to fear the sword you held over my head.”

“Ah, are you sure we don’t have that control over you?” Zero’s voice held a hint of amusement. “Your partner is among our numbers now, and we still know everything about your life. Why do you think we chose you in the first place?”

The profiler watched several emotions flicker across Ichika’s face in short succession;  terror, anger, acceptance, perhaps tinged with a hint of disgust. Kageyuki Shiraishi filed them all away in his memory. Alone they weren’t particularly interesting, almost running parallel to typical stages of grief. However, Zero would want full details of the girl’s reactions in the spy’s report.

Mikuni had recently expressed interest in the girl as well. That alone reignited the spark of curiosity inside Shiraishi. Sure, the collar had been removed, but Ichika was foolish herself if she believed Adonis would let her go free so easily.

When she did respond, her voice was more even than the profiler anticipated. His lips quirked into a smile at that. Perhaps his new assistant actually paid attention to his earlier lessons.  Only small tells betrayed Ichika Hoshino’s true feelings and they were unlikely to travel across soundwaves to Zero himself.

“So, you’ve resorted to threatening those around me now that my life is no longer in your hands?” The girl bristled at that, visibly, despite her calm delivery.

A cold laugh came in response, “Awfully brave words now that the SP agent is guarding you, Ichika Hoshino. Where is Kei Okazaki now?”

“I feel like telling you would be counterproductive,” the rookie replied, frowning. Good thinking, really. To point out her bodyguard was not around invited more danger.

‘Where is Zero going with this?” she seems to be asking herself. Zero was about to destroy any sense of safety his target felt. Typical tactics in psychological warfare, but Shiraishi supposed Ichika was too good-hearted to see this particular play coming.

“We can tell you. Kei Okazaki hides behind you in the darkness, having followed you after the latest incident. He shirks his personal duties to do so, out of anger caused by your recklessness. Tell us, Kei Okazaki, how is Ichika Hoshino to trust a Security Police agent who ignores his own mission?” The voice from the speaker was openly mocking, a stark difference from its usual neutral pronouncements.

Almost on cue, her new bodyguard  stepped from the shadows, face devoid of his usual smile. In that moment, he almost seemed like a different person entirely. At this, Shiraishi couldn’t help but smile. While some of those at Yanagi’s agency might underestimate the cheerful man due to his carefree demeanor, the Special Police did not hire just anyone out of training. Even those like Ichika with her sharpshooting skills were not viable candidates based off a single strength.

Truthfully, even if  a candidate excelled in several regions, they would likely not be selected. To excel wasn’t enough, one needed a certain personality to be molded into the ideal bodyguard.

Shiraishi could relate, and knew much about crafting a persona to hide his true face. To finally see the SP Agent unmasked before him was a delight. The fact that Ichika seemed taken aback by her friend’s sudden change only made the situation that much more amusing, “Kei-kun?”, she asked uncertainly.

“Ah, Ichika-chan? I told you know to get into trouble.” While he offered her a smile, his words were still a gentle rebuke.

Curiously, the chiding seemed to rattle her more than Zero’s disembodied voice. Perhaps the critique of someone she cared about meant more than that of an enemy. Given how she excelled at her job in the SRCPO, she was able to empathize with those in her community. This trait made her highly effective at her job. He mentally filed this away in his dossier for the girl.

~more to transcribe from the notebook soon~