#everyone else wears vests but not jill

[highlifeboat]

What if Jill were weraing that weird Shoulderpads thingy, to make himself look more broadshouldered :p

Like it's not part of uniform, because no other character wears that :p

That's... a good point.

Like, I guess it's possible it's just what the female STARS uniform has, but we never see another woman STARS officer (that I know of) besides Rebecca, who's a medic, not a standard officer, and has a different uniform from the others.

It's also like... Not good protection. So I enjoy the idea that Jill picked it out for his uniform specifically so his shoulder would look more masculine, despite it being kind of useless.

[thedailyimagines]

Imagine being set up on a blind date with Claire Redfield.

Anon requested: “Claire Redfield x Male Reader. Reader is the brother of Jill Valentine is introduced to Claire while they are set up on a blind date by Jill and Claire brother Chris.”

.

Sorry this one took so long, enjoy reading!

~~~~~~~~

“Y/n—scale of one to ten, how likely are you to go on a date within the next week?” Jill Valentine asked as she plopped down on the couch beside her brother. The two Valentine siblings were staying in a relatively safe location for the time being, though y/n was sure something would go wrong at any second.

“Negative ten.” Y/n didn’t even look up from the knife he was sharpening. Jill rolled her eyes.

“Come on, be serious.” Y/n sighed and stopped sharpening his knife, looking over at his sister.

“Fine. Negative ten thousand.” His answer earned him a punch to the shoulder.

“Y/n!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the world is a shit show. It’s not like I can walk up to someone and ask them out because they’ll probably try to shoot me or rip my throat out.”

“Y/n...” Jill’s tone had a slight warning to it.

“Jill...” He replied in the same tone.

“Look, just cause the world sucks now doesn’t mean you can’t have normal things. Besides, it’d do you some good to try and meet someone new.” Jill gave y/n her best smile (which has little effect on swaying y/n’s choice).

“...If it means you’ll lay off the ‘forever alone’ jokes, fine. I’ll try later.” Jill beamed and got up from the couch.

“Great! Go get cleaned up, your date is probably waiting for you.” Y/n nodded and went back to his knife, then exactly what Jill said registered in his mind.

“Wait, what?” But Jill was already walking away, laughing as she did so. “Jill!”

<—>

Meanwhile on the other side of the compound, another set of siblings were having a similar conversation.

“Chris, no.” Claire didn’t even look up from the book she was reading. Something about success and the path getting there. Boring in Chris’ opinion.

“Come on Claire, it might be fun!” Claire just turned the page in her book and shook her head.

“Nuh uh. ‘Fun’ is reading a book, or playing a game, or punching an asshole in the face. Dates with strangers aren’t fun.” Chris huffed and crossed his arms.

“You’ve never even been on one!” Claire rolled her eyes and shut her book, standing and walking towards her bedroom in the shared apartment.

“Case and point. I prefer not talking to strangers and dating people I know.”

“Come on Claire! Just once while we’re here! For me?” Chris got down on his knees, hands clasped together as he tried his best to make puppy dog eyes.

“...ugh, fine! But if I have a terrible time you owe me one!” Chris jumped up and pumped his fist in the air in victory.

“Deal. Now go get ready, your date probably is headed over to meet you now.” Claire’s eyes widened in surprise at the news of her sudden date, and she chased after her brother.

“Chris!”

<—>

Y/n wasn’t quite sure what one should wear to a blind date, so he choose to go with a (semi) clean pair of blue jeans and his brown leather jacket over a black t-shirt. Nothing too fancy, but he didn’t look homeless or like he’d spent several weeks crawling through garbage.

The small restaurant (really just a makeshift dining area under a very large tent) smelled good, and there was the sound of talking and laughter from the inhabitants.

“Excuse me? Are you y/n?” Y/n looked up to find a woman in a red vest staring at him.

“Uh, yeah. Y/n Valentine. I’m guessing you’re Claire?” The woman, Claire, nodded and held out her hand.

“Claire Redfield, nice to meet you.” Y/n shook her hand, and they went inside the tent. After grabbing a bowl of food each, they found a card table that was unoccupied and sat down.

“So...how’d you end up in a place like this?” Claire shrugged and poked at the food (more like mush) in her bowl.

“My brother found it, so we decided to settle down and take a break while we could. You?” Swallowing the tasteless spoonful mush, y/n waved his hand idly in the air.

“Me and my sister were just passing through, but she wanted to stay a little longer. Been here ever since.” Claire nodded in understanding and set down her spoon. Out of the corner of her eye she swore she saw a familiar face peeking into the tent.

“It’s got it’s perks though. Food, shelter, a place to sleep. Walls aren’t that sturdy though.” Y/n chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Sometimes I swear they’re going to fall over and let the dead in. Hopefully I’m not around when that happens.”

“I’ll drink to that.” The two continued to chat as they ate, sharing stories from before the world turned on its head. The evening would have ended pleasantly enough, until—

BOOM

A deafening crash sounded from outside the tent. Y/n and Claire shot up from their seats. Everything was silent. Y/n broke the silence.

“What the fuck?” Then the screams came from outside, joined by low moans and hissing.

“They’re inside! The zombies are inside the walls!”

“Run for it!” Everyone went into a panic. Claire and y/n moved out of the way of the stampeding citizens, trying to avoid being trampled. Y/n grabbed the knife he had left strapped to his leg in case of emergencies, and Claire pulled her gun out of its holster.

“Wanna kill some zombies?” Claire flipped off the safety on her gun and headed out of the tent.

“Gladly.” The compound’s guard/militia was already closing up the breach in the wall, but a good chunk of zombies had already gotten through. Y/n hacked through them and Claire shot any that were coming too close.

Others who had weapons joined the two, and soon the zombies moved no more. Y/n was breathing heavily and Claire was tense and ready to shoot again.

“That was interesting. Nice knife skills.” Y/n nodded and gestured to Claire’s gun.

“Nice shooting.” Claire holstered the gun and looked around. There wasn’t much else she’d be able to help here with.

“I should go check on my brother, he’s probably worried.” Y/n nodded and sheathed his knife.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if my sister was already halfway here. It was nice to meet you., I’m sorry that we were interrupted.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. I’ll see you around.” Claire turned and started to walk off, until y/n called out to her.

“Wait!” She turned back around, curiosity written on her face.

“Yes?” Y/n rubbed the back of his neck and gave Claire a sheepish look.

“If you want—do you wanna grab a drink sometime? There’s a bar here that sells halfway decent drinks.” Claire looked surprised, then a grin broke out across her face.

“Sounds like fun. It’s a date.”

<—>

“So yeah. We hit it off pretty well. Aside from the giant interruption. We were thinking of meeting up later for a drink.” Jill dipped at her drink and smiled at y/n.

“That’s nice. I guess you’ll be thanking me for setting you up?” Y/n shook his head.

“Hah! Nope.”

“Y/n!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t spy on me!”

<—>

“Look at you! Being a big girl and trying out new things!” Claire punched her brother’s shoulder and continued trying to get the zombie bits scrubbed out of her vest.

“Fuck you. It was a barely a first date and more like a fight to survive.” Chris just laughed and elbowed Claire playfully.

“But you got a second date~” Claire just rolled her eyes and huffed.

“Yeah, no thanks to you. And I could see you hiding by the tent entrance.” Chris’ eyes widened and he started to vehemently deny being anywhere near Claire’s date.

“What? Nooo. That totally wasn’t me. I was here, doing nothing.”

“Sure you were.”

~~~~~~~~

I don’t own the above gif, all credit goes to the owner.

[rainythefox]

Nightfall (Ch.9)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill. Rated M for eventual smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 9: The Goddaughter

Claire couldn’t believe she was actually doing this. The new, two-story brick home in the fancy neighborhood was just as quiet and expensive as the other homes on the block on this chilly morning, only Claire knew the evil inside this one. She was just here the other day, breaking in to try and find something to expose Wesker, and ended up nearly being ripped to shreds by his guard dog instead. She wasn’t here to break in this time. Oddly enough, as Claire stepped up to the front door and rang the doorbell, she felt she would’ve preferred dealing with the attacking Doberman over the corrupt STARS Captain.

She heard Odin bark once, but it was faint and sounded like it had happened on the upper floor. Still, she flinched from the awful memories of snapping jaws inches from her face.

William had stopped by yesterday evening, relaying a message from Wesker to meet him at his house after Chris was at work. Claire let her brother take his truck because Jill was off of work today and just gave the excuse that she would most likely stay home. When in reality, she was about to go see what his boss wanted with her.

William wasn’t able to give her anymore information when he gave her the message and left. And that created a whole new problem. Chris had spotted William leaving. 

Claire could tell her brother was starting to grow suspicious. Between her behavior and seeing William, Chris was beginning to realize something was amiss. He had good instincts; it was what made him a good cop. She had to figure out a way to keep him far off the trail, or they would both be dead - courteous of her brother’s double-dealing supervisor.

Ignoring the nippy wind, wondering if Ada had found out anything yet, the door opened, making her heart rate spike considerably. Here goes nothing...

She glared at Wesker when he greeted her with his usual sneer, magnified by his lack of shades, his icy-grey eyes, bewitching and dangerous, a stopping force all on their own. “Ms. Redfield, nice of you to drop by on this lovely morning."

“It's not by choice,” she grumbled and pushed by him when he gestured for her to come inside. “What do you want?”

She looked around the foyer and living room, tense from having her back to him as he shut the door. He didn’t answer right away, but she nearly leapt out of her skin when his hands brushed up her back, his voice purring in her ear.

“From you, dear heart? Where to even begin?”

He took her jacket off of her and hung it up. Still reeling from his words, Claire was stiff as a board as he wrapped his strong arm around her lower back and escorted her further inside. Some kind of charged electricity sparked under her skin from the contact. She finally got a grip on herself, ignoring her stomach as it flipped in a way she would rather not admit. The younger Redfield sibling moved away from him and went over to the den area, facing him and keeping her back to a couch.

“William gave me a message to meet you here after Chris was gone. He didn’t say why.”

“That’s because I never told him why.”

Wesker wore more formal, black clothes like she saw him wearing in NEST the other day. She hated that she found him even more attractive in such attire. The college student kept herself from gawking, instead she folded her arms and gave him a dirty look. “Well?”

He instantly reacted to her animosity with a dark smirk, as though her fire sparked something within him. Claire was starting to get the feeling that Wesker enjoyed her temper and defiance, as if he got some sort of sick gratification from it. It aggravated her even more, but at the same time she knew she couldn’t let him goad her. It’s what he wanted.

And though Claire had kept her eyes from wandering over Wesker’s chic outfit and toned body, he didn’t even try and hide his roaming eyes. “You look quite lovely today, Claire.”

Again with her first name. There was that light, fluttering sensation in her chest again. Claire hadn’t realized it at first, but she had backed up right into the sofa when Wesker took a couple of steps in her direction. Stop messing with me, you asshole!

Claire opened her mouth, about to give him a slew of colorful, unladylike words, when the Doberman trotted down the stairs into the den, tags jingling on his chain collar. Odin gave her one short look before his snout upturned towards the stairs, alert, his docked tail wagging before he sat on his haunches.

Something else came down the stairs a bit slower, emerging into the den with soft steps. The Redfield girl gasped, not at all expecting a child. The little girl spotted Claire staring and dashed the rest of the way to Wesker, using him as cover.

The girl peeked from behind him, gripping his shirt tight. She had to be around nine or ten years old, her blonde hair in a messy bun, loose strands hanging around her cute face. Her blue eyes were curious but shy. She wore jeans and a light blue shirt and white vest. She didn’t have shoes on, only socks, and there was a golden pendant necklace around her neck.

Claire’s inner motherly instincts kicked right in. The girl was precious and Claire had no clue why she was in a place like this, hiding behind a man like Albert Wesker as though he was her guardian.

She slightly bent over, smiling, and gently waved. “Hello there.”

Her soft greeting delighted the bashful girl and she came out a little further, although still kept halfway behind Wesker, gripping his clothes like a lifeline. “Hi!”

Claire glared at Wesker. “Kidnapping children now?”

“Charming,” he mocked. “She’s my goddaughter. Sherry, where are your manners?”

The name instantly clicked, and Claire remembered. So this is William and Annette’s daughter? She’s adorable!

“Oh, right…” the little girl mumbled. She smiled at Claire again. “I’m Sherry. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Claire gave her a big, friendly smile in return. “I’m Claire. It’s nice to meet you too, Sherry.”

Sherry blushed, slightly retreating behind Wesker. “I like your name!” She looked up at the tall, silent man she was using as a shield. “She’s really pretty, Uncle Albert!”

Wesker’s eyes were locked onto Claire, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “She is, isn’t she?”

Claire shivered but quickly focused back on the girl. There was a strange, hushed excitement to Sherry that she couldn’t quite understand. It was as if she was shy, but, at the same time, was really intrigued by Claire. The younger Redfield felt a peculiar, warming connection right away with the child…as though their fates were somehow connected.

“Are you Uncle Albert’s girlfriend?”

Claire’s mind blew a gasket, horrified at the girl’s implication. “W-what?! No!”

She was about to unleash onto this little girl what kind of a monster she was hiding behind, but then quickly bit her tongue. Sherry was a child. There was no way she could even begin to understand. She looked at her godparent as though she idolized him. Wesker seemed to have everyone fooled. Everyone thought he was a good man, until, of course, they stumbled upon him in the woods blowing a man’s head off.

Claire sighed, took a deep breath, and faked a smile. “No, sweetie. It’s not like that.” She gave Wesker a hard look. “And it’s never going to happen.”

Wesker smirked, his eyes entrapping her, as though he knew something she didn’t. Claire forced herself to look away, feeling awfully jittery for a moment.

“Oh…I was hoping you would become my aunt and we could play.”

Claire’s forced smile derailed. She wasn’t sure what to think about that. Wesker’s goddaughter peeked halfway out from behind him, curious yet insecure. Claire had a feeling the little girl didn’t have many friends and didn’t get much attention from her family, if her parents and Wesker were anything to go by.

Claire stooped to Sherry’s level, smiling. “We don’t need to be related to play. How about being friends instead?” She extended her hand.

Sherry came out a tad bit further, eyeing Claire and her offered hand. She glanced up at her guardian, unsure. Finally, Wesker stepped out of the way. The girl froze, watching him, as if afraid her wall was gone to leave her out in the open unprotected. Wesker patted her head and gently pushed her closer to Claire.

“Go ahead. She doesn’t bite, Sherry.”

As if that was the only reassurance she needed, the young girl reached out and took Claire’s hand, beaming. They shook hands. Their moment was soon ruined by the phone as it started ringing on the stand on one of the end tables. Sherry’s smile disappeared and soon became disheartened, gazing up at Wesker. The STARS Captain checked his watch with a scowl and moved towards the phone. As he passed by the girls, he petted Sherry’s hair.

“What’s wrong?” Claire asked, watching as Wesker answered the phone.

Sherry sighed. “Daddy. He’s running late again. Or got held up and can’t come get me. I thought you were him when I heard the doorbell, even though he usually just walks in.”

Claire frowned. “Well, what about your mom?”

“She’s busy all the time, too. Like Daddy. They work at Umbrella and are making a new medicine to help people…but they work all the time and I don’t get to spend much time with them.”

At this point, Claire wasn’t even sure if William and Annette were working on any kind of medicine at all, let alone anything that could help people. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

Wesker’s goddaughter shrugged with a weak smile. “It’s okay. Uncle Albert helps take care of me when he isn’t busy. He comes and gets me from school when my parents forget. He sometimes helps them make new medicine too, but mostly he just keeps me, Daddy, and Mommy safe and protects the city.”

You poor, naive little girl…if only you knew…

Then Sherry’s words clicked and she looked at the Birkins’ daughter. “Wait, Wesker makes medicine, too?”

Sherry nodded. “Yeah. He’s really, really smart! Him and Daddy are two of the best doctors working for Umbrella…as Daddy likes to brag.”

Claire logged it away. It was definitely something she could use in digging up dirt on Wesker. There was more than his corruption as an officer of the law. He was also in the same shady business as William and Annette, whatever Umbrella had to do with it. She wondered exactly how many jobs he had…

“He really likes you.”

Claire shook from her thoughts and stared at Sherry’s cute, curious face. “I could tell when he let you in. You look cute together!” The girl suddenly gasped, cupping her cheeks. “Your babies would be so adorable! I could be like a big sister to them! And we could play together!”

The college student almost fell over backwards from the shock of Sherry jubilating at the idea of her having any sort of physical relationship with her “uncle”, let alone having offspring together. Her stomach jerked queasily. Despite her disgust, Claire had to give Sherry props for being so easily excited. She must’ve gotten it from her equally whimsical father.

Ah, to be that innocent again. Claire weakly smiled, trying to avoid that subject with the girl. She had come to the conclusion that Wesker liking anyone was a) highly unlikely and b) not a good thing in general, even if the Birkins told her otherwise.

She decided to see what else Sherry could inform her about Wesker. “So uh, what else does he do? Besides make medicine and protect the city?”

Claire had to keep herself from rolling her eyes at such a ridiculous notion. The only thing Albert Wesker protected was himself and his own interests, no matter how many innocent people got in the way.

Sherry pursed her lips in thought. “Hmm...he does a lot of things. He does some kind of pest control, I think? Daddy said he got rid of a big rat a few days ago. Mommy says that Uncle Albert is a workaholic like they are. But I don’t know...seems like I see him more than them sometimes.”

Human pest control, sweetie. You poor thing...doesn’t sound like your parents deserve any Parent of the Year awards!

She’d like to give William and Annette a piece of her mind the next time she saw them. Sherry was so sweet and well-mannered for someone half-raised by self-absorbed parents and half-raised by a manipulative psychopath.

Odin trotted over, nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He licked Sherry’s face, making her giggle. She hugged the Doberman. “This is Odin. He’s Uncle Albert’s dog and I love him. We’re best friends!”

“Yeah...we’re well acquainted. Aren't we, boy?” Claire replied, reminded of how the dog almost tore her throat out. Sherry would never know it, but her backpack had saved Claire’s life the other day.

Odin snorted in response, but showed no signs of aggression, sitting next to Sherry and yawning.

They heard the phone click on the receiver. Sherry looked to Wesker expectantly as he returned to them. Claire remained kneeled in front of the girl, tensing as the corrupt STARS Captain came up behind her.

“Your mother is on her way, Sherry. You should go upstairs and get your things.”

Sherry frowned. “But Daddy promised he would take me this time.”

Wesker sighed. “I know he did, darling. Go on, now.”

“Yes, sir.” Sherry gave one last dispirited smile to Claire and left back upstairs. Odin followed right behind her.

Claire stood, watching the girl depart before turning to Wesker. There was a strange look in his eyes as they followed Sherry up the stairs, but Claire couldn’t read Wesker like William could, and so she was lost on what it could be.

He finally looked at her, lips quirking. “Precious, isn’t she?”

“You seriously don’t seem the type to like kids.”

“I don’t,” Wesker admitted. “But Sherry is the exception.”

Claire snorted. “Exception or not, you shouldn’t have kids let alone be a godparent to someone else’s. Not sure what William was thinking.”

Wesker softly chuckled. “I have no intentions...although,” he looked her over again with a dark, suggestive leer. “With the right partner, perhaps I would change my mind.”

It was a deliberate jab to provoke her. Claire glared at him, ignoring her heart that flailed madly in her rib cage after her stomach did a low pitch and rolled. The younger Redfield refused to take the bait, biting her tongue. She didn’t trust how her body reacted to his words at all.

“Whatever. Sherry’s way too sweet to be in the Birkins’ care or yours. She deserves better.”

“She does deserve better.”

Claire was surprised by his words, his eyes lingering on the staircase for a moment before he turned and slightly glared at her. “But life never goes how we expect it to, does it, dear heart?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

She wished her life had just stayed the same, instead of getting caught in this spider web of conspiracy, deception, and blackmail.

Wesker took her necklace into his fingers, rubbing his thumb along the silver feather pendant and turquoise stone. His eyes found hers, and he squeezed the pendant shut in his hand, tugging her towards him using the small chain. So close, Claire's hands braced his solid chest to give her a small buffer.

“And that is why I make sure I hold all the cards and have complete control over my fate. I am no longer the ruled, I am the ruler.” Wesker dipped to whisper in her ear. “And you, dear heart, will help me get even more power.”

His lips grazed her temple as he pulled back, still clenching the necklace and keeping her close. The chill that came over her was more thrilling than she wanted to admit, and according to Wesker’s dark smirk he had sensed it too. Dammit, what the hell is wrong with me?

The doorbell chimed. Claire’s heart nearly burst, relieved in the interruption because she was convinced something was about to happen. 

Sherry bounded down the stairs with a bag, the Doberman still tailing her. She paused at the bottom step, noticing Wesker and Claire’s close proximity.

“Did you get everything, darling?” Wesker asked, eyes not leaving Claire’s.

Claire was confused until she heard the soft voice and spotted Sherry coming back into the den. “Yes, Uncle Albert.”

“Good. Get your shoes on.”

Wesker stepped away from Claire, his fingers brushing her collarbone when he let her necklace go. He went to the door and answered it. Annette entered the house, looking mostly the same from when Claire saw her last, except maybe more tired. The older woman paused when she noticed Claire, surprised, but she contained it and shot a suspicious glare to Wesker’s back.

Sherry pulled on her boots after retrieving them from the foyer. She grinned at her mother. “Hi Mommy!”

Annette, distracted, looked between Wesker and Claire, and that made the college student even more uncomfortable. She then presented her daughter with a listless smile.

“Did you behave for Albert?”

“Yes, I did.”

Annette motioned to Claire with the same smile, though with added wariness. “Claire...It’s, uhh, good to see you again.”

In other words she was surprised Claire was still alive. Claire didn’t blame her, although that didn’t make the situation any less awkward. “You too, Annette. You’re daughter is very sweet.”

“Oh, right. Yes...she is.” Annette turned to her daughter just as she cinched the last strap on her boots. “Come along, Sherry. We need to go.”

Sherry got up and shouldered her bag. “All set!”

Annette looked relieved. “Good. Albert, thank you. William will stop by later, assuming he still isn’t at the estate in that ridiculous meeting. Claire...take care. Sherry, let’s go.”

The little girl frowned, glancing between her mother’s retreating back and Wesker and Claire. She sighed, trudging along behind Annette but soon paused and looked back at them.

“Bye, Uncle Albert. Bye, Claire. It was nice meeting you. I hope I get to see you again.”

That hit Claire right in the feels, and she felt torn over it. She wanted away from Wesker, the Birkins, and whatever they were a part of. She wanted her life back to normal, meaning no Sherry. But on the other hand, there was something about the young girl that Claire was drawn to. She wanted to see Sherry again also.

Claire smiled. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again real soon. Take care, Sherry.”

The girl was ecstatic at that, looking the happiest Claire had seen her yet. Annette hollered at her from the door.

“She’s a keeper, Uncle Albert!” Sherry added cheekily before joining her mother.

Claire flushed, paralyzed. Sherry giggled and hugged Odin before leaving with Annette. Once that front door shut, trapping her alone with Albert Wesker, he turned to her with a conceited and, dare she infer, sensual smirk. Her nerves turned to ice, although she suddenly felt feverish.

“I agree, Sherry. She is a keeper.”

Chris, Forest, Brad, Joseph, and Enrico walked back to the STARS office. Chris yawned. It was still early in the morning, but their day had commenced in chaos, having had two different emergencies to deal with. A freeway accident with a tipped over bus and an active shooter in southern Arklay County. None of them had even gotten their morning coffee in them yet.

“Good work, boys. Maybe we can finally take a breather,” Enrico said.

Brad rubbed his back. “Good. I need one.”

Joseph snickered. “What’s wrong, Chickenheart? Your ass still hurting where you busted it on the ice goin’ for cover?”

“Very funny, Joe.”

Forest wrapped his muscular arm around Brad’s neck and scrubbed his knuckles hard into his scalp. “Aw, we’re just fuckin’ with ya, Vickers. You did good!”

Try as he might, Brad couldn’t escape the taller, stronger Bravo member. Finally, Forest let go and dodged a swipe from Brad with a chuckle. The flustered Alpha pilot straightened his yellow vest with a glare to Forest and Joseph. Chris grabbed them both and banged their heads together.

“Knock it off, you dicks,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks, Redfield,” Enrico huffed and gave Frost and Speyer a mild glare. “You two knuckleheads have already given me a damn headache.”

They entered the STARS Office. Richard waved at them from his desk where he filled out a report on his computer.

“Aiken, anymore calls?” Enrico asked.

“No, sir. Been quiet.”

“Good.” Enrico pointed at Joseph. “Frost, go make some coffee and see if there’s anything left from the breakfast bar.”

Joseph groaned. “Why am I always the errand boy?”

“Because you get on my nerves and Wesker’s nerves, that’s why. Now go.”

“You couldn’t tell me while we were downstairs closer to the break room?”

“Nope.”

Joseph muttered under his breath and started to leave the office.

Forest hollered at him just as he sat down at his desk. “Make it extra strong, errand boy!”

Joseph flipped him off as he slipped out the door, earning him a chuckle from his Bravo friend. Brad took a seat next to Richard and Chris went to his own desk. He frowned at the empty desk beside him. Jill’s hat sat on her desk as well as a photo of her Golden Retriever, Bella. It was rare for them to have different days off, but this time of year always had Alpha and Bravo Team’s schedules mixed up.

Before he got busy and forgot again, he opened up the drawer to her desk and dropped a bag of her favorite candy inside. He closed it and signed into his computer. It was strangely quiet in the STARS office. Enrico had locked himself away in Wesker’s office and without Joseph around, the rest of them were quietly doing their work. It was strange to have Wesker, Barry, and Jill missing all in one shift. Kenneth and Edward wouldn’t be in until later.

Brad must’ve read Chris’s mind. “It feels like something’s missing…it’s too quiet.”

Forest snorted. “Course it is! We don’t have Chris and Jill yakking away behind us, no Barry laughing at his own jokes, and no Wesker scolding Frost or barking orders. Enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts. Won’t be long before Marini gets on our asses again.”

Brad rolled his eyes. “As if you enjoy anything of the sort, Forest.”

“Chris does seem like a sad puppy without Jill around,” Richard noted.

The sharpshooter glared at them. “I’m working. What are you guys doing, exactly?”

He ignored their laughs and entered the license plate number that was on the BMW that he saw at his house yesterday. As the information pulled up, Joseph returned and announced that the coffee was brewing. Forest mumbled something about the STARS office needing to replace the coffee pot that Edward accidentally broke a couple weeks ago and left downstairs to go get some. If anyone left with Forest, Chris didn’t notice, too absorbed in the profile the license plate brought up.

Vehicle is a 1997 BMW M3…everything is up to date…Registered to William Birkin of Raccoon City, Colorado. Chris did a separate search for William Birkin in their database. Not much came up. Age 35. Married. Type O blood. Height: 5’10’’, Weight: 147lbs. Blond hair, blue eyes. Licensed under the Umbrella Corporation as a medical researcher. No records, no flags.

There was a picture on profile, looking to be a few years old, but it was definitely him. He didn’t look threatening, but something just didn’t sit right with Chris. He wondered how Claire could know this man. Surely she wasn’t seeing him romantically as he was married. Claire wasn’t like that. Maybe she didn’t know?

It might not even be like that…don’t jump to conclusions. Jill’s right…this could all be harmless. Maybe he’s just a friend.

Still���he did not like the feeling in his gut looking at the man’s seemingly innocent picture. It was hard to decide if it was his innate instincts as a cop or his overprotective devotion as a big brother. Unfortunately, Chris couldn’t do much else beside keep a closer eye on his sister and see if anything else came on his radar. Claire was still acting strange…hiding something. He was sure this man had something to do with it. Sighing, he closed the profile and got back to his other work. He remained distracted for the rest of the morning.

Before leaving for lunch, Chris had found Ralph Hendricks again and asked his neighbor and fellow brother-in-uniform to keep an eye out for anything else unusual at his house, especially if it involved that silver BMW and the man that drove it. Ralph, sensing Chris’s worry, assured him he would do what he could. That made the older Redfield feel better and drove home to enjoy some lunch with his sister.

He unlocked the door and went inside. Chris usually took his lunch with Jill, and so he was sure Claire would be surprised. The house was warm, but he didn’t see her when he came inside. The television wasn’t on, it was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Sis, you here?” When there came no answer, he hollered again with a frown. “Claire?”

He checked the house. She was gone. Trying to remain calm, Chris thought where she could have gone without the truck. He searched for a note but found none. He had to rationalize this. Maybe a friend came and picked her up...

Or maybe that guy in the BMW?

Chris paced, knowing he was overreacting. He couldn’t call his STARS teammates in to help him look for her once more, especially since last time it turned out she had been just fine. Barry was out of town with Robert, and Wesker would probably wring his neck if he called him on his day off again. He decided that calling Jill would be best. She would talk him down and help him to clear his head.

He picked up the phone with a heavy sigh. If only he could get rid of the terrible feeling in his gut. You have to quit doing this…Claire’s an adult. She’s out there living her life. And you cannot be there to protect her all the time. She knows how to take care of herself. She’s probably just out there having fun. Quit worrying!

Claire was not having fun. This was torture. The silence ate at her, the small, confined space that smelled of leather and his cologne was dizzying. Every nerve under her skin thrummed, from what she didn’t know. Demanding her to move, to escape, to fight. Or perhaps respond to a darker urge she refused to acknowledge, pushed to the farthest corner of her mind.

“You’re more restless than William, and that’s saying something.”

The college student fell out of her thoughts, not realizing she had been so fidgety in the passenger seat of Wesker’s car. His look was that of mild amusement, genuinely less snide than usual.

Claire glared at him. “Can you blame me? Stuck in a car with an evil asshole like you. What are we even doing here anyway?”

“Waiting...some of us more patiently than others.”

“For what?”

“You’ll see.”

He stared out the tinted windows, elbow resting on the side panel of his door with his chin propped on his knuckles. He had taken his sunglasses off again when they had parked here over half an hour ago, observing and waiting patiently. Apparently, this man had the patience of a saint - and Wesker having any saint-like qualities, wasn’t that the epitome of irony? 

They were in southern Raccoon, on the east side of Circular River, south of Cider District where all of Raccoon City’s schools were. It was mostly warehouses and old apartment complexes around here. It wasn’t the poorest part of town, but Wesker’s XK8 was out of place in this area, and Claire had no idea what he was waiting for.

Claire had tried to behave, be good like Ada and the Birkins suggested, but her defiance soon got the better of her being stuck in that car with him, with nothing to do but go mad. So she deliberately fidgeted and made noise, anything she thought that would get under his skin.

After a bit, certain that her antics weren’t working, the STARS Captain soon glowered her way. “If you wish to irritate me, perhaps you should take pointers from Will. But let’s be honest here, Ms. Redfield, I know you are above such petty antics. If you have something to say, then say it.”

Claire didn’t break his intimidating gaze, glaring at him in return. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Feel better?”

“I will if I get the chance to kill you.”

Wesker’s smirk knotted her stomach again. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, dear heart.”

Smug prick…

Claire leaned back against her seat, folding her arms. “Why the hell am I even here? Surely, you can ruin someone else’s life without me?”

“I can. But why do that when I have pawns...and pleasant company...like you?” He smiled wryly at her glare. “Don’t worry yourself, my dear. No one will get hurt...today.”

“How can you be like this? My brother and the STARS look up to you, respect you! The city relies on you...Sherry adores you. How can you do this to them? Do you not feel anything?”

Wesker closed his eyes for a moment but remained impassive. “You’re wasting your time trying to understand me, Ms. Redfield.”

Claire wasn’t about to let him dissuade her that easily. She had a feeling her prying would get her in trouble, but damned if trouble wasn’t her middle name. “I have nothing better to do. So...hate the world? Trying to prove something? Issues? Emotional trauma? Revenge?”

She tried to read him for any kind of reaction, even if only minuscule. Though he was probably just a psychopath and nothing more, Claire had a feeling it was more than that. His relationship with the Birkins and apparent physical attraction to her proved that. It was something much deeper. The signs were there, what little the Birkins and Wesker himself had revealed to her.

I am no longer the ruled, I am the ruler. Wesker was obsessed with power and control. Something had to have made him that way.

Unfortunately, if the corrupt STARS Captain gave any reaction to her prying, she had missed it. If only she could read him like William could...

Wesker sighed, as if he heard this all before. “Since I know you are wondering it, I had a standard childhood.”

“Oh yeah? Parents? Siblings?”

He half-rolled his eyes. “My parents died long ago. I have a sister but we were raised separately.”

Now we're getting somewhere!

“That’s not a standard childhood,” Claire stated.

He looked at her and for half a second the college student swore she could see a little into this man’s darkened soul. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

The nerve he hit was sharp and sudden, like a knife digging underneath her fingernail. She scowled, no longer able to keep his gaze. She should’ve known he would’ve turned it right back around on her.

“Car accident, correct?”

Claire flinched, certain he would ridicule her for her loss and heartache on the subject. “Yeah.”

Say it...I dare you! Just give me a reason to pound your face in...

“I’m sorry, dear heart.”

Claire’s head snapped to gape at him so fast, she nearly gave herself whiplash. Completely taken by shock, he didn’t present her with anything further on the words she would have never thought to ever hear come out of his mouth, let alone sincerely.

“Ah, right on time,” Wesker eventually said after a long bout of silence. “You see that man crossing the street ahead?”

Claire suppressed the turmoil of thoughts swirling in her head over their recent conversation and looked. She did see someone crossing the street; a younger man, tall and skinny, wearing mostly black, baggy clothes. He looked like a typical hoodlum, covered in tattoos, a cigarette lazily poking out from his lips.

“Yeah.”

“He will get inside that parked Ford Taurus. I need for you to join him.”

“What? I don’t even know the guy!”

Sure enough, the hoodlum got into the driver side of the parked car just up ahead.

Wesker looked to her, lips twitching in amusement. “He’s expecting you, dear heart. Just say ‘not the gravy’ and he will do the rest.”

Claire gawked at him. “Not...the gravy? Are you kidding me?”

Wesker sighed. “Do I wish I was. William’s code, not mine.”

“Oh…” she mumbled. She wasn’t really surprised since it was William. Still, she wasn’t fond of the idea of sitting in the car of a total stranger with no weapon on her. Granted, she was sure she could pummel the guy easily enough, but one couldn’t be too careful.

Wesker must have sensed her unease. “The sooner you do this, the sooner we can leave. Meaning one step closer to you going home. Trust me, Claire, as long as I have you, no one will touch a hair on your head.”

Unless it’s your Russian Colonel friend, right?

The Devil might as well have been telling her to trust him. Still, there was something about his tone that did make her feel a little safer...a little. The younger Redfield slowly opened the door to the black luxury car and stepped out.

Taking a deep breath, really wishing she could have her gun or knife on her, she walked down the slushy sidewalk. A lot of the snow had melted from the sun being out for a couple of days, but more snow - and cloudy gloominess - was inbound. The dropping temps tonight would for sure turn this slush into more ice.

Reaching the car, Claire slowly pulled the handle to the passenger door and slipped inside. The interior was ragged and smelled of cigarette smoke. The guy had been sitting patiently this whole time with his hands in his pockets. He looked at her, only mild surprise coming over him and he gave her a one-over. If Claire had to guess, this seemingly normal looking hoodlum was an informant of some kind.

Claire sighed. “Not the gravy.”

The guy nodded, eyes scanning around them for a moment before he reached inside his coat and pulled out a small white envelope. He offered it to her. Claire studied it for a couple of heartbeats and then grabbed it. When she tried to pull it away, he tightened his hold on it.

“They only stayin’ for another week. If he gonna hit ‘em, he better hit ‘em fast.”

Claire swallowed. “Got it.”

The informant let the envelope go. He reached up and turned the keys to his ignition. Claire was sure that was her signal to leave and got out of the car. She barely shut the door before the sedan pulled away from the curb, loud music blaring even through the rolled up windows. Claire watched him go for only a second before turning and going back to Wesker’s car.

Once she was back inside his much nicer vehicle, shutting the door to contain the warmth from the heater, she immediately presented him the envelope. The STARS Captain took it, their fingers brushing, and Claire wasn’t sure whether he deliberately did it or not. He had already placed his sunglasses back on.

“He said they are only staying for a week and if you are going to hit them, you better do it fast.”

Wesker smirked as he opened the envelope and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. He unfolded it and read through it while Claire remained quiet, waiting.

“Hmm, interesting,” he mused. “I may get to cut the head off of more than one snake.”

Claire had no idea what he was planning or who it involved, but she knew it meant people were going to get hurt or killed. Or exploited if Wesker had his way. These “snakes” had to be problems or threats to him somehow. Or perhaps obstacles to a bigger prize. Her stomach soured just thinking about what he could do to these people, innocent or not.

All she knew was that she was sitting right next to her snake. And it was constricting around her, each new coil making it harder to breath, pulling her closer, poised to strike with venomous fangs. Claire had heard plenty of rattlesnakes growing up. She didn’t hear a rattler, but she sure felt the same cold weight of dread plummet in her stomach hearing one often produced.

[mitchipedia]

Kurt Vonnegut on Making a Living as a Writer

Kurt Vonnegut and his former student, Suzanne McConnell, share excellent advice on making a living for creative writers.

Only a very few people makes their living from creative writing, and even fewer get rich and famous. The rest need jobs, and even the few who eventually make a living at writing need jobs until the day.

Vonnegut recommends finding work that you care about, or finding something to care about in your job. Maybe you hate the job but love your coworkers. Some jobs provide fodder for stories, such as medicine and law. (I was going to say police work would provide the same fodder, but I can only think of one cop-turned-writer, Joseph Wambaugh.) But any job can be fulfilling and provide grist for creative writing.

Vonnegut recommends “hack writing” — technical writing and ad copy (I expect business technology journalism falls in that category.)

One problem with hack-writing jobs is

… they replicate the confines of writing. Who wants to stare at a computer screen after staring at one already for hours? Or play with words for yourself after arranging them for hours for your paycheck?

To circumvent that duplication, you might write by hand, or in snatches of time, or in a bar—anywhere distinctly different and more playful than your day job requires.”

Some jobs become consuming, and the writer never gets around to doing actual creative writing. I’d say that’s what happened to me, which is one reason why I have never done much creative writing over the course of my life. (But that’s only part of it.)

Vonnegut and McConnell also talk about the problems on the other end of the spectrum, which emerged when Vonneguat achieved global fame and fortune when he was in his 40s. Years earlier, struggling Vonnegut had borrowed from his son Mark’s paper route to help the family make ends meet; now he was a wealthy man, feted around the world.

At a party honoring Vonnegut after a reading at a university, no one … came up and spoke to him or his wife Jill. Everyone was too timid.

I had a similar experience when I saw Neal Stephenson speak at a conference not too long ago. We ended up as the only two people at the buffet line, and I was too much in awe to say anything. Even as a journalist, I had nothing to ask him. So I just stood there like an idiot, scooping food on my plate and acting like the guy standing next to me was nobody in particular.

Here’s something funny about that: In addition to admiring Stephenson, was also admiring the vest he was wearing at the time. I have since looked in vain for a vest like it. So if it had only occurred to me, I could have said, “I like your vest. Do you mind if I ask where you got it?” And then I woudl have had a conversation with Neal Stephenson and a great vest! But I didn’t think of it; I was just tongue-tied.

A few years later Kurt rocketed from shame-faced classroom confession about trying to be urbane to joining the company of other renowned writers invited to the White House.

Such a propulsion is hard on friends and family. Your dad, husband, uncle—even your teacher—is suddenly someone else, someone exalted, someone fans think they know, someone who has much less time for you.

“I grew up thinking everything would be perfect if we just had a little more money. Instead the money just blew everything apart,” according to Mark. “Once he was famous, people gathered around my father like hungry guppies around a piece of bread. There was never enough Kurt to go around.”

Vonnegut said he was in his 40s when he hit that level of success, and was fortunate to have the tools to deal with it. He expressed concern in the early 80s for John Irving, who achieved the same level of success as a much younger man.

Kurt Vonnegut on Making a Living as a Writer [Kurt Vonnegut and Suzanne McConnell, The Nation]

mitchwagner.blog

[sky-larking]

Fence + Suitcase + Americium-241 thoughts and stream of consciousness rambling.

Spoilers lie within.

I mentioned stream of conscious rambling didn’t I?

- The ‘how many grenades are on your vest?’ thing feels like a very Jack move.  I wonder if they are setting up ‘Jackisms’ with other character.  Like when someone leaves at work and management redistribute their duties to everyone else  rather then hiring a new person, we’ve all been there 😉 I’ve been thinking about since I watched the sneak peaks and I’m okay with them doing that.  It won’t be quite the same without Jack, of course, but if that Jack type vibe is still there the show will still have the same kind of energy that made me like it in the first place. Does that make sense?

-Mac can’t cook, it’s been confirmed!  Jack mentioned it in a throw away line once and fandom pounced and ran with it as an absolute fact and now we learn that it’s absolutely true.

- I think some of the Mac and Bozer joking around as they left the house feels a lot like Mac and Jack banter. Please see my first point.

- They all look amazing in all black.  Riley looks really foxy.  I like what they’ve been doing with her character, she’s becoming a real force to be reckoned with.

- A dirty bomb.  Dun, dun, duuuuuun!

-I love it when Matty is a hard-arse.

-I like Charlotte.  This show is good at having good female characters who aren’t like your usual “Strong Women” trope, which usually means they can crush men with their thighs while wearing a crop top and a short skirt. They are badasses who happen to be women, which is why the them killing off Jill annoyed me so much. With the exception of (unpopular opinion alert!) Cage they’ve had some really good female characters. (My problem with Cage was really more to do with the actress than the character, I found her two dimensional and unconvincing and I think a different actress would have made her a better character.  I know some people think that Leanna is a Cage 2 but I don’t necessarily a bad thing since Cage 1 wasn’t that great)   

And Charlotte has amazing hair. 

-When in doubt, run really fast!

-So, hang on, someone hired them to steal a bomb that was about to go off?

-Run, Skinnyboy, run!

-I’m Spartacus! No, I’m Spartacus!

- Wow, that baddie was a bad shot.

-Bozer, what’s going on with that hat? Is it a cowboy hat? It looks like a cowboy hat. 

- I’d be happy to see Charlotte come back again.  She’s a fun character.

Speaking of people coming back, I wonder if we’re going to see James again anytime soon.  (Unpopular opinion 2 coming up!) I like that he’s there and I want to see more of him and Mac trying to work out their relationship. I think he could have a nice little angsty redemption arc thing happen. I wonder if at some point if he could meet a new lady. That would be interesting. Has there been anyone since Mac’s mom died? (I have a whole head cannon where he thinks she was the love of his life in a ‘you complete me’ way and he thinks that he was a better man when he was with her, which is why he felt he wasn’t doing a good job raising Mac.)

Anyway

That was a great episode, I liked the montage bit when they were discussing how to break into the vault, I’m a sucker for a montage.  The last few episodes have been really good, either I’m getting used the way this new season feels or the writers have got their feet under themselves and are really starting to come up with some really good stuff. 

I wish they’d come up with some titles that are easier to remember and spell though.    Americium-241? 🤷‍♀️

[shirlleycoyle]

Wait, Wasn’t Bitcoin Supposed to Be Good in a Crisis?

Bitcoin was born out of a financial crisis, its debut announced in early 2009 with a block of data containing a headline referencing bank bailouts. Since then, a popular narrative around the technology has been that it's a hedge against the rest of the world—when the Black Swan finally rears its ugly head, the unwashed masses with their worthless dollars will grovel before the fleece vest-wearing, cryptocurrency-wielding elite. Ha-ha!

Anyway, none of that shit has happened during the first real, global test of this theory: the ongoing coronavirus pandemic.

As the US stock market saw its worst crash since 1987, Bitcoin price has taken a serious tumble, actually, and currently sits at roughly $5,500 USD, down from around $9,000 a week ago, and with a 24-hour low of $3,867. Anybody who was hoping to sell any recently-acquired bitcoins for a profit in the near-term is probably sweating bullets right now, and everyone should say a little prayer for folks who bought in mid-plunge, believing with their genius brains that it had definitely reached the bottom.

So, what's happening here? Maybe Bitcoin isn't the "safe haven" asset (like gold) that some thought it was? This has led to a lot of crowing from critics, but many Bitcoiners are ideologically-driven and devoted to the project, which may ultimately be its saving grace during the current dip.

On Twitter, Bitcoiner Pierre Rochard went as far as saying that Bitcoin has proved itself to be the "ultimate safe haven asset" because "the network stays up, the exchanges trade 24/7, and the market found a healthy clearing price above—well above the 2015 low." While it's, uh, let's just call it an overstatement, to say Bitcoin is the "ultimate" safe haven asset while it's actively crashing, Rochard has a point: Bitcoin isn't doing that badly, at least for now. It might not be an unflagging stalwart amid global chaos, but it has seen worse.

Between late 2017 and 2018, Bitcoin crashed from nearly $20,000 to below $4,000 after a wild speculative bubble popped, and it's still here. Maybe external factors such as the coronavirus will end up doing more to damage it than its own hype did—debts must be paid in dollars, after all—but Bitcoin keeps proving that we shouldn't underestimate the willingness of rich nerds with an apocalypse fetish to pour money into this thing over the long haul.

Jill Carlson, a principal at Slow Ventures, made another great point over at Coindesk: Perception is everything, and if Bitcoin isn't seen as a safe haven by the majority then it won't be. Still, she suggests this perception is wrong, and that Bitcoin is in many ways an ideal safe haven. She writes: "It can be self-custodied, so even when systems of trust and rule of law breaks down, it can be held. It is open and borderless, with relatively liquid markets in every country in the world. It is censorship-resistant, meaning no government nor institution can, practically speaking, prevent investment or transaction in bitcoin. Bitcoin has a fixed supply, much like gold."

All fair points, but in practice we are seeing that Bitcoin is not living up to its promise of being a tower from which the moneyed and prepared can laugh at everyone else below. It is simply freaking out.

I own no bitcoins (go on, roast me), but for years I've found it fascinating as an economic and technological site of ideological contest. There's just not a whole lot of things out there so directly predicated on everything else going to shit. That being said, this aspect of Bitcoin's narrative is extremely powerful and is probably going to continue to appeal to the types of people who might buy a luxury emergency bunker or just keep a well-stocked bug-out bag in their closet.

I don't know if this is a good thing, but it's real, and it's why even a crash seems like an opportunity to buy more bitcoins to some. In fact, most of these people are probably already looking ahead to the next big technical event in Bitcoin, the "halvening" in May. Now there's another rabbithole to go down.

Wait, Wasn’t Bitcoin Supposed to Be Good in a Crisis? syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[officeranzumazaki-blog]

Spring.

Where do we go when we die?

Do we go to a place in the sky or below the earth to reap rewards or suffer for sins we never really knew the severity of? Or do we just stop existing, vanish in our last breaths of air and heart beats like a computer shutting down for the last time never to be started again.

These kind of thoughts were dark and unpleasant to dwell on and Anzu tried to avoid bringing them up in her mind whenever possible. In the past few months though they had crawled out and crept along her thinking like bed bugs seeping from between the folds of sheets and blankets. 

They surfaced from the reoccurring thought that Officer Ryou Bakura was dead. That somewhere in this city or perhaps drifting against the sea floor the good officer was no longer among the living and rotting away into nothingness. A thought, that Anzu couldn’t ring herself to accept or believe. It wasn’t just naive hope either. That if she believed hard enough for him to be alive he would waltz through the doors of the station with his suit rumpled and hair disheveled but otherwise alive and well (at which point Anzu wasn’t sure if she would hug or sucker punch him or rather she would do both but the order of them wasn’t yet clear) and tell her of some great story of conspiracy and hiding over the course of his missing.

No what kept Anzu so sure he lived was everything was too calm. Since his absence she had kept tabs on those he would have, in a more subtle way as to not appear the loon searching for him in some b movie title detective flick, and everything was too quiet. There was crime yes, drugs, thievery and crimes that knew were committed but unable to apprehend the felon tucked away in their little wasp hive of a criminal gang. The Queen Bee (as she had begun to privately call him) was active but to a far lesser extent. 

Anzu was certain if Ryou were actually dead the Queen B would have torn this city apart searching for the killer of his prey and had this already occurred on a quieter scale he could have found a new partner to play his twisted games. Add to this her own assurance Ryou would not stay dead so easily (that whole affair with magic and the supernatural still making her skin crawl.) and she knew somewhere in this city or over the sea Officer Ryou Bakura was alive. In serious need for a hug sucker punch but alive none the less.

Reaching for her coffee the lip of the cup barely touched her own before she set it back down. It had long gone cold and she felt the craving for a cigarette strong than that of caffeine. Stepping out of her office and pulling the pack from her pants pocket a wary glance was tossed over the empty work cubicles that led to the back door. 

Jou was on leave, for something to do with his sister she imagined or maybe he was still in the office and she just never saw him. Mokuba was still in the labs but she only went down to see when work needed to be done. She still brought him a can of soda and a burger if she was passing someplace on her way back but it was hard to stay down their with him. Not for any fault of Mokubas, she liked the kid, but conversation always drifted back to the missing officer and she left the lab feeling a weight on her shoulders and in her gut that wouldn’t leave until the next morning. She imagined Mokuba was taking the absence even harder than she was but he was a man, boy really, and men dealt with grief and worry in their own ways. Not everyone opened up to talking it out and she herself had been trying to chase away the creeping thoughts of death and the after life by focusing on her work.

The back door opened with a metal creak and the cold air hit her like a slap. Spring had come with great reluctance and dragged with it the cold of winter as some silent protest to its awakening. The sooner things got warmer the sooner she could stop wearing the itchy cotton vest under her shirt.It irritated her skin like a bitch but there was no denying its warmth and she had taken to wearing it at all times now because the moment she took it off was the moment Jill would need a walk or to go out and pee. 

Anzu had taken the dog in but she wasn’t a huge animal person and her apartment was hardly the place to home such an old big dog. The landlord had kept quiet about any complaints because they knew she was a cop and she knew of the expired health inspection award faded on the wall in his office. Money was being saved though and she was planning to buy a small place in a residential area, somewhere if a huge Egyptian man tried to enter through her window or a shadow boy with white hair blue scarf showed up on her door step she’d know before she got home and found them eating her food or lazing on her couch.

The zippo sparked once, then twice and on the third roll of her thumb a flame bloomed to light the cigarette between her lips. Speaking of money that new casino , not quite so new now, had been nothing but trouble since the get go. It was probably a fine place but the kind of people it attracted were far worse and the amount of reports they of in of fights and muggings was weighing down her desk. They kept her working though and in between them she searched for whatever information she could about Blaike Naido, a name that seemed to belong to a fucking ghost.

But he was real and he was tied to Ryou in a way she didn’t fully understand. Once or twice she had tried to call the lawyer again but got only a dial tone.

The cigarette was already burning to half way and she pulled it away from her with a heavy exhale. She needed to watch it or she’d get really addicted and the price of tobacco wasn’t going down any time soon. The thought of retirement would pop up now and again, take Jill and find a house somewhere far from this city and maybe try and become a dance instructor or something. If Anzu could materialize these thoughts into a physical form she would have kicked them into a fine mush and scraped them off her shoe over broken glass.

Another drag taken of the cancer stick and the thoughts of death and after life reared their twisted misshapen heads before her, creeping in for hopes of feeding off her doubts and grieves. A hope she crushed along with the remained of the fag under her heel. There was work to be done and death was only a reminder of the time left to do it in.

Worry for death when there’s nothing else for you to do but die. If you can curl your hand in a fist you can hold a pen. If you can hold a pen you can write. If you can write you can read. If you can read you can think.

If you can think, you’re alive and death has no place in your mind.