#eyes. picking up an unused axe from where it got thrown to the floor and its gleam only stands to emphasize the gore covering them. and as

[trollbreak]

Really just keep giving Wynric vampiric imagery huh lol. Maybe I should do something about that sometime

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone - 27

Masterpost

She feels restless. Bobbi only lets her have the baby under her supervision but of course, Natasha doesn't actually want the baby, the thing she tried to murder- It's best if she stays away, lets Bobbi handle it, Bobbi who cares for the baby because that's just what she does, regardless of any moral considerations. Because it’s her job.

Natasha’s job was always to kill. That’s what she does. Hunt and kill. Clint was right, she’s not built for this. She’s used to weed out what’s bad, or what she sees as bad- well, the vampires. And not killing James comes really easy because he’s hard to kill, and because she loves him, and she just doesn’t love the thing, the baby. It’s just not her baby. She doesn’t have the maternal instincts that are supposed to kick in when seeing something small and vulnerable in need of help. The thing may not be a real baby but it still needs feeding, though that’s about the only thing.

Maria seems to be quite disappointed. That’s what really scares Natasha. If it hadn’t been Bobbi there, if it had been Maria, she wouldn’t have batted an eye. She can’t trust herself. She’s scared of what she’ll do if she’s not stopped. She’s scared of the killer she is and where it’ll take her. Maybe the only thing keeping her from killing her baby is Bobbi watching her. Maybe that’s what she really is, all she really is. A killer who would murder her own baby if the opportunity presents itself.

The baby doesn’t do much. Of course it doesn’t. It eats and it sleeps and it looks around with impassive eyes. Natasha really doesn’t know what she expected. How she deluded herself that it would be anything other than this , when she’s literally a professional monster hunter and killer and James is a fucking vampire and they’re in a collapsed society fighting a neverending bloody war they’ll never win, and she apparently thought that was a fine place to have a baby. She really thought she was going to be able to have this good thing when life hasn’t given her a good thing for at least a decade, if it ever has.

So that’s what she’s stuck with now. A baby that’s not really a baby, that doesn’t do anything, that doesn’t need anything, a thing she might just kill unless there’s literally something thrown into her way. And she’s still exactly who she was before, except now, she has to face it.

She's outside when she hears Bobbi talk, seemingly to no one in particular. Can't be the baby. Bobbi hardly talks to the baby. Still better than Maria who won't even look at it, like some superstition, like it's bad luck. Or the devil. Bobbi seems to trust her not to kill it, though, unlike Natasha.

It's a longer talk, several minutes, and Nat drives the axe through blocks of wood while Maria replaces them without a word. Bobbi must have given her a hefty dose of vampire blood because it still hasn't worn off, the axe blade slicing through the wood easily, she's not even breaking a sweat despite the thick jacket. Still no snow but the air is frisk, biting at her nose and eyes and ears.

When she's done, she goes back inside quickly, excusing herself with the cold. Not that Maria cares. Bobbi looks up when the door opens, the baby on a pillow on the couch table. Natasha clears her throat, closing the wooden door behind her. Bobbi watches her with an alertness in her eyes that always makes her stomach turn, not because it's mean but because she deserves it. "Everything alright?"

Natasha nods, sitting down on the couch, fidgeting so she doesn't have to look at the bundle on the couch table. "Were you- who were you talking to?"

Bobbi nods towards a thick brick of a phone, complete with an antenna and all. Probably the only way to get any connection out here. “Fury called. Wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Natasha bites her lip, unable to stop herself from quickly gazing at the bundle on the table. A blank slate, as always, something to project all her hopes and fears on. “Did you tell him about-”

“No, no,” Bobbi interrupts, picking up the bundle and handing it over. “Just said the whole thing is not easy on you. Here, take it, really. It’s your child.”

This feels like a purposeful approachment, designed to slowly reacquaint her with this thing in a healthier way, safely supervised. Natasha’s pulse jumps as she takes the bundle, careful not because it’s fragile but because she ’s fragile, who knows if her mind will twist again and she’ll try to smash this thing on the floor or strangle it or gouge its empty eyes out, she almost sees it-

“It’s alright,” Bobbi repeats, leaning over the back of the couch in a show of relaxation. “It happens. How are you feeling?”

Like a murderer. “Is that all he wanted? Fury?”

Bobbi sighs, dropping her arm. “No. They’re- they’re going to move on the Castle. Can’t wait any longer or the black cloaks will be here.”

A hot flash explodes in her belly. That should be her. She should be there. She may not be able to hold this thing but she can fight, she can kill. That’s what she’s good at, good for. “How’s it looking? Is James going to be with them?”

“They got a plan.” Bobbi watches the head peeking out of the bundle. “It’ll probably all go well but… well, you never know. Yeah, your friend will be the first to go in. We’ll see.”

“You’re worried,” Natasha states, cradling the tiny head.

“It’s weird not being there,” Bobbi admits. “But someone has to look after the baby.”

Because Natasha can’t. “I should go.”

“You should recover,” Bobbi returns. “Really. It’s only been a few days.”

“I am recovered,” Natasha states. “You gave me so much vampire blood- I have so much unused strength and I’m just sitting around here anxiously- I know I can’t do this here, I can’t look after the baby, but I can fight. I know I can fight.”

Bobbi shifts and gets up. “I should show you something.”

Natasha presses the bundle against her chest, tiny head resting against her shoulder, and follows her outside, around the cabin. The truck is parked behind, partly hidden behind trees and branches, covered with a tarp that Bobbi pulls off now. The baby sniffs the outside air, the forest, the wood, probably the forest animals. Bobbi discards the tarp and yanks the back doors open. “Here. I don’t know where Fury got it.”

Inside is a motorcycle, strong smell of oil, black and sleek and huge, more of a sportbike than a cruiser, looking quite massive with its full fairing. Natasha’s jaw drops. It’s gorgeous . “What’s that for?”

“Fury thought I might want to return to the city on short notice,” Bobbi explains, holding the door open. “If we needed something or whatever. Didn’t come to pass.”

Natasha touches the handlebars reverently. It’s real. She hasn’t seen a bike that wasn’t on the verge of falling apart in years. “Can I have it?”

“You really want to go?” Bobbi asks. “You’ve been through a lot. Just physically.”

It’s definitely better than this. “I can’t stay here.”

  Maria is not keen on going to the city ever again, which she states in no uncertain terms, so Natasha is flying down the bumpy highway alone, in full gear. The sun has set but it’s not dark yet and every meter she gets away from the cabin, she feels lighter, free. The wind cuts against her helmet, her neck guard, her suit, not gaining purchase anywhere. The only other sound is the roaring engine. The air is cutting cold but she’s protected from it, can’t feel it, and so she speeds over the highway to get to Prague before the night falls.

This is what she does, who she is. Not the baby stuff. She failed but she’s not going to fail at this. This is a task that she’s up to. It feels good not to have to be something she’s not, after all, despite whatever she wanted to be. To leave it behind.

It’s already dark when she reaches the outskirts of the city. She hardly even slows, blazing through the empty streets, turning tight corners, rumbling over cobblestone. The castle is not lit up tonight. She likes that. It fills her with adrenaline, blood thrumming as she cuts through the air fast. This is for all the days the castle was lit up like for a ball at a mansion, the vampires having a feast on the people they killed that night. Turning predators into prey.

She hasn’t been close to the castle in a long time, and only during daytime. Going there at night is elating. She weaves her way up the hill, not hearing the fighting over the roaring of her motorcycle until she sees them, Clint dodging attacks from a vampire with a jagged knife while there are three on top of James wrangling him to the ground, trying to get in bites and scratches, no, four, several beheaded corpses around- she gets light, dropping off without steering the motorcycle off course and it crashes into the four while she rolls over the cobblestone. It’s easy to jump up again, with the vampire blood still running through her veins, she draws a silver gun and shoots Clint’s guy, draws the jagged silver knife and rams it through the vampiress that comes at her first, it’s the one with dark curly hair from one of the hunting parties, she howls, sharp teeth, but the stab wasn’t fatal yet, Natasha kicks her legs out before punching the other vampire so hard she hears his ribs crack, she punches again, fist sinking in, fingers closing around his shrivelled heart and she tears it out.

James is taking care of the other two, she notices out of the corner of her eye, before the vampiress sinks her fangs into the biteguard, ugly screeching noise, Natasha throws her off easily, slipping through under her arm with superhuman speed and slitting her throat from behind before she can so much as hiss. Tumbles down lifelessly. Natasha shoots her in the head with a silver bullet, and the other one with the open chest too, for good measure. James is standing amid headless vampire corpses, grinning widely, and intense relief washes over her. She’s glad to see him, she doesn’t care about whatever stupid shit they were fighting about last time, and whatever the baby turns out to be, she still fucking loves him. She holsters the silver gun. “Can’t leave you guys alone for a fucking second, can I.”

He’s still grinning unabashedly, pure joy, adoration, happiness. “I love you.”

She blushes, despite herself, interrupted by a cracking sound she knows to be the breaking of a spine. “Save it, guys,” Clint remarks, tearing the head off his vampire. “Good to see you, Nat, but we need to move, Sam and Pepper need help.”

And she was mildly worried this could turn out emotional and awkward. James looks her up and down while Clint already runs down the street. “Are you good? You look good.”

“I’m good,” she confirms, starting after Clint but slower. “What about you? Everyone alright?”

“Far as I know,” he returns, stopping. “Come on, let’s take the other route.”

She looks after Clint who disappears around the corner, then nods, and James grabs her and before she knows it, they’ve jumped onto the roof, running over tiles trying to keep quiet, jumping from building to building with the vampire strength running through her. She spots Sam and Pepper barricaded behind a stone wall, the vampires somewhere in an arched passage, occasional shooting. She ducks behind the rooftop to avoid getting seen. Clint comes running down the street just then and barely makes it to a house entrance, bullet at least grazing his shoulder, she can’t quite tell. James is cowering next to her, she can see him counting the vampires. Just one jump across the street to the opposite roof and they could drop behind them, take them by surprise. "Is Clint okay?" she whispers, gloved fingers tightening on the tiles.

James sniffs, drawing the night air in sharply. "Bleeding but not a lot. Should be fine. Do you think you can take them?"

She nods. "Yeah, I'm good. Vampire blood doing a fine job. I can jump on my own."

"Okay." He grins, gold-streaked fangs flashing in the moonlight. "Man, I'm glad to see you. You go first, I'll be right behind."

She's glad to be back where everything makes fucking sense, where it's them against the vampires and James is just the exception that proves the rule. She peeks down on the vampires who must also have caught the smell of blood, sneering. Well, it's good if they're distracted. Makes them easier to kill.

She crouches, fixating the opposite roof like a cat about to pounce. For a second, she starts doubting whether she can actually make the jump but she knows how strong she is right now. She's only been this strong when she killed Pierce, the black cloak, or maybe she's even stronger now. Let's find out.

She leaps off the top, sailing through the air, landing hard on the opposite roof and dropping down on the other side right away, James is already there, it's six vampires and she catches two by surprise, the third one kicks her but it doesn't feel too bad, she jumps right back at him, baring her teeth, knocking back every single one of his punches, slamming his head against the wall, slashing his side open so dark blood splatters, he tries to go for her jugular and that's when she snaps his neck, dropping him carelessly. James is just biting the neck of the last vampiress who screeches helplessly, dark blood pouring from the wound, and James doesn't let up until she goes completely slack.

Natasha calmly beheads her vampires. "I thought you don't like vampire blood."

James spits out, mouth and fangs smeared with dark blood. This is not a clean controlled eat, this is a bloody fight. "Still don't. Bah."

Sam is coming out from behind the stone wall, crossing the street. James turns away discreetly. Yeah, she's not sure they could take the sight. She grins and lets Sam hug her tightly. "Wow, didn't think you'd be back! So good to see you alive and healthy."

That she is. She grins, patting his back. "Glad to be back. Now, any more monsters to kill?"

Sam rolls his eyes and lets go. Pepper approaches her more carefully. "Hey Nat. Are you okay?"

Clint comes out from his hiding place and she picks up the smell of blood. Yeah, that would be an issue under other circumstances. "I'm alright. Really."

Clint looks her up and down sceptically. James returns, face now mostly clean. "I'll go and see whether I can find more. Be right back."

Sam nods and James jumps onto a roof, cloak flaring, and then he's out of their sight. "Gotta say," Sam remarks. "Really useful, your friend."

"Yes, he killed twelve before we even engaged," Pepper agrees. "The six here, Clint, you had-"

"Nine," Clint replies briefly. "One got away, though."

"We shot two," Sam adds. "So 28 dead, out of 40."

"Where are the others?" Natasha asks. "Tony and Sharon?"

"East," Pepper replies. "Haven't heard from them. We should go check."

"Yeah, let's go," Sam agrees. "But I think they're fine."

  Tony and Sharon are not where they're supposed to be and Natasha uses her tracker instincts and abilities to find them chasing two vampires. Sam coordinates them around to cut their way off, surrounding the vampires with no way out, and Tony burns one to a crisp while Sharon calmly shoots the other. Plus two they killed before. 32. Eight who got away.

They meet back at the tower and James reports one more that he caught, so it's 33 and seven missing. Fury seems satisfied. Of course, the real challenge is going to be the black cloaks, however many of them. In the meantime, they just have to kill as many as they can.

She meets James on the roof, climbing up with relative ease due to the vampire strength. It'll be hard when that's gone. Maybe she needs another dose before the black cloaks arrive. She'll get all of the side effects anyway. "That's it for your cover, huh?"

James shrugs, pulling her up the last bit. "It's fine. Was always going to happen."

"Not worried that Schmidt will hear?" she asks, settling next to him. "That he'll come here personally to reign you back in?"

James breathes out shakily. "Yes. Very worried. Maybe I can- maybe I can be gone before that."

She hopes he means gone away and not dead. "I don't think he still has control over you."

James laughs drily. "Yeah, thought that before. Turned out to be horseshit."

"Come on," she nudges. "That can't have been as intense as this."

"No," he relents. "Still. I don't know. So, you're really good? All healed?"

"Yeah." Physically at least. "This vampire blood is really crazy. Only took me a few days to recover completely."

He bites his lip, fangs digging in. "And the-"

She tries not to flinch. Nobody else asked about it. "That's complicated."

"So it's not what you wanted," he states, and it sounds genuinely disappointed and not at all told-you-so.

She sighs, dangling her feet. No. It's really not. But she never ever got what she wanted. "That's not your fault."

"It would be different if I wasn't this ," he insists sourly.

"You killed a whole lot of vampires today," she reminds him. "Not fledglings, really dangerous ones. I don't think you could have done that otherwise."

He breathes out in frustration. "Doesn't have to mean I like it."

"No," she agrees, dangling her feet, looking out over the nighttime city. "But you get what you get."

[big-bad-a-detective-story]

CHAPTER 03

It was obvious I wasn’t getting anywhere with the kid nor the creep, so I decided I’d try my luck with the woman at the root of it all; Ms. Fawcett herself. In only moments, I was knocking on her cottage door. I was soon greeted by the smiling face of what appeared to be a kindly old woman. But I knew better than to let my guard down for a second.

“Oh, hello, dear!” The old woman readjusted her spectacles and got a better look at me. If her frown was any indication, she wasn’t pleased with what she saw. “You’re not Little Red ...”

“How astute of you, ma’am. I’m known around these parts as the Big Bad Wolf, and I’ve got a few choice questions I’d like to--”

“Oh my, wolf? Wolf!”

I’m not sure which hurt worse in that moment: my feelings, or my snout when she slammed the door in my face. Alright, fine. It was quickly becoming clear to me that a direct approach wasn’t going to work here. On to plan B.

The B stands for boring, and boy was it. A good stakeout takes patience, vigilance, and dedication to the craft. I just so happen to possess all three in spades, but even I was beginning to nod off in the tree I’d perched myself in by the time I spotted movement along the adjacent treeline. 

It was Larry Lemonade! Just this fact alone was enough to jolt my senses-- as well as nearly caused me to topple from my roost. Grabbing onto the sturdy branch of the tree, I shielded my eyes with a free hand. 

All the better to see him with, you know.

Larry was the perfect vision of a sneaking snike-- mostly because that was what he was doing. He slithered out from behind the trees, tip-toeing through shrubbery as he made it to the door of Fawcett’s cottage. I watched, ever vigilant, as the depraved delinquent turned himself side to side-- no doubt on the lookout for my familiar face.  

Ha! For someone who took such pride in his intelligence, apparently looking UP was above him! 

After a few minutes the wolf seemed satisfied enough, straightening his crooked frame as he knocked on the door. It was only as an afterthought that Larry bent over to pluck a handful of posies from the window box, holding them as a makeshift bouquet.

It was the moment the old woman had opened the door to her home that I had realized my mistake: I was too far away to hear anything! Cursing that my brilliance had been my downfall, I strained my eyes to get a better view. I happen to be an amatuer lip reader, so it was at that moment my skill was put to the test.

Ah, Fawcett was surprised. Larry handed the flowers over, something about ‘for you, my dear’. My head was beginning to ache from the agony of my peepers peeping beyond their limits, but I could see that scoundrel kissing her hand, and Fawcett feigning a demure attitude. My frustration was building, and it was building fast. 

I didn’t need to see Larry getting himself a sugar granny, after all!

Thankfully some higher power was on my side, as the flirting came to an end. Either  Maybelle was suddenly offering an avocado, or she had just asked the wolf to come in.

“The plot thickens!” I cried out triumphantly, troubling my temporary twittering neighbors. But who cared about THEM, anyway. No birds were going to keep me from my case!

The robins apparently disagreed, as their sudden swooping caused me to tumble out of the tree. But no matter! The vines and underbrush I now found myself entangled in provided the perfect cover I needed. I’ve gotten so adept at camouflage, I don’t even need to try anymore.

I heard her long before I saw her. I'd know that chipper humming anywhere. And wouldn’t you know it, a moment later there she was, skipping into the clearing, her basket in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in her other. The final piece of the puzzle had arrived, and I waited, I watched, held in place just as much by my keen sense of intuition, as by the shrubbery.

Red shifted the flowers to her other hand, and she knocked on the door. The door opened, but it wasn’t the old woman standing there.

“Hiya, Granny! Hey wait,,,”

The girl was snatched up so quickly I barely saw it, her optimistic cry of “Whee!” cut off abruptly as she was pulled inside, the door slamming shut behind her. I was beginning to think maybe the girl was in danger, after all.

It wasn’t the time to think of suspects, it was time to save lives! The make it or break it moment where heroes were born!

Thus, quite naturally, my birth of valor was through breaking the cottage window.

Glass shattering was merely a cymbal in the sea of sounds coming from the home-- heavy thuds and muffled screams being the key notes. I might not have known the full story of what was going on, but I knew trouble when I heard it on the soundtrack of life! So, I used this opportunity to stretch my paw inside-- fiddling with the lock on the other side. The noise continued, and I was beginning to grow-- dare I say it-- worried.

With a small metallic click I was allowed entrance.  AHA! It was with a cry of success that I threw up the panel, and climbed inside-- only just missing having the window slam back down on my back. I clambered to my back paws, dusting my coat and gave a look about.

The place was an absolute wreck-- and I didn’t just mean from the taste of tacky furniture! Tables were flipped, picture frames were thrown to the floor. Chairs were… Actually, they were fine--BUT EVERYTHING ELSE! Oooh, this had the markings of a genuine struggle!

My deducing would have to wait, as it was the sound of the little girl screaming that sprung me into action.

“I gotcha Red!”

 I scurried to the foyer, followed by stumbling up the steps. I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the top floor. Another cry! All that stood between me and saving the child was a simple door.

I charged with everything I had.

I collapsed, along with the wooden door. Boy, they sure don’t build houses like they used to anymore… Where were the Walrus and the Carpenter when you needed them?

Oh, right. Prison.

I shook my head, visions of singing oysters leaving me as I took in the room I had so desperately demanded entrance to. Blinking with heavy eyes, I was shocked by what I saw!

The room was absolutely deserted.

The open window told me everything I needed to know … granny and the girl had been nabbed. But where had Larry taken them, and for what purpose? I asked myself these very questions as I descended the stairs, my deep contemplative concentration broken by a loud clatter that could have only been the front door crashing open.

Even more guests? The last thing I needed. Or perhaps the very thing I needed … perhaps whoever it was had seen something, had some information vital to this new questionable quandary I suddenly found myself with. I continued my way down the stairs, and prepared to confront the guest.

Or the intruder.

What I didn’t expect, however, was to see a modern day Adonis. If you asked a barkeep for a tall glass of water, this guy would be the equivalent of getting the whole barrel. Seemingly kind eyes were tinged with worry, as the large lumbering man stumbled through the door. He picked it up afterwards, leaning it back into its frame in some sort of manner of bashful etiquette. Hand on his ax-- Woodsman, then-- he called into the destroyed home.

“Mrs. Fawcett? Ma’am? You home? I brought you this week’s supply!” Boots crushed a picture frame, the lad stopping in his tracks as he bent over to pluck it from under his heel. “Oh my, bingo must have been intense. Shame I missed it!”

This was said with enough cheer that it caused me to facepalm from my spot on the stairs. Oh no, the kid was a nimrod in every sense of the word! I continued to watch: while I was sure he wasn’t the brains of the operation, I wasn’t yet sure where the Woodsman fell on the morality scale. (For all I knew he was a goon of Larry’s!) After I witnessed a cleanup of the crime scene, the Woodsman stopped himself to frown at the rest of the mess.

I could practically hear the squeaks of unused wheels, as the lad was attempting to make a thought.

“I… am beginning to suspect this wasn’t from bingo.”

“Nooo, you THINK?”

My outburst came as a surprise to us both-- my only weakness being the fact I couldn’t stand the simpleminded. Unfortunately for me, I wouldn’t be standing for long: for the moment the Woodsman spotted my fury complexion… Well, let’s just say profiling caused the oaf to have an ax to grind with little old me. 

I have no shame in admitting I yelped, falling down the stairs as I dodged the swing of the blade.

“H-hey, pal, let’s be reasonable!”

Another swing of the ax told me that logic and reason may not have been this guy’s strong suit. The way said ax sliced through an overturned table, barely missing me as I scrambled out of the way, told me he may have been wearing his strong suit,

“Halt, foul beast!” This man had a voice like a tuba. “What have you done with poor Ms. Fawcett? I don’t see her anywhere!”

“I’ve been trying to tell you! If you’d just put the ax away, and give me a chance to explain myself...”

My wit is quicker than my legs, I’m afraid, and I failed to escape the hand the size of my head. I was snatched up off the ground like an unfortunate rabbit in the talons of a hungry hawk. The brute of a man looked me up and down as I dangled there. 

Not my most prideful moment.

“Hmmm. You didn’t eat her, did you?”

“EAT HER?!”

Now, let me tell you a thing or two about wolves: we get a bad rap. Sometimes it felt like wolves were getting the short end of the stick on everything.  Treating all the world's problems on wolves like me. You know what it’s like to get stink eyes everywhere you go? Can’t even fish for a bargain on salmon without people grabbing their kids and running for the hills!

So let’s just say I am a smiggen sensitive when it comes to the subject.

“I’ll show YOU ‘eat her’!” I growled, rage blinding me as I attempted to do the same to the bigot-- claws swiping at nothing. “I walked IN on this, you loony lout! Now put me DOWN before I-”

If the Woodsman considered my threat, even for a fraction of a second, it didn’t show. Head starting to feel like a cheap stress toy, the barbarian secured his grip as he began stomping towards the kitchen.

At this, I protested.

“Hey! Where are you taking me? You can’t do this! I’m a detective: I have RIGHTS!”

I was starting to think the sore throat I was getting from yelling was all for nothing-- especially as the guy ignored me. In some ways that was WORSE than being accused of sentience cannibalism. However, I quickly deduced what the plan was, as I saw the Woodsman reaching for the phone hanging on the wall. 

My suspicions were confirmed when I heard the seven words every detective loathed to hear:

“I’d like to speak to the police.”

[chthonicbeekeeper]

The Book of Joseph. Chapter 5

“They command you not to kill,

not to steal. Do you think they are

doing it to save your soul? No.

They could not care less about your

soul or your life. Killing, stealing —

they just want to be the only ones

allowed to do those things.”

Sermon from the Project at Eden's Gate.

One night, Jacob woke John and me. Without a word, he led us out of the barn and began pouring gasoline on everything inside it. Then, he set it on fire.

After that, he freed the animals and burned the stables as well. As the flames rose higher, the light, the crackling, and the cries of the animals woke our guardians. They ran outside in a panic, still wearing their pyjamas.

By then, Jacob had swapped his cans of gasoline for a sturdy axe handle. He knocked out the still drowsy man with a few blows. He was left lying on the ground, face bloodied, illuminated by the flames, his wife screaming in terror while we watched the sight without the slightest feeling of pity.

We had been lied to. Now there was no chance that we would call them Mum and Dad.

Jacob also burned the house, the cars, and everything our guardians owned. When there was nothing left to bum, we sat on the ground and watched the fire consume and purify the place where we had endured so much suffering, like scouts watching a campfire.

And so we confirmed the suspicions of the psychiatrists who had examined us the first time: the Seed brothers were dangerous. They had a tainted and nefarious bloodline. What did it matter that we had been humiliated, exploited, and starved? The rest of humanity was not satisfied. Who were we to dare to rebel? We had to be stopped. We needed to be separated urgently. The authorities placed Jacob in a juvenile detention centre, which could be more accurately described as a prison for minors. He left between the arms of two police officers, like a guilty man, like our father. But before he did, he reassured us, promised us that we would be reunited soon and that we would never leave each other again.

He told us everything was going to be ok. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

For John and me, still at the orphanage, it was time to get back on the adoption merry-go-round. We were visited by infertile couples, visited by people who were bored but too allergic to get a dog, visited by those who wanted to save their souls by doing a good deed; we saw anyone who wanted to adopt a child, whether or not they had good intentions.

John was the first to go. He was the best looking, the least odd. He was adopted by a rich family who, I imagined, lived in luxury in Atlanta or one of those gated communities we had never set foot in.

As for me, I was picked a few times with varying results. Once, and only once, I ignored the psychiatrist’s advice and talked about the Voice. I was immediately sent back to the orphanage, the same way you return a defective household appliance. I think they were hoping I was still under warranty and they could quickly exchange me for a more normal child free of charge.

But most families who welcomed me in treated me well. They were brave people who almost made me forget that my brothers were far away.

I hope they do not suffer when the end comes.

Of course, I came across many other children during these years: temporary siblings, classmates, teammates, and the like. I had a hard time connecting with them. I was different. I could feel it. Everyone saw me as the odd one out secretive, a lonely orphan. Teachers and professors worried about me spending so much time on my own. They did not know I wasn’t alone. The Voice’s message was on a constant loop in my head, promising me an extraordinary destiny.

And so, I went from family to family, year after year. When I became a man, and was free to travel wherever I liked, I returned to Rome with the intention of finding my two brothers.

I had not heard anything from them. We had not seen, called, or written each other. I knew that the government would not help me. They did not have the right and no one would make the smallest effort for the brothers to find each other. But I did not doubt that we would be reunited. This was our destiny. I returned to our neighbourhood, looking for our street, our house. But neither the house nor the street were there any longer.

Instead, there was a shopping centre. One fine morning, someone had decided that our suburb needed to become both respectable and profitable. And to do so, the rabble had to be pushed out and their hovels razed. Someone had simply thrown a dart at a map and thus sealed the fate of dozens of families. Because, when the rich move in, the poor get kicked out. Where the Seed house once stood, there was now a fancy pet store with a frame maker and an overpriced barbershop on either side.

The neighbourhood was unrecognizable. Back then, people threw rocks at stray dogs and shaved in broken bits of mirrors, and the most valued skill was knowing how to avoid having your meagre possessions seized by the repo man or a collection agency.

The local residents had also radically changed. They now had jobs and cars, houses with manicured gardens and happy children. They didn’t need to borrow money to pay their bills.

I would find no answers here, in this place where I no longer belonged. I left before any of the residents, casting suspicious glances my way, could call the police.

I began squatting in a part of town that looked more like where I had grown up. It was an old packing plant, unused since its production line was relocated elsewhere.

I no longer needed to worry about where I was going to sleep, but I didn’t have anything to eat. I was a well-presented and polite young man, so it was easy for me to find a job as an elevator operator at a hotel.

It was a night job paying minimum wage, but my needs were few and I wanted to keep some of my time free to search for leads on my brothers. It was a win-win.

My duties consisted of asking people who got in the elevator what floor they wanted and pressing the right button. That was it.

I suppose it must have been reassuring for customers to see a man dressed like an organ grinder’s monkey paid to press a button for them.

One night, after several uneventful months, three drunk men wearing tuxedos entered the elevator. Alcohol had made two of them extremely chatty, clouding their better judgement, which usually prohibited them from talking to the hired help. The third man was blind drunk, and I had to help the other two get him back to his suite. They offered to buy me a drink as thanks, but I declined.

They asked if drinking was against my religion. I said no. They asked what religion I belonged to. I said I didn’t know, but that the Voice spoke to me. They didn’t say anything in response, but notified the hotel manager the next morning.

He called me into his office and fired me on the spot. As easy as pressing a button.

I took it as a sign: I needed to refocus my energy on finding my brothers as quickly as possible.

I searched the archives and newspapers. I flipped through year-books, scanning all the faces in the pictures of dances and sporting events until my eyes watered, but I never spotted the name Seed or the familiar faces of my two brothers.

While frequenting the city’s libraries, where I had become a regular fixture, I grew interested in religion. In spite of myself, I still sought to understand why the Voice had chosen to speak to me. Living in a society where people who wore the wrong brand of shoes or who hadn’t read the right books were openly disdained, how could I understand why the Voice had chosen to speak to the middle child of a poor family from the South? Society is harsh and insidious; it keeps us from living just as it keeps us from rising. Society needs to disappear.

I read everything I could get my hands on. I discovered something about those who took a vow of silence, who danced to exhaustion, who lived in caves as hermits their entire lives; those who fasted, vowed celibacy, prayed non-stop, ingested hallucinogenic plants to speak to spirits in the afterlife, flagellated themselves in the name of their God. All of them had the same goal in mind: They were begging for something to fill the emptiness inside of them.

These people know they are missing something, something that cannot be found in this world, at least not in the world as it is today. They are the most sensitive people in society, the most tormented, the most radical, and also the craziest. It is from these people that saints, martyrs, and chosen ones are selected. I knew that when the time came, I would have to choose from among these same people to share my destiny.