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ortegatrash · 5 years ago

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The Farm Sucks

Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride

Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.

Warnings: Mentions of animal cruelty/death, mistaken for suicidal, implied past sexual abuse and general abuse, memory problems

You were always a bit more defiant than the rest.

It got you punished, and you reveled in it. Because any attention was good. Because it stopped them treating you like you were nothing to them, you would rather being scorned and hated than to be nothing. They were everything, they were your world because you had nothing else and you wanted so badly just to matter.

Every time you tried to escape, they would take you and wash you down with a hose. They took pleasure in forcibly shaving your head and branding you where people couldn't see, like livestock. To prevent lice, they said. There's a patch at the back of your head that doesn't grow hair anymore because of the way they hurt you for their amusement.

A toy isn't satisfying if you can't get emotionally invested in it, after all.

You hate them for everything they've done to you, all the ways they used you and took joy in your suffering. You're never going to be a nobody again.

To complete your transformation you had enlisted Ortega's help in picking out a wardrobe. It meant enduring his delighted teasing and questioning about if there was someone in your life you wanted to impress but you think it was worth it. If he's going to be vain, you might as well take advantage of his expertise.

You're gonna dress well and look good in it, dammit.

And look good you do. Even Ortega was impressed, you certainly have cleaned up nicely since you started working out again and taking care of your appearance. Sharp tailored suits and tasteful, bold signet rings, just the tiniest hint of something a little wicked and dark lurking under the surface.

Now you look like someone worthy of respect. Someone dangerous. Someone who has the money and power to make life very difficult for people who dare crosses you.

Maybe it's a little over the top, but you even got a nice throne gilded with gold leaf put into your base to lounge upon. What's the use of having everything if you can't indulge?

Besides. All the gold and velvet makes your inner child happy.

You certainly look the part of a mob boss by now with treasure hoard of jewellery and enough jewelled rings on your fingers for your minions to kiss they can choose from every colour of the rainbow.

You've got decades of being a tool to overcompensate for and really indulge your vanity. Growing your hair long in a middle finger to The Farm- no more uniform military cuts for you, no exposed barcode on the back of your head.

No more denial of your individuality.

---

It's not all easy. Los Diablos is built on suffering and you refuse to be the victim any longer.

If they won't fight fair, why should you?

...It shouldn’t bother you. Doesn’t, really. They mean nothing to you, these people. They exist only to be something to envy - didn’t someone say once that ignorance was bliss?

It must be nice to be so thoughtless and empty-headed that you can’t see the poison that runs through the city. It’s in the streets, the very veins of Los Diablos - this whole filthy place is sick.

The footbridge creaks as you step upon the rusted metal panels, otherwise deserted. Humans like mindless ants swarm the trains below, a steady flow, a pattern that goes unbroken and unquestioned.

It makes you snort.

How easy it would be to crush them all, just like the ants they look like.

How easy it would be to find someone unscrupulous enough to rig up a bomb with your contacts. How easy it would be to talk your way into restricted areas and plant them all under their very feet.

You’ve had enough experience to know that while explosions and destruction are amazing and fun in the moment, somehow the victory feels hollow. Because it doesn’t matter in the end. There’s just no real point in the short-term serotonin rush that comes with petty destruction, especially if no one of actual worth is watching.

Besides, you...you have standards. You’ll only kill those who get in the way, not innocent civilians.

There’s a strange feeling of dread when you think about it. Making your first kill. Makes you hold your breath as you lean against the shaky railing and watch the giant metal murder machines go by underneath you. Or, well, trains, but they could run someone down just as well as you could just because someone got in the way.

And yet. And yet all you want to do is ravage the world that fucked you so hard.

Who knew it would be so hard to remain cool and collected with power when all you want to do is bring the city to ruin and delight in its ashes?

To see them bow and cower before you as you take over this hellhole?

Fuck, that’s a sexy thought.

“Hey, you doing alright, man?”

You’re startled out of your thoughts. Who?

A man stares at you, dark hand extended out and barely visible in the fading light. He’s treating you like a stray cat that he doesn’t want to scare off.

Oh.

He thinks...he thinks you’re going to jump.

The sigh that escapes you doesn’t fail to catch his attention. “I know life can be hard, but this isn’t-”

It’d be so much easier if he weren’t trying to help. That’s why you swallow your annoyance and impatience and paste on a charming smile. It’s almost reflexive by now to twist his confusion and concern into remembering he was going to be late for his train, why did he just stop just now?

You watch the man sprint down the stairs and miss it by seconds, cursing his inattention. Something in you drives you to reach across mentally, to push that frustration aside. Push it into awe and surprised appreciation at the setting sun behind you, it’s been so long since he stopped to appreciate the world, he knows how it feels to feel hopeless and alone, that’s why he stopped to help-

Help who?

-A silhouette bathed in red, gazing down at the tracks below-

No! you frown and push harder, concentrating on a proper distraction. Fix this problem you just created for yourself. Send out your senses - who could you use? Hm, there’s a young lady by the ticket machine, failed her nursing exam and doesn’t know how to break it to her family. Yes, strengthen that thread - what is she going to do with herself, they’re going to be so disappointed in her. If only she had someone to talk to, a friendly ear, someone who didn’t know her, wouldn’t judge.

Tears, she visibly droops and starts trembling. There’s no one else around except the retiree who’s fallen asleep and the cleaner who’s already disillusioned enough with life that he would just tell her to suck it up.

Yes, that’s right. Sob loud enough for him to hear. He blinks, suddenly taking notice of the girl behind him and losing hold of the muddled confusion that he’d just forgotten something.

There’s something very satisfying in being able to do something like this, you think, watching the girl break down in tears as the man comforts her. As they both are strengthened ultimately by the interaction despite the circumstances that brought them together. The way she tearfully leaves her number in the phone of the blushing man.

It’s all played out just like you imagined.

How...predictable.

---

4am is perhaps more familiar to you than 4pm.

The world is quiet. A still moment in black and white, just like out of those film noir clips.

You breathe in the smoke and imagine your life was as romantic as the films made it out to be.

You have the tailored suits. The tattoos on your knuckles, the underlings to do your every command.

They don't talk about the messiness of seeing life leaving the world in your hands, evaporating like the heat of a cooling body in the snow. A morbid picture, painted in red.

They don't talk about the distasteful things, like evacuating their bowels, the frightening things people will stoop to when brought to their lowest. When you see what people are when you strip away the veneer of civilisation from them and you're left only with a terrified beast.

The way their bodies jerk to the ground reminds you of it, sometimes.

Snowball, you called her. You'd been curious, wary of her at first. Her twitchy nose and soft ears fascinated you but the handlers were watching and you didn't want to risk messing up so soon after last time.

Your mission was to take care of her. A trial bodyguard mission for a defect-filled asset that wasn't much of an asset at all. They were starting to get impatient with you, you know - it was a thin line between daring enough to get away with it and ending up being made 'redundant'.

So you just stood there. Stared at her, munching contently at her carrot.

"It's not going to bite you." The new handler is different from the others. You call her Red for her hair, it's not like they ever identify themselves to you. She doesn't scream at your uselessness when you don't react to their satisfaction, she doesn't get distracted by a colleague and leave you abandoned in a dark room for nine hours because she forgot to put you away.

You still hesitate - does she want an answer? Does she want you to take the initiative? Does she just want you to follow only her stated orders, is this just a test?

You can't tell and that frustrates you.

Reading their minds is forbidden unless expressly stated, but she's tapping her pen impatiently like she's expecting you to draw the real orders from her brain.

What to do. What to do?

Remain obedient and only react to what she commands you to do? Or make a move, taking the guess that it's what she actually wants from you? It's a gamble on what will get you punished.

...To hell with it. You don't care anymore.

Wordlessly, you step over to the rabbit and kneel down.

Looking back up at her gives you no clues - no changes in expression that would reveal approval or disapproval. That...you're probably okay for now, it seems.

Probably.

Her fur is so incredibly soft under your hand. It feels like you could break her if you accidentally mishandled her.

It's the first thing you ever have for yourself and you love this little creature that is so dependent on you and looks up at you with such dark, trusting eyes.

---

Red encourages you to get familiar with the clients.

So you make sure to practice her orders. And, well, if you spend more time than you need brushing her fur and calming her when she's stressed, that's confidential information between you and your 'client', isn't it?

---

The newest training mission briefing reads as follows:

Your client is revealed to be a mole working for the enemy. Dispatch of them personally.

You're punished severely for acting out and getting caught in the middle of the night sneaking out of the facilities, but Snowball gets safely past the fence once you distract the dogs into attacking you instead of her.

---

For your disobedience, you're made to dispose of newborn rabbits while they watch.

---

They punish you for sobbing afterwards.

---

They also punish you for assaulting Red for putting you through that.

---

The dogs always get you when you run. You're not as fast as a rabbit.

---

You lose track of the punishments.

---

Sometimes you forget. You can't help it, they teach you lessons and you keep forgetting and they just get so angry at you

It's better than the darkness

It's better when they're mad, because it's better than being forgotten

You hate being forgotten and you hate forgetting, one day you are going to forget yourself and that's the worst thing of all

You don't even know why they're angry with you but you wake up one day with dried blood on your hands and that handler that touched you never appears again

Red is so pleased with you though that it doesn't matter. "That's right, little one, you are mine," she tells you. "No one else will ever touch you in my care."

No one else.

---

She makes sure of it.

---

They keep teaching you lessons for all your disobedience and you, you keep on doing it all over again

---

Red's not so new a handler anymore, but they never give you their names. Why would they introduce themselves to a thing?

She's still just Red. She says she loves you and asks you to say it back.

It feels weird on your lips.

---

She gives you a kiss on the forehead for following orders and being good for once.

You despise her. You love her. She's the first one who ever cared about you as a person - even if only to be cruel to you.

---

You're not a rabbit. You can't run.

No. You are a lion, you will be the one others run from.

Red's the first one you ever kill, you let her live up to the name you gave her and she is just as red on the inside as on the outside

And you cry, cry, and keep on crying because you're so relieved and so heartbroken and you will never understand why you still love her. You don't even know her real name.

"I didn't mean to," you whisper into your pillow, because without her you're so lonely.

But you do. You did. You still do, because you hated her as much as you adored her.

---

You let yourself forget. Let yourself smile, smirk, put all your ruthlessness and charm that they taught you to good work.

You don't want to remember and yet. You still don't want to forget.

---

Your past seems to be catching up to you these days. This time you won't ever be so weak as you once were. They broke you, reforged you, made you into a weapon of their choosing.

And now that very weapon will be turned back on them.

"So. Pride. You are newest rising star in town, I hear."

You let yourself paste on a serene, pleasant smile. "Oh? Have people been talking about me?" you inquire. That's good to know, it pays to know your position within underground circles so you know where you stand. Where you can bargain from. "Why, I'm flattered."

His own answering grin is too cruel, too rough, unrefined. Not as proficient in the whole act of it like you are. "They also mentioned you were a vain narcissist who talks too much."

Your mood shifts to irritated annoyance internally; your face is placid. Friendly. It wouldn't do to show any weakness to a potential enemy. "How strange," you murmur. "Perhaps they have me confused with someone else."

"Yeah, I don't think so, buddy." And now to the threatening tone already. How predictable. "You see, we wanted to give you a little welcome, from us locals here. Want us to be good neighbours, yeah?"

Your noncommittal noise encourages the guy to continue. "Just wanted to let you know that we're the ones in charge of this good ol' neighbourhood here, but we're a little old and traditional. Don't want anything shake up what's nice and settled."

"I see."

Because you do. They're warning you not to mess up the status quo.

Too bad you were always a rebel. "Was there anything else you needed, or were you just going to drone on about your Master's stale old knitting club?" You drone out the words, bored of this already.

The smile he returns to you is a little stiff. "Look. We were hoping you were going to join our... Homeowners Association. You'd have to contribute a small monthly fee, but I assure you it'd be worth it. To keep our front gardens lookin' all pretty, see."

"Not really," you tell him, because this little game of coded words and phrases is beginning to bore you.

There's something of a twitch in his eye when you glance over, but the man actually tries to just pretend you didn't say anything and continues. "Right, so, as our newest member of our little association-"

"I didn't say I was joining."

That truly takes him off guard. "I- What?" he blinks. "Mr Pride," he begins, and you have to laugh at the way they haven't even been able to find out your actual name. "You agreed that by moving into this neighbourhood that you would join the , erm, housing association. It's not optional."

"I did no such thing."

You actually manage to break the man's composure. "You do realise if you don't go along with this, there will be consequences?" he hisses.

"I'm not stupid," you tut, peering at your manicured nails. "I'm aware. I just don't care."

The man ends up leaving with a thunderous look on his face as you greet Ortega. A genuine smile to match Ortega's wave.

"What's that? Are you actually talking to people other than me now?" he teases.

"Just a business associate. He kept trying to sell me a scam." You frown a little. "But that doesn't matter. Let's go have lunch, shall we?"

---

They make good on their word.

You aren't going to roll over and show them your belly like their pet dog. Let them think you're nothing but an arrogant little upstart. Let them think they can put you down on their command. Just because you’ve never killed someone personally doesn’t mean you’re not a threat to contend with.

They see the man at the top with the smart suits and the rumble of purred threats, deep and low. The King of the Lions, Pride.

They won't be suspecting the panther stalking the shadows.

---

Simba isn't loud or boastful or broken like Léon is. Not so angry, not so easy to fall to passion.

Simba watches. Simba is patient. Once he's got a target in his sight, he never stops hunting it.

Your mind is quieter when you are Simba, and so are you. You don't need to keep talking to drown out the thoughts in your head.

Silence suits Simba. He doesn't need words to assemble his sniper rifle, his dark skin blending in with the shadows. Doesn't need feelings to peer down the sights and wait for your moment.

Now the only question is, is Simba the puppet here or Léon?

Because you're not sure if you know anymore. You're starting to become unsure of who you really are. In the end...are you nothing more than what you made you?

You really don't know. But Simba doesn't care. All he needs to do, is, well, his job.

A man walks in front of your vision and seals his fate.

You fire.

---

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to be visiting her boyfriend.

---

There is a distant gunshot ringing in your ears but you are the one holding the still-smoking pistol.

Which would be all good and well if you could remember why you're here. You try and keep the confusion from appearing on your face as you take in the scene in front of you.

A neat little bullet hole straight to the heart. The woman is scrambling wide-eyed as she attempts to plug the hole. Unable to comprehend what's just happened.

With the amount of blood pooling, it'd be over soon enough from blood loss. But you're not cruel and because of that, you aim your gun once again at her head. At her frozen face, mouth wide open to beg-

And fire.

She falls to the ground like a rag doll.

You don't even know who she is. Was. But you must have shot her for a reason, right?

Couldn't let her suffer. Had to finish the job. You don't feel any hatred for this woman, she must have just gotten in the way. Somehow the blood on your hands doesn't look real when you're wearing your puppet. Simba's hands are darker, more delicate, more slender than yours. Shake less.

Sometimes it bothers you, these little gaps in time. You keep coming back to awareness like this and it's starting to get a little frightening.

You're not supposed to be the one losing control.

It makes your head hurt. You've fought so hard to be something, be a person and then…

You can't even remember half of the things that made you, well, you. You have emotions and fragments and half-remembered bits stripped of their context. A man without a past, like you were plonked down in the world one day half formed.

A puzzle with all the most important pieces missing.

But for now, you have a mess to clean up. Dirty work for a dirty man like you, but Simba doesn't hesitate like Léon does. Doesn't mind the blood crusting under those ragged fingernails, so unlike your own polished, clean hands.

---

You keep waking up in a sweat. Terrified and with no idea why.

There is-

There is blood under your carefully manicured fingernails.

---

The dog park is quiet this early in the morning. Just stare down at your book. Headphones on. Classic 'don't disturb me' look.

It's been ten minutes, you should probably turn the page.

The dogs keep away from you. Maybe they notice your heart rate spiking when they come near. You're not...you're not afraid of them anymore. It's fine.

It has to be. Just...just take in their pure thoughts. There are no dogs, just thoughts, just-

Your first thought is that you're being attacked when you feel something make rough bodily contact with your knee and your body just reacts.

Spoon gives a surprised whimper as your foot makes impact, you’re just trying to stem the panic. It's okay, it's just Spoon, he's not the giant German Shepherds that haunt you.

"Spoon!" Chen barks out, alarmed, a little bit angry. You're not usually this jumpy, you're not usually this bad, you should have seen him coming.

This is too raw to be able to show your face to Chen. That's why you leap up and back off. "Leave me alone, Chen!" you shout, and you hate that you can't control the way you genuinely sound terrified. The unusualness of it makes even Chen frown and look slightly taken aback.

"Léon, what was that just there?"

This is no time to have a panic attack. This is no time to break down. "Just leave me alone, Chen!" you shout. "Stay away from me, keep him away from me!"

You don't turn around to look if he actually does as you ask. You're just trying desperately to flee, over and over and over again, just waiting for the teeth to grab on and bite harshly down on you.

---

You're still waiting for those jaws a few hours later.

---

It's better when they hate you. It's better because you can hate them back, you can lash out and hurt them because you hurt and you just want it to go away

That's why you push them away, because they care. You keep on hurting the people you care about and you're too proud to say you're sorry.

Ortega with his worried eyes and questions left on the tip of his tongue.

Herald, little fly-boy, oh-so-trusting and oh-so-oblivious.

Your crew, your little family you've built up all on your own.

Smirk. Tease. Twist them around your fingers and move them as your pawns. That's how you keep from getting hurt.

You will never, ever, let someone control like that again. Not unless you had planned for them to, not unless you could trust and predict them.

...Stop thinking about Ortega. Stop thinking about how betrayed he'll look if he ever finds out. Stop thinking about how it should serve him right for betraying you and leaving you to die.

Stop thinking about how everything Daniel knows about you is a lie. That you only agreed to train him for your own ulterior motives before he wormed his way into your heart.

Stop thinking about Anathema and the disappointed look on what was left of Themmy's face after…

No.

No, don't.

---

Anathema’s stupid, dumb face won’t leave you alone. Not in your waking hours, not in the silent hours.

Fuck. Fuck’s sake, Themmy. Will you go away if I go and visit you?

No answer. You don’t know what you expected.

---

Anathema’s grave is well tended. The flowers are still fresh.

Your grave is next to his, you know. Your name looks so solemn engraved in such a sober, formal font. Like you were some sort of honoured pillar of the community instead of awkward smiles and messy emotions that spilt out everywhere. Before even those attempts at smiles faded away and all you were left with were the sharp edges that cut into other people’s skin.

The rush of fury at all, all, all this - whatever this is - drives you over the edge. There’s a certain satisfaction in stomping over to your grave and kicking over the flowers. Crushing them underneath your feet.

The same way they crushed you. The same way your bones were crushed on impact.

You’re only vaguely aware of a sense of unease as you pant, too out of it all to focus. There shouldn’t be anyone here to notice you making a scene, what does it matter that you lost your temper?

The mangles mess of stems and petals feel like your life. Something about about it makes you stare. Pause.

Lilies. Your scowl fades away into a genuine frown. Who…?

Ortega knows you’re alive.

That just begs the question, a painful realisation on the tip of your tongue. Who could hav-

-Someone is watching.

Someone is watching you.

The flash of alarm and shock screaming through your brain is the only warning you get.

They knew you were coming-

---

…

….

…..

Anyone watching Simba sleeping wouldn’t notice anything amiss to signify his awakening, no change in breathing pattern, no facial twitches to give him away. For all intents and purposes still all but dead to the world.

The sound of the magpies fighting again outside is too familiar - you recognise them. Feed them on occasion, it gives Simba a reason to be sitting around outside watching the world.

So. Unmoved from his apartment then. Unless they’d gone to the trouble of kidnapping the exact same birds, you recognise their own distinct bird calls by now. The one with croak you named Harry. Harry is currently arguing with his rival, Barry, and isn’t as distressed as a bird would be if someone had indeed taken him from his home by force.

Your breathing is steady, keeping your ears peeled for any signs of an intruder. Letting Simba ‘wake up’ naturally like any other day.

...Good enough.

Fling the bedsheets aside and walk to the window, to the blackout curtains. Stop for a moment to observe. No visible threats - but that doesn’t mean anything in this day and age.

The skies are too blue, it makes Simba’s forehead crinkle. Take in the position of the sun, consider the implications of it all.

This can’t be allowed to let stand, after all.

No one will ever get the best of you again.

#fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero retribution #spoilers #fanfic #Léon Bellandini (OC)#character study #fic #Pride (OC)#mob boss #what are titles pffft #FH:rebirth #fh:retribution

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