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warofshadowstheorder · 4 years ago

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Chapter 13

The sudden blaring of “(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais” over the iPod/clock radio in Alexis Bledsoe’s room snapped her out of the deep sleep she had been enjoying. It had taken her a while to fall asleep the night before; she couldn’t help feeling like she was being watched.

She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the idea of not going to work. The mere thought of spending entire days without the routine she’d constructed for herself left her almost paralyzed inside. ��She’d eventually gotten to sleep, the image of the one who jumped her at the pavilion still dominating her dreams, and had consigned herself in the knowledge that she had her investigation to keep her busy. Her mission in life now was to find him and make him pay for what he’d done.

Her apartment was fairly small, but was all that she needed. Besides the bedroom and bathroom, it only consisted of one all-purpose room with an adjoining kitchen. She got out of bed and changed from her pajamas into a sports bra, a pair of blue running shorts and a white tank top before putting on some socks and a pair of running shoes. She let the radio continue playing while she dressed and enjoyed the music.

Her bedroom was decorated with pictures and other memorabilia. She had her full-ride acceptance letter and degree from Yale framed and hanging on her wall. She also had a picture of her with her parents and brothers at her graduation, as well as a similar picture taken at the family ranch in Rory. There were also framed wedding portraits of her brothers and parents, along with a recent family portrait.

Posters of the “London Calling” album cover, and movie posters for “Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten,” and “Way of the Dragon” also adorned her walls.

In the next room, a giant poster of Bruce Lee and a shooting target showing very impressive results with a date handwritten by Bledsoe herself in the bottom right corner decorated the wall adjacent to a black Everlast punching bag hanging from the ceiling, a chin-up bar bolted to the wall beside it, and a Mook Jong. Some handwraps and grappling gloves were on the floor just below where the bag hung.

Adjacent to the bag was a small table with a large combination radio/cassette player/CD player/record player stereo. A cardboard box filled with several vinyl records, along with a few stacks of CDs and a shoebox with several cassette tapes, most of which were homemade mixed tapes, were underneath the table with each item inside sorted into alphabetical order.

After she finished dressing, she turned off the radio just as the song was concluding. She then removed the iPod and strapped it to her left arm, carefully putting in the earbuds. She got her keychain and used the miniature carabiner on it to clip it onto the iPod strap. She took a reflective belt and put it across her shoulder, and lastly got some cash and stuffed it into a small pouch on the strap.

She did a few stretches, and then made her way out of her apartment. She locked the door behind her and went outside. It was early enough in the morning that it was still dark outside, and she relished the opportunity to run during a time when most people were still in bed.

She did some stretches, walked around for a bit to warm up, and then started running. Her favorite way to start her morning was with a jog around the mall area, on this particular day she was also using her customary jog to clear her mind and focus on planning the rest of her time away.

“Safe European Home” played in her earphones as she continued on her way and took in the familiar but still captivating sights of the area around her. She always liked running early in the day because of the quiet and serenity that the area offered at that time. She ran around the Jefferson Monument and always stopped there to take a break and spend some quiet time reflecting.

She thought that monument had the best location and loved how it was away from the main part of the mall. She particularly loved it when the Cherry Blossoms were in bloom but always enjoyed her stays there regardless. She sat on the steps of the Monument and paused her iPod before gazing out over the water.

She figured that the disc and information she’d requested from Andrews would be waiting for her when she got home and was considering what to do first. Given that she had the whole day ahead of her, she decided that she’d make an appointment with the Coroner, then go over the disc, and then go see the body.

She continued looking out over the water, and wondered if she should leave town for a few days on a real vacation. She thought of going back to the family ranch and visiting with her parents and oldest brother Matt, who was preparing to take over there. But she knew that first she had to resolve what had gotten her to the point she found herself in professionally. After several minutes, Bledsoe started her iPod and ran back to her apartment.

She noticed a few other runners passing her as she returned home, which further reminded her of why she went running as early as she did. There was one more stop to make before finishing her run.

There was a newsstand not far from her apartment, laden with several magazines and newspapers. It was run by a husky Polynesian-American man in his late-fifties named Bernard Ka’ahanui but known as Bernie to his friends. Before he opened his newsstand, he’d served honorably in the U.S. Army for twenty-three years and retired as a Sergeant Major with combat tours in Vietnam and Operation Desert Storm. He served with the 1st Cavalry in Vietnam and their unit crest prominently adorned the back of the newsstand.

He had ended his career serving in an administrative capacity in the Pentagon and grew very fond of the area. After he retired, he and his wife bought a home near the District and Bernie opened his newsstand mostly to keep from going crazy after retirement. He didn’t have as many customers as he would have liked, but he did have a few loyal regulars. The loyal customer whose visits he most looked forward to was Alexis Bledsoe.

Bledsoe’s breathing was labored when she approached the newsstand, she would have been completely exhausted had it not been for her lengthy experience as a distance runner and ability to pace herself. A big smile came to Bernie’s face as Bledsoe approached, and it only increased when she came to a stop in front of the stand. Bernie immediately handed Bledsoe a bottle of water, which she stopped to drink while walking in place as Bernie spoke.

“Good morning Alexis,” Bernie greeted brightly, “nice to see you back again. I’m sorry for all the troubles I’m sure you’re having at work.” He said the last sentence with a tone of sympathy while gesturing toward The Washington Post with the headline of “Nation Still Reeling in the Wake of Saunders Assassination.”

“Thanks Bernie,” Bledsoe said between heavy breaths and another drink of water, “but I’d rather not think about that right now. Trust me, you have no idea the kind of shit I’ve been through these past few days. Right now, I’m just out for my morning constitutional. I figured I’d catch up on the important stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course,” Bernie said with a smile as he reached down to the floor on his side of the stand and brought up a small stack of Rolling Stone and Black Belt magazines along with the latest copy of The Washington Post.

“Do you want the latest editions as well?” Bernie asked.

“Sure,” Bledsoe answered, “I’m going to be doing some work at home for the next little while and could use some reading material for breaks.”

“Good call,” Bernie answered with his same upbeat tone, adding two more magazines to the stack.

She set the stack of magazines and her newspaper gently on the road as she continued walking in place and chatting with Bernie while she drank her water. Her conversations with Bernie were about the only purely casual ones she had on a regular basis with her work schedule, especially after joining the protection detail.

“So,” Bledsoe asked after a while, “how was the Luau?”

“Oh,” Bernie said brightening up even more, “it was great. I think I overdid it on the Pork though.” Bernie put his hands on his stomach to emphasize his point. “But it was great having the entire family together and doing something from the islands.”

“I bet,” Bledsoe said with a smile, “it almost sounds like the last time I went to the ranch. Only over there it was barbeque and stuff from the heartland of America.”

“Eh,” Bernie said, “it’s a Melting Pot Culture. What are you gonna do?”

Bledsoe laughed and Bernie joined in. She and Bernie went back and forth until a little while after Bledsoe finished her water. At that time, Bledsoe bid Bernie a fond farewell and paid him for the merchandise before making her way back to her apartment.

After entering her apartment building, she unclipped her keys from her iPod strap and unlocked her mailbox at the front. She put a few envelopes of junk mail and a catalog into a recycling bin conveniently located nearby, and to her delight saw a package from Andrews. She made her way back to her apartment with her mail in hand.

Her first stop was her sink where she filled a pint glass with water and took a long drink. After draining the glass, she left to take a shower. Following her shower, she dried and brushed her hair, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and went directly to the coffee maker in her kitchen. She poured some water into the reservoir and got her container of Folgers out of her pantry. She scooped a significant amount of grounds onto the filter, having inherited her rancher father’s penchant for strong coffee. While the coffee maker did its work, she completed her breakfast by preparing a bowl of Cocoa Puffs; looking at the front of the box differently after Odin’s comment at Gitmo.

She opened the package from Andrews and saw a small DVR in a case, and a piece of paper with a phone number and the name of the Coroner. She dialed the number and had a brief conversation with him in which she set up an appointment to come over and view the body that evening.

Satisfied, she hung up the phone and turned her attention to her big-screen HDTV. She grabbed the remote and turned it on, waiting a moment when she saw a news program talking about the Saunders assassination and it’s still powerful aftermath. The coffee maker having finished, Bledsoe transferred it to a mug and poured a small amount of thick cream into it to complete the mix. She then poured some milk on her cereal before sitting down and eating while she watched the report.

She couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for what had happened, and guilt came over her hard when she saw interviews with people who’d been affected by her failure. She continued to eat her cereal and drink her coffee while watching the report, using the guilt and sadness she felt to motivate her to find the people who were responsible.

After she finished her breakfast, she put the DVD into the player, she poured what coffee was left in the pot into the mug to top it off and switched the TV to the appropriate input for her BluRay player. She stepped back and saw that the disc started from quite some time before Saunders had even entered the Pavilion. She sat down on her couch and watched closely looking for anything out of the ordinary, occasionally sipping from her coffee.

After seeing Saunders enter the Pavilion, she watched even closer. She’d been on Saunders’ detail for several months, but this was the first time she noticed how much enthusiasm he inspired in the people. She watched them stand and applaud for him and felt herself stiffen up emotionally at the prospect of what she knew was about to happen.

She watched the recording, paying close attention to everything that was happening. She felt herself stiffen inside as every moment that passed on the tape brought her closer to reliving the horribly tragic event she knew was set to occur.

Since she was incapacitated at the time of the event itself, she had no idea as to exactly when it would happen. The only clue she had was that she knew Saunders had started speaking before he was shot.

Bledsoe could feel her pulse beginning to rise as the event progressed. Her hand that was holding her remote control was trembling and she could feel her teeth chattering as her lips quivered. The anticipation of what was coming and the memory of her failure to stop it was bearing down on her.

She stopped the disc and took several frantic and labored breaths. She felt dizzy and could have sworn that the room was spinning around her. She closed her eyes and brought her hand over them before resting her arm on the arm of the couch.

Bledsoe’s pulse continued racing as her breathing became heavier. She didn’t want to continue watching the proceedings, but knew that if she wanted to catch the ones who had done the killing that she would have to pick up whatever she could from the tape.

After a few minutes, Bledsoe calmed down and once again faced the TV monitor. The scene was still frozen, taunting her. She could only sit motionless, as frozen as the scene she was facing, and prolong the inevitable. Relenting, and knowing that the only way to move on was to catch the shooters and that in order to do that she had to witness the terrible event; she took a deep breath, finished her coffee and pressed the play button on her remote.

Although it was very difficult to watch, she did her best to look for anything out of the ordinary going on, regularly pausing the disc to observe every detail of the scene as it unfolded. She tried to see something, anything that would help her better understand how the assassination happened.

She remembered Taylor’s accusation about the assassination being an inside job and hated to admit that it made a lot of sense. She began to keep her eye out for suspicious activity among the agents on the detail. The most suspicious thing she noticed was when Cruz quickly picked his nose.

When she got to the point where she heard the shot, she quickly skipped ahead to a point when the camera turned in the direction of where the shot had come from, not wanting to see the event itself and not thinking it to be necessary.

She remembered the famous incident from the Kennedy assassination where a figure was seen ducking away from a window in the Book Depository building. She was hoping for something like that from what she was watching, and she scrutinized every frame of it trying to find anything she could use.

She watched it at normal speed first, then in slow motion, and then she watched it frame by frame zooming in as close as she could. Before she knew it, four hours had passed and she hadn’t found anything even resembling a clue. Frustration was setting in by this point, and she was beginning to question her decision on how to spend her time off.

When the thought of stopping her private investigation crossed her mind, she remembered seeing the people on the news that had been crushed by the terrible tragedy and her vow and commitment were instantly renewed. She glanced at her watch and saw that her appointment with the coroner was still a little while away. She poured herself a glass of water and started watching the disc again from the beginning, keeping her eye on anyone sitting in the pavilion that left their seat and making sure that they returned before the shot was fired. She examined the footage a little more, and then got up to use the bathroom.

Unknown to Bledsoe, someone else nearby had been spending his day in his main room intently watching something. However, this person had not been watching any kind of program but rather had been watching Bledsoe.

To keep up the appearance of his cover, he ate breakfast in the hotel lobby and left the building. Unnoticed, he scaled the building via a blind spot and had been observing Bledsoe from a handheld device while sitting on the roof until his room had been cleaned. Then, he reentered via his window and continued his vigil through the nearly microscopic surveillance cameras he had installed the night before while Bledsoe slpet.

Olcán kept the curtain in his room drawn and the area around him completely dark. He hadn’t slept since arriving. His evening had consisted of dawning one of the black bodysuits he and his compatriots used to turn invisible to infiltrate Bledsoe’s apartment and plant the cameras in key areas. He then went to an all-night grocery store after testing his equipment and formulated a plan of action for the duration of his assignment. He spent the time before Bledsoe woke up training and exercising, keeping an eye on the laptop for signs of movement.

After Bledsoe woke up, Olcán had begun his observations. Olcán had been detailing Bledsoe’s schedule on a notebook, detailing when she had gotten up, when she left to run, when she got back, and her subsequent activities.

After Bledsoe left, Olcán used the time to get in a workout of his own at the hotel gym before cleaning up and having his breakfast. When he heard the cleaner coming down the hall, he quickly put the surveillance laptop into its case, slung it on his back, and went to the roof. While on the roof, he looked over the notes he had taken up to that point and took a moment to enjoy the view.

Olcán went back into his room as soon as he heard the cleaner close his door and walk away, having seen Bledsoe get home not long before. Later, as Olcán observed Bledsoe’s own observations, he made a note about her close scrutiny of the footage, and that she didn’t appear to have found anything incriminating. Bledsoe continued scrutinizing the video, and Olcán patiently observed Bledsoe like an Eagle perched on a high cliff scanning the ground below for prey. Bledsoe never watched the actual shooting, but she scrutinized every other second of the recording.

Bledsoe stared at the screen, it seemed to be daring her to continue watching. She decided to clear her head and went back to her room. She changed into a pair of boxing-style trunks and a black short-sleeved Under Armor shirt before tying her hair back in a tight ponytail. She picked out a CD labeled “Warmup” and put it in the stereo.

A few moments later, the strains of “Silent Lucidity” echoed through the apartment as Bledsoe slowly stood up and took a few deep breaths. Once the introductory portion of the song concluded and the drums began, Bledsoe began to gracefully move in time with the music around her living room area.

She bounced and twirled in time with the music, doing so on her toes for several seconds at a time. If Queensryche had ever composed a ballet, Bledsoe’s movements would have comprised the choreography. Her focus became solely dedicated to allowing the music to dictate where and how she moved, and the increases in the tempo only served to goad and encourage her.

She moved with the music, showing off her flexibility, stamina, and overall skill to an invisible audience as she moved toward the chin-up bar. As the song led to its climax, Bledsoe jumped and grabbed the bar and spent the duration of the climax doing chin-ups in time with the music. Anger and frustration added to her usual intensity as she completed more repetitions than normal before letting go and using a momentary lull in the music to take a relaxing breath before resuming her dancing for the remainder of the song, ending with a brilliant ballet-style finish.

At the conclusion of the song, she found a CD labeled “punching bag” and put it into her stereo. She downed most of a bottle of water before wrapping her hands with a pair of reusable wraps and selecting a specific track, “Gimme Shelter” on her CD.

During the first part of it she put on her grappling gloves and did some stretches, letting the music flow through her and loosening up inside. She moved slowly to the music and lightly bounced up and down on her feet. When the song began in earnest, she let loose on the bag with punches, kicks, knees, and elbows as The Rolling Stones set the tone and pace of her barrage.

She was borderline savage in the way she attacked the bag; completely aware that she wasn’t just using her time on the bag to clear her mind, but also taking out her frustrations. She was a more than formidable fighter in any circumstance, but when she had pure rage fueling her she was like a tornado tearing through a trailer park.

Her footwork was as precise and flawless as the strikes she landed as she moved in time with the music. She only stopped pounding on the bag long enough to allow the transition from “Gimme Shelter” to Metallica’s “Some Kind of Monster” to complete. She then went back to ruthlessly destroying the bag. Her barrage sped up and slowed down to the music, Bledsoe allowing the music to dictate the pace and ferocity of her workout.

What Bledsoe was doing was far from lost on the man watching her from his hotel. Olcán couldn’t help but be somewhat impressed at the sight before him. He wondered about Bledsoe’s abilities before and could see that she measured up to the descriptions of her field performance that he’d read in her dossier. He dismissed how skilled she appeared by reasoning that hitting a bag was one thing, but real combat was something else entirely. Regardless, he made a note to approach her with caution if he needed to engage.

As “Some Kind of Monster” concluded Bledsoe jumped up, grabbed the chain above the bag, and brought one knee after another into the upper part of it with enough force to knock out a man three times her size. At that point Bledsoe was caked in sweat, and with her energy depleted she decided it was time to get back to work.

She took off the gloves and wraps, and then her shirt before making her way to the shower. It took every ounce of discipline Olcán had acquired through his years of training and service to remain focused on his mission. But despite his best efforts, he used the time Bledsoe spent cleaning up to take a shower himself…although the one he took was much colder.

Bledsoe finished her shower and continued to go over the tape until the sound of the alarm on her watch reminded her of the upcoming experience with the Coroner that she was sure was going to be anything but pleasant. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Images of the prone and lifeless form of the man she had been trusted to protect lying motionless on a slab looking up at her with lifeless eyes were already beginning to haunt her.

Knowing that she needed to go through with it in any case, she cast her fears aside and went into her room. She dressed in some more formal attire then went out to her car and started off for the Coroner’s Office. She played U2’s “One” on her car stereo to help her relax and continued on her way. She stopped at a red light and used the moment to let the music completely enfold her.

For the briefest of moments, she felt the calming symphony that had gotten her through so many assignments come over her again. Once again, she was abruptly snapped out of her symphony when she could have sworn that she felt her car sink slightly and then rise up to where it had been before. The sinking only lasted a moment and would have gone unnoticed by most people.

Bledsoe however was not a normal person. She felt the sink and, being especially jumpy ever since the Pavilion, quickly turned her head to look at the back of her car. She saw nothing, and she hadn’t heard a sound accompanying the sink. She briefly considered getting out to check the trunk, but then the light turned green.

Not wanting to obstruct traffic, she drove through the light to the Coroner’s Office. She frequently glanced at her rearview mirror to check the trunk, still unable to shake the uneasy feeling that the sink was more than a figment of her imagination.

After a few minutes, she arrived at her destination. She shut off the car, then popped the trunk. She quickly moved to the rear of the car and threw open the trunk. Nothing was in it other than the usual items she kept there. Flares, a first aid kit, some collapsible road cones, a roll of duct tape, a Maglite flashlight, a green wool blanket, and a 3-gallon can of gasoline.

Bledsoe looked on confused. She was sure she’d felt something when she stopped at the light, and her experience at the Pavilion when Saunders was killed only convinced her to never doubt her hunches. She took her flashlight and turned it on to take one last thorough look in the trunk bed, carefully looking for any kind of evidence that something was out of place or different in any way.

After looking through for two solid minutes, Bledsoe was satisfied and comfortable in the notion that the sinking feeling had been nothing worthy of note. She closed the trunk and returned to the front of the car. She picked up a notebook and pen she had there and locked the vehicle before walking to the office door.

She’d never been to a coroner’s office, and the anticipation of the experience and what she was about to see and do filled her with a sense of grim anticipation and dread. The apprehensive feelings inside her intensified with each step she took.

She opened the door and walked in. After checking in at the front desk, she was told where the morgue was and made her way there determined, but slightly hesitant. Her determination outweighed her dread as she stepped closer to the element of her investigation that she was looking forward to the least.

When she got to the office she immediately found herself awash in new and unique sights, and especially smells. The only similar smell she’d encountered to what was now perforating her senses before this was when she helped her dad and brothers carve an entire steer and then deliver it to a meat locker.

She heard music after opening the door. She recognized the music as Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. Two slabs with shrouded bodies caught and held her attention. She wondered which one was Saunders.

For a moment she considered walking out of the office and abandoning her investigation. The moment was short lived when she remembered the aching feeling that accompanied the fact that she failed in her mission and was now on suspension because of it. That coupled with the burning desire to bring the guilty parties to justice renewed her resolve. After a moment, she heard the sound of a flushing toilet followed by running water from a sink. A door in the back of the room opened and the Coroner stepped out.

The Coroner was a man about two inches shorter than Bledsoe. He had thinning brown hair and sunken dark eyes. He carried a brown paper towel and finished drying his hands before picking out a couple of latex gloves from a box on a counter and beginning to put them on.

Upon noticing that he had company, his eyes opened wide for a moment. On the phone he hadn’t been expecting anything like what was in front of him. He’d imagined some kind of hard-nosed pants-suited ball-breaker professional type, possibly with a hygiene problem. Instead, he found a very beautiful and pleasant-looking young woman.

“Agent Bledsoe?” the man asked in a slightly nasally voice, unsure of who the goddess facing him was.

“Yes,” Bledsoe answered as she approached him, “and you must be the Coroner. I’m sorry,” she said politely as she extended her hand to him, “but I didn’t get your name when we spoke on the phone earlier.”

“I’m,” he said extending his hand and tensing up slightly, “I mean my name is Jonah Greeley.” It was apparent by his demeanor and the way he spoke that Greeley didn’t have much experience with women, at least ones who were alive.

“Pleased to meet you Doctor Greeley,” Bledsoe said as they shook hands.

“So,” he said after a few moments of awkward pause, “Director Andrews tells me you want to see Senator Saunders’ body.”

Bledsoe tensed up and focused her gaze to the tables behind Greeley. A myriad of images of what awaited her when the sheet would be removed ran through her head. The apprehension returned, but her iron will allowed her to push that aside and nod in response.

“Ok,” Greeley said as he held out a pair of latex gloves, “put these on and I’ll show you the body.”

“I apologize in advance if the smell bothers you,” Greeley said, “it can be a little overwhelming when you aren’t used to it,” Bledsoe nodded in understanding as Greeley put on his other glove.

“If you’re ready,” Greely said using the opportunity to take a moment to marvel at Bledsoe’s beautiful face, unable to resist admiring the sight before him despite the serious expression she sported. He was so taken with his visitor that he didn’t realize over ten seconds had passed since Bledsoe had given him a nod indicating that she was ready to proceed.

Bledsoe was still not looking forward to the task at hand, so she didn’t say anything. She had become accustomed to people staring at her, she didn’t like it but knew she had to accept the fact that she was beautiful and people would always stare. After a while, Greeley’s staring was making her uncomfortable.

“Doctor Greeley?” Bledsoe asked in a polite tone.

“Oh, sorry,” Greeley said apologetically, “he’s this one.”

He gestured to the closer table and walked to the end where the head was with Bledsoe following close behind. The feeling of grim anticipation she had had while walking up to the office returned tenfold as she approached the table. Greeley slowly walked to the other side of the table and took the highest corner of the sheet.

“I should tell you,” Greeley said, “that what you are about to see will be very gruesome. Do you have a strong stomach?”

“Yeah,” Bledsoe answered, attempting to mask the nervous trembling that threatened to manifest inside her.

“Okay,” Greeley said cryptically, “here we go.”

Greeley gripped the other side of the sheet and slowly brought it down to Saunders’ waist. Bledsoe’s eyes shot open and she took a gasping breath as she staggered for a moment from the sight before her.

The initial shock for Bledsoe was to see the body that she had seen filled with life so many times for so long now motionless and devoid of life. After she mustered the courage to look at the hope of the nation that had now been reduced to a corpse, she was grateful that what she said about her stomach was true.

Saunders’ skin had gone pale with the complete loss of life. There was dried blood on the front of his torso, and his right shoulder was dislocated. As her eyes made their way upward, the blood on Saunders’ body increased. There was some other material mixing in with the blood, and Bledsoe’s eyes stopped when they got to the base of Saunders’ neck.

She closed her eyes, turned her head down to the ground, and took a few drawn out breaths. After a few moments, she took one last long breath and quickly looked up. What awaited was far worse than anything she’d anticipated. She was afraid to see Saunders’ head looking mangled or dismembered in some other way. Instead, she saw his brains and other pieces of his head in jars above his neck.

“Have you ever seen a dead body before?” Greeley asked.

“Yes,” Bledsoe said between short gasps as she took care not to vomit, “just nothing like this.”

“I understand that,” Greeley said callously, “I thought the same thing when I first saw it. And I’m sorry for the smell, but I was told to tamper with the body only minimally until I can determine the exact cause of death.”

“I mean,” Greeley said in a joking voice, “I can tell what the cause of death was. They just want me to be able to get some more detail.”

It was obvious that Bledsoe didn’t share Greeley’s sense of humor about the situation, and Greeley immediately regretted his moment of levity.

“When you feel comfortable taking a closer look,” Greeley said returning to his professional tone, “there are a few things I want to show you on the body that you should see if you’re investigating.”

Bledsoe nodded in response and continued to breathe slowly in an attempt to calm herself down. She found herself able to focus when she remembered the Prussian blue eyes she’d seen at the rally and felt renewed with a resolve to bring in the killer. The hatred she felt in that moment far outweighed her apprehensions.

She took one last deep breath before turning around to face Greeley. She gave him a nod, which he returned. Greeley then turned to face the body on the table and Bledsoe moved next to him, grateful for the material underneath her nose. Every time Bledsoe felt herself getting queasy, she remembered the eyes and got the resolve to continue.

“Obviously the first thing I noticed,” Greeley said pointing to the remnants of Saunders’ head, “was the huge extent of the wound.”

Bledsoe looked where Greeley pointed. Being in the Secret Service she was very familiar with the Kennedy assassination and knew exactly what Greeley meant about the wound. Now that she’d gotten past the initial shock of the scene in the office, Bledsoe was able to focus much better and could observe the body as she’d planned.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Greeley paused for a moment before adding, “to even fathom this kind of damage is…the guy that did this has to be the best shot in the world.”

“Were you aware that this was a two-man job?” Bledsoe asked having recovered her professional demeanor.

“I read the report that was provided,” Greeley answered, “but there was only one shot and we only found enough material for one bullet. It may have been pulled off by two men, but only one of them actually did the deed.”

“I figured as much,” Bledsoe said remembering how much she’d seen from where she was against the wall that night, “what kind of angle do you figure the bullet came in from?”

“Well,” Greeley said pointing to Saunders’ head and tracing a trajectory, “it’s obvious that the shooter was facing him. I figure that it was a straight-on shot. This guy’s aim was amazing. It couldn’t have been better placed if he’d fired through some kind of tube that led from where he was to the point of entry.”

Greeley let out a sigh as he looked down at Saunders’ body.

“It’s really too bad though,” he sighed, “I was planning on voting for him in November.”

“A lot of the people I work with were planning on doing that” Bledsoe replied.

They both paused, Greeley thinking about what might have been if the man on the table was still alive. Bledsoe couldn’t help but blame herself for the sight before her. As the feelings of guilt and remorse began once again rising inside her, she quickly got back to business.

“Do you have any idea what kind of weapon was used?” Bledsoe asked.

“It was definitely a high-powered rifle,” Greeley said as he walked over to a nearby desk and picked up a small glass container, “but no one found it.” Greeley handed the container to Bledsoe. “We were able to recover this from the body after we performed the initial autopsy. Some of it’s also from the crime scene.”

“So,” Bledsoe said after taking a quick look at the dust in the container, “what do you make of it?”

“Well,” Greeley said pensively pointing to the main wound, “this looks like it was done with a 50 caliber round.”

Greeley leaned in closer to the body, Bledsoe remained where she was. Greeley looked closer then looked back at Bledsoe, gesturing for her to move in next to where he was. Bledsoe moved in and tried to hold her breath as much as possible.

“Now this,” Greeley said pointing to what was left of Saunders’ head “is what I can’t understand. The only thing I’ve seen capable of any tissue damage remotely like this is a hollow-point round. But,” Greeley continued gesturing to the same area, “I’ve never seen a hollow-point, or anything for that matter, take someone’s head completely off like this. And, from what I’m told, the head exploded. There’s nothing I know of that can do that, especially at the distance indicated in Director Andrews’ report.”

Bledsoe never studied medicine when she was at school, but she had picked up on some basic points concerning ballistics. She knew enough to know that everything Greeley said was right on the money, she continued to observe and listen intently.

“The other thing that bothers me,” Greeley continued, “is the fact that the shell was reduced to dust.”

Greeley grumbled a little, and it was obvious that this topic was a constant source of frustration for him.

“The only possible explanation I can think of is that the bullet used was some kind of exploding round. But the only time I’ve ever even heard of one of those was when I saw ‘Day of the Jackal.’”

Bledsoe could only look on in confusion and couldn’t suppress a sense of wonder and dismay at who she was dealing with.

“This guy wasn’t only the best shot I’ve ever seen,” Greeley said, “he’s probably also the best equipped.”

“How do you know that dust is from the bullet?” Bledsoe asked.

“I told you we analyzed it,” Greeley said, “and we found traces of gunpowder mixed with whatever the shell is made out of. If you look closely at it you can see some of the fragments shine.”

Bledsoe took the container and examined its contents. There were some metal pieces, obviously the remains of the bullet that ended the life of Senator Saunders, but nothing stood out at first glance. After looking at it for a moment she noticed the metal bits shining in the light.

“Do you have any idea what material this is?” Bledsoe asked holding the container up so that it was between her and Greeley.

“We have no idea what it is,” Greeley answered, “it’s some kind of metal that we’ve never seen before. It certainly isn’t lead. All we can determine is that it’s not an alloy, it seems to be composed of a single element.”

“You really have no idea what it is?” Bledsoe asked.

“None whatsoever,” Greeley said with a shrug mingled with genuine frustration.

Bledsoe let her gaze shift downward, looking for any excuse to not look above the Senator’s neck. That’s when her eyes caught something she hadn’t expected. She gazed at the senator’s downturned right arm, and saw stained blood surrounding the lower part of it between the tendons of the wrist.

“What’s that?” Bledsoe asked pointing to the area she’d just noticed.

“Oh,” Greeley answered, “I was so wrapped up in the little mystery up here that I forgot to go into the other one.” He came next to Bledsoe and turned over the Senators’ forearm.

“I have no idea what the element making up the bullet is,” he stated, “but we think it might be composed of some kind of element that causes an adverse effect in the bloodstream.”

“What makes you say that?” Bledsoe asked equally intrigued by the wound on the forearm as she was of the shining metal shards in the container she was still holding.

“Take a look” Greeley invited as he finished turning over the arm.

Bledsoe set down the glass container and walked back to the table. She let out a slight gasp at the sight that awaited her. There was a long slash on the forearm that looked like it had been made by a thin, sharp knife. The slash was bathed in dried blood and Bledsoe couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“There’s blood around it,” Bledsoe observed out loud, “that means it must have occurred around the same time that he died.”

“Exactly,” Greeley replied, “that’s why we’re looking into any kind of element or mineral that could cause disruption in the bloodstream.”

“What was the extent of this wound?” Bledsoe asked after she’d recovered enough from the initial shock.

“Hold his arm like this,” Greeley instructed almost sighing.

Bledsoe nodded and moved to where Greeley was standing and held Saunders’ arm in the same way Greeley had. Greeley walked back to the desk and picked up a pair of tweezers. He walked back to the forearm and carefully used the tweezers to move back the flesh around the slash.

Bledsoe noticed that there was a great deal of loose flesh, and that the right forearm was noticeably more defined than the left. After a few moments Greeley had peeled back all the loose flesh and was now using the tweezers as a pointer.

“You see the flesh here,” he said to Bledsoe earning a nod, “well the only possible answer for this is that sometime after the bullet entered the head some kind of material entered the bloodstream. Then, after entering the bloodstream, this mineral made an extremely precise cut and slash on this forearm and no other part of the body. And finally after all that, caused an explosion strong enough to dislocate the adjoining shoulder and send blood shooting out of the slash onto the pavilion floor and the torso region of the victim’s shirt.”

There was a pause between the two of them as Bledsoe processed what Greeley had just said. She looked at the wound and then over the entire body remembering all that had happened starting with when she’d looked into the haunting blue eyes floating in the darkness.

She took a good long look over the entire body of Senator Saunders, careful to take in every detail and embracing rather than shying away from the more shocking or gruesome aspects of her present task.

“Would you mind holding his arm?” Bledsoe asked Greeley, “I want to take some notes before I leave.”

“Not at all,” Greeley said moving back and deliberately attempting to smoothly brush his hand against Bledsoe’s. She was so engrossed in her final observations and getting down all the information she could that she didn’t notice Greeley’s clumsy pass. She was so consumed that she would not allow herself to feel uncomfortable or queasy.

After a few minutes she looked over her notes and the body one last time and decided that she was finished. She closed the notepad and turned to face Greeley, extending her hand to him.

“Thank you Dr. Greeley,” she said politely, “you’ve been very helpful.”

“My pleasure,” Greeley said fighting off a blush, “if there’s anything else I can help you with,” Greeley handed her a business card, “give me a call.”

“I will,” Bledsoe said taking the card, “thanks again for everything” she added with a smile.

She walked out of the room, fully aware that Greeley would be staring after her. She was so consumed with all she’d learned and going over what she should do next that she forgot about her gloves. The gloves getting in the way of her opening the door out of the office brought her back to the present.

She took off the gloves and threw them away in a nearby trash can. The smell of the substance Greeley had put on her still permeated her senses.

She went to her car and took a moment to clear her mind and think about what her next course of action would be. She immediately knew that she had to watch the recording again, but this time she would have to watch the shooting itself.

Greeley was motionless in his office, still enjoying the lingering scent of Bledsoe. He paused for a few moments, then went to the phone in the office and dialed a number.

“Hi,” Greeley said after a few moments, “you told me to let you know if anyone came snooping around…”

Dread mingled with frantic need filled Bledsoe’s mind as she sped off back to her apartment and the ordeal that awaited her there. She barely noticed the traffic lights and other barriers between her and her destination as she drove. Once she parked her car she quickly got out and ran back to her apartment, locking the car via remote as she sprinted back. The pressing need to see the moment she’d been intentionally skipping over consumed her.

She turned on her TV with the disc from the rally still loaded and immediately fast forwarded to just before the shooting. She let it play at normal speed and waited, oblivious to everything else that was going on except for every move that Senator Saunders made. Her need to see what happened overpowered the internal stiffening that had previously come to her at that point.

She saw the Senator thank the crowd before seeing the graphic mess that occurred when the assassin’s bullet hit its mark and his head, along with the bullet itself, exploded. Bledsoe struggled not to close her eyes and watched Saunders, the man who it had been her assignment and sworn duty to protect, fall to the ground. She broke down inside at the reminder of her failed assignment, and her eyes watered with tears as the complete flood of memories of all that had transpired that night, beginning with the eyes that haunted her thoughts, came back to her.

She continued to watch the disc until it ended. She couldn’t help a few more tears welling up in her eyes at seeing the moment when the hopes and bright future that Saunders had represented died with him, and remembered that it had been her post that was used to bring that about.

Bledsoe would have been weeping for hours, but she knew she had to be tougher than that. After taking a moment to regain her composure, she backed the disc up to just before the shooting.

This time, she focused all her attention on the Senator’s right forearm. She held her gaze, happy that she had something to focus on besides the gruesome sight of the Senator’s head at the moment of impact, and waited.

After a few seconds, she gasped in surprise as a quick, unnoticeable except for anyone who was watching that specific part, flash visible only at the end of the sleeve emanated. This was accompanied by a bulge in the sleeve that Bledsoe was certain was the blood splash. Saunders’ right arm jerking violently as if by some kind of explosion focused only on that limb followed, the ordeal concluded with his body falling to the ground.

Bledsoe moved the disc back to before the shooting, zoomed in as close as she could while still maintaining a view of the forearm, and played it at the slowest possible speed. Her eyes widened in surprise at what she saw.

The moment the bullet hit Saunders, Bledsoe saw the beginning of the perfectly straight line she’d noticed at Greely’s office materialize just above the heel of his hand between the tendons on the forearm. Bledsoe saw a grey mist exit through the jacket sleeve before the explosion of blood and arm jerking. After she could tell that the bizarre show with the forearm had concluded, Bledsoe stopped the disc and stood up.

The expression on her face reflected that Bledsoe had no idea what to think. She desperately attempted to formulate any explanation for what she’d just seen happen. Bledsoe’s knowledge of the medical field was limited, but she knew enough to know that what she’d just seen was not normal or even feasible.

She considered taking the disc to Greeley to see what he thought. Then, she thought of calling Andrews and telling him what she’d seen. She was so awash in her sea of thought that it took the sound of her window shattering behind her to bring her back to the present.

#novel #action-adventure #fantasy #historical fiction

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parkapetrs · 6 years ago

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in the middle 02 | college!peter parker x reader

summary: in which you and a shy awkward boy named peter parker waltz in the gray area between friends and lovers

word count: 2.5k+

PARTS: 01 02 03 04 05

02: back and forth

Midterms week came and went with no sign of him. Ever since the night of Liz Toomes’s party, you find yourself constantly searching the halls for the curly-haired brunette. Each skinny boy donning a flannel is suddenly Peter Parker until they turn to ask if you are okay or why you’re staring, pulling you out of your trance.

By the time the last day of exams rolled in, you’ve learned to accept your little obsession. Why were you so intent on finding him, anyway? What were you even going to say?

Truth is, you and your pride will always go hand in hand. He had already piqued your interest that day by the lockers through his demeanor: shy with just the right amount of mysterious. In a way, you wanted to top that. The final nail in the coffin was seeing his boyish figure in all its awkwardness, standing in the middle of your apartment that night and looking so out of place it made you think of an elephant in a toy store. Not to mention you were standing before him in your most vulnerable getup, yet he was the one flustered and at a loss for words. You are determined to give him a second first impression…one where you are fully-clothed.

MJ saunters into the living room, lazily drying her hair with a towel. She is wearing a rock band t-shirt with tight black jeans. You remember her telling you she is ‘getting the hell out to day-drink’ once exams are over.

“Y/N, Peter was here last week, no?”

“Huh?” You don’t really pay mind to her from your spot on the couch. Your attention is elsewhere, undivided and focused on the paperback novel in your hands. It’s always so refreshing to finally be reading text not related to school.

“I asked Peter to drop me off.” A pause. “Or did you not notice…?”

Oh God. It’s happening. There is no one you know to be wiser than MJ. Of course she knew about what happened in this very room. Of course she knew of your newfound interest in her friend. You struggle to think of something to say to salvage a bit of dignity. In the end, you pretend not to hear her.

When you don’t reply, MJ sighs. She knows better than to interrupt you while your nose is buried deep in a book. “No matter. He left his keys here. Will you give it to him if you see him?”

You try to sound as nonchalant as you can. “Sure.”

“Well, I’m off. See ya!”

Once the door closes shut behind MJ, you jump out of the couch and run to the marble countertop for Peter’s keys. You note the abundance of keychains, mostly from different fandoms you’ve never heard of. There is one keychain you instantly recognize: the ‘A’ that symbolized the Avengers. The only two keys in the keyring were labelled ‘Home’ and ‘Stark’ in scrawly boyish handwriting. You remember his internship back in high school, something MJ had once said in passing.

The reality of the situation hits you after a beat: he needed his keys to get back home! Is that why you didn’t see him all week? What if he never even made it home? You grab the keys and rush out of your apartment. You had to find Peter quickly.

You stop in your tracks. Will it even matter? Even MJ was lax about it. It’s been a whole week without his keys. You’re sure he’s either fine, or dead. In any case, returning the keys now won’t change anything. The pace of your walk directly reflects the erratic state of your mind. When you finally step out of the apartment lobby, you take a deep breath and collect yourself: MJ trusted you to get Peter’s keys to him, and so to Peter the keys will go. You vaguely remember seeing posters for some film-viewing event earlier in school and you know for a fact Ned Leeds is an organizer for it. If there’s somewhere Peter might be today, it‘ll be at the university.

When you get to campus, you roam for a good five minutes until you reach the back. You immediately spot Ned, wearing a ridiculously bright yellow cap backwards. He’s by the back of a building, alone, and helplessly lugging around two tall stacks of plastic chairs.

“Hi, Ned!”

Ned huffs, obviously tired from the demanding physical activity. He smiles when he sees you. “Hey, Y/N! Here for the film viewing?”

“Not really,” you say. You decide to help and take one of the two stacks of chairs. He thanks you and the two of you walk alongside each other as you push the chairs forward. “I’m looking for Peter. Do you know where he is?”

He freezes momentarily. “Um… he just left. Like, literally just now.”

“Oh, well—“

Suddenly you feel the wind cutting through around you, or above you. It‘s strange and new, seeing you’re currently at an isolated part of the campus where it was all brick buildings on brick pavements. No tree or car or human being nearby to direct the wind in this direction.

“Yo, Ned!”

You whip your head up and you immediately feel your entire body shake with excitement and awe. Perched on top of a building is a famous masked Avenger in all his red and blue glory. There is no doubt that that is Spider-Man.

Beside you, Ned looks frantic. In your moment of admiration, you don’t notice him nervously and repeatedly gesturing ‘cut it out’ to the hero. You can’t help but keep your eyes on Spider-Man, who you were secretly a big fan of. From the distance, you can see the whites of his suit’s eyes widen. The air is awkward and silent as the three of you stare at each other, each feeling a different emotion. Spider-Man says a hurried “bye” then just as suddenly as he appeared, he shoots a string of web and swings out of the scene.

“Holy shit! Did you—Was that—Oh, my god! You know that guy?” The pitch of your voice is noticeably higher; you are practically squealing at Ned.

Ned scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, sure. Kinda.”

“Oh, my god! Ned Leeds, you need to introduce us.”

He laughs. “Weren’t you looking for Peter?”

“Right. He left something at our place last week. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s uh… at his apartment.”

“Can I have directions?” Ned tells you the way and it really shows that he’s not good at giving directions at all. You end up just asking what the closest landmark is. He says it’s right beside the bank. You know immediately.

“Thanks, Ned! I should probably go there now.”

“Wait, no! I-I mean, do you think you can help me bring these chairs to the quad first?”

oOoOo

The sky is orange and tinged with pinkish hues by the time you get a moment to catch your breath. Somehow, you ended up assisting Ned and the rest of the committee throughout the preparations: from lining up the chairs into neat rows to setting up the projector and sound system. You sit on the front steps of the arts building, overlooking the quadrangle. The place is decorated with fairy lights. There are a few bean bags strategically arranged around a large white screen. With the setting sun, everything is gold and magical—the four hours of work actually paid off.

A few feet away, Ned and a tall senior guy—presumably the president of the organization—are deep in conversation. You walk towards them and smile at the senior, then tap Ned’s shoulder. “I‘ll get going.”

“Y/N! Thank you so much for your help.” Ned pulls you into an embrace. You don’t even know why you were helping them out in the first place, but he was so stressed out and persistent earlier that you just had to. The two of you weren’t particularly close but you hug back anyway, feeling his sincerity. He really seems like he needed the extra hand.

When you get to Peter Parker’s floor, his keys are jingling loudly as you anxiously play with them. You spot the door with his unit number on it and knock twice. You hear absolutely nothing from inside. You knock again, this time calling out his name. A minute passes and you still don’t hear anything. You’re about to leave when you hear what sounds like a window opening and closing loudly.

“Anyone home?” you call.

“Just a minute!” A muffled voice, but definitely Peter’s. You hear footsteps approaching and the door flies open.

“Hey— Y/N?”

Peter’s hair is disheveled but the most striking thing is seeing him in just checkered boxers and shirt only partly on. He turns a deep shade of pink and hurriedly pokes his other arm through the remaining sleeve. Awkwardly, he clears his throat and smoothens his white shirt that is now fully on. His lips part and then close, unsure of what to say. You look at each other quiet and wide-eyed.

“I thought you were May… I-I’m so sorry—“

“Hey, at least now we’re even.”

Surprisingly, a smile cracks on his face and he slowly starts to laugh. You didn’t mean for it to be funny at all but his laughter is so contagious you can’t help but join him. You expected your next encounter with Peter Parker to be a series of embarrassing moments— this is definitely not what you were preparing for.

Peter’s awkwardness with you seems to have dissipated, owing to your little moment. Or probably to the leftover adrenaline from whatever he was doing prior to greeting you, since he was breathing heavily like he just got back from some wild goose chase.

He opens the door wider and you let yourself in. Peter excuses himself and retreats to his room. He emerges back out with his pants on and hair slightly more tamed.

“So, Y/N,” he moves to the kitchen, scanning his fridge for a drink he can offer his unexpected guest. You stand in his living room, just observing your surroundings: the carpeted floors, the myriad of picture frames. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Just here to return your keys. Heads up!”

You toss his keys in his direction and Peter’s left arm shoots out, catching it without missing a beat. He didn’t even look up from the fridge. That is just amazing reflexes, you admit to yourself.

“Thanks. Good throw, by the way,” he smiles at you. Then without warning, he throws a water bottle in your direction. You’re able to catch it too, but with both hands and considerably less finesse. “For your troubles.”

You sit on the couch while Peter leans against a nearby wall. “My aunt is on holiday. Three weeks in Japan. She’s supposed to be back this week so I thought it was her when you knocked,” he explains. You apologize for delivering the keys so late—then proceed to blame it on MJ—and ask how he managed to get back that night if no one was home.

“I climbed to my window here at the sixteenth floor,” he deadpans. You laugh at the joke.

The two of you waddle in small talk for a few minutes until the pauses in between grow longer than the dialogues. It‘s getting awkward again. Your watch reads 7:45pm; it’s time to get up. You tell Peter you have to go.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter is cursing himself for being the world’s most boring conversationalist. He holds the door open and thanks you for the keys. He watches you walk away, feeling very frustrated with himself. His thoughts are racing now and in a rare moment of bravado, he finds himself grabbing his hoodie from the coat hanger and shutting the door.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Only that he’s jogging after you despite his mind’s protests.

“Y/N, wait up!”

You stop and turn to him.

“Is it okay if I walk you home?” He looks so small from afar, standing in the middle of the hallway. “It’s just—it gets really crime-ey at this time. I, uh, feel like it’s on me if you get mugged… you know?”

oOoOo

Between you and Peter is a decent and respectful amount of distance as you tread the sidewalk. In contrast to the heat from this afternoon, the cold air nips at you and you try not to shiver so obviously. You can tell Peter is cold too despite his hoodie since his hands are buried deep in his pockets. The journey back to your apartment started out quiet and full of dead air—the events of today drained you too much to make conversation—until Peter speaks.

“Um. So. Where are you from? If-If it’s okay to ask.”

It’s so sudden it catches you by surprise. By now you already know Peter isn’t much of an initiator or a smooth talker, at least not to people he didn’t know very well. So this comes across as a great deal to you.

“Ah, he speaks!”

You talk about your city and the two of you start to warm up now that the ice has been broken. You find that you have the same humor and like the same things: science, comic books, and grilled cheese sandwiches, among others. You fall into a rhythm of asking each other questions and playful bantering. By the time you reach your own apartment’s doorstep, he has you doubled over in laughter.

“There’s no way you got MJ to sign up for ballet!”

“She was so mad when she found out what it was really for—I think she still is—but she went to every class anyway…”

You open the door and the first thing that greets you is the devil herself—MJ with a big fat smirk plastered on her face and her arms folded over her chest.

“Had a good time, you two?” she winks.

“Just doing your chores for you, babe.” You dangle your own keys in front of her face as a friendly reminder. She playfully tries to snatch it out of your grip but fails.

MJ directs her attention to Peter and pouts. “How come you never walk me home?”

“I literally just did that last week.”

“Eh. You only did ‘cause there was something in it for you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about… still hungover?” Peter presses a hand to MJ’s forehead, pretending to check her temperature. She swats his hand away.

“Whatever.” But there is a knowing smile playing on her lips.

You thank Peter for walking you home and he tells you you owe him now for saving you from the criminals of Queens. The two of you laugh, leaving MJ lost and confused.

“Well, goodnight, guys,” Peter says to both of you girls.

“Night, Parker!”

“Night, Peter.”

MJ closes the door behind her then grabs you by the shoulders. She has on a look of solid amusement which kind of creeps you out. “How the hell did you get him to do all that?!”

Back at his place, Peter can’t stop smiling to himself. He sings happily while he makes a quick dinner, still feeling very elated for having gained a new friend.

A/N: yaaaay! consider this chapter to be the entrance to fluff island lol. also, my ask is open for any suggestions or prompts or requests to be included to the taglist ;) see you guys in a few days for the next update~

@youllbemineandillbeyours @deadlyaffairs @melancholyandemotional @alexalltimelow @hbmoore1986

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emmaekay · 7 years ago

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Keiyaku VII for TPTH Vegebul Smutfest

AN: Well, here we are! It’s the end of Keiyaku. Have you enjoyed it? By the end, it was 20,100 words long. Thank goodness for @tpthvegebulsmutfest rule of using cuts! I love getting comments, hilarious tags and reblogs, so feel free to tell me what you think. Did something not make sense to you? Let me know! I plan on doing a full edit after the smutfest but before I put this up on AO3, which one of you asked me to do. Did you figure the ending out in advance? Did I shock you? Did you know that authors are desperate for human contact?

Day Seven – Cancer

“BEGIN!”

Bulma wanted to run away, she wanted to hide, she wanted to beg for mercy. She did none of those things.

Vegeta wanted to launch himself from his seat, to enter the battle, to rip Daiku apart and let his blood wash over the ground. He did none of those things.

Daiku wanted to refuse to fight. He wanted to throw the fight. He wanted to leave Bulma there, unharmed. He did none of those things.

“BEGIN!” once spoken, the command rang out over the assembled crowd and could not be unspoken. The battle would need to be met.

Daiku launched himself forward at Bulma – he would not drag her agony out needlessly. One light punch to the most heavily padded part of her suit should be enough to incapacitate her without killing her. He hoped he would not kill her.

Closer and closer, Daiku flew toward her, but Bulma felt the half-second stretch out into an eternity.

You have everything you need inside you.

I will swear upon my honor never to touch her – not in lust or in anger, so long as you live.

VEGETA, STOP!

It was time to test her theory.

“DAIKU, STOP!” Bulma shouted with all her might, all her willpower, all the strength she had in her tiny little frame.

The entire Saiyan audience jumped to their feet, stone silent. King Vegeta’s eyes were wide with disbelief, Prince Vegeta’s fists clenched tightly at his sides, mouth agape, frozen and breathless. Of all the Saiyans gathered, only Queen Pea, hiding the barest hint of a smile under one hand, remained unmoved by what she saw before her.

In the fighting ring, Daiku had frozen in place. One leg lifted in his blitz of a run. One arm swung forward and aimed at the dead center of Bulma’s chest. Less than one hair’s breadth separated his fist and her breastbone.

That would have been enough to draw jeers, cheers, jibes and still more betting – but it wouldn’t have dumbfounded the entire audience. That, however, wasn’t the only thing that had happened.

Bulma was glowing, surrounded by a radiant, royal purple light. Ki rolled off her in waves and she hovered above the floor by six inches. Her head was thrown back and as soon as Daiku froze in his assault, she spoke.

Her voice was not her voice – it was amplified and multiplied, as if three Bulmas spoke at once. She lifted her head and pierced every listening ear through its owner’s heart with the force of her voice.

“DISHONOR.”

Daiku glared at her. She, floating off the floor, was finally at eye level with him now. “What?” he choked. Is she impugning MY honor? Daiku felt a fury growing inside him.

“YOU ARE DISHONORABLE.” Bulma’s glowing form continued to accuse him. “YOU SWORE NEVER TO HARM OUR MOTHER FOR AS LONG AS OUR FATHER LIVES.”

From high in the stands, ever Saiyan’s hair stood on end. The King whipped his head around to stare, disbelieving what he was hearing, at his wife. She smirked at her King, who flopped down to his throne – the mystery solved for him. Prince Vegeta never looked away from Bulma, not even to blink, never once as she continued to speak.

“DISHONORABLE ONE. DO WE SPEAK UNTRUE?”

Daiku dropped out of his fighting posture, straightening his back and trying to compose himself. The fury which had nearly blinded him a moment ago began to melt away and was replaced by something wholly different. He bent at the waist, and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

“No, no, you speak truly,” he sputtered, still chuckling. “I swore never to touch your mother in lust or in anger for as long as your father should live.”

“THEN IT IS A DISHONOR FOR YOU TO FIGHT HER NOW.” Bulma’s form continued, her eyes a soft lilac in color and the brilliant aubergine light around her still flickering and flaring out around her. Vegeta choked and sputtered, trying to understand, trying to process what he was seeing.

Her ki has been different.

She has been eating more than even I.

Daiku’s voice broke him out of his reverie. “You are… very young. I am not fighting her in anger, nor am I conquering her in lust. This is an honorable battle and I am filled, especially now, I am filled with joy. There is no dishonor in this match for me.”

“I SEE.” Bulma’s body spoke. “THEN IS THERE HONOR HERE FOR OUR MOTHER?”

“Yes,” Daiku replied. “She has already satisfied the conditions for her victory, since you have kept her standing for one minute. There is honor in battle for all Saiyans.”

“GOOD.” At that, Bulma’s ki flared to the highest point of the ceiling and she shot forward, punching Daiku once – hard – in the belly, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to his knees. He held one arm up high over his head, palm open.

Surrender.

The courtyard erupted into screams and cheers, a great throng of Saiyans began to chant PRIN-CESS-BUL-MA! PRIN-CESS-BUL-MA! The King and Queen broke into wide, wide grins and called out over the din, “VICTORY! THE FASTING IS DECIDED! HAIL THE PRINCESS BULMA! VICTORY! THE FASTING IS DECIDED! HAIL THE PRINCESS BULMA!”

Vegeta flashed and in an instant was at Bulma’s side, as the light around her dissipated and she fell to the ground. Her blue eyes fluttered – her own blue eyes – and she looked up at Vegeta. “Did it work?” she asked him, before falling fast asleep in his arms as her new people rioted in joy around her.

***

When Bulma came to, she was on a plush, ruby red couch. She was wearing her Saiyan battle suit. She was alive.

And she was confused.

She remembered yelling, she remembered Daiku freezing on the spot, like Vegeta had done many times, like the castle guard had done many times. Bulma’s theory was that Saiyan men were weak to screaming women. After all, when Vegeta heard her yell, he dropped everything. The guard, even on pain of death, had been frightened enough to jump out of her way. She had intended to just scream at Daiku for the full 60 count and weasel out of the fight that way.

But instead, she’d blacked out and when she came to, she was here.

She blinked and looked at the room around her. Plush, red velvet furniture and a gilded four poster bed under a massive leaded window, easily 16 feet tall, drapes drawn open and the night sky in full, glorious view.

A knock came at the door. “Come in.” Bulma said softly, sadly. She assumed she had just fainted dead of fear, losing the match, embarrassing her and dishonoring Vegeta. Would she ever see him again? Would he even want to see her, after such a miserable performance?

Beri entered the room with two armfuls of Bulma’s favorite liquid silk fabric, this time in an intense eggplant purple. “Princess Bulma, you’re awake! Thank goodness, thank goodness. Are you alright? How does your body feel? Do you hurt anywhere? Would you like a drink, or some meat, or should I just go find the Prince?” Beri dumped the fabrics on the bed and rushed toward Bulma in her flurry of questions and concerns.

“Beri… I thought you would hate me? And what happened in the match?”

“Hate you?! Princess, you are my greatest treasure – the greatest treasure of all Saiyans!”

“I’m so confused.”

“That,” Vegeta growled from the doorway, “is because no one can ever explain anything properly around here. Including you.”

Huh?

“Beri,” Vegeta addressed the dressing woman. “You are excused for one hour. Do not return early. Inform the King and Queen that we will be down to the feast at our leisure.”

Beri smiled warmly at Bulma and nodded dutifully at Vegeta, then excused herself.

“How. Did you. Do that.” Vegeta snarled, his voice dark.

“Do what? Vegeta, are you angry with me? Did I lose? Did I dishonor you? Why is Beri calling me Princess now? Why is she so pleased with me?”

Vegeta’s face softened. She didn’t know.

“Bulma… you won. You struck Daiku once in the belly, dropped him to his knees and he admitted defeat.”

“WHAT?”

“Do you not remember?”

Bulma sat down on the edge of the bed. “I remember going to the match. I remember Daiku rushing at me. I remember yelling at Daiku once, to stop. And then I remember waking up on that couch.” Bulma pointed to the couch the Vegeta stood next to. “I don’t remember punching Daiku or winning or anything else.” She frowned.

Vegeta crossed the remaining space between them and snatched her up off the bed, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly. His Bulma. His Princess Bulma.

“Bulma, you could have died. What was your plan, to shriek at him until his died of his deafness?”

“You do what I say when I yell at you.”

“Because of the keiyaku, you little fool.” He held her more tightly, kissing the top of her head.

“The castle guard did what I said when I yelled at him.”

Vegeta frowned, but before he could ask her what she meant, he felt his mother’s energy in the room. He released Bulma and turned to face her as she walked into the room and sat upon the couch.

“Hello, children,” she smiled warmly. “Do you have questions or would you like to be left alone?”

Bulma blushed, longing to be alone with Vegeta, but he was already crossing over to sit in a chair facing his mother.

“What,” he demanded, “is going on?”

“Vegeta, have you ever heard of the Saiyan Gemini?”

“No.” He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

“It’s very rare, my son. Very rare and very strange. And very powerful. From a one in a million Keiyaku, sometimes two babies can be born from the same wombtime.”

“Two WHAT?” Bulma shouted. “Two what? What did you say?”

“Don’t be afraid, my girl, it is clear that they are bonded strongly to you already.” The Queen smiled, reassuringly.

“Two what? What?”

Vegeta had not spoken. She was always hungry. Her ki was different. Her commands were irresistible to Saiyan men.

“Bulma is…” Vegeta trailed. “Bulma is… Bulma is…”

“Oh children.” Queen Pea tittered, rising from where she sat and crossing to Bulma. She took the younger woman’s hands in her own and lead her to sit on Vegeta’s lap in the chair he seemed stuck to. She took her seat on the couch once more and looked at both of them.

“Bulma is with child. With children. She is exhibiting all the signs of the very rare Saiyan Gemini.”

“I’m…” Bulma began.

“You’re…” Vegeta said.

“Congratulations! The King and I are so pleased.”

Bulma began to cry, but not in sadness, in overwhelming joy as the most gentle aura of plum colored light began to emit from her belly. Her twins were telling her hello. Vegeta placed his hand carefully, carefully, so carefully on her glowing middle and the light expanded to cover his hand and up his arm.

“I think,” Bulma laughed tearfully, “I think they’re saying hello, daddy.” She wept and wept. Vegeta’s hand shook.

Queen Pea addressed them both. “I knew Bulma was pregnant the day I saw the two of you playing in the field. When a Saiyan woman becomes pregnant, her words become irresistible commands to any male Saiyan they’re aimed at. When you told him to stop,” she looked at Bulma, “he stopped. We evolved this way to make our very difficult and dangerous pregnancies a little easier – it keeps our big, dumb lovers from accidentally harming us.” She laughed. “I didn’t realize it would happen in a non-Saiyan woman, though.”

Bulma and Vegeta both looked very young, the Queen thought, as they hung on her every word.

“But the Gemini! That shocked me today. You were in absolute mortal peril and your babies took over your body to protect you. They will be powerful. And brilliant!” She clapped her hands together. “I can’t wait to meet them!”

The Queen gathered up her skirts and made for the door. “Come down to the feast, soon!”

Vegeta and Bulma just stared at the door, long after the Queen had closed it behind her.

***

Vegeta was on top of her, behind her. She was twisted underneath him, one leg crooked protectively against her swollen belly. She needn’t worry, though – Vegeta was twice as protective of his soon to be born young.

He slid one hand over her belly, up and over her round breast and up the ivory column of her neck. He stroked her cheek with a thumb as he stroked in and out of her with a burning need.

Her long blue hair flowed over her shoulder and lay like strands of the finest silk on the bed. Vegeta listened to the soft gasps of her breath. He watched a delicate pink flush bloom on her cheeks.

My Princess. My Bulma.

Bulma felt him flow deeply into her, deeply and gently and she moved one leg to engulf him more fully. He slid in and out of her, building up the speed and depth. His hands caressed her, and he bent over her to steal a kiss.

My Prince. My Vegeta.

They clung to each other in love and in passion, in desperate need for the other – as always. But something new had developed in these last few months, in addition to the twins growing strong in Bulma’s belly. Their lovemaking came with a sense of peace and of home. That no matter where they were, as long as they were together, they would be home.

He nuzzled into her neck, aligning their bodies with such exactness.

She was made for me. My perfect one.

Bulma could feel him more deeply than ever before and as he ground against her, she cried out in pleasure and happiness.

Take me to the man I’m destined to be with!

Vegeta felt her tense and relax, tense and relax around him, and he let go inside her with a growl like a purr from the back of his throat.

Bulma was home. She couldn’t wait to welcome her babies, and introduce them to their father.

#tpthvegebulsmutfest #day7cancer #vegebul au

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gyrlversion · 5 years ago

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How Booksmart Writer Katie Silberman Created A Teen Classic For The Harry Potter Generation

Katie Silberman likes to describe herself as a Molly sun under an Amy moon with a Jared rising, “but little elements of all of them,” she adds.

The Booksmart screenwriter is calling me from her apartment in Santa Monica, where she is staring at a Jane Eyre poster she stole from Amy’s room, just above the fictional teen feminist’s desk. It now hangs above her own desk in an homage to a film — and an experience — that she calls truly special. These teen characters are so much a part of her that she now talks about them like astrology, which to any Millennial is to say that they are ingrained in her very soul.

But Booksmart is more than a modern teen classic, a tale of two precocious overachievers (played by Beanie Feldstein and Kaitlyn Dever) who try and cram four year’s worth of teenage debauchery into one unforgettable night. It’s a touching, frequently hilarious story of female friendship and, essentially, a breakup movie rolled into one. But it’s also what happens when you let women tell the kinds of stories they want to tell. Helmed by actor Olivia Wilde — her directorial debut — Booksmart boasts four credited writers, a handful of producers (including Silberman), a production designer, an editor, a post-production supervisor, and a sound mixer that all have one thing in common: they’re women. “There was something special about designing a teenage girl’s bedroom with someone who had been a teenage girl in a bedroom,” Silberman says.

Annapurna Pictures

Below, Silberman talks about how Booksmart honors the teen movies of the past while carving out a unique space of its own, what the actors brought to their roles, and why the film’s most outrageous scene is so essential.

MTV News: I’m curious, what were you like in high school?

Katie Silberman: In so many ways this is a very autobiographical story for me. I would say in high school I was probably closest to a Molly in that I really prioritized school and wasn’t super social. I didn’t really experiment or try or have the kind of wild fun that I think high schoolers should have. And I had convinced myself it’s because I was focusing on school and I was focusing on the future and I was making the responsible choice. Then when I got to college I realized that everyone that I thought had chosen to have fun instead of focusing on their future were just as smart — if not much smarter than me — and doing much better than me in all those ways. It wasn’t responsibility that was stopping me from doing all those things, it was fear and insecurity.

Annapurna Pictures

Writer Katie Silberman, actor Austin Crute, director Olivia Wilde, and actor Noah Galvin on the set of Booksmart

MTV News: So much has been said about the authenticity of the film, and that even extends to their rooms. I feel like you would learn so much about Molly just by looking at what’s in their room.

Silberman: Totally. There was a shorthand about the way girls live in their spaces and it’s so layered. I mean, there were so many elements of Molly and Amy’s room that no one will ever see in the movie, but that Katie Byron, our production designer, layered and created and gave such a great texture to. There are all the different posters and frames and awards between the two rooms, and notes between them. And little knickknacks! Molly loved Harry Potter. There’s like a tiny little Snitch hiding in her room somewhere that you should see if you can find next time. It’s so cool.

MTV News: This is definitely a film for the Harry Potter generation.

Silberman: I’m 32, so I kind of grew up with the books at the perfect ages. When Harry was 10, I was 11, and when Harry was 18, I was 20. So I got to grow up with him in a way. It’s become this qualifier in terms of making young people identify those qualities about themselves. Like, am I a Hufflepuff? I’m pretty thoughtful, but I also like academics. Maybe I’m a Ravenclaw. There’s a shorthand too that we understand, like you’re being a little Slytherin right now and I need you to take a step back. I’m also thrilled when someone is a self proclaimed, very proud Slytherin. Noah Galvin, who plays George, is like out-loud Slytherin all day. I love it. He owns it.

MTV News: I love that Molly gets turned on by the fact that Nick correctly identifies her as half Slytherin, half Ravenclaw.

Silberman: We added that after we started shooting because Beanie and I are both such rabid fans. It was really fun when we realized that the thing that would arouse Molly most in the world is someone correctly identifying her house and also that that’s the thing that really for the first time makes her take a second, rethink how she’s been talking and feeling about Nick, that if Nick could recognize that he’s a much different person than she thought.

Annapurna

MTV News: When Molly and Amy arrive at the party, they’re nervous that no one wants them there when in reality everyone is like, “We’ve been waiting for you! We’re happy that you’re here.” I thought that was a really lovely way to subvert so many stereotypes.

Silberman: That’s so meaningful that you noticed that scene because that was kind of one of the most important scenes to us when Olivia and I were developing the arc of this, of how we wanted the night to take place. I was the fourth writer on this project. There were two earlier iterations, one by Emily Halpern and Sarah Haskins, and one by Susanna Fogel, who are all really talented writers. And there were differences between the drafts, but at the core it was about two smart best friends. And even that, focusing on smart girls who might’ve been, a tertiary character, a side character in other stories and putting them at the center was such a wonderful way to reframe that way.

And when I came on, that was the big thing I was so excited about was to tell a story with no villain. We were very purposeful about that. I feel like, traditionally, a character like Triple A or even George can play one note in that they’re a villain or they’re an antagonist in those ways. But we were very purposeful about wanting to give everyone that moment of grace at the end where you get to see them for who they really are.

MTV News: And that scene in particular really captured that warmth.

Silberman: I still think that the kindest, the most exciting and warm environment I’ve ever been in was at the end of school, because the nostalgia, that last party is everyone being like, “We’re best friends.” That’s the night that all boundaries, all relationships turn into one and everyone is so fond and affectionate of each other. It distills the journey that Molly and Amy go on, which is that they’re very brilliant obviously, but they’d had so much to learn in terms of how much they had been projecting on everyone else. It’s totally understandable why they think people wouldn’t be happy to see them, but if they had taken the time or prioritized getting to know people and things outside of the classroom, they could have maybe benefited from that their whole high school time.

Annapurna

MTV News: The characters are also so fully realized. There’s not one character who’s a teen stereotype.

Silberman: In high school you’re forced into a lot of boxes, and it’s very easy to make someone one-dimensional because it makes more sense and it’s easier and it’s safer. We were excited about telling a story that revealed the many dimensions of everybody you go to high school with and try to crack open those archetypes and remind everyone to really look at people and see beyond that. In addition to some more specific anecdotes from our own high school experiences that we got to put in throughout and characters from our high school experiences. I think everyone has a Gigi. Gigi is named after Olivia’s real Gigi who I’m waiting to hear from when she sees the movie.

MTV News: Really!

Silberman: Yeah. I had a different Gigi, but she was extraordinary. Someone described Gigi as a magical party coyote, which is the exact right way to describe the girl I went to high school with as well.

MTV News: Was there a character that you were writing that you were surprised or maybe even a little frightened by how easy their voice came to you?

Silberman: I would say it probably should be frightening how easy Gigi’s voice came to me. Who I love more than anything. I would say Gigi and George were two characters that I had so much fun writing. I could have written a thousand pages for each of them even before we started.

MTV News: How much of Gigi is Billie Lourd?

Silberman: It’s always a chemical equation. There are some moments, like the line that she gives on the top of the boat, where she says she lost her virginity in what she thought was a park but turned out to be a graveyard. That’s the kind of thing that was on the page, but when you hear it coming from Billie, you’re like, now I understand the entire character. Now I get everything! She’s 150 percent Billie Lourd. She just infuses it in every way and brings such an unbelievable energy. Also, things like her popping up and seeing Molly at the bar at Nick’s party. That’s something that we came up with on the day, and Billie agreed to hang out all night so that we could film that little scene, which is one of my favorites in the whole movie.

MTV News: The film also honors a lot of the kind of teen movies that we’ve grown up with. In one of the opening scenes Molly’s walking with her lunch tray, but she looks like Alicia Silverstone in Clueless dressed in plaid.

Silberman: Absolutely. They were in our heads the whole time. We talked so much about the movie Clueless. If you’re a young woman of a certain age, Cher is your patron saint in a lot of ways. And that movie in terms of the tone and how much it establishes the ’90s. We talked so much about Clueless, about Dazed and Confused, about Fast Times, about the movies that made us want to make movies. And how we could honor them, not just in terms of trying to do what they did in accurately reflecting a generation while still telling a timeless story, but actually honoring them. What’s so great about Jake Ryan leaning up against the car in Sixteen Candles is that everyone can imagine that feeling of like, your crush, the person you like more than anything, and you walk outside and they’re waiting for you. Our homage to that is at the end of the film; there’s a character waiting outside another character’s home, and it’s that same feeling.

Annapurna

MTV News: The scene between Molly and Amy at the airport reminded me of Lady Bird in a certain way.

Silberman: Olivia and I first realized we had cracked the version that we were so excited to tell was when we realized it was a breakup story. It’s about the end of a relationship as you know it so far, because even if you stay as close to your high school best friend your whole life, which I think is kind of a miracle, it’s never going to be the same as when you’re seeing each other for 50 hours a day, every week. You’re going to move on, you’re going to evolve into the person that you need to be as an adult and you can’t ever be as co-dependent as you are when you’re in high school. There’s a real heartbreak to that friendship ending, even if you don’t think the friendship itself is ending, but that version of your friendship having to end just because you’re getting older and moving on.

MTV News: One of my favorite scenes was the animated sequence because it was so unexpected. How did that come about?

Silberman: That was in Olivia’s original pitch deck when she pitched to direct the movie. So when I came on, it hadn’t been in any previous drafts and she was like, “I have this idea. I want to do a stop-motion Barbie sequence, I think it should be a drug trip.” It was my unbelievably fun job to try and find the best place to put something like that into the movie. What got us so excited about it was that this is a story about such ardent young feminists, and the worst kind of drug trip is the nightmare. And the nightmare for these women would be to be stuck in the body of a Barbie, like the thing they’re most against, this body that they think is not only unrealistic, but literally unlivable. And then the true nightmare is that when one of them’s in it, they kind of like it, they’re like, I might stick around in this body.

Annapurna

It’s one of those things that you can’t see it until it’s done, and so it’s a very easy thing for a studio or a producer who’s looking to cut time or to cut costs to say, “Do we really need that?” And it doesn’t seem like it’s essential to the plot necessarily. But Olivia was so adamant and fought so hard for not only its purpose in terms of the arc and what these girls are learning as the night goes on but also the reason you go see a narrative movie is to take big swings like that.

MTV News: I’m glad she fought for that sequence.

Silberman: Totally. And that’s what made me so excited to want to be a part of the movie. Her original pitch was that she wanted this to be Training Day for high school girls, because she was like, as adults, it’s so easy to kind of patronize to how passionately high schoolers and teenagers feel everything, but when you’re in it, it is that intense. High school is war when you’re in it. So this movie, if it’s truly going to honor what it’s like to be in high school, it has to feel that intense. It has to be bold.

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thesffcorner · 7 years ago

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Dishonored Retrospective Part 7: Sequel Changes and Strengths

Part 6 was the end of our look at the first game, finishing with the second of the the two expansions, the Brigmore Witches. In this part we will look at the changes the sequel brought to the world-building, characters, game-play and overall story.

Dishonored 2 came out fall 2017 and it’s hands down the most beautiful game I’ve played. While I go back and forth of whether I like Death of the Outsider more, this is still a fantastic sequel that improves on nearly everything (except maybe the frame rate) of its predecessor and it feels like the developers finally hit their stride both in terms of story and mechanics.

When the game came out a lot of the popular jokes and comments online were that it’s just a gender swapped repeat of the first game. While I do find the joke funny and can see where people get this idea from, the only real repeated element from the first game is Emily losing the throne and fighting to get it back. Story-wise, the game has a lot more in common with the DLC, than anything that happened in the first game.

For starters, the main villain is Delilah, the villain from the DLC and her role and character get greatly expanded upon. Second, while Daud isn’t present in the game, the fallout of his actions influence the proceedings here much more than anything Corvo does in the first game.

And finally the story itself is again, more of a mystery than a revenge plot. Yes Emily does want to rescue Corvo and defeat Delilah, but the bulk of the game focuses on uncovering who and what Delilah is and how she got in a position to take over Dunwall.

Story and Gameplay Changes:

Dishonored 2 is again, a first person action-stealth game and this time you have the choice between playing as Corvo or Emily. Based on who you chose to play as, you get a different move-set and some different dialogue and cut-scenes. I played as Emily twice and will be subscribing to the developers’ statements that they intended for the story to be from Emily’s POV.

It’s been 15 years since Jessamine’s assassination and in her honor, Emily is launching a new ship. At the ceremony, Duke Luka Abelle of Serkonos arrives with an army of Clockwork soldiers and a gift; Delilah herself. She easily dispatches of the guards and Corvo himself and declares herself Empress as the second daughter to the old Kaldwin Emperor. Emily is trapped in her study by one of Delilah’s helpers, Ramsey and the game starts.

The first thing to note is that unlike the first game, there is no tutorial level like Coldrige. Once the game starts, it starts for real, and everything you do, affects your chaos level and the rest of the plot. This really threw me for a loop, especially since at this point, Emily doesn’t have her powers yet. Because of this, the first level A Long Day In Dunwall is probably one of the most difficult ones in the whole game.

Another change that definitely informs the way you play is that in this game you can refuse the Outsider’s gifts, which is essentially an expansion on a challenge run you could do in the original game, where Corvo only used the Blink and Void Gaze abilities.

From a gameplay standpoint I really like this change; it’s quite the challenge to beat the game without powers and the fact that now the developers have to account for people choosing to play this way, meaning the developers made a conscious choice to make the levels traversable for non-powered players, and to compensate for this the core gameplay is much more difficult.

From a story standpoint, this decision makes no sense though, especially if you play as Emily. At least Corvo knows who the Outsider is and what those powers mean, but Emily has no idea. Why would she refuse something that would make it easier for her to beat Delilah?

On a side note I feel like both Corvo and Emily’s reaction upon meeting the Outsider is a bit too mellow. Personally if a demigod yanked me into the abyss and showed me a very staged rendition of all the horrible events of my life that lead me to this point and then told me I was special I would smack him. Bless Billie for at least reacting appropriately.

In the first game, avoiding guards was a joke. You could easily escape if they were alerted, you could slam things, open doors, or break windows, and they wouldn’t react. Here if you open a door or if you take out a guard who was talking to someone, the others will notice and will investigate. What’s more is they will investigate the most obvious hiding place which is a real trip if you are used to the first game’s gameplay where the guard could be looking right at you and not notice you were there.

Likewise, their patrolling routes are better designed, and there are more groups where it’s not so easy to split them apart or take them out one by one without the others noticing.

Another thing that makes the game more difficult and immensely more entertaining is the number of civilians. Dunwall in the first game and DLC felt like a real city but because of the plague and curfew (and let’s be real the technical limitations of the engine Arkane used) there are near to no people on the streets that aren’t hostiles. The only level in the base game that has them at all is Lady Boyle’s Last Party, save for a small group in the Golden Cat and the Flooded District Sewers.

Here, Karnaca is brimming with life. There are civilians everywhere; you can interact with them, hit them, rob them, or simply observe them. They will panic and alert guards if you are hostile to them or someone else in front of them or if you trespass into their apartments and shops..

Even the two levels in Dunwall feel so much better when you can find people on the streets who comment on the proceedings or just simply exist without you. I genuinely can’t describe to you how much I love this change, and it’s something I sorely missed even in the DLC.

Worldbuilding:

Dishonored 2 is set both in Dunwall and a completely new location: Karnaca, the capital of the southern Isle of Serkonos. It’s a city inspired by Havana and the Spanish coast, with lots of plants, flat roofs and sunlight. Where Dunwall was dower and mostly explored at night, you get to see Karnaca during the day or at golden hour, a change I welcome wholeheartedly. You also get to explore a lot more of Karnaca; there are no repeat levels in the city and the only repetition is actually the first and final level in Dunwall.

Karnaca is a beautiful city. A lot of things that felt underdeveloped or missing in Dunwall are present here; other than civilians on the streets there are shops and apartments which have owners and residents and actual lootable objects. The posters, advertisements, labels and newspapers are also better; with the newspaper it actually replaces the loudspeaker system from the first game and it will report on your previous missions. I absolutely love the Serkonian traveling band and their music, the audio-graphs that play music or announcements, the conversations on the street you can overhear and the sound of the sea.

I loved Dunwall but the only time I ever felt truly connected and invested in saving the city was in the DLC and the Flooded District level. The color pallet alone does wonders to make me more invested, because the grays and browns are changed for bright oranges, yellows and pinks and the amount of interaction you get with the city while still not playing an open world game is genuinely impressive.

A lot of this is due to the technical and graphic improvements of the game. Character animations are greatly improved; people make faces when they talk, they move their arms and head, and NPCs have a lot more idle animations like smoking, drinking, gambling, etc.

The changes to the dialogue system also allow for a lot of improvement: Dishonored doesn’t have cut-scenes, but it does have scripted dialogue moments. In the first game, this was done via letterbox effect with the character stopping in the middle of the screen, looking at the player completely straight on and delivering the lines.

In the sequel characters move around the room, lean in or just move their heads and arms. This is the most noticeable with the Outsider: in the original, he would talk to you straight on, with his hands crossed Angela Merkel style; here, he walks around, kneels, squats, leans into the frame, touches Emily way more often, and just generally acts like the chaotic man-child that he is.

Character models are also greatly improved. I love the design and stylized look of the first game, but it pales in comparison to the sequel. In the original and the DLC, characters are blocky and square, and there are only like 3 different models for the City Watch and Officers and 2 for random NPCs. Everyone looks the same, especially male characters and characters that are supposed to be young were indistinguishable from older characters.

Dishonored 2 is still stylized but I like the stylization way better and there is an actual variety of bodies and faces. Like the DLC, Dishonored 2 has female enemies, and they have a lot more personality, with tattoos, scars, and generally look like they mean business.

Enemies and Combat:

Like I said, there have been great improvements in the enemies, not just in how they look and act, but also their variety and abilities. While in Dunwall you fight more or less what you fought in the first game and DLC: Hatters, Witches, City Watch and Overseers. Since Granny Rags (with your help) decimated the Bottlestreet Gang, the Hatters and Witches have replaced them as the supreme street level enemies and once again, I love the addition of female Hatters.

In Karnaca we have City Watch, Officers, Witches and Overseers but we also have a few new enemy types. The guards in Karnaca are a lot more brutal than the ones in Dishonored, but they are also way more interesting. Some of their lines just sound a lot better and the first few times they really hit me. I distinctly remember going out of my way to keep this one guard alive just because he talked about being distracted by a kiss, and choosing not to kill another sleeping guard because he talked about missing his kids in his sleep.

The new additions include Duke Abelle’s elite guards, and the Howler gang ran by Paolo and Mindy Blanchard; and Kirin Jindosh’s crazy invention, the Clockwork soldiers.

The Howlers are a good enemy that I liked fighting. They usually set up traps that are sometimes pretty easy to stumble into, and communicate via howling like wolves. Paolo is amazing in his own right, but we’ll talk about him when we do the level breakdowns.

As for the Clockwork Soldiers, I hated them. They are a really hard enemy, this game’s version of tallboys, but infinitely more frustrating to fight. To start, you don’t fight them in large open areas, but often in small, isolated corridors and rooms. They are huge, can see from the front and the back, and pretty much kill you in one shot. Destroying them is an ordeal on par with pulling teeth; the most effective way I found is throwing a sticky grenade at one, that damages it enough so that it goes haywire and destroys it’s pal. I genuinely hated fighting these enemies and I will own up that it’s entirely because I’m bad at it and not because they are badly designed.

For another thing I hate, let’s talk about this game’s version of the Wheepers. Karnaca is both a port and a mining town; Serkonos is home to the silver mines which is how Abelle is both so rich and powerful. Because of the mines the town and a lot of the people are afflicted with blood fever, a disease transmitted by the bite of a bloodfly.

Bloodflies are creepy on their own; they attack in swarms, have really disgusting red nests that make noises when you destroy them and lay eggs in dead bodies. But the best part? Nest Keepers.

Nest Keepers are people afflicted with blood fever who have gone mad. Like Wheepers they are near decomposing and completely mindless, but unlike Wheepers they get aggressive when they notice you and scream loudly which alerts the entire swarm and they attack you. The worst part is that Nest Keepers are always in the worst places and surprise you, and I remember a particularly horrifying moment where I passed by a window and a Nestkeeper saw me and screamed and banged on it, scaring the shit out of me.

Gameplay:

The gameplay in Dishonored 2 is similar to the first game. If you play as Corvo you get all the same powers you did in the first game, but if you play as Emily you get similar abilities and a couple of unique ones. We have Far Reach which functions similarly to Blink but works by pulling Emily to objects, meaning you can also use it to pull objects and enemies to you. There is also Dark Vision which allows you to see enemies and security systems, Shadow Walk which turns you into a shadowy monster that’s less visible and can sneak around enemies and Domino which allows you to link the consciousness of different targets and knock them out all at once.

She also gets a few added abilities like Doppelganger which allows you to create a copy of yourself that can be used as a distraction and to even the odds; Mesmerize which can summon a Void spirit to enthrall humans and hounds; Blood thirst which fills up a frenzy type meter while fighting; and Shadow Kill which turns unaware enemies into ash when they are killed.

As for the weapons we get a much greater variety this time. We have the standard sword, crossbow and sleep dart, but we also get a fire bolt, explosive bolt, howler bolt and stinging bolt. We also get sticky grenades, stun mines, regular grenades and rewire tools. Unlike Corvo who had Piero as his regular salesman, Emily has to use a new mechanic which are the Black Markets.

Black Markets are a feature I really like and are basically an expansion of the favors from the DLC. There is a Black Market in almost every level you play, and you can always rob it. These places are also good for getting information, upgrading gear and weapons and they also serve as part of the story.

Lets go over the characters real quick. We have the returning cast of Corvo, Emily, Delilah, the Outsider, Billie Lurk, and Sokolov, and then a host of new characters. We have: Luka Abelle, Briana Ashwood, Kirin Jindosh, Aramis Stilton, Dr Hypatia, Paolo, Mindy Blanchard, High Overseer Burn and Luca Pastor.

So now that we’ve covered the basic overall changes, it’s time to talk about how they actually affect the game. Join me in part 8 where we will look at the first 4 levels and talk about them in more detail.

part 6 < > part 8

#dishonored #dishonored retrospective #dishonored 2 #moni talks

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