#the second they see blood they sic security on me

[disengaged]

it was kinda tragicomically funny at first but now i'm just plain fucking miserable like at this point im just praying to die in my sleep

[wordywarriorwrites]

The First Degree

Title: The First Degree A03 Link | Master List | Rating: M Summary: He wants to be your savior. You don’t need saving. Written For: #SSB2021 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F! Reader Warnings: Language. Smut. Mentions of blood/violence. 

"Why can't you just forget it?"

You scoff, "If the situation were reversed, would you just 'forget it'?"

"But it didn't mean anything." 

"You fucked her in my office. On my desk," you seethe. "She must've meant something to you during those five seconds."

Bucky clears his throat. Reaches for his drink. Downs the last half-inch of booze and asks for another double. 

The charity fundraiser you cajoled him into attending (the one meant to raise awareness and increase funding for victims of The Blip) wasn't exactly the most appropriate place for the conversation you were having, but then again, you weren't the type of woman to stand on ceremony. 

Your cell had been ringing incessantly since arriving a little over an hour ago, but the answer wasn't as simple as ignoring it or shutting it off - not when you had clients who might need you. 

When you couldn't stand it anymore, you took the call, slipping away from the table and ducking into the coat room for privacy. The door was heavy, wooden, and shut tight, but still, Bucky could make out every word of the heated exchange you were having with your ex.

"It's over," you bite out. "It's been over for three months. Stop calling me."

"Or what?" he goads. "You gonna sic your little superhero guard dog on me?"

"No, but I will release the footage," you warn icily. 

You're a partner at a trusted, well-known, highly respected law firm. You don't make idle threats. In fact, you seem to relish challenges and enjoy accomplishing what others find daunting or impossible. 

You got Isiah Bradley a long overdue, too-sizable-to-be-disclosed settlement. You put the screws to crooked banks and made sure people like Sarah Wilson got a fair shake. And no matter what border Sam Wilson crossed (either officially or unofficially, as a private citizen or as Captain America) he was always legally protected. Pepper Potts has you on retainer, and whenever you need a reality check or a reminder of why you became a lawyer in the first place, you do pro-bono work with Nelson and Murdock. 

You're a live wire. A force to be reckoned with. Powerful in a way that has nothing to do with physical strength and everything to do with unwavering resolve and pure fucking nerve. 

Some people find you intimidating; you're an unwavering woman, you know what you want, and not that it's any of his business, but Bucky thinks your ex is an idiot and that you're far too good for him.

"Two-pump Chump," you laugh dryly. "How's that for both a headline and a moniker?" 

"You fucking bitch. I swear, I'm going to make you regret this." 

Bucky swallows hard. Swipes his napkin over his mouth. Adjusts his tie. 

He can't imagine how many secrets you've buried, but apparently, you've dug enough metaphorical graves to merit the need for both a silent alarm and security cameras in your high-rise office, both of which were only turned off when you were seeing clients. 

As for the footage of your ex getting frisky with a first-year attorney on your desk? You haven't shown it to him, but you told him about it, and judging by the way the conversation's going, your ex hasn't taken too kindly to your forwarding the footage to his inbox and dumping him via email.  

"You're with him right now, aren't you?" 

"That's none of your business," you retort. "Now, are you going to leave me alone? Or do I need to call in my favor with the Chief of Police and get a restraining order?"

He calls you a whore. You tell him to go fuck himself. Bucky presumes you hang up because seconds later, the door opens and hits the wall with a dull thud. 

Your heels click-click-click as you stomp down the hallway, heart racing and breath sawing in and out of your throat. When you return to the table, you toss out an apology that everyone insists isn't necessary, and by the time you're seated, phone stowed, and napkin placed in your lap, all traces of upset have been wiped from your expression. 

After dinner, you work the room, and people part with their money all too easily. You're also four glasses of Chardonnay deep when you normally stop at two, and the tone of your voice is so carefully calibrated and neutrally cool that it worries him. You're numbing yourself and battening down the hatches; still, you're shining like a star, and again, Bucky knows it's not any of his business, but he's a man with a man's weaknesses, and damn it, you deserve better. 

You've been hurt, and Bucky wants to save you, but you don't need saving. Hell, you don't even need his help. 

In the middle of a crowded dance floor, tucked into his embrace - that's where he feels you're safest and where he feels like he has some semblance of control. The royal purple silk of your dress and your warm skin beneath his palms. Chanel No. 5 in his lungs and something soft and slow playing in the background. 

When you smile at him, it's genuine, and a careful twirl allows Bucky to appreciate and admire you in all your glory, and give you an assessing once-over. 

"I could still kill him," he offers nonchalantly. 

You quirk a brow, "I thought you said you didn't do that anymore."

"Eh, what's a little first-degree murder between friends?"

You laugh, and as far as he's concerned, the evening ends on a high note. 

He offers to hail a cab, but you're determined to walk, and about three minutes into the brisk, twenty-block track, he realizes your interlocked arms have become intertwined fingers. His pulse does a little hop-skip-jump, but he doesn't say anything. 

"Bucky," you eventually murmur, steps slowing as you approach your building. "Will you - would you be willing to come up with me?" 

Bucky stops mid-stride. Turns to face you. You're ducking your chin and chewing on your lower lip, but when you glance up at him and finally meet his gaze, he sees trepidation. Your brow is shining with sweat and your pulse is a bit erratic. It all signals anxiousness, maybe even fear, and that prompts him to frown and gently squeeze your elbow. 

"You got the new system installed, right?" he asks. "And you changed the locks?" 

You nod slowly, "I did everything you told me to do. Even informed front desk security. But you know how he is - what he's capable of..." 

Bucky swallows hard and nods, "It's alright. We'll go up together, yeah?" 

Hand-in-hand, you take the lead, guiding him beneath the awning, through the lobby, and into the elevator. A silent ascent, a ping, and then, the doors part. Bucky does a thorough sweep of your penthouse, and when he gives you the all-clear, you move from the hallway and cross over the threshold. 

Heartbeat now steady, you thank him and offer him a drink. The top-shelf nightcap is a show of appreciation, but it's not the lure of limited-edition Johnnie Walker Blue Label that convinces him to stay. Even though you're considerably much calmer, he can sense that you're still spooked, and he can't - won't - leave you.

"I feel like an idiot," you mutter as you pour. "Having you check under the bed and in the closets for monsters. Like you don't have better things to do..." 

Bucky accepts the squat tumbler you hand over with a nod of thanks, and watches as you practically gulp your own drink while sorting through a stack of mail on the counter. You have a Kubotan in your purse and a gun in your nightstand drawer, and you know how to use them both because he taught you himself, but the thought of you needing to use either one... 

Your purse - the one you hastily discarded on the counter - begins vibrating. You curse. Reach for it. A moment later, your cell phone - the one with all that damning, world-ending, life-ruining evidence - is in your hand. The buzzing eventually stops, but not for long, and from Bucky's vantage point, he can see the screen displaying Blocked Caller. 

"You've got to be kidding me," you hiss, thumb hovering and teeth grinding. 

Bucky quickly sets his drink aside and places a halting hand on your wrist, "Don't." 

He doesn't know where he gets the gall, but he takes the phone from your hand. Silences it. Tosses it onto the counter. Then, he reaches for you. Seizes your waist and holds you in a too-tight, wholly unfriendly grip. Digging his fingertips into your lower back, he pulls you forward, pressing his chest tight against yours. Eyes wide and lips slightly parted, you don't resist or push him away. Still, he holds his breath and hangs onto you like you'll sip from his grasp and disappear before his very eyes. 

"I don't know what I'm doing," Bucky whispers. 

You lick your lips and jut your chin, "I think you do."

It's a gentle kiss - nothing more than a whisper-soft meeting of mouths that has the opportunity to turn into something more if you both allow it. You meet in the middle again with a bit more purpose, and it's like the raindrops at the beginning of a storm. A pitter-patter that turns into a torrential downpour, and it doesn't take long for that razor-sharp tongue of yours to turn softer than velvet against his. 

Bucky backs you into the wall and you go with it - face upturned and hand wrapping tight like an anchor around his tie. He seeks you out with his mouth, teeth digging until he's worrying a claiming bruise into the tender flesh of your neck. The sight of it goes straight to his head - bolsters his ego and gives him a fucking rush, sending his frenzied hands wandering from your bare shoulders to the tops of your thighs, fingertips skimming with excitement along your stockings until you encourage him to channel his frantic desire into action. 

"Touch me, Bucky," you plea, guiding his hand between your legs. "I want you to."

He rucks the gusset of your panties aside and brushes his fingers along the center of you. You arch into his touch, throat releasing an encouraging sound, but it's just not enough for either of you. The need to really feel you, touch you, taste, you - it's all-consuming, prompting him to drop to his knees and pull your panties down to your ankles. 

Bucky samples, then, he gorges. He's drowning himself in your pleasure, using his fingers and tongue to earn more of your ragged breaths and moans. He looks up at you, finds your heavily lidded gaze in the dark, and he knows without asking that this is more than a rebound fuck. You don't want to be friends. Neither does he. And Bucky holds onto that knowledge, savoring it and you, hanging onto the moment and letting his memory absorb the unapologetic way you've given yourself to him.  

"I'll kill him," Bucky growls against the apex of your thighs. "For you."

It's not a joke anymore, and any other woman might've found such a heated declaration horrifying, but you aren't just any woman. You gasp, but the subsequent gush of wetness and tight squeeze means you're more turned on than put off. Your reaction makes him doggedly pursue your release until it inevitably starts to unravel. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and works your G-spot until you cry out and make a mess of his beard and the front of his shirt. 

You're mesmerizing. And he wants more. 

Bucky hustles you toward your bedroom, ridding himself and you of clothes and shoes along the way. He you to bed. Sinks himself into you over, and over, and over again until it becomes all frantic and erratic, until it wipes away all traces of dignity and humanity, until the end result is just the two of you falling, until you eventually wind up in a heap of limbs - raw and bare and exposed in your most wild, primal state. 

You shower together. Eat together. Return to bed together. Sometime later, your phone buzzes again, but this time, it isn't your ex. 

A breaking news alert from Buzzfeed. Millions of views. #twopumpchump trending on Twitter. 

You saved each other.

[orionares]

Whumptober: Barbed Wire

---

Whumptober: Day 1

NCIS:Los Angeles

A/N: Totally not posting this five days late….was here the whole time…

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

When this case is over and he’s back at home safe and sound, he’s going to kill Admiral Killbride.

Not kill, as NCIS Investigator Marty Deeks truly believes that an angry retaliatory Killbride would moan and groan about the 21st century while donning a cigar, black paint and a 1983 Remington 870 shotgun in hand.

That would actually be kind of awesome.

No, once Deeks and the team flies the five thousand plus miles home after hopefully surviving , Deeks' 'kill' will include siccing Hetty on him and/or gleefully rubbing in the point that during an extraction mission of a billionaire arms dealer, maybe don't order anyone to be overwatch on an unstable ridge during a monsoon?

It's not like the hours upon hours of rain drenching the ground would lead to a mini mudslide?

Nonsense.

Ten feet below the now crumbled ridge on a muddy incline, Deeks lies on his back, eyes shut, and tries to assess the situation he's in without sinking further into the mud. The mud is low on his priority as a part of the barbed wires that had lined their arms dealer's property line is now embedded in the Investigator's calf.

Deeks pushes his palms into the mud and tries to push himself up into a sitting position. The result is a clumsy rise a few inches off the ground before slipping and landing onto his back.

Of course, he would be the one to fall down an incline and into a bloody barbed wire.

He can't tell whether the wet liquid on his calf is rain or well... blood leaking out of him.

Deeks inhales slowly before wiping away the rain running from the brim of his hat down to his eyes.

God, he hopes Kensi, Callen, Sam and Roundtree are safe…..and dry.

The sky suddenly flashes before he hears a crack of lightning that's too close for comfort.

Way too close for comfort.

Deeks pats his vest in the darkness for the small backup flashlight. The small device is easy to pull out of the strap and illuminates enough for him to see that the wire doesn't appear deep enough for him to worry about bleeding out. By his estimation, he could cut around the embedded piece of wire and slide out or pull the wire out and hope for the best.

He can't pass out in the middle of the bushes, not only because of the weather, the team and case security but also because he's sure he had heard a bear outside earlier. The very faint sound of a gunshot that comes five seconds later doesn’t help.

He’s got to move.

Deeks quickly wraps his fingers around the piece of wire and carefully pulls the embedded pieces of the wire out of his calf. He can’t see the blood he assumes to come from his wound nor does he really care- the pain distracts him through sliding back through the mud enough for him to fully extend his leg out on the ground.

That was horrendous. He’d throw confetti in the air for himself if he could.

Another bolt of lightning illuminates the sky and gives more than enough sign for Deeks to get moving. He uses his uninjured leg as support to push himself into a low crouch. With a grip in the muddy incline, Deeks awkwardly pulls himself onto unsteady feet.

Now...what?

Deeks takes a step and his uninjured leg gives under the loose thick mud beneath his feet. He falls forward immediately onto his stomach.

A muted beam of light appears about thirty feet away by his estimate. It flickers through the rain like a lightning bug until Deeks’ concussed brain settles for him to recognize that he's watching a flashlight beam.

Flashlight means person and person means dry clothes and a towel.

The shadow of a tall stocky figure in the woods steps over what the Investigator assumes to be a fence or the rest of the track of barbed wire that surrounds the property. Deeks slides his hand over to his Sig lying in the mud and wraps his fingers around the grip. The weight of the rain weighs down a lock of hair into his eyes but he doesn’t try to attempt to move it.

Time it right, time it right, he repeats over and over his mind as he watches the figure turn away with the flashlight briefly and finally turn towards him. Deeks winces under the light shining on his eyes but raises his pistol just high enough that he can at least take out his possible attacker with a shot to the knee.

“Whoa, whoa, who- Deeks, don’t shoot!”

God, he hopes he isn’t hallucinating Sam.

“Deeks!” The shadow snaps in the familiar I-swear-to-God-if-you-finish-that-sentence- Deeks tone from the ex-SEAL. Sam quickly holds up the light to illuminate his rain soaked face under a hoodie. His assault gun dangles from a strap on his right shoulder, right next to his Sig in hand. “Don’t shoot me.”

“You didn’t identify yourself,” Deeks retorts with a furrowed brow. He’s tired and tempted to just lay down on the mud and nap for a bit instead of replaying the last tenish minutes of the day. “I fell. And got impaled by a stupid wire. And I’m wet.”

Sam kneels down next to Deeks and whistles at the wound in Deeks’ calf. The pain is beginning to dull, likely fueled by the distracting thought of warmth and a towel. “How the hell did you- the rain,” Sam trails off, “Let me guess, ground gave out?”

“Remember when I vehemently complained and suggested that maybe we don’t go hunting for people in the middle of a monsoon?” Deeks snorts. Sam nods in agreement and holds up his wrist to radio Kensi and Sam. In the meantime, Deeks grumbles, “I told Killbridge. We told him.”

Sam chuckles as he pulls off his wet jacket to wrap around Deeks’ injured leg. “Kensi and Callen are going to secure the house further, we got our guy by the way,”

Deeks feels his body becoming heavier and heavier with a slight souissant of snarkiness. “Congrats. Drinks all around. Piggyback ride back?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

[marvel-ousnesss]

Flesh, not porcelain - part ll (Geralt x reader)

Request:  Hi! I don’t know if you are still taking requests but if you do, would you mind writing a witcher x reader where the reader and Geralt have been in a relationship before but somehow lost contact and now they see each other again after so long and they are both shy and afraid of “their love”. But in the end, they know they can’t be together?  Thank you so much if you do write it( please tag me 🙏🏻)

A/N: Okay, so here's the second part of @lareinedususpense​'s  request. Tell me what you think and ask me if you wanna be tagged on upcoming writings. I still don't know where it takes place when it comes to the timeline. 

Part I

Masterlist

“Princess!" 

Among the screaming voices that echoed through the ballroom, you could make out the one coming from your guards, who were now in a fighting stance, with swords ready and worried faces under their helmets. However, your legs didn't obey when you tried to move. 

Geralt pushed you behind him as you processed what was happening. The nobles had risen against the crown, which meant that your life and your family's were at stake. Your eyes drifted from face to face, trying to locate your family among the sea of nobles and guards, traitors and allegiants who were now fighting in defense of their respective causes. Your breath hitched when you found them, and the person conducting the whole mess.

Lord de Barra had his right hand locked around your sister’s arm and his blade threatening to kiss her neck. His men had your parents captive; and Aldestier, who had insisted on attending the ceremony without his elite escort, was struggling to free himself from a man you recognized as one of your father's most trusted advisors - former advisors, that is. 

Geralt growled menacingly at the men who advanced toward you, grabbing two silver knives he had been carrying on his belt. Without hesitation, he fought everyone who came at him, making it almost impossible for them to reach you. 

With horror you watched the men who your family had trusted slay those who were willing to die protecting the crown. You tried to look away, but your eyes were incapable of avoiding the bloodbath that had resulted from what was supposed to be a night of celebration and joy. 

You sobbed and wailed in silence, completely unable to do anything, until one of the quisling guards managed to sneak behind Geralt and grab you by the hair, dragging you toward the center of the room. You cried out in pain, causing Geralt's fall. He turned to look at you and launched himself at the man who had taken you, but Alatar, the mage of your kingdom's court, threw a spell his way, making his limbs freeze.  

The guards secured their grip on you and Ducarious found your gaze. He calmly made his way to you, dragging your sister with him, and spoke, beaming darkly. 

"Let’s get this over with," he scowled. His dagger was still pressed to your sister's neck. She looked at you, and your parents with glassy eyes; only to see that the men holding them had mimicked their leader's precaution, just like the guards who had you.  

 They were about to kill you on the spot, Alatar knew this, so, with remorse of his betrayal, he spoke up. 

"Wait! Lord de Barra, your grace, I beg for your mercy.”

“No mercy is to be granted for this man and his kind; what he did is unforgivable.” The young man’s words were full of anger and thirst for blood. However, you did not comprehend what terrible, unforgivable deed had your father committed for such vengeance to take place. 

“Ducarious, please, don’t let anger cloud your judgment. Your brother caused the people great pain;” the king’s eyes were kind, but the noble leading the uprising only showed himself more aggravated. 

He spoke with gritted teeth, “do not dare speak of my brother, you monster!”

Your lips parted as you saw it all clearly. His own uncle had been the one who proposed the death sentence for his younger brother, and you had overheard some maidens gushing about how he had agreed. His actions, and his lousy cover, were no surprise to you. 

Given his hubris, Ducarious was capable of doing anything to obtain power, and he had always had a way with words. Nevertheless, you couldn’t imagine what he had promised the nobles to bring them all together against your family; for your parents were known for ruling fairly and with kindness above all. 

Alatar’s voice cut through the silence once again; “I completely understand that this man is not fit to rule such great kingdom and that he has hurt you on unimaginable ways, but killing him would not make amends with the past, it ends his suffering way to easily.”

He practically spit the words, he was unable the disgust he was feeling toward himself. Alatar had always been great friends with your family, so Ducarious must've found a way of blackmail for him to stab your parents in the back. 

 “Then what, mage, what is it that you suggest?”

Alatar sighed, catching your father’s eye; the pain in his words was practically tangible. “Exile, your grace, don’t let any of them place afoot in this kingdom ever again; there’s no greater punishment.”

Lord the Barra paced around the room, after leaving your sister with another one of his men. 

“No.”

He was as thoughtful and crafty, as he was ruthless. You knew that he wouldn’t settle with such a simple plot. 

“Here’s what is to happen," he declared. "You are all banished from my kingdom. Not only will you be slain if you set foot in here again, but if you ever cross paths with my people, they are expected to shoot and kill, and will be generously rewarded for it. From the hunter to the beast; that, I call punishment.”

And so, it happened. You were kicked out of the place you had called home your whole life; with nothing but the clothes, you had on. In cuffs and chains, you were all taken to the stables by your own guards - the ones who were still alive - and given a horse and ordered to take off. 

About ten months ago, you had fled your land without knowing where to go, and, to be honest, it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t been hell. With the absence of luxury, you could deal; the worst part was separating from your family, for you had decided that together you were a bigger target, easier to hit. 

You kept in touch through codes and occasional letters addressed to false personas, at least you knew they were okay. Aldestier had negotiated with Ducarious but had only been able to save your sister's life. As for your parents, they raised enough money to get a chariot and, according to their last letter, were planning on traveling around as merchants. You, however, hadn't yet made a life for yourself. 

Sighing, you took a sip of your ale, then a bite of your bread. Six pm, a little bit late to have breakfast; you mentally shrugged, getting rid of the thought. You were exhausted, it had been a long day of traveling and you couldn’t be happier that it was coming to an end. You left a few coins on the table and headed out; walking in the direction in which you thought the hostel was. 

That’s when you saw him. Before you approached, you took in the scene before you. Geralt was walking quite slowly, next to Roach. His silver hair was tied in a loose bun, and his pace was sloppy, tired; but you paid no mind. His armor was scarred, marked with the years of use; yet he carried it so effortlessly that, by this point, it was as if it moved with him. 

“Can’t believe the little shits still sicced on. Fucking stupid, really,” scoffed the witcher; and the mare snorted as if snickering right back at him. 

“I know, no fucking brains. Throwing themselves at us like that; as if we had anything that could interest them,” once again, Roach replied with a soft snort and a head shake. 

 "Don’t judge me, I tried to warn them, but they came at me. Wasted lives, really.“

You couldn’t help but overhear what he was saying, and despite the somber nature of the story, you found it sort of amusing for a man so aloof and dangerous to be talking to his horse. 

"Almost didn’t recognize you without a beer in hand,” you greeted. 

Hearing your voice, he stopped in his tracks and turned around, smiling slightly. “Your highness, it’s been a while.”

You chuckled dryly, ”just Y/N is fine, not ‘your highness’ anymore.“

Even if you said it with a humorous tint, the words left your lips with a sense of nostalgia. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The sincerity of his words brought a soft smile to your lips.

You walked in silence, but didn’t want your encounter to entail such a short and meaningless conversation; so you inquired, “what have you been up to, since the last time we met?” 

“Those are stories you wouldn’t like to hear about,” his eyes remained locked on the dimly lit path you were walking through. His voice was dry. 

“You can talk to me, you know that.” 

He breathed, “Some villagers, they launched themselves at me, drunk; there were eight of them, I think. Took out their daggers and attacked.”

You grabbed your skirts, trying to make walking a bit easier. No avail, your feet were burning. Your horse had fallen ill; it was nothing major, according to the healer who had seen him, but he could no longer endure such travels. You were forced to sell him to a farmer, who had set his eye on him for his children. 

“I didn’t- I tried to stop them, to stop myself, but I ended up losing control;” grumbled the Witcher. “ended up being the monster that they painted me as.”

Unbelievable. You glared at him, “For your sake, and mine, I’m gonna pretend the last ten words didn’t fucking come out of your mouth.” 

“I fucking killed them, Y/N,” he argued. 

“And they almost fucking killed, you, Geralt” you countered, your voice rising with disbelief. 

He didn't say anything else; opting, instead, to look at you deeply, trying to find the reason for which you cared. 

Silence remained for a few minutes, but then he stopped walking. You were about to ask him, but looked at the path; the pair of you were standing in front of a crossroad. 

Your confused expression gave you away. 

“You have nowhere to go.”

You huffed; “actually, I do have a wonderful room waiting for me at the hostel, thank you very much.”

“We walked past the hostel a mile ago.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that ten fucking minutes ago?,” you groaned, glaring at him. However, in the Witcher’s eyes, you were perkier than you were intimidating. 

You turned back around, but Geralt grabbed your forearm gently; he chuckled, “I’m going to the hostel too." 

"Then why would-”

“Next time, don’t follow someone, even if you know them, without being sure where they’re going. Dopplers enjoy playing lonely travelers." 

His ember eyes bore into yours for a second, then he let go. 

You crossed the wooden door and approached the woman behind the desk. As a subject of payment, you placed a silver bracelet over the table; "That should cover both of our rooms for a few days.”

She looked at you quizzically but handed you two keys. Without a word, you began walking toward the rooms, slightly behind Geralt, it was then when it came to your attention that something was off with his right leg. You didn’t say anything until he stopped in front of a door; instead of continuing, you walked inside with him. 

His eyes were tired and expectant, as stood in front of you, motionless.

“Let me take care of you.”

He tried to explain, “listen, your high– I mean, Y/N; I don't see you that way. But, thanks for the offer."  

"Not sex, Geralt, for fuck’s sake,” you grimaced, “I just want to take care of your leg; you’ve practically stumbled your way here.”

“No need." 

"Have you forgotten how stubborn I am?" you teased.

He sighed in surrender, but you were quick to see the smile briefly gracing his features. " No, I haven't, but I'm fine."

“Bullshit."

He quirked a brow. 

You stepped forward, getting closer to him. "If your leg is truly as good as new, it won’t hurt if I do this;” your left foot collided with his shin and both of you groaned in pain. Was this man-made of fucking Iron? 

“Fine,” he grumbled, stepping back. 

You forced your eyes to stay down as you heard the witcher discarding his armor and getting ready for you to take a look at his leg. You damped one of the rags you had fetched in a bucket of water and made sure the bandages were enough and in a decent state.   

You asked, “are you presentable?” 

He hummed, so you lifted your gaze. Geralt was sitting on the bed, wearing a loose linen shirt and the same breeches he had before. 

You blushed, swallowing hard. “You’ll need to remove those if you want me to take a look at whatever’s wrong with your leg.”

He began taking his pants off, so you averted your gaze once again.

He quietly chuckled at your antics, hoping you didn't hear; but the croaky sound only made your face darken another shade. Clearly, he had noticed how flushed the sight of him had made you. 

"Thank you," you turned to look at him, "for letting me do this."

Geralt hummed, relocating himself exactly in the same positions as before. This time, however, with his leg exposed, the rest was covered only by a sheet. 

You took a deep breath as you scanned the scene before you but strictly centered your attention on the part of his body that you were meaning to mend. As you had supposed, his right leg had a tapestry of bruises, - some of which had certainly not been caused by the villagers he told you about -, and an open wound on the external part of his thigh. To be frank, the damage was too messy, animalistic; so you just assumed it had been a matter of occupational hazards. 

“For the monstrous bruising you got there, I don’t know what to do.” You moved the bucket to the side of the bed and, with a motion of your hands, prompted him to move a bit. “But the open, nasty wound; that one, I can fix.”

You drained the rag and placed it over the injury that, you assumed, was a bite. He didn’t move or speak, he just tensed his muscles whenever the rag hit a nerve. Every time he did this, you quietly apologized, to which he responded with either a grumble or a breathy 'it's fine.' Quietly humming, you repeated the procedure a few times before coming to the conclusion that, if it was to heal completely and properly, you would have to clean it more thoroughly.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

"Where are you going?" he asked, but you had already left. 

"Just wait," you shouted from the other side of the hall. 

As fast as you could, as to not keep Geralt waiting, you went to the small bar in front of the hostel and fetched a bottle of vodka, leaving a few coins as payment. Then, you ran back to the hostel and sprinted back to the witcher's room. You had never been agile when it came to running in a dress; so, with a surprised scream, in the hall that led to your destination, you fell face-first against the cold, stone floor. 

Geralt heard your scream and came to your rescue, with the sheet tightly wrapped around his waist. He helped you up and took you to his room, with the bottle still in your hand. 

“I think I told you not to move,” you teased, 

He just scoffed, so you continued.

“For your information, I had it all under control.” 

He placed you on his bed, carefully accommodating your head in one of the pillows. 

“Yeah, I saw that when I heard you scream.” 

He drained one of the rags and handed it to you. Rolling your eyes, you sat up and pressed it against your jaw, which had received quite a hit. 

You scoffed, “it was nothing, just a small exclamation of surprise." 

He hummed, soaking and draining another rag, handing it to you. You left the previous one on the wooden table and continued to apply pressure on the sore spot, hoping that way you'd avoid getting a bruise. 

"Besides, I still have to clean that nasty cut of yours; can’t make all of this a waste of effort.”

“I'm fine." 

He was adamant, you knew, but you persisted. 

"Yeah, if by fine you mean hobbling." You stood up but frowned slightly when your right foot came in contact with the ground. 

How ironic. You brushed it off. Fixing your stance so almost no weight resting on your sore foot, you instructed the witcher to take your previous place on the bed, and, to your surprise, he complied without a word.

He loosened the sheet so that the cotton left his leg exposed, but the way in which his frame was contoured almost made your breath hitch. The fact that it was the second time you saw him like that didn’t make it easier; it was truly difficult to concentrate with the sight of the godlike man before you. 

With a sharp intake of air, you began to work. Even with his pain tolerance, he hissed and groaned every time you soaked the rag and brushed his skin. Intending to distract him, you decided to strike a conversation, even if there was the chance that he would consider it intrusive.  

"How did you get these?" 

 "Selkie maw, a few days ago." 

"What’s a seckymore?" You took a sip of the bottle, almost coughing when the burning sensation hit your throat. You had already mixed part of it with the water in the bucket, so drinking what was left meant no harm. 

"Selkie maw,” he corrected. “It’s like a salamander: but with a few hundred teeth, and the size of a small dragon." 

"Cute,” your tone was bitter. 

You took another swing and offered the drink to him. He accepted it, drowning half of what was left in a single zip. “Sorry,” he looked at the bottle and handed it to you, you tauntingly glared at him as you drained the rag over his wound once again. 

“Not that big of a monster, they usually feed on plankton.“

With a final stroke of the rag, you finished cleaning his open wound and proceeded to stitch it with the needle and thread spool you always carried in your small bag. 

Biting your lip in concentration, you asked, "do you get scared of monsters, or are you just that stoic?”

He took his time to answer, carefully choosing his words; “wouldn’t call it fear. It’s just knowing that, if you get slow, you die. More like a rush; you know what to expect, so there's a certain calm in it too." 

You made a small knot at the end of the thread, and grabbed the bandage, wrapping his leg. 

"There, all done.” You reached for his pants and threw them his way. 

“Thank you,” he said, as he grabbed the garment and adjusted his position to put it on while still covered. Once dressed, he stood up. 

“You’re welcome”, you handed him the bottle, now depleting. That would help him with the pain. This time, he emptied it without thought.

"There’s more where that one came from, you know.“

He gave you a questioning look. 

"Don’t act like you don’t need it,” you foretold. “Besides, you left me with no vodka in like two sips.”

For a moment, you got no answer. The witcher walked to exit the room, so you gave up the hope of his company; but, instead of heading further down the hall, he stopped. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

Tags: @beautiful-tragic-fallout

[babywarg]

Ironstrange Bingo Entry 23: Fake Dating

Title: What Comes Next

Summary: Tony falls into depression after his breakup with Pepper, locks himself inside one of his estates. No one can bypass his security codes, so he gets visited by someone whom electronic doors can’t keep out.

Pairings: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange, Pepper Potts/Christine Palmer

Notes: Heeey I finished something in time for New Year, after all! Happy start of 2020, guys! 🎉

Trigger warnings for depression and alcoholism. This is, ultimately, a story of recovery.

For the @ironstrangebingo​ square "Fake dating."

***

The whiskey glass escaped the loose grip of his fingers, and fell to the floor.

Tony waited for the familiar soft “thump” as the glass hit the carpet, its contents making a fragrant stain by his feet. It was his nightly signal that he’d had enough to drink.

He was just about to surrender to sleep, when he realized, there was no “thump.”

He opened his eyes.

The very first thing he saw was his whiskey glass floating in the air.

The second was the familiar outline of a sorcerer, stepping out of the shadows.

He blinked, waiting for the newcomer to say something first. The sorcerer didn’t oblige. Instead, barely moving, he carefully placed the levitating glass on top of the nearest table.

“If it’s a matter of life or death,” Tony slurred, “call my office in the morning.”

“I was alerted to the fact that the leader of the Avengers drinks himself to sleep every night and no longer reports to SHIELD.” Light-hearted, yet cynical. He sounded like a disappointed drama professor. “And has walled himself inside his Palm Beach estate, refusing to let anyone but his most trusted aide close to him. No one could bypass his security codes, so they called in someone electronic doors can’t keep out.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Tony sleepily chuckled. “Fury would be banging on my doors himself if it was something important. Captain Rogers would be camped out in front of my house, holding a rally or hunger strike or something until I felt bad and stepped out. I know of no ‘they’ who would - ”

Oh.

Of course.

They.

It was 10 PM. Happy was sure to be still awake, though off duty.

“Happy?” he said loudly, so the automatic intercom could hear. “There’s a wizard in here who can’t seem to get the hint. Care to get him out of my hair?”

“Yeah, sorry, Tony,” was the reluctant answer. “Pepper told me he was coming and not to throw him out even if you told me to. Besides, let’s face it - not like I really can, right?”

They got to Happy, too.

They.

Pepper and her new girlfriend.

- the new girlfriend who, Tony vaguely recalls, has some tie or other with the magic man in his sitting room right now, but he was just in no shape to remember.

“I sense a conspiracy,” he pointed out, eyes narrowing.

“Not an evil one,” Doctor Stephen Strange assured him.

“Do I have to sic my suit on you?”

“You can’t,” was the matter-of-fact answer. “Soon after the very public disaster that was your birthday party in 2010, you built a failsafe into your suits, so that they’ll only defend, not attack, until the wearer’s blood alcohol levels are down.”

Tony bitterly smiled. “Pepper told you that, huh?”

“No, it was part of the PR defense that your company launched. I do read the papers, Stark.”

There were other drinking glasses in the vicinity. Tony didn’t even have to get up to retrieve them. He picked one up off the floor.

Also nearby was a bottle of arrogantly old and obscenely expensive whiskey. Tony uncorked it and poured a shot into the unwashed glass.

Strange watched his every move like a hawk. “Alcohol solves nothing, you know.”

“It’s seen me through many losses.” Tony’s drowsy, unsteady hands struggled to stopper the bottle again. “It’s going to see me through this one.”

He was putting the glass to his lips, when the glass floated out of his hand.

Then landed in the sorcerer’s hand. Nary a drop of precious whiskey was spilled.

Tony grunted. “So she doesn’t even trust me to know my limits,” he muttered.

Instead of magicking the liquor away, or setting the glass down again, the sorcerer drank it all in one gulp.

He made a small sound of appreciation for the flavor. Then he held up the glass to make a show of inspecting it.

“It’s not you she doesn’t trust,” Strange said, still examining the glass.

***

[ Read more on AO3 ]

[aewriting]

You Can't Jump the Track - Part 6

Here it is on AO3, if you prefer

***

Michael’s had second, third, tenth thoughts about this meeting today. Maybe he should have just gotten in his car and headed straight back to Albuquerque. He, he’s a genius. Like, whether he reconstructs a fucking spaceship or not, he’s going places. He’s going to get grant funding, going to get hired, going to get tenured somewhere. Like, he has a massive advantage. His brain, it just… it just works better than human brains, when it comes to this shit.

But… but would he ever be satisfied with anything other than putting his ship back together, finding some answers about where he’s from? It’s the whole reason he’s an astrophysicist, the entire purpose behind all his years of school, all the effort he’s put in. He didn’t come this far to let Alex Fucking Manes, of all god damn people, get in his way.

They said they’d meet at 10:15, at Bean Me Up. Well, Alex said they’d meet at 10:15. Michael had wanted to meet at 9, like a normal person, but Alex had shot that down. “Too crowded,” he’d said. That was the whole point of this, though – a public place, less chance of Alex getting all twitchy and shooting him, knocking him out, drugging him… take your damn pick. Michael had acquiesced, though. Didn’t mean he was going to go in unprepared. It’s 10am, and he’s fully planning to get the lay of the land before Alex…

Alex is already here. Parked on his ass at a corner table, back to the wall, looking jumpy as hell. Michael heaves a sigh and walks over to him.

Alex narrows his eyes. “You’re early.”

“So are you.” Alex shrugs a shoulder, and Michael looks down at his mug. Coffee, black. “I’m going to go get something.”

He orders a latte and two pastries. Can’t hurt to try to butter Alex up, get him to let his walls down at least a little. He goes to pay, and the woman at the counter shakes her head. “On the house,” she says. Michael frowns a little, not understanding. She flicks her eyes toward Alex. “You’re with him, right?” Michael gives a small nod, and the woman nods back, leans in a bit. “It’s good he’s out. It’s… it’s been a long time since he’s been in here.”

Something… something in Michael’s chest catches, as he hears the woman’s words. He knows he can’t really stare at Alex right now, can feel his gaze boring into him as it is, but he just… he wishes he knew what happened. No, more than that, he wishes that whatever happened to Alex had just… never happened. He’s not sure if he should include himself in that wish, too.

He musters up a smile for the cashier and leaves a nice tip, then uses a little hint of power to balance everything and walk back to Alex’s table. Because he can. It had taken hours to get his powers back, even after he’d safely returned to the hotel room last night. Scientist that he is, he’d taken little samples of blood and urine as soon as he’d gotten back, and had stashed them in the room’s mini fridge. At the time, he hadn’t been sure if he was even going to stay overnight. There were only so many places to stay near Roswell, and Alex was a local, surely knew them all. If he did decide to sic his dad or the government on him, it wouldn’t take them long to find him.

Dammit, though, he wanted that piece of the ship in Alex’s bunker. He wanted the pieces at the Emporium and the warehouse, too, like Alex had mentioned. And he wanted to know what was on Jim Valenti’s computer. The way Alex is sipping his coffee, glowering at him, he’s still not sure if he made the right choice.

“Want a bearclaw or a cinnamon roll?” Michael asks, spreading out his offerings.

Alex stares at him. “You have a preference?” Michael shakes his head, and Alex grabs the cinnamon roll. Chews it greedily.

There hadn’t been much food at the cabin. Fresh food, anyway. Lots of canned goods. And he hadn’t seen the fridge. Just doesn’t… doesn’t seem like Alex really takes care of himself all that well. Michael frowns. Not that he has a ton of room to talk. He mostly just lives off of takeout, at grad school. He’s so busy at the lab that his apartment’s mostly just a crash pad. A place to sleep and, very occasionally, have sex…

Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. He takes in Alex’s appearance. He… he’s still Alex. Even with the long hair, the, the injury, the facial hair…

Wait.

Michael narrows his eyes. “You, you trim your beard?”

Alex’s eyes widen momentarily before he looks down. Avoids Michael’s gaze. “I… a little. Was due for it.”

It’s neater. Michael can actually see Alex’s jawline, the shape of his face. In fact, Alex’s whole appearance is a little more… put together? He’s wearing a thick flannel shirt, and his hair looks freshly washed.

“How’s the cinnamon roll?”

“It’s good.”

“Bearclaw’s good too. You come here a lot?”

Alex scoffs a little. “No.”

Michael looks over toward the counter and inadvertently locks eyes with the cashier, who is watching them with a hopeful look on her face. Clearly embarrassed at being caught, she looks away quickly, and Michael smirks. “Well that’s interesting, cause the cashier gave me all this for free once she figured out I was meeting you.”

Alex rolls his eyes a little. “Yeah, that would be Gina. She’s worked here a while, even back before…” He trails off. Reaches for his coffee mug, then pauses and fixes Michael with a flat stare. “They had a big parade for me here, when I got back. After I got hurt. Whole damn town knows who I am.”

Michael quirks an eyebrow. “Bet you love that.”

Alex gives a dark little laugh. “You know it.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes after that, just eating their pastries, drinking their coffee. They observe each other, too. Michael sees how Alex scans each new person that comes in the coffeeshop, watches the way he tracks Michael’s every movement...

“Didn’t know that you’d actually meet me here today,” Alex finally says.

“Almost didn’t,” Michael replies, voice serious. “After how yesterday went…” He leans in. “You can’t do something like that to me again, okay? Not if we’re gonna work together.”

Alex’s eyes widen. “Is that what we’re doing? Working together?”

Annoyance flares up. “You tell me, Manes. I’m sitting here at the place of your choosing, at the time of your choosing, after a… less than warm welcome yesterday.”

Alex seems a little chastened at that, bites his lip. “Yeah.”

Michael looks at him expectantly. “Just ‘yeah’?”

Alex’s brow furrows. “What is it you want me to say, Guerin?”

“Um, sorry, maybe?”

“Fuck…” Alex mutters. “Look. You were on my property, you tell me you’re…” he drops his voice, “not from around here, I find out that Jim had a fucking bunker below ground where he was hoarding spaceship parts and a computer with some pretty advanced security features on it, trying to keep god knows what hidden?” Alex is flexing his hand almost unconsciously. “It was a lot.”

“Yeah,” Michael says tightly.

Alex sighs. “I’m running some shit on the computer as we speak. I’ll probably be through the encryption by the time I get back, and I’ll know more about whatever Jim was trying to hide.”

“You’re really not going to apologize?”

“Jesus…” Alex mutters. “I’m sorry, okay?” He leans back in his chair, glares at Michael. Then all too suddenly, he’s raking a hand over his face, into his hair. “Look,” he says, voice low. “I’m kind of fucked up. The military, my dad, my leg… it, it all kind of did a number on me, okay?” He shakes his head. “I’m not, not great with people. Never was, really – I mean, you remember high school, all the bullshit?”

Michael frowns. “That, that wasn’t you though, it was everyone else.”

Alex pauses at that, and there’s something in his face, something almost… surprised? It’s gone quickly, though. “I, I don’t spend a lot of time around people. Don’t trust them.”

Michael gives a half-smile. “Well, lucky for you I’m not a person, then.”

It startles Alex, Michael can tell, to the point where he actually laughs a little, takes a long sip of coffee. “Guess that’s true,” he finally says. And for a moment, Alex’s gaze drops away from Michael’s eyes, moves down to his lips, his neck, his chest. Alex swallows hard, then, and looks down. Takes another sip of coffee. “Look, Guerin, I am sorry about the way I reacted yesterday. It was overkill, and it definitely… definitely got us off on the wrong foot, especially if we are going to be working together. I feel like, like we should start over.”

And somehow, Michael can sense that this is a big deal to Alex. That this admission is costing him something, and he wants to reward it. “Okay,” he says, voice softer now. He clears his throat a little, and affects an overly surprised face. “Oh my god, Alex Manes? Dude, it’s been like ten years! How’ve you been?”

Alex gives him a confused look.

“Can’t believe I ran into you here, man – what are the chances?”

And Alex seems to get it now. Rolls his eyes, but plays along. “Michael Guerin, right?”

“That’s me,” Michael says. He takes a breath. “Always has been, Alex. Really.” He swallows. “What have you been up to, these past ten years?”

“Joined the Air Force.”

“No shit…”

 They talk for over two hours. Almost three. Gina is beaming.

If the purpose of today’s outing was to build some trust back up, it’s working. Michael gets to hear about some of Alex’s military buddies, some of his travels, and Michael shares information about his research and his life in Albuquerque. They avoid hard topics. They’re both tentative at first, but by the end Michael sees some of Alex’s old dry wit coming through, some of the snark from back in school.

Then Michael’s stomach rumbles. It’s loud, and he knows Alex hears it, too. “What do you say we go by the Crashdown? Get some lunch?” Michael suggests.

And all of a sudden, Alex’s face shutters. “It’s probably crazy right now, with the lunch crowd.”

Michael frowns a little. “It… it’s Roswell. How crazy could it be?”

Alex sighs. “Listen, I’m glad you came here today, but I’ve got leftovers at my place I should probably eat, so…”

“Seriously?” Michael sighs. “Is… do you want, like, a break from me? Or is it something about the Crashdown specifically?”

Alex looks uncomfortable. “It’s not you, Michael. It’s just… god, it’s just that, since I got back, I just… I don’t like it when there’s a bunch of people, you know? It’s hard to keep track of everyone, and I can’t just like, relax, okay? It’s a bunch of PTSD shit that makes me real fun to be around, so I just spare people the pleasure.”

Michael purses his lips. “How ‘bout takeout?” Alex looks at him. “I didn’t just come back to Roswell for the first time in ten years to not have the enchiladas.”

Alex looks thoughtful. “Where would we eat it? My place? Your hotel?”

Michael shakes his head quickly. “No. Don’t get me wrong, Manes, this morning was real nice. I feel like we made some progress, you know? But I still don’t want to be in a room alone with you.” Alex huffs a breath. “There still that park, though? By city hall? With the picnic benches?” Michael looks down. “Used to eat dinner out there sometimes when the weather was nice and I had no place to go…”

He chances a glance at Alex. Any irritation that was previously there is gone now, and he’s looking at Michael with full attention. “The park sounds good,” he finally says, softly. “Enchiladas sound good, too. It’s been a long time,” he murmurs. He frowns then, looks at Michael. “You mind going in to pick them up? I, I’ll give you money for them,” he adds quickly. “It’s just that Arturo, he’s Liz’s dad, Liz Ortecho?”

“Sure, I know,” says Michael, and of course he knows. How many times has it been now that Liz and Max have gotten together, broken up, come back together… But shit, does Alex know that? Michael is trying to keep Max and Isobel off the radar as much as possible, and the Liz connection makes it harder to do that.

“She and I were close in high school,” Alex says, as if Michael doesn’t remember. “Haven’t talked to her in a really long time, but if her dad sees me, he’ll definitely want to talk, probably try to comp my meal, and I just…” He sighs wearily. “It’s been a long day for me already. Like, this is probably more people than I usually see in weeks, and it’s not even 1pm.”

“I’ll get the enchiladas,” Michael says. “But you do have to answer one question first.”

“Okay,” Alex says warily.

“Little Green Man Sauce or Red Planet Sauce?”

[gaycrouton]

Yours

Words of Lust 25/27 [Mulder and Scully are a little too loyal when it comes to defending each other.] Haha, I’m reposting my older fics here in order, so I apologize for how many “coming to each other’s defense” fics in a row there have been, but I have a feeling you all aren’t mad. Lol eitherway,

Yours : (pronoun) that which belongs to you.

Scully was late. Not by five minutes, not by half an hour, Dana Katherine Scully was running almost two hours late. He had gone from preparing witty remarks to outright worrying when the first hour passed. He had tried calling her cell phone, only to go to voicemail, and when he tried calling her landline, he got the answering machine. The same results happened when he called the second time, and the third. Even though it was unlikely, maybe she took a day off and he just forgot. Yeah right.

He figured if she decided not to come in today, she would have at least called Skinner. He knew the man wouldn’t go against Scully’s wishes if she hadn’t wanted him to know, but the whole situation was just odd and he was willing to try anything. This was just so out of character for her. The phone rang for a second until Skinner’s assistant picked up, “Office of A.D Skinner, how may I help you?”

“Hey Arlene, this is Fox Mulder. Is Skinner available? I just need to ask him something,” he asked, checking his watch for the hundredth time.

“I’m afraid Skinner’s in a disciplinary meeting. May I take a message?”

Mulder sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “No, no, I was just trying to find Scully, tha-” he was cut off as soon as the name left his mouth.

“Oh, um,” she hesitated, continuing in a hushed voice, “Scully’s in the disciplinary meeting too.”

His eyes shot up in surprise. It’s not like Scully hadn’t been in disciplinary meetings before, but usually he was always the one being disciplined. Did he do something wrong recently and they were talking about it? No- Scully would have given him a heads up. “What’s the disciplinary meeting about?”

“It’s about the incident that happened this morning,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Incident?” he repeated.

Arlene’s quick responses came to a halt and the phone went silent for a moment, “...you don’t know?”

“Know what?” he pried. He was a heavy mix of confused and nervous.

“Ummm. Oh, no, Mulder? Are you there? Oh no, bad connection,” she rambled before hanging up. Mulder sat there and listened to the dial tone as he contemplated his next move. If history repeats itself, she was likely getting reamed out because of him, so it only made sense that he should be allowed to barge in on whatever meeting they were having.

He grabbed his jacket and jogged to the elevator, eager to find out what this incident was. During the whole journey from the basement to Skinner’s office, he felt more eyes on him than he was used to. Being gawked at and talked about was second nature to him, but it was like people had given up even trying to hide it. When he was a few feet away from Skinner’s door, he saw a group of men actually gesturing to him and laughing. Having enough, he walked up to them and deadpanned, “Is something funny?”

All the men jokingly put their hands up in mock defense, “Oh, nothing Spooky. We didn’t mean to offend you. Please don’t sic your bitch on us.”

Mulder had no idea what they were implying, but, if he had to guess, the ‘bitch’ they were referring to was Scully. “Excuse me?” he seethed.

“Hey, we just don't want to end up like Agent Thomas.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mulder spat.

As one of the men opened their mouth to speak, the door to Skinner’s office burst open and Scully came rushing out. “Hey Mrs. Spooky, your boyfriend’s here to collect you,” one of the men taunted, earning some high fives from the other. Mulder advanced on them, ready to pick a fight when Skinner interrupted.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “As far as I’m aware all of you are being paid to do your job, which sure as hell doesn’t entail loitering in the hallway outside my office.” The men scattered while Mulder jogged down the hall to catch up with Scully.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shrugged off his hand as soon as it touched her without even turning around, raising her hand to signal him to stop.

“Mulder, I’m sorry. Not now,” she sighed in exasperation, continuing to rush down the hallway. Mulder just stopped in his tracks, unsure what to do. He couldn’t tell if he was being kept in the dark, responsible for something, or a mixture of all three.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck when he heard Skinner’s voice call out to him, “Mulder, I want to see you in my office now.” Jesus Christ this was a hell of a day and he still had no idea what was going on.

He walked back down the hall into Skinner’s waiting room, ignoring Arlene’s prying gaze. As he was about to enter Skinner’s office, he almost ran right into the man coming out. He stopped and took in the man’s appearance. He recognized Agent Thomas, but he had an already forming black eye and a wicked nosebleed, it honestly might be broken from the look of it.

Did Scully do this? Scully wasn’t the type to lash out at people, so Mulder started thinking of all the reasons she might have done this. Every possible scenario resulted in this man hurting her in some way and her lashing out in self-defense. Scully was as non-violent as they came, she was only violent under stress. Mulder’s blood started to boil at the thought. He took a step forward, invading Thomas’ personal space to growl in a low voice, “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything to that bitch! Look at my face,” he yelled. I swear to god, the next person to call her a bitch is getting hit.

“You probably deserved it,” Mulder replied.

“Is everyone in this building on an adrenaline rush today? Agent Thomas, get the hell out. Agent Mulder, come in and shut the door.” Skinner’s voice balked out from in the room.

The men exchanged glares, but did as asked. When the door shut, Mulder stalked over to Skinner’s desk and plopped into a chair. “Can you tell me what the hell’s going on?”

He noticed in this moment just how stressed out Skinner was. He let out a slow breath and ran his hands down his face, as if trying to wipe the exhaustion off. “Before you start, I just want you to know I didn’t want to do this, but there’s irrefutable evidence and it would look like favoritism if I didn’t follow through.” Mulder already didn’t like where this was going and beckoned for him to continue. “Agent Scully’s been suspended for two days as a disciplinary punishment.”

Mulder felt his jaw drop to the floor. Scully, Miss by-the-book, suspended? “W-was it because she apparently punched that guy? Knowing Scully, he would have had it coming,” he proclaimed in shock.

“He did deserve it, but it doesn’t change the fact that Scully punched a non-threatening, fellow agent,” Skinner replied. Mulder could tell Skinner was not enjoying this at all. He’s always had a soft spot for her which is why Mulder was so confused by all this.

“Non-threatening? Why, because he said so and Scully didn’t have any battle wounds? His face is your irrefutable evidence? You know as well as I do, Scully hides any weakness. What if that guy was harassing her? He’s twice her size, what if he was pinning her or cornering her against a wall? She’s a female in a male dominated field, she wouldn’t want that to get out. People would jus-” he was going to continue but Skinner started waving her hands.

“Mulder, I appreciate this and agree with you, but that’s not my evidence. We have her attacking him on tape. He was standing two feet away from her,” Skinner sighed.

“That still doesn’t mean anything. He could have been threatening her.”

“There’s audio to the footage. He wasn’t threatening her.” Skinner was clearly uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed, and Mulder’s confusion was just continuing to grow.

“Well then, what was so bad that she lashed out. You know, Scully’s not like that. It had to have been bad.” He watched Skinner roll his chair to adjust the VCR.

“That’s actually why I called you in,” he said over his shoulder. “I would have just called to tell you if I just suspended her. It’s not my place to explain agent’s disciplinary punishments to their partners, regardless of how close they are,” The last part was said with the same suggestive intonation that their partnership always seemed to warrant. “This situation just so happened to involve you, and I know you’d find out eventually.” Skinner pressed play before Mulder could ask any more questions and Mulder’s eyes were drawn to the black and white security footage.

The footage was from a second floor hallway, where Scully’s actual, completely ignored, office was. She mentioned yesterday evening that she had a pencil sharpener in there that she could bring down since he broke theirs. She was getting out her keys when a voice called out, “Hey, Mrs. Spooky!” Even from the footage, Scully’s eye roll was visible as she turned to look at Agent Thomas, who was walking down the hall with a bunch of other agents, some of which were the loiterers from before.

“Agent Scully or Doctor Scully, those are your two options, Agent Thomas,” she snapped. God, he was happy she never used that tone on him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. So, why do we get the honor of your presence this morning? Did Mulder let you off your leash?” Mulder felt the veins in his forehead pop out a bit from the man’s condescending tone.

“Excuse me?” she seethed, forgetting about unlocking her door to fully engage with him.

“Oh come on, you both are attached at the hip, and I’m sure more places than that,” he laughed crudely, amusing all but one of the people around him.

“We’re partners, and I don’t appreciate your lewdness.” Her lips were pursed and her eyes were narrowed, Mulder knew that was a bad sign, but apparently the men on the tape were too stupid to pick up on the signal.

“That’s a lot of dedication between partners, if ya know what I mean,” he egged on.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I lost my puppy when I was twelve, I think maybe Chupacabra ate him. Do you wanna waste your life trying to help me track him down?” Mulder’s stomach plummeted at the implications of the man’s words. He didn’t know if it was a coincidence, or if he was referencing Samantha. He saw Skinner shift in his seat and glance at Mulder as Scully had the same thought.

“I’m not going to talk to you if you’re going to be disrespectful, to me or Agent Mulder,” Scully threatened. On the video, you could clearly see Scully clenching her fists at her sides. Being the man wasn’t hit yet, he knew it must get worse.

“I’m just concerned for your safety, you’re just such a pretty little thing,” he defended with mock sincerity as his eyes roamed her body.

“I don’t need your concern.” In all seven years of working with Scully, she had never sounded so done with him as she did to Agent Thomas right now.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. He only kept his sister safe for what, eight years? You’re going to be approaching that soon won’t you? After all, how many months in total do you think you’ve been missing since st-” Scully just took a few steps forward and, naive to her ferocity, the men didn’t perceive her as a threat. Not even when she cocked her fist back and punched him hard in the face. Mulder didn’t need to question if his nose was broken anymore, the crack was audible on the tape.

It didn’t stop there, Scully angled her head up as he held a hand to his nose and she growled, “If I ever hear you mention his sister, or if I ever hear you talk about him like that again, you will regret it.” Never in his entire life had Mulder seen Scully as feral as in this clip. While he was embarrassed at the man’s words, he was overwhelmed by her fierce demonstration of loyalty.

“You fucking bitch,” the man cried. He let go of his nose for one second to strike her across the collarbone, the impact sending her body crashing into the wall. Mulder’s blood was racing at the sight, afraid of how far this was going to go, but the footage showed passerbys intervening immediately.

Skinner stopped the tape and swiveled his chair back to Mulder, anticipating a loud reaction. “Sir, he was obviously badgering her!”

“It bothers me, Mulder. Don’t think it doesn’t, but I can’t let her off simply because I like her. I could get in serious trouble. Look, he was being antagonizing, but she was the one who instigated violence, she also threatened him, and caused real physical damage. He wanted something worse, but I reamed him out and she got off with two days suspension with pay. I’m going to keep it off her record, it’s more for show. In actuality, it’s just a forced vacation in disguise,” Skinner explained.

Mulder nodded, accepting what was being said even if it still bothered him. “What about him? He shoved her against the wall.”

“Three days without pay and I told him he’d be severely reprimanded if he continued to speak derogatorily about his peers. Apparently, a few of them were messing around with the I.T. guys and were going through agent files, yours was one of the ones opened. That’s why he knew-that’s why he was so detailed. I just didn’t want you to think-” he started rambling. Mulder had always respected Skinner, but this was just solidifying it. He always had their backs and he was always looking out for them.

Mulder interrupted him as he struggled to find footing on sensitive ground. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate all you did.”

Skinner nodded at his words, replying softly, “Don’t mention it.” He snapped back into his professional persona as quickly as he had fallen out of it, speaking back at a loud volume, “I’m serious, don’t mention it. This day was a headache to say the least. The sooner I can forget it, the better.”

Mulder smiled appreciatively and got up from his chair. As his hand reached the knob he turned back around, “Sir?” Skinner looked up in acknowledgement, “How did Scully take all this?” The memory of her apologizing and dismissing him came back, and his worry along with it.

“She seemed upset. Not at the punishment, that she accepted like the professional she is. I honestly think she was upset that this was being made such a big deal and that there wouldn’t be a way to hide it from you.” Skinner replied as he sorted through files on his desk.

Mulder nodded and left the room without another word. Initially he assumed it was because Scully was embarrassed she lost her temper, but it quickly dawned on him that she was probably upset that he’d end up hearing and believing Agent Thomas’ words.

Speak of the devil.

As Mulder left the office area, he ran into the man in question. “Then out of nowhere, the bitch went hysterical-” Mulder didn’t hear the rest. He didn’t need to. He closed the distance between them, extending his hand back at the same time before landing a solid punch to Agent Thomas’ face, landing on, what used to be, his good side. He wasn’t lying about punching the next person to call her a bitch.

Instead of the loud jeers and aggression he was expecting, everyone was dead silent, except for the resonance of the impact and the dips of blood falling on the floor. The stillness made Skinner’s voice behind him all the more alarming. “Agent Mulder, my office now. ”

He followed behind without any regrets dampening his stride, the sounds of disgruntled men not nearly as loud as his powerful footsteps hitting the linoleum. He closed the door he had opened not only two minutes ago and attempted a joke, “Well, I didn’t mention it, per se.”

Skinner looked at him, slight amusement hiding behind the mask of authority. “Two days suspension, with pay, but don’t think you both can go around punching people and get a vacation out of it. This is a one time situation, you picked the right person to punch and you needed the vacation time anyway. Honestly you cleared up my schedule this week, I was going to have to meet with you both about your expiring vacation time and I needed to reprimand him for his behavior.” Mulder just stood in shock at the light slap on the wrist he just got which prompted Skinner to continue. “Enjoy yourself, both of you deserve to have time off. Do whatever it is that you guys do together and come back with the boxing gloves off.”

When Skinner mentioned them spending time together, he had that same suggestive tone in his voice everyone got when they mentioned Scully and his relationship; prompting a reaction to a question with an unsatisfying answer. Mulder chose to pretend like he didn’t hear it, and just appreciated the man’s kindness. “Thank you, seriously.”

Skinner half smirked at him before muttering, “Get out of here. I mean it this time, I don’t wanna see you for the next two days.”

Taking his advice, Mulder left, grabbed some files out of the office, and drive home. It took him longer than normal though because he was constantly debating on whether or not to go to Scully’s. He assumed she was probably there, but with every idea he had that prompted him to go, there was another that directed him back home. He was afraid that she was upset she, yet again, put her career on the line for him, but he knew she’d tell him she was responsible for her own choices and not to think about it like that. He was worried she was mad at herself and would be mad at him by association, she was rarely mad at him so it made him uncomfortable when she was. He didn’t know what to do, so he just pulled up to his apartment after driving in the rain for a few hours.

He decided he’d give her a few more hours of peace before calling her, so he went to the bathroom, changed into a t-shirt and running shorts, and sat down on the couch to watch some TV. The bright red lights below it flashed 5:45pm, about the time he got home on a normal work day, he noted with slight dejection. This two day suspension really took away from the only time he actually got to spend with Scully.

As soon as he reached for the remote, a hurried knock rapt on his door. He stood up and walked over, only to see a tuft of red peeking through the peephole. He opened the door and was met with a soaking wet Scully in her exercise clothes. She looked as surprised to see him as he must have to her. “Oh, I didn’t know if you’d be home yet.”

He quickly ushered her inside and ran to the bathroom to get towels while calling out to her, “Scully, you’re drenched, did you walk here?”

He bounded down the hallway to see her still standing where he left her, looking like a drowned rat, a cute drowned rat, but a drowned rat nonetheless. There was a small puddle growing around her feet and droplets were falling from the ends of her hair. “No, I was going for a run to clear my mind and I wanted to swing by.” She didn’t say anything as he unfolded the towel and wrapped it around her, engulfing her in the worn terrycloth. He rubbed down her arms and her hair through the towel as she just stood there. Her face was set in determination and Mulder was curious what she was stewing about.

“What were you trying to clear it of?” he asked, as he moved to the kitchen to make them some coffee, happy when he heard her feet padding behind him.

“Did Skinner tell you why I wasn’t at the office today?” she asked.

“Yeah, he showed me,” he replied, letting the coffee maker brew behind him.

She put her head in her hands before looking back up at him with a flustered, contrite expression, one he’d never seen her wear before, “Mulder, I am so sorry.”

He exhaled a laugh with no humor behind it and asked, “W-why? Scully, you have no reason to-”

“Yes, Mulder I do. I feel like I embarrassed you,” she interrupted. Her voice quivered a little bit and he realized she was genuinely upset by this.

“I don’t understand how you could even think that,” he reassured, moving a bit closer to her.

“I shouldn’t have reacted that way. Now everyone’s talking about it and I know you’re private as far as that information is concerned and now I’m afraid I’ve caused you more harm than good. I just got so angry when I heard them talking about you like that, about stuff they know nothing about. I just spend so much time with you that it irritates me to hear people question how great of an agent you are, and-” he cut her off by cupping her face in his hands and making her take a second to look at him and breathe.

When he could tell she was focused on him, he spoke slowly, “Scully, what you did for me today was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. I’m not being hyperbolic either. No one has ever stood up for me like that. Please don’t beat yourself up over something that meant the world to me,” he implored.

She smiled lightly, seeming to accept his words as she looked away, darting her eyes to the coffee that was ready as a way to break the air of pleasant tension they always seemed to unintentionally create and avoid with much-too practiced ease. He took the queue and let her go, moving to pour their cups. It dawned on him that he hadn’t yet told her about his suspension, and he decided he might as well confess along with her. “It’s actually funny, I was thinking of calling you to apologize because I was afraid I had embarrassed you,” he laughed as he passed the mug to her.

“Why?” she repeated with her eyebrow cocked.

“I took a note from your book on how to handle those that talk ill of my partner.”

She paused a moment, just staring at him and deciphering his meaning. He didn’t miss the upward quirk of her lip before she asked, “Who did you hit?”

“Agent Thomas,” he replied as she took a drink from her mug.

Her eyes widened and she let out a surprised laugh, “Agent Thomas? What did he say now?”

“I think he was retelling the story of what you did.”

She blushed a bit at the reminder of her actions, but didn’t reveal anything beyond that. “You think?”

He chuckled shyly as he watched her rub the towel over her head again to try and dry her hair more. “Well, I didn’t really hear anything beyond him calling you a bitch.”

An incredulous laugh escaped her lip as she exclaimed, “You hit him just because he called me a bitch?”

“Of course I did,” he shrugged.

“Mulder, if you punched everyone at that building who’s called me a bitch, your fist would break,” she explained with slight self-deprecation.

“I know a good doctor,” he quipped with a wink, pleased with the smile it elicited.

She rolled her eyes playfully and moved to sit down on the couch, placing her towel under her. He followed her and sat next to her, taking in her damp form. As of late, she’d hung out over at his place more than just occasionally. He now got to see her in more than just business casual clothes or a rare pyjama, he finally was getting to see what leisure-Scully looked like. However, this was the first time he’d ever seen something like this. She obviously had been going on a run and was wearing her exercise clothes which consisted of running tights and a tight tank top. He didn’t mean to stare, but from the two pebbles on her chest, she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her face was slightly flushed from her excursion and the remaining wetness of her hair would drip onto her skin and trail down until they disappeared into the valley of her chest. She looked gorgeous.

He was happy that she could just come into his apartment nowadays and act like she was at home. She even kept some food at his place for when they had movie marathons because she claimed he ate ‘nothing but junk.’ They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before she set down her mug to softly say, “Thank you, Mulder. I really appreciate you defending me. It’s-sweet, and I’ve never really had someone do that for me before.”

Mulder looked over at her and noticed she looked almost shy. They were so close on the couch that he was able to nudge her with his elbow to make her look at him. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. Defending my honor and my sister in the middle of the Hoover Building, punching a man twice your size, and then threatening him. Gotta say, it was as moving as it was hot.” He mentally slapped himself for not being able to have a serious moment without throwing in a flippant comment or joke, but she smiled at him and then it didn’t matter anymore

“What can I say? I guess I’m a little territorial,” she laughed. He loved the idea that she was as territorial and protective of him as he was her. He took a chance and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her in a side hug and pressing a kiss to her temple. He pulled his head back and turned it, only to feel her press a kiss to his cheek.

He turned to look at her and saw nervous excitement and anxiety in her eyes. Neither of them had really pulled back and, looking face to face, they were only a few inches apart. His arm was still around her and their sides were flush. Her eyes kept boring into his, as if silently asking if this was going to be the night they went farther as he sat there thinking the same thing. He caught her eyes flitting down to his lips, and she unconsciously licked her bottom lip. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he figured it was inevitable at this point.

He leaned closer, gaining confidence when he felt her moving closer to him as well, and he pressed his mouth to hers. The sensations of actually having Scully kiss him were indescribable. He always knew it would be great, but he should have suspected Scully would be as efficient at this as she was in every other aspect of her life. To say she was a good kisser didn’t do it justice. Scully bared her soul with her lips. She was so passionate and loving. Her lips were tender and soft under his own.

Their tongues ran over each others like two friends meeting up after years apart. One hand entangled in her wet hair and the other wrapped around her waist in an attempt to pull her closer to him. Scully, as always, helped him more than he could have hoped for, and she swung one leg over him so she was straddling him.

In his wildest dreams, he never would have expected to have Scully sitting on his lap straddling him. He also never would have anticipated the subtle way she knew how to kill him with a movement of her hips. God, there's nothing this woman couldn’t do. He ran his hands up her back and he couldn’t help but smile, inevitably breaking the kiss. “What?” she panted through kiss-swollen lips. Her dilated eyes looking at him with curiosity.

“You’re still soaking wet,” he panted back, moving his hands to her hips and doing an appreciative sweep of her torso with his eyes.

Then Scully shocked him for what felt like the fiftieth time today. A seductive smile graced her lips and she purred, “You have no idea,” and leaned her crotch so it was flush on his erection. He groaned as his head lolled back in pleasure. He could feel how hot she was through her pants and it was painfully arousing.

She utilized the moment to reach down to grab the hem of his shirt, humorously imprinted with the wet silhouette of her body, yanking it over his head. He quickly helped her, discarding the shirt to someplace that didn’t matter to him at this moment because all he could focus on was Scully ripping off her own shirt. Her areolas were a beautiful pink color and her nipples were standing at attention, like he had noticed earlier. She was still looking at him from her perch with wanton desire, but shy insecurity was threatening to peak through.

He quickly dispelled her worries by telling her the same sentence that ran through his mind and dreams on a daily basis, “You are so breathtakingly beautiful.” She smiled, revealing more pearly white teeth then he could ever remember seeing before, and he almost felt bad that he immediately covered it with a kiss, he just couldn’t help it.

The sensation of her bare breasts and torso against his own made his skin feel like it was on fire. He moved his lips off hers and kissed a trail down her neck, then her breastbone before lavishing her breasts with affection. He flicked his tongue back and forth across the nubs, eliciting small gasps and little moans from her. After intermittently doing this for a few minutes, she was squirming on his lap and had to pull him away. She got up and, much to his delirious happiness, removed her pants, underwear, and socks in one swift movement.

Dana Scully is standing naked in front of me, Dana Scully is standing naked in front of me, Dana Scully is standing naked in front of me.

He felt like his brain had short circuited, only vaguely paying attention to the fact he was disrobing his running shorts so he could match her. When his shorts were off he noticed her hungry eyes devouring every inch of his body, appreciation all over her features. It sent another shot of arousal straight through him. Even through the haze of lust, his crippling self-doubt still nagged at the back of his mind, forcing him to ask, “Scully, I just want to make sure you’re okay with this. I don’t want you to regret this.”

It must not have come out as confident as he wanted, because a comforting smile lifted one side of her lips and she stepped closer to him, cradling his jaw with her hands. “Mulder, I’m more than okay. I think you know how long we’ve been waiting for this.” He smiled at her words and she pushed him down on the same couch they had spent so many nights yearning for each other on.

She straddled him once more and the scent of her arousal wafted to him and he swore he could get drunk from the smell. He watched her as she took the utmost care and dedication to lining them up, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she looked down to guide him. His breath was taken away as her piercing blue eyes flitted to his as she eased herself down his shaft.

Her mouth opened as she gasped lightly. His fists were clutching the leather of the sofa, resisting the urge to plunge deep inside her. He wanted her to get accustomed to his girth and length without hurting her. After a moment, they were completely joined and he was hilt deep. She kissed him on the mouth sweetly for such an erotic moment, and they savored this moment that would be a landmark in their relationship; they were finally joined as one.

She put her hands on his shoulders and started rocking against him strongly, her breasts bouncing in his face, much to his added pleasure. She felt exquisite. She was clutching onto him with a tight grip and she was lewdly wet. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride knowing that he was the cause of it. Scully oozed sexuality and wore it like a second skin, watching her was more arousing than anything he’d ever seen before. Sweat was starting to bead at her hairline and her face was flushed while contorted into pure pleasure.

His hands gripped her waist to help her momentum as he thrust into her. When he slid a little on the couch she gasped and in a strangled voice whispered, “Ah, right there, right there.” He continued with a purpose and enjoyed hearing her moans become a bit more constant. He moved one hand to where they joined and circled her throbbing clit. She started thrusting herself down on him harder and harder as she started chasing her orgasm. After a particularly hard thrust, she gasped and threw her head back, screaming his name in ecstacy. He watched as she spasmed against him and he kept flicking his finger back and forth until a shaky hand reached down to grab his wrist. She was smiling at him and placed a wet kiss to his mouth before she giggled into it.

He moved her so that her back was on the couch and he was over her, resuming their previous actions. Thank god for women’s non-existent refractory period because Scully was meeting him with equal vigor, wrapping her arms around him, fingernails scraping on his back.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, Scully,” he grunted, barely coherent through the pleasure.

“I’m yours,” she moaned. Her words went straight to his cock and with each thrust he couldn’t help but chant mine, she’s mine, Scully wants me. He felt his balls tighten, but he wanted to get her off again before he did. He leaned up so he was sitting on his calves, reclined back, and he grabbed the undersides of her thighs and dragged her on top of him, raising her hips and hitting her at a perfect angle.

Her head burrowed into the couch and her hands raised to the arm of the couch to desperately cling on. He gyrated a bit to brush more against her clit and it was a success, her back arched and she cried his name like god’s once more. The visual of her and the sound of her voice send him into an overdrive, and with a few more thrusts, he was cumming deep inside her pulsating walls.

Without slipping out of her, he switched them so that he was laying on his back and she was laying on top of him. They were both breathing heavily and she was idly playing with his chest hair, occasionally kissing his chest. “That was incredible,” she sighed in contentment. After a moment she pivoted so her chin was resting on his chest and asked, “Did you get suspended too?” He nodded and she laid back down smiling.

“Now we have two whole days for repeat performances, just like Skinner implied to me as I left,” he joked.

She laughed for a second before realizing the last part, “Wait, Skinner said what?”

[ezwra]

A Hymn For Your Gods [NovaHD]

self indulgent torture lol ha ha yeet

quick warning for graphic broken bone description and weird kissing of the hostage idk

[Ao3 Link]

They’re fire and ice. Wild and unruly, cold and calculated. They’re strong apart, but together they are an unstoppable force. Aleksandr, the serbian glacier, an ethereal blue in the desert heat of LA; james, the wildfire, a rush of dry heat and energy, ruddy cheeks and tangled hair. They combine together almost perfectly, whether it be in the line of fire or tangled together under sheets with grasping hands and mouths against sweaty, blood stained skin. They would kill for each other, losing their weak grasp on their control and massacring anyone that dared hurt their counterpart.

Today was one of those days; however, they decided to use this to their advantage.

The latest man, average height with greying hair and an ugly scar on the side of his head, had caught aleks off guard, taking him down with a smoke bomb and a rusted crowbar. They had managed to capture him in the act, brett striking the man down before james could slaughter him where he stood, instead sending the vengeful man to aleks’ side. They dragged him back to a safehouse, off the grid in the middle of the desert, and tied him up securely in the basement, AC at full blast and the cold room only getting colder as night set in. The gas mask the man used is still around his neck, a crack in one of the lenses and a blood splatter across the front, and the crowbar is on the trolley a few feet away. The room is dark, dingy, water-stained lights not doing much to illuminate anything. The floor, previously tiled with white slabs, is covered with various shades of red and brown, the coppery stench still filling the room. The walls are still white, though, with the occasional splatter.

The door opens suddenly with a loud screech, hinges protesting and practically making the room shake with the harsh sound. James is the first to step in, face gloomy and stern, followed by aleks. He’s still in a bit of a state, face bruised dark up one side and an arm wrapped around his own body for support. James is still in his clothes from the job, a black tee with a leather jacket, patched up messily with amateur stitching, none of the threads matching the leather, and some blood stained jeans, faded at the knees and the seat, a loose thread hanging at the thigh. Aleks is now in more casual clothes; a pair of grey sweats with shallow pockets, phone poking out slightly, and a black vest, tattooed arms out in the open in all their bruised and bandaged glory. He’s barefoot, too, the padding of his feet against cold tile ringing out uncomfortably in the room, but he doesn't seem to care, the cold echoing his most comfortable space.

James steps forwards and pulls a second chair out, quickly returning to aleks’ side and guiding him over with a hand on the small of his back. It’s the calmest he’s been for a while, pressed close to aleks and doing his best to hide him from the man that tried to take him away- aleks settles a hand on his shoulder, smiling small and soothing, a look in his eye reading calm, he can't hurt me. James nods slow and settles the fire in his chest, quelling it to gentle embers, only there to keep his aleks warm. He settles in the seat, shifting to sit at an angle on the chair, before coaxing aleks into his lap, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady and settling his chin gently on his shoulder, glaring at the man across from them.

Aleks is careful, he settles down and settles one of his hands over james’ where it rests on his stomach and wincing very slightly at the press of a warm hand against the tender flesh. He links their fingers, sighing out and rolling his shoulders before looking to the man again, eyes dark and icy as he talks, each word a sharp noise in the tense silence, “who do you work for?” The man says nothing, staring them down quietly. He’s obviously nervous, sweat beading on his brow and lip close to bleeding with how hard he’s chewing at it, fingers clutching at the arms of the chair and causing the aged wood to creak. Aleks can't help but commend his bravery, but he knows he’ll break.

They all do, eventually.

“It would be smart if you spoke now, you know. We would kill you much faster,” aleks’ voice is airy and casual, a sweet smile spreading across his face, “maybe we’d let you say goodbye to your family, too.”

The man sneers, “either way, you’ll sic your dog on me,” he gestures his head towards james, “he’s more like your bitch, with how he follows you around, a desperate boy looking for some order. Does he wear a leash when you’re alone?”

Aleks just sighs, shaking his head slow, “you think you’re so funny, don't you? No one’s laughing. First you hurt me,” james stiffens at that, arm wrapping tighter around aleks with a low growl, “then, you insult my jamie?” he strokes feather light fingers along james’ arm, nails dragging slightly against the grain of his arm hair, fingers catching slightly on the smooth scar tissue, “we can't have that, now, can we?” aleks looks back at james, eyes soft and mouth down turned into a small frown.

James shakes his head with a slow frown, leaning up and bumping his nose against aleks’ as a small act of comfort, intimacy in such a heartless room, love overflowing from the flames and into the ice, “no, we can't, doll…” he gently stands up, helping aleks with his hands on his hips and letting them linger against the pale skin before gently sitting him down, kissing his forehead with little more than a brush of lips against the sweat slicked skin, the warmth of james’ mouth sending a shudder through aleks. James strides over to the trolley carefully, boots ringing out in the small room, and studies each of the weapons carefully. They had been cultivated from many places; from traitors with fingers too fast on the trigger, from assassins with sharp tongues and even sharper knives, from hackers who were in over their heads with household objects and sheer determination. The crew decided that they shouldn't use their own tools during interrogation, during torture. As they say - you should keep business and pleasure apart.

But james can't help the rush of bliss that comes from the way the man trembles in his seat at the sight of the crowbar, the same one he had used on aleks mere hours before. His fingers wrap carefully around the rough metal, rust coming off on the pads of his fingers in reddish brown smears and flaking off to the floor. He walks back over, dragging the curve of the metal bar against the man’s cheek and reveling in the soft whimper, looking to aleks for orders, for guidance.

Aleks smiles sweetly in return, ice cracking under the heat and letting a refreshing stream of water flow, “make him hurt, my love. Hurt him like he hurt me, like he hurt you.” james’ fingers tighten around the metal and he doesn't hesitate before swinging the metal down harshly onto the man’s chest, the cry of anguish sending a low thrum of pleasure through him, deep and bassy. Aleks watches on quietly, studying his flame and watching it turn to a violent beast, the crowbar coming down over and over against the man’s body. The final strike, shattering the man’s left forearm and causing the bone to break away cleanly, breaks the man in a similar fashion.

“Fake AH! I work for Fake AH!”

Aleks hides his noise of disgust, shaking his head and standing slow. He walks over carefully, stroking over james’ arm as he passes before settling in the man’s lap, straddling him elegantly and gently bringing his hands up to the man’s neck. He strokes along the warm flesh - not warm like james, instead warm and tacky with fear and sweat and adrenaline - and croons sweetly, leaning down and pressing their heads together. The man leans into it, sobbing softly in pain as he presses eagerly into the gentle touches, craving the sweet words and tones.

This is what aleks is good at, wearing them down mentally if james can't break them physically. The ice a formidable opponent to the strong mind. Aleks brings his hands up to hold the man’s face, smiling soft and gentle as he wipes the tears away before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, both mouths tasting of copper, yet one lined with the indescribable and addictive taste of fear. He separates slow, thumb brushing along his bottom lip and wiping some blood away, “baby, we can't have you lying, can we? That’s not very nice…”

James watches on, the fire burning stronger as he watches the man give in to aleks’ vices. Aleks is his, always has been and always will be, no matter the situation. The pleasure that comes with the man’s blatant fear, though, makes it all worth it, “n-no, please, i- uh- i'm telling the truth! I'm not lying!”

Aleks tuts, leaning in close and pressing a comforting kiss to the man’s jaw and spreading them down along the tight chords in his neck, taking a knife offered by james and smiling a little against the man’s skin, “you see, baby, i can tell you’re lying…” he gently slides his hands up the man’s shirt, unbuttoning it smoothly as he goes and pressing his palms flat to the strong chest, too smooth for his liking, not thick and hairy like his james, “the golden boy raised me up, made me who i am today, gave me my best weapon...” the first press of the knife, just the flat side, cool against his skin, “the king pin taught me to love my crew, gave me my first tattoo and held my hand though it…” he twists the knife, the blunt end creating a white line where it causes the man’s skin to strain slightly, “the vagabond and mogar taught me to control my anger, to let it fester before unleashing it, they helped me at my worst and encouraged me at my best…” he turns the blade to the sharp side, ghosting it along the man’s ribs and tracing subtle shapes, “brown man, rimmy tim, beardo… they all lead me here, they made me who i am now, and yet…” he adjusts his grip on the knife, kissing the corner of the man’s mouth with a soft sigh, “you claim you work for them. Why should i believe you?”

The man sobs desperately, quaking in his seat and using his good hand to grip the arm of the chair, “i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i don't know who they worked for, they just hired me, it was a hit, i didn't-” he gasps and goes silent when the tip of the knife, cold and sharp, presses against his neck, the knife shifting slightly with his thrumming pulse.

“Another lie.” aleks is slowly beginning to lose his patience, twisting the knife and watching the single drop of blood rise up and travel along the knife before dripping off onto the man’s pants. The ice is beginning to crack, tremors shaking the foundations, “why can't you be good for me, baby?”

All the man can do is sob and pant a breathy i'm sorry over and over, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. James watches quietly, studying aleks and the way his back bows slightly, the hand with the knife tight in its grip shaking gently, the other hand gripping the back of the man’s chair. He steps forwards, standing behind aleks and gently moving him to rest against his abdomen, settling a gentle hand on his chest with a soft hum. Aleks looks up at james quietly, letting his walls down for just a moment; he's tired, the painkillers are wearing off and he’s slowly growing breathless, but he uses that to his advantage. He leans into james’ warmth, grinning soft at the man, “baby, i know you’re sorry, we’re gonna make sure you are.” his innocent tone greatly contrasts the words that flow out, too sweet and sticky like grenadine.

For the first cut, aleks moves the blade down to the fleshy part of his abdomen and cuts slow and shallow, then bringing the knife back across the same line in a saw motion, “sing, baby. Sing a choir song for me, nice and loud…” the man grits his teeth, determined, his chest heaving as he sucks in shallow breaths.

Aleks frowns at the silence, furrowing his brows. James lets out a low snarl at this, fire licking gently at ice as he kisses aleks’ temple before stepping behind the man, threading a hand in his greying hair and tugging harshly so he faces aleks, voice sharp and foreboding, “he said sing,” james digs his thumb into the shattered bones of his left forearm and pressing the upper half down, separating the bone further before pinching the lower half, “so you’d better sing, or i’ll make sure you never fucking talk.”

The howling wail the man lets out brings a bright smile to aleks’ face, one that assures james he would do anything to never see it wiped away from his handsome face. He grips the man’s arm tighter, skin starting to split where the bone pierces through, blood trickling out before pouring out along the arm of the chair, adding fresh crimson to the dull reds and browns on the floor. Aleks watches with a hungry look, eyes meeting james’ and, despite the pain lancing through him every few moments, aleks falls even more in love with the crazed man before him.

He laughs soft, sweet like honey and just as sticky, capturing both men in front of him in a trap of bliss, “that’s it, baby, such a pretty tune…” he takes the knife away from the messy groove in his stomach, dragging it up the man’s body before slicing the skin of his chest gently, “and as much as i love it, we need the truth from you. We’re gonna continue like this until you tell the truth,” he leans forwards, mouth brushing the shell of the man’s ear, “or until you bleed out; we’re not gonna get tired, cause hurting you makes my jamie happy, and if he's happy, i'm happy…” he moves his arms around the man’s neck, dragging the knife along and creating a deep cut trailing along his shoulder and around the back of his neck.

James hums, kissing the back of aleks’ hand with a low grumble, “i'm certainly very happy…”

Aleks nods, smiling sweet against the man’s temple and shuddering at the meek whimper, “so… who do you work for?”

The man shudders, hiccuping before whispering his answer, trying his best to move his head but unable to due to the tight grip in his hair. Aleks smiles so sweet and beautiful, sighing out happily and kissing the man’s forehead before taking his face into his hands, “thank you so much, baby, now i can go rest up…” aleks stands slow, shuffling over to the trolley and placing the knife down after cleaning it off, then turning to james and shuffling closer before pecking his lips soft, hugging his neck. This is more tender, more loving and kind than with the man, more honest, “you’re free to have your fun now, jamie, m’gonna go lay down for a bit, my chest hurts…”

James nods slow, kissing aleks’ jaw soft, mouth ghosting over the mottled bruises, “you sure you don't want me with you? He can wait until tomorrow, and i don't want you alone…”

Aleks leans into the gentle touches before wincing, sighing again and nodding, “yeah, honey. You have your fun, but don't take too long,” he grins, soft and sweet, before stepping away, turning around and walking to the door. He steps out and shuts it after himself, lingering briefly to listen to the begging and pleading for mercy, then retreating off to bed for rest.

The ice is cold and the fire is hot. The ice is melted by the fire, the fire is put out by the water. They are each other’s weakness, yet they wouldn't change it for the world.

[gfriendlighting460]

Dating Sites With Trans Option

Brook Shelley’s previous work for The Toast can be found here, and our previous coverage of trans* issues can be found here.

Hearing about people being afraid of or not open to dating a trans person is just one reason why it is so hard to date as a trans person. And even though I have heard it many times before, it is still hard to confront. I looked at eight popular dating sites to see which are the most gender inclusive. Dating only trans people, at least here in my local community, do not seem like a realistic option since we are too few. Finding the right person would be next to impossible. Well, that was my 2 cents on that. I,m actually surprised by the comments so far. TRANSGENDER, PANSEXUAL, LESBIAN, GAY, GENDER-FLUID, Bi-SEXUAL & NON-BINARY DATING SITE & SUPPORT. We are a Transgender, Pansexual, Lesbian, Gay, Gender-fluid, Bi-sexual & Non-Binary dating site where you can find support, make friends, talk to others about their journey, look for love and so much more. Reddit’s r/t4t subreddit is essentially a personals-style online dating forum for transgender people. While it’s not as detailed as more established trans dating sites, this subreddit is designed.

Welcome to lesbian trans womanhood. I know, we aren’t supposed to say that. Welcome anyway. Let’s assume you know two things: that you are a woman, and that you like other women. Good. That’s a fine place to start. Follow along, and we will get you from this humble beginning, to being a real-live dater.

Take a deep breath. Ready?

1. First, lower your expectations. Whatever you think might happen in the next few paragraphs, or in the next few months, expect less.

Dating Sites With Trans Options

This isn’t in reference to any particular difficulty facing trans women, though there are many; it is always helpful to lower your expectations. Low expectations mean high excitement at small success.

For example, if you expect to dance alone at a bar, you will be thrilled to find that someone beautiful is dancing with you. Repeat as needed.

2. Next, create an online dating profile. OkCupid, Match, or Tinder; it doesn’t really matter where, but you’ll need one. This is how you meet shy lesbians. You may be shy yourself. This could be the best place for you.

3. Spend quite a bit of time agonizing over the photos and your description and hobbies. Be clever. Be charming. Ask a few close friends, “would you theoretically date me based on this profile?” Hear them laugh a little. Tell them, “No, I’m serious. Is any of this good?”

4. Take their advice. If they have no advice, find some other friends. Without them, you will end up posting a photo with kale in your teeth, or where there is clearly a dog using the restroom in the background. You will not notice this on your own.

5. While you wait for responses, go find the queerest bar nearby. Attend events specifically targeted towards lesbians like you. Dance. Get used to dancing. The music will likely not be great. Get used to a mix of pop hits, Shakira, and Bikini Kill. Don’t try to explain why Kathleen Hanna is problematic while dancing.

6. Wonder, “why do so many of these girls have bow-ties on?”

There is no answer.

7. Assume they must not be able to take them off. Do not offer to help them take their bow-ties off. Just dance away.

8. Flirt. Often.

9. Hone your ability to turn a conversation into a fun tête-à-tête. Read the face and responses of the other people. Assume that at any moment, they might sour, and you will need to disengage. Be lighthearted. Be friendly. Don’t press anyone, and focus on enjoying yourself. Cool people enjoy themselves. Cool people are definitely not sweating horribly, right now, as they dance around the room, hoping for a match. When someone asks how you are doing, never mention the harassment, mis-gendering, or stress you’re going through. They don’t actually want to know that stuff yet. Talk to your aforementioned friends about those.

10. Hear, “wow, you’re tall,” at most of these events. Kiss a few people, gently. Brace yourself for the inevitable pre-hookup question or revelation about your body or identity. Practice explaining why “biological woman” is ridiculous. Use lines like “Of course I’m a biological woman, and not a cyber woman… or a giant snake.” At no point be seen unhinging your jaw to devour a goat.

Also try, “Hi, this is how my body works… and this is what I like.”

11. Be prepared for some rejection at this point. Practice your smile and, “Ok, that’s fine, I had fun,” response to “I can’t sleep with you now,” or “I’m just not attracted to (your genitals),” or “I’m a gold star lesbian, I can’t sleep with you.” You may also hear, “you’re so brave.”

12. Find ways to forgive them in your heart for being such shitheels.

13. Be surprised when not everyone rejects you. Bask in the glow of reciprocal attraction when it does occur – it may be rare. You may want to high-five the women who are still attracted to you, regardless of what you discuss. Resist. High-fives are firmly in second date territory.

14. Check your phone. Oh, your mom called. Call your mom back. Remind her that you won’t be meeting any nice boys because you are a lesbian. Yes, you might want to settle down. No, there’s not much going on lately. Yes, you’re really a lesbian. No, this isn’t a phase. Yes, you did get the dress she sent… it’s… nice. Tell her you love her. Hang up.

15. Check your phone again. There sure are a lot of biologists on your online dating site.

How’d they get access to my karyotype? Did they take a blood sample?

What’s that game? You know the one… Where complete strangers ask you about your genitals? https://gfriendlighting460.tumblr.com/post/655947581619388416/dating-anyone-in-carrboro-nc. You’ll be playing this whether you like it or not a lot more often now. It is not possible to win this game.

Does Tinder Have A Trans Option

16. Use some of your flirting skills from being at the bar while you are online. Realize those skills don’t translate. A lot of people online are too shy to go out, so they will not know how to respond to you. You may be seen as forward, or at least not shy enough. Carry on.

17. Talk about books. Talk about food. Talk about anything but how you’ll probably never meet up, and if you do, there won’t be a second date. There often isn’t a second date.

18. Get ready to hear a lot of very surface-level readings of Judith Butler. Take heed that many of your fellow women have taken exactly one women’s and gender studies course in college, and “know all about being transgendered.” (sic) Be prepared to hear girls talk about how they’re “not really feminists, because they like to have fun.” Feel free to shake your head and pour a drink. Get better at reading through their answers to weed out the ubiquitous racism, transmisogyny, littering, and incompatible goals. Remember that you don’t have to settle.

19. You should probably have a pet. I should have said this at the beginning. Choose: cat or dog. Go adopt your choice animal. Start at the top. I can wait. You may be alone for a while.

20. Find a partner or dater. At some point, you will succeed. You will feel like you won the lesbian lottery. You will be elated in your heart that someone cares about you, and wants to kiss you… like more than once a week. High fives may be appropriate at this point.

These dating sites aren’t just for women either. The detailed description of the freebie is published on the blog. Find society & people themes in the same name category at Template/p Read More. JerkBoy – This app has been called the most honest, accurate dating service out there. It’s a tool for users to showcase. 18-25 years old; 26-39 years old and looking for short-term fun; 26-39 years old and looking for girlfriend material; 40+ years old; The Best Dating Apps For Men Ages 18 To 25 1. Tinder is the most popular dating app in the US. You probably have a buddy who met his girlfriend on it. Step further like for example most dating websites, if you want to actually communicate with other members then you need to subscribe to a membership and you get full benefits of the website. If you're serious then out of those 3 go with Match. You will definitely get hit up, probably too many to count and you'll most likely make a ton of guys wonder why girls never respond hahaha. Dating was created and is run by Dan and a group year techies who truly care about what they do. Security and privacy dating top olds at Teens Town, which is why the olds verifies every member and ensures dating no adult content shows up on the site. Teens Town also every to help you have fun and connect with your fellow teens. ★★★★★ Match.com 4.8/5.0. Our expert ratings are based on factors such as. Best dating websites for 19 year olds.

21. Prepare yourself for anyone you date to be called a chaser. It doesn’t matter if they actually care about you for who you are as a person, there are many who enjoy distilling you to your transgender history. Gird your loins against the barbs flung at you and your partner. Learn to laugh, and to cry. Embrace being a really hot lesbian with a super amazing girlfriend. It’s pretty great.

22. Laugh to yourself at all the ridiculously sad people who would want to hurt you and your partner. Try to not be burned by them with every single uneducated, casual insult. It will sting, but you can be strong.

23. But, most of all, have fun! Being a lesbian trans woman is probably the best thing in the world. Be proud of yourself. Be excited. You get to kiss other girls.

Elite dating site. Questions about online dating? Enjoy our ultimate online dating guide; Interracial Dating. If there were previously stereotypes, preconceptions or presumptions about interracial dating, these outdated attitudes are transforming as more and more American singles are seeking partners from other ethnic groups, and couples’ relationships no longer being defined along racial lines. It’s fair to say that our interracial dating community represents the enlightened majority in American society. A Gallup poll in 2013 found that 96% of black people and 84% of white people approve marriage between blacks and whites. This means that 87% of Americans overall see no problem with black-white marriage, up from a meager 4% in 1958 1. Interracial dating: meeting singles serious about love. According to Statistics Canada, the number of long-term Canadian couples in partnerships that can be described as mixed unions has doubled over the last 20 years. 1 For those in lesbian relationships or gay. Interracial dating in SA: meet singles who suit you. When you search for interracial dating sites it can be tough to find supportive platforms that encourage long-term commitment. At EliteSingles, however, we cater for South African men and women who desire more from love; making us the dating site to use if you’re looking for compatible. Interracial dating: meeting singles serious about love. According to the Office of National Statistics, almost one in 10 people living in Britain is married to or living with someone from outside their own ethnic group. Clearly, there are single men and women in the UK for whom interracial dating.

Brook is a queer trans woman living in Portland who hangs out with her cat, and does all manner of technical magic for a software company. She travels as often as possible, and can often be found on her couch, reading and enjoying a cider.

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[tacticalshit]

YouTube Active Shooter was an animal rights protester furious with the ‘dictatorial’ site for ‘censoring her videos and not paying her’

More is coming out on the shooter.

The Daily Mail Writes

The woman who shot three people before killing herself with a handgun at YouTube’s California headquarters has been identified as 38-year-old Nasim Aghdam.

The female shooter, who witness say was wearing glasses and a scarf at the time, opened fire on employees with a handgun on Tuesday afternoon.

Law enforcement officials said the shooting was being investigated as a domestic dispute after initial reports suggested she had shot her boyfriend and injured two women.

Aghdam, whose identity was first confirmed by NBC, was a prolific YouTuber who had ranted online about the company’s ‘dictatorial’ new policies.

Officers and federal agents swarmed the company’s headquarters complex in the city of San Bruno just before 1pm after dozens of panicked employees called 911 to report gunfire.

Upon arrival, police found the woman dead inside the campus with self-inflicted gunshot wounds.

San Bruno Police Chief Ed Barberini said three people were taken to hospitals in San Francisco with gunshot wounds.

Scroll down for video 

Authorities cover a body with a yellow tarp at YouTube’s headquarters in the San Francisco Bay Area on Tuesday after a female shooter opened fire before she shot and killed herself

Terrified employees were spotted leaving YouTube’s headquarters in San Bruno, California in a line after a shooter opened fire on Tuesday afternoon

A SWAT team is picturing entering YouTube HQ in San Bruno, California, on Tuesday after reports of shots being fired inside

San Francisco General Hospital received three patients: a 36-year-old man in critical condition, a 32-year-old woman in serious condition and a 27-year-old woman in fair condition, a spokesman said.

Television news footage showed terrified employees leaving the building in a line, holding their arms in the air for police to inspect as they were leaving the building.

Officers patted down people to make sure none had weapons as police vehicles surrounded the area.

Senior software engineer Zach Vorhies said a fire alarm had gone off in the building and workers were calmly evacuating before they realized it was an active shooting.

Vorhies said as they were leaving he saw the shooter in a courtyard yelling: ‘Come at me, or come get me.’

He said he froze and then noticed a victim on his back with what looked like a gunshot wound to his stomach. Vorhies said an officer with an assault rifle then came through a security door.

Another employee, Dianna Arnspiger, said she was on the building’s second floor when she heard gun shots, ran to a window and saw the shooter on a patio outside.

She said the woman wore glasses and a scarf and was using a ‘big huge pistol.’

‘It was a woman and she was firing her gun. I just said, ‘Shooter,’ and everybody started running,’ Arnspiger said. ‘It was terrifying.’

The police chief said at a press conference that officers discovered one victim with a gunshot wound when they arrived and then found the shooter with what appeared to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound several minutes later.

He said two additional gunshot victims were later located at an adjacent business and that a fourth injured person suffered an ankle injury.

Authorities found the shooter’s body shortly after arriving. Her body, pictured above covered by a yellow tarp, was found near the shattered door (above on right)

An injured woman stands outside YouTube’s headquarters in San Bruno, California. She was bleeding from the leg and had a scratch on her face but is not thought to be one of those shot

The woman was alert and speaking to police outside the HQ. Four others remain in unknown conditions

A YouTube employee cries on the phone  after escaping the shooting on Tuesday afternoon

The adjacent business was a Carl’s Jr on the same plaza where two women fled after being shot.

Police did not release any further information on the suspect or comment on her possible motives for the shooting rampage.

The shooting had no known connection to terrorism, US government security officials said.

Disturbing live accounts were given by YouTube employees who took to Twitter as the shooting unfolded.

We were in a meeting and then we heard people running because it was rumbling the floor….I looked down and saw blood drips on the floor and stairs

YouTube project manager Todd Sherman

In a flurry of tweets, project manager Todd Sherman said: ‘We were sitting in a meeting and then we heard people running because it was rumbling the floor. First thought was earthquake.

‘After existing (sic) the room we still didn’t know what was going on but more people were running. Seemed serious and not like a drill.

‘We headed towards the exit and then saw more people and someone said that there was a person with a gun. S**t.

‘At that point every new person I saw was a potential shooter. Someone else said that the person shot out the back doors and then shot themselves.

‘I looked down and saw blood drips on the floor and stairs. Peaked (sic) around for threats and then we headed downstairs and out the front.’

Employee Vadim Lavrusik was one of the first to report the shooting, tweeting at around 1pm on Tuesday: ‘Active shooter at YouTube HQ. Heard shots and saw people running while at my desk. Now barricaded inside a room with coworkers.’

Soon after, he tweeted: ‘Safe. Got evacuated it. Outside now.’

Heavily armed police stood guard outside the front entrance of YouTube’s headquarters after the shooting broke out on Tuesday afternoon

YouTube employees leave the scene on Tuesday after a woman shot four people then herself

Google CEO Sundar Pichai said the parent company of YouTube was doing everything it can to support the victims and their families

A worker from Carl’s Jr. next door to the campus said one woman was shot in the parking lot and was brought into the restaurant to be cleaned up. Another witness reported seeing one woman being shot dead in the courtyard outside YouTube.

‘It did not stop. There was no mercy,’ the witness told Fox News.

One woman who lives next door said she heard rapid fire shots.

‘I was in my backyard and I just heard a series of…

Read more!

The post YouTube Active Shooter was an animal rights protester furious with the ‘dictatorial’ site for ‘censoring her videos and not paying her’ appeared first on Tactical Sh*t.

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[jen-kellen]

Vivere me dices, sed sic ut vivere nolim (2a/2)

Say That I Live, But So That I’d Rather Not Live

Tatiana does not leave Pilsen at age ten, she does not join the US Army, and she does not join XCOM. Her life is not better for it.

But, it’s better than it could be.

Hunter bad end, but averted. Read the start to the divergence point HERE.

She is collapsed and asleep on a cot when they find her in one of ADVENT’s prisons, and better looking than either Bradford or Volk expected for how long she had been gone. Bradford does a quick check but finds no wounds other than a few faded faded track marks on her inner arm. Not asleep, he muses, but sedated.

He carefully lifts Tatiana over his shoulder. Once he’s sure she’s secure, he turns to Volk to lead the way out of the compound.

By some miracle, they make it out undetected. Outrider rendezvous with them not far from the Reaper camp, Tatiana’s rifle slung over her back along with her own. “I found all that I could,” she tells the men, patting a satchel on her hip.

The three settle into the camp to grab what little rest they can. Bradford takes vigil beside Tatiana’s sleeping form in lieu of resting himself.

Volk sticks his head into their tent and eyes him knowingly. “We’ll have to set out again in the morning. Too close to that damn compound,” he warns. “Don’t expect me to carry you.”

“I don’t,” he assures.

Volk considers them for a second longer, then disappears to leave them be.

He misses the first signs; the twitching fingers, the slight change in her expression, the shift in her breathing. When Tatiana’s hand moves and thumps against the ground does he finally snap awake again.

“Hey,” Bradford murmurs, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face.

Even as groggy as she was, Tatiana flinches away from the contact.

He feels his heart sink. “You’re safe now, Tanya. You’re safe,” he assures.

She manages to crack her eyes open, and either the sight of him or the sound of his voice seems to pierce through the fog in her mind. “John?” she says weakly. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Definitely alive.”

“Shit.”

He reaches out to take her hand to comfort her since words were failing him.

“I can’t go back,” she groans after a few minutes.

“No one’s getting captured again. If Volk suggests something that risky again, I’ll kill him myself.”

She shakes her head. Before explaining, she takes a moment to breathe deeply and squeeze his hand. “I can’t go back to the Reapers.”

“Volk is here, you two can discuss that in the morning,” he offers. “Until then, you should rest.”

She sighs and extends her free hand shakily towards him. He needs no other invitation to lay down beside her to get the rest they both so desperately need.

She rolls onto her side and presses her face into his chest.

Volk stares at Tatiana, dumbfounded, as the other Reapers pack up the camp. She had affixed all of her belongings back onto her person with the notable exceptions of her weapons. He was left holding her rifle.

“You’re not serious,” he says incredulously.

“I am serious,” she says gruffly. “I will not go back.”

“You’d just abandon our people? After everything we’ve done?”

“Believe me when I say it is safer for me to stay away from Reaper camps from now on. Safer for all of us, that is. Outrider has shadowed me enough, she can take over my duties as second,” she says, glancing over at the other Reaper.

Outrider stills at her mention, but her mask hides any emotion. She returns to packing up camp without interrupting their conversation.

“Traveling with John isn’t going to be any safer for you,” Volk says pointedly. He offers her rifle to her again. “At least you’ll have some protection if you stay with us.”

“I will not go with him, either.”

Both men look at her in disbelieve. “What?”

She crosses her arms and builds up her walls with the action. “Leave me at the nearest haven. I will find a way to manage.”

Bradford gets up and crosses over to them to properly join the conversation. “Are you sure that’s the safest option?” he asks.

“It is,” she assures softly. “They will expect me to return to the Reapers. They will not expect me to go somewhere I cannot lead or fight from. Everyone will be safer if I hide for a little while.”

They both turn to look at Volk. He crosses his arms and sighs. “If you’re certain. When you decide the time is right, you’ll always have a place among the Reapers,” he says.

“Thank you, Volk.”

He slings her rifle over his back and goes to make sure everything was ready for them to depart.

Bradford takes the opportunity to pull Tatiana into a hug. “I do wish you’d reconsider,” he murmurs.

“It is safer like this,” she says. Her voice lacks the same conviction it had just moments earlier. Nevertheless, she loops her arms around him as well and gives him a tight squeeze.

“I’ll visit, when I can.”

She leans in to steal a kiss. “Děkuji.”

Her grandmother always used to say that she knew when storms were coming in her bones, from old wounds improperly healed. She never quite believed her until she broke her arm for the second time and it ached all winter.

She wishes that this were just a storm on the horizon.

She wakes in the morning and knows - not just in her bones but in her very being - that disaster is coming, and it’s coming for her.

Tatiana shoves her belongings into her bag before anyone else can wake up. If disaster is on it’s way, she wants to be prepared, but she prays that her feeling is nothing. It’s pointless to pray, she knows. Ever since Bradford and Volk had rescued her two months prior, she was keenly aware of their presence.

After she crawls out of bed she warns the guard on duty about her bad feeling. It’s not much, but she hopes that even the slightest warning will help keep some people alive.

The day goes on as normal, or at least as normal as it can be with a sense of dread pulling at her very being. It’s hard to ignore and she wants to vomit for most of the day, but Tatiana manages.

The storm breaks just after lunch.

They barely get any warning before the first ADVENT ship appears in the sky, firebombing the center of their haven. Three transports arrive just after, dropping more troops than their meager defenses could handle.

Tatiana runs for the quarters to grab her bag. A wave of psionic energy washes over the entire encampment, though she is the only one to fall to her knees because of it.

“At last I have found you, Sister.”

The distaste in his voice is palpable as he spits out the last word, but it gives her enough energy to get to her feet again and keep running. A round from an ADVENT Captain clips her shoulder, but doesn’t stop her. She makes it to the quarters with only minor scratches and easily slings her bag over her shoulder.

She hears the distinct sound of psi zombies exploding and the blood curdling scream of death. The sounds make her stomach drop, but she pushes forward nonetheless.

“Time to come out of the shadows.”

The Warlock’s voice reverberates across the haven, but she does not let him stop her again. If she escaped, then there was the slightest chance he would stop his assault and lives would be saved. She doesn’t even pause to think about which direction she needs to go.

West, she thinks. John went west.

By the next morning, all the scratches from vaulting through a broken window and running through the brush have healed over. The skin on her arms and legs looks as good as new.

The wound on her shoulder has stopped bleeding and crusted over on its own. There’s a first aid kit in her bag, but she does not bother to use it partially out of spite and partially out of curiosity.

It’s a scar by nightfall.

When she heads out again at the next dawn, there is no indication that she was ever shot at all.

Of all the people he expects to run into at a haven in northern Africa, Tatiana is at the very end of the list. Bradford does a double take when he spots her distinctive coat among the haven.

He pushes through the crowds and grabs her arm. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

She flinches at the contact, but turns and looks just as surprised as he is to see her. “I was just passing through,” she explains sheepishly.

He’s not convinced at the answer, but he doesn’t push for the moment. He takes the opportunity to glance her over. She looks tired, but otherwise uninjured, despite still lacking her weapons. “Is everything alright?” he asks quietly.

“I’m fine,” she assures. She hesitates for a moment, then wraps her arms around him in a hug. “It’s good to see you again, though.”

“It’s been too long,” he agrees, hugging back. When they separate he keeps his hands on her arms, unwilling to let her go just yet. “Are you heading back to the Reapers? Or just traveling on your own?”

A frown twitches at the corners of her mouth. “Just traveling.”

He hesitates for a moment, his expression softening. “Come with me?” he asks.

Tatiana shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than traveling from haven to haven without any weapons?”

She at least has the audacity to look ashamed at that.

“I can defend both of us,” he assures.

Her frown deepens. After a moment she grabs a handful of his coat and pulls him away to an out of the way area so no one can overhear them. “If I stay anywhere too long, it gets destroyed. I’m being hunted, and I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says quietly.

“I’m not helpless,” he says firmly. “And neither are you, if you pick up a rifle again.”

She shakes her head furiously. “You won’t be able to stop this,” she insists. She looks him in the eye and he thinks he can spot tears in the corners of hers. “Have you heard anything about the ‘Chosen?’”

His shoulders slump. “Only rumors. I want to believe it’s just fear mongering.”

“It’s real, and he’s coming for me.”

He reaches up to cup her face in his hands. “So travel with me. We can keep moving, and if trouble starts brewing, I can defend us,” he assures. “We’ll survive.”

She shakes her head and shudders as though she’s about to sob. To prevent it, she takes a few deep breaths and squeezes her eyes shut. “You’re not going to let me leave this haven alone, are you?” she asks once she’s regained some semblance of control.

“Absolutely not.”

Despite everything, she chuckles. “Miluji tě.”

He leans in and presses their lips together.

Volk is their first stop once they set off again. Tatiana resents the mere idea of touching a rifle again, but he will not allow her to keep traveling without a way to defend herself. Bradford’s seen what happens when she’s handed an assault rifle, and it’s nothing compared to what she can do with a sniper rifle and a pistol.

He does not expect Volk to be waiting for them near the edge of the Reaper’s headquarters. He waves a greeting, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Tatiana tense.

“It’s good to see you again,” Volk greets. He eyes Tatiana, worried. “Both of you.”

“Same to you. Unfortunately we can’t stay for long, though,” Bradford says. “We just wanted to gather some supplies, see if there were any good rumors about.”

Volk nods and turns to lead them into the base. “Is it too hopeful for me to ask if you’re here to stay, Taňa?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“I will stay with John,” she says firmly. “I will not get anyone else involved if I can help it.”

“So, that thing is still hunting you down?”

Tatiana blanches and stops in her tracks. “How do you know that?”

The men stop and Volk turns to face the two of them. “I wasn’t going to leave you unprotected entirely. I asked some Reapers to keep an eye on your haven. They told me you escaped unharmed from it at the first haven, and that three more suffered a similar fate in the time since,” he explains. “I’m glad to see you’ve survived this long.”

“Your people never bothered to try and help defend those havens?” she snaps.

“You were there. You know it would have just been more casualties for that thing.”

The accusation quells the fire building in her eyes and she motions for them to keep walking.

“Does this mean we can count on the Reapers if we run into any?” Bradford asks as they continue. “Having a few people out there we can trust unconditionally would help.”

“Of course! To you two, my people will remain loyal. You’re a friend, John, and Taňa will always be a Reaper,” Volk calls cheerfully over his shoulder. “What sort of supplies are you in need of?”

“Food, water, some vodka if you can bear to part with some,” he replies casually. “Mostly I wanted to retrieve Tanya’s weapons.”

Volk laughs. “You ask almost nothing of me, John. You’ll have everything you need.”

He leads them to what can only be called Volk’s office with the heavy table acting as a desk and the communications terminal sat upon it. Tatiana and Bradford eye the taxidermied heads garishly decorating the wall.

From a closet, Volk pulls out the items she had left with him when first settling into the haven. Despite the time passed, her rifle, pistol, and knife all look as good as new.

“Thank you,” she says tentatively. She clips the pistol and knife onto her belt quickly, as if they’d burn her if she held them for too long. The rifle she is a bit more delicate with, pulling an old towel out from her bag to wrap it in. Once she’s done, she does not sling it over her back as usual, but instead holds it in her hands, careful only to touch the towel.

“How long do you intend on staying?” Volk asks as she prepares her weapons. “At least stay for breakfast.”

“If you’ll have us, we’d like to stay until tomorrow evening,” Bradford replies.

Volk clasps him on the shoulder. “You can stay as long as you like, even with that thing hunting you.”

“No more than three days,” Tatiana warns.

Volk nods, but before he can say anything the door to his office opens and Outrider appears in the doorway. She freezes at the sight of the three of them. Her gaze falls to Tatiana and a trace of a smile forms on her expression.

“I did not expect to see you again,” she says once she’s found her voice again. “I’m relieved to see you’re still okay.”

Tatiana smiles and gently sets her rifle down. She crosses over to the doorway in a few strides and swipes the other up into a hug. “I missed you, too, Outrider.”

Bradford thinks he might be imagining it, but it looks as though Outrider leans into the embrace.

When they part, both women do their best to fall back into a more professional mindset. “Are you staying for supper?” Outrider asks. “I have some things to discuss with Volk, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity to catch up.”

Tatiana glances over her shoulder at Bradford, then back to Outrider. “We’ll be here for a couple days,” she assures.

The Warlock chases them like a shadow, casting the places they visit into darkness within days of their passing through. Rumors that the appearance of the two of them are an omen of destruction circulate through the havens, but most are willing to take the risk for Bradford’s connections.

Other havens are less kind and they are quickly escorted away at gunpoint. When it happens, they set up camp a safe distance away and try to get the rest they so desperately need and plan to move on to the next haven as fast as they can.

They are not always so lucky.

Tatiana wakes with a jolt and grabs for her bag. She starts shoving anything laying out into it, not caring for any sense of organization.

The sudden movement drags Bradford back into full consciousness. “You don’t need to be up yet,” he says.

“We have to get moving,” she says bluntly. “As quickly as possible.”

He stares at her for a moment longer, then grabs his belongings as well. With the two of them working together they break down camp in a matter of minutes.

Bradford stomps out any remains of the fire and glances up at Tatiana. She holds her rifle in her hands, freed from its wrappings. She stares at it for a moment, then sllings it over her back along with her bag.

“Got everything?” he asks.

She taps her pistol and knife, and judges the weight of her bag on her shoulders. At last, she nods.

Bradford clips his rifle to his belt and offers a hand to Tatiana. She takes it, and together they set off for the next haven as fast as their feet will take them.

Their fastest is not fast enough.

The Warlock makes his presence known with a wave of psionic energy that only just doesn’t knock them off of their feet.

“It’s been too long, Sister.”

Bradford draws his gun and Tatiana tugs on his hand to keep him moving.

“You can’t kill him,” she whispers harshly. “We have to keep moving.”

“We need to get some distance on him otherwise-”

A shot rings out and Tatiana drags Bradford out of the way as a tree branch falls on to where they were just standing. Through the trees, they can see a flash of something purple.

“There will be no more running,” the Warlock says. He approaches them, holstering his gun once more. “Do make it easy and give yourself over.”

Tatiana spits at him. Bradford raises his rifle and fires, hitting the Warlock in the chest. The bullets barely seem to phase the creature. Still, it makes him pause enough to touch the wound, giveing Tatiana a chance to grab Bradford’s arm and run.

Behind them the Warlock shouts, but there is no sound of pursuing footsteps. Instead, Tatiana feels a presence pressing at the edges of her mind. She shoves Bradford forwards to make sure he wasn’t as risk, then pushes back against it.

The Warlock cannot press into her mind, but the effort of fighting back causes her to lose her balance. She tumbles over a log and lands face first in the dirt.

Bradford stops and grabs her arm to help haul her up, but she shakes her head and tries to push him forwards once more.

She opens her mouth to tell him off, but another shot drowns the words out. Tatiana stiffens, the slumps slightly in Bradford’s grip. Blood blossoms from a wound on her shoulder blade.

She shoves with her good arm, but Bradford only tightens his grip on her. “You’re going to get yourself killed,” she grunts.

“I won’t let you get captured again,” he says firmly. He adjusts his grip on his gun with his free hand and starts trying to get the both of them away.

“I was told how much of a fighter you were, Sister,” the Warlock says, appearing in front of them. He stares down at Tatiana, hate and disgust evident in his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d try to run for so long.”

Bradford wastes no time in taking aim and shooting him again.

The Warlock steps back, stunned for just a heartbeat. He recovers before they can move and sends a wave of psionic energy directed at them.

Bradford falls to his knees, but Tatiana manages to stay standing.

The Warlock stalks forward, grinning like a cat who’d finally cornered his prey.

Tatiana takes a few steps away from him and swings her rifle off of her back. She presses it to her shoulder and glances through her scope for only a split second, then fires.

The Warlock screeches and brings his hands to his face. Where there was once an eye was only a bloody pit.

He shouts something in the aliens’ language, then disappears in a torrent of energy.

Once silence falls over the forest once more, Tatiana finally relaxes. She slings her rifle back into place and steps back over to help him to his feet. “Are you alright?” she asks softly.

“I’m not the one that got shot. Let me take a look at that,” he says, holstering his rifle again and giving her a nudge.

She resists and pulls away slightly. “I’ll be fine for now. We can make it to the next haven before nightfall if we keep moving.”

“Tanya.”

She hesitates for a few moments, then mutters something unintelligible under her breath. Regardless, she sets her bag and rifle on the ground and sits on the log she had tripped over.

Bradford follows and sits behind her, digging his first aid kit out of his bag. She pulls her shirt off to let him clean the wound easily, but he finds as he works that it’s already stopped bleeding on its own. He stares at it for a moment, then digs the bullet out. No more blood starts flowing with it. If he stares at the wound closely enough, he almost thinks he can see it starting to knit itself back together.

“I can explain,” Tatiana offers quietly after minutes of silence.

“Is this why he keeps referring to you as his sister?”

She tenses for a moment, then lets her body slump.”Please don’t hate me,” she says, voice barely stronger than a whisper.

They fall asleep in different cots when they finally arrive at the next haven.

Tatiana wakes early again to find Bradford pressed against her. Her slight movements are enough to wake him up, as well.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asks.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Good.” Silence falls between them for a few, awkward moments. “I’m sorry about reacting how I did. I was just… shocked.”

“It’s fine,” she says, looking away from him and at the wall across from them. “We can go our separate ways in the morning.”

“Or we can keep going together.”

She rolls over onto her side to look at him, her apprehension apparent in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. You’re still you, no matter what the Elders did.”

She loops an arm around his shoulders and leans in to kiss him.

The first few days at the Avenger are tense. Shen, Tatiana, and Tygan make their distrust of each other apparent, and Bradford has to play the part of peacekeeper if they ever want XCOM to get off the ground - literally.

Somehow, it works out, but not without some issues.

He finds her at the opposite end of the haven that the avenger was sitting, leaned up against a tree. Her glasses are perched on her nose and she'd managed to get ahold of a scrap of paper and a pen.

“Dobrý den,” Tatiana murmurs, not evening stopping to glance up at him. “How are preparations going?”

“Well enough,” he says. He sits down beside her and leans gently against her shoulder to watch her sketch the landscape before them. “I’m a bit surprised to see you aren’t helping out, honestly.”

A frown tugs at her lips and she hums noncommittally. “Being around your soldiers is frustrating.”

“They’re your soldiers too, you’ve every right to put them in their place.”

“I assumed you didn’t want me to be the one starting physical fights,” she retorts.

He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “If they’re causing trouble, they deserve it.”

She sighs and sets her pen down. She takes a moment to adjust to lean into Bradford a bit more while she considers her words. “They aren’t causing trouble explicitly. They’ve just made it clear what they think of me,” she says at last.

“Do I want to know?” he asks tentatively.

“It’s not very difficult to figure out. A woman who refuses to touch a gun and with no obviously useful talents like science or construction? To them, I’m only here because you’re in love with me,” she explains quietly.

He reaches over to cup her cheek and force her to look at him. “Prove them wrong. If beating them up will get them to respect you, then so be it. They’ll see your worth regardless, once you start leading missions,” he says. He leans in to press a kiss to her lips, then rests their heads together. “You could help train them. All of them have horrendous aim and could use the help of an accomplished sniper.”

“And risk them wondering why I’m so good? I’d rather not.”

“For all they know, you are just a good sniper. Nothing else. You were a Reaper, after all, and we know how Volk likes to boast.”

That draws a laugh from him, though it’s quiet and subdued. To Bradford, it’s still better than nothing. “I will think about it,” she says.

“You don’t have to. I’m sure Shen and Tygan would appreciate having some help, too.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “I’d be a hindrance to them. I know four languages, but none of them help me understand what they talk about.”

“You and me both, but they won’t object to an extra pair of hands around.”

She laughs again, a bit brighter this time. She kisses him, then gently breaks from his grasp to pick up her pen and slip it into her pocket. “I suppose you are right. The two appear nice enough, at least.”

“They are. It’ll be a good way to meet the rest of the crew, too.” Tatiana makes to start getting up, but he grabs her arm before she can. “Don’t have to go now, I’m taking a break.”

She sits back down and practically drapes herself over him. “You’re lucky I can beat all of your soldiers in a fight,” she teases.

The Menace team lands in the Warlock’s stronghold on high alert. There are no obvious traps waiting for them, nor does anything run out and attack right away. For the moment, they are still hidden.

Tatiana directs them through the stronghold and none of the squad so much as hesitates to follow her orders. Bradford would be proud of them for all the progress made, were it not for now nerve wracking assaulting one of the Chosen directly was.

The Warlock’s voice reverberates throughout the compound. “You have come far little humans. Boldly pushing forth into the unknown. If you only knew the truth of this place you would scurry back to the shadows where you were spawned.”

Menace keeps their silence and pushes forward.

“The Elders’ will permeates all around us… can you not feel it humans? Surely you can feel it Sister? Their reach is eternal. Even now their hand closes upon you.”

Tatiana tenses at being called out. Bradford reaches over and gasps her hand in his own to soothe her.

She orders Menace forward.

“For you are the true abominations. Microbes that think themselves greater than the gods. You taint this place with your infestation. Is it not the Elders who are the true saviors of your race? They who fight to preserve an entire universe. Yet here you stand. Willing to die to retain your ignorance. Did the Elders not show you enough, Sister? Did you not think to tell your precious pets of what is to come? You could have spared them all so much suffering.”

Horak takes aim at a MEC and the ensuing fight drowns out much of the Warlock’s remaining speech.

“These Chosen sure do like the sound of their own voice,” Bradford says lowly, shooting half a smile at Tatiana.

Despite herself, she offers him a small smile back. “It’ll be good to shut him up for good.”

Menace sweeps through the rest of the stronghold with ease, finally finding the ascension gate tucked away in one corner. They take a few minutes to prepare, then step through.

Kelly runs forward towards the sarcophagus to force the Warlock to appear. He does so in typical fashion in a torrent of energy.

“Oh, if only you knew the truth, the power in my hands. You would fall to your knees before me,” he says, looking down upon Kelly. He turns his gaze up at the rest of Menace perched on high ground, hate in his eyes. “Pity, I suppose we should begin, then.”

Williams hefts his cannon and opens fire.

The battle is long and drawn out, and the team takes more wounds than anyone had thought they might get, but at last Santiago puts bullet through his eye.

The Warlock teleports back in front of his shattered sarcophagus and glares at the few soldiers he can see. “At long last… I hear their voice… unobstructed. They- They are so near,” he gasps, stepping forward only to collapse to his knees. “They are everywhere. They come for me-”

Before he can say anything more, the Warlock turns to stone, dead at last.

Tatiana bows her head in respectful mourning as the squad returns home.

Inch by inch, XCOM takes the world back. Bradford strikes an uneasy alliance between the various factions that turns a disorganized resistance into something to be feared. The combined efforts of Shen and Tygan keep them moving forward, even with their distrust of each other. Most importantly, Tatiana’s tactics keep them constantly one step ahead of the Elders’ plans.

Both Tatiana and Bradford’s communicators shriek to life early in the morning, waking them from what had been a peaceful sleep. Tatiana reacts the fastest, grabbing the nearest one on the bedside table and shoving it in her ear. “What is it?” she asks weakly.

“We’ve completed the autopsy of the Avatar our troops encountered in the field, Commander,” Tygan says. “Shen and I agree that you and Central should hear this as soon as possible.”

She sighs and looks over at Bradford, still half asleep against her shoulder. “We’ll be in the labs in ten minutes,” she says.

“Thank you, Commander.”

The communicator goes silent once more and she tosses it back onto the table. Tatiana gently nudges Bradford who groans, but eventually shifts awake.

“They’re done with the Avatar,” she explains quietly.

“Couldn’t it have waited until morning?” he grumbles.

“The faster we deal with the Elders the faster the world can start recovering.”

He groans again, but leans forward to press a kiss to her lips. He trails down to press another to her neck, but she pushes him off.

“Ten minutes to get to the labs,” she tells him, flashing a smile. “Sorry.”

They arrive at the labs fifteen minutes later, still half asleep but each with a mug in hand. Tygan glances at them, taking in how full each mug is, then nods, seemingly deciding that their commanding officers are alert enough.

“The shadow chamber has completed its analysis of the Avatar’s DNA. It has identified the genetic sequence necessary to travel through the psionic gate,” he says, gesturing to a screen.

“Perfect. We can finally shut this Avatar project down for good,” Bradford says.

Tygan frowns at them. “However, the gate requires more than a mere transmission of genetic data.”

“The sequence has to be part of a live subject,” Shen cuts in. “The key only works in lock-step with the signal.”

“We don’t have time to find another one of those things, let alone capture it,” Bradford says quickly.

“No. That part we can handle,” Shen assures. “We make our own.”

“Through the specimen before us is damaged beyond repair, it has provided us with its complete genetic blueprint. We already possess an unaltered Avatar template from the Forge facility. That, combined with the genetic material we recovered at the blacksite should allow us to replicate the procedure here,” Tygan explains.

Bradford glances down at the Avatar, then up at Tygan. He takes a long sip of coffee to think. “So, what’s the catch?”

“Yes, that.” Tygan frowns again. “Without an Elder consciousness driving it, the new Avatar would remain as lifeless s the one before us. While I can develop its body, I cannot create the mind to drive it.”

“But I can, in a way. By manipulating the new Avatar via the psionic network,” Shen says.

Bradford looks at Shen, confused. “You want to operate one of these things… by remote control?” he asks.

Shen shakes her head. “Not exactly, and definitely not me. Someone needs to interface with the psionic network for this to work.”

Tatiana feels her stomach drop.

“Interfacing directly  with their network would cause severe, if not fatal trauma to an unprepared central nervous system. Not even your former commander survived it,” Tygan says. “Whoever volunteers to go in will likely not come back.”

“Then we have to find another way. I can’t allow any of our soldiers to volunteer for this. It’s-”

“We don’t have time to find another way, Central,” Shen cuts in.

“I will not-”

“I can do it,” Tatiana says, stepping forwards. She takes a drink of tea, then sets her mug down on the autopsy table, not once looking to meet Bradford’s eyes.

“You don’t have to volunteer Commander-”

“It’s more important that you stay here, Sir-”

“Tanya-”

She silences the three of them by banging her mug against the table. “Of all the people aboard the Avenger, I’m the most likely to survive this.” Tatiana hesitates and swallows, then looks up to meet the gazes of Shen and Tygan. “Several years ago, I was captured by ADVENT. The Elders began to experiment on me. They only got so far before Central and Volk rescued me, but it left me with, among other things, regenerative powers. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The three stare at her in silence, but she can only feel Bradford’s burning into her side.

“We can find another way,” he says quietly. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over her hand.

She shakes her head. “No, if this is the fastest way to defeat the Elders, then it is a risk worth taking,” she says.

Shen and Tygan hesitate, then nod.

“If you’re sure, Commander, we will begin preparations immediately,” Tygan assures.

Tatiana nods then turns to leave.

The Avenger is filled with the sounds of the commanding officer’s arguing for the next few days, to the point where even their most trusted soldiers are hesitant to interrupt them. It only stops the day before the assault, when it becomes clear that Tatiana will not change her mind. She drags Bradford into their room that evening, and no one dares disturb them then, either.

In the morning they get everything they can prepared, then kiss one last time before Tatiana disappears into the labs.

Bradford can only watch in horror as Menace steps through the psigate, led by an Avatar.

“Such loss, such needless waste. You force our hand. Yet still we offer peace. Stop this senseless violence and your world will be spared,” an Elder says, voice reverberating through their heads as they arrive on the other side.

Tatiana begins to lead the squad through the compound without any heed to the voice that had once haunted her dreams.

“We were wrong about you, Child,” the Elder continues. “You were destined to be more than just one of our Chosen. You could have been more. You could still be more.”

“Commander,” Bradford’s voice cuts through onto their comms devices. “Don’t listen to that thing.”

She waves in view of one of the cameras so he can see it.

“She wants you to know that she wasn’t even considering it,” their psi operative says. “There’s also a lot of what I assume is swearing in Czech.”

Despite it all, the team hears Bradford laugh over the comms. They push forward through the base, killing everything in their path with precision.

They make it to the final room mostly in one piece by some miracle and begin to pick of the Avatars one by one. Jane Kelly gets the final blow on the first, Horak kills the second, and Tatiana herself kills the last one.

Tatiana holds the psigate open so that the squad can run through. She cannot follow.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

When she comes too again, the first thing Tatiana is aware of are a pair of arms, around her. She blinks and tries to focus and eventually she realizes that it’s Bradford holding her. She tries to lift a hand to pat his back, only to find that she is too weak to move while still confined in the stasis suit.

“You’re alive,” he whispers, more so to assure himself than anything else.

“John,” she manages to croak after a few moments.

“Mission accomplished, milačku.”

[ciathyzareposts]

Saigon: The Final Days – WON! and Final Rating

by Will Moczarski

Last time I was severely stuck. Not even the first room in Asylum had given me such a headache. I was unable to venture past the Viet Cong gun nest and unable to open the dead soldier’s snap pocket on the starting screen. I must have tried almost everything – I even tried to do something in the one round before the hut is blown to pieces in case you need to manipulate the initial timed explosion (it occurs after one move no matter what you do) somehow. At least, I thought, my introduction was as spoiler-free as possible. All of that will change now – it’s time to leave Saigon. Unfasten your seatbelts, we’re in for a bumpy ride!

In hindsight, all puzzles are easy. Moreover, I even had used the necessary verb before, in the first Jyym Pearson adventure I played through for the blog: Curse of Crowley Manor. Back then I didn’t even think about it too much. I simply unfastened the screws after having found a screwdriver. With the pliers and the snap pocket, this particular verb simply didn’t occur to me at all for a very long time.

Everyday work life has one thing in common with adventure games: it’s sometimes necessary to take a break and step back, look at it all from a distance, unwind. It’s the only thing that helped me solve Saigon: The Final Days. Suddenly I had this idea: what about unfasten? Have I tried that already? I think I haven’t… and it does the trick: unfasten snap pocket. Simple as that. Now I simply love the feeling when a gameworld opens up after a bottleneck puzzle. It’s one of the things that keeps me playing.

In the pocket, there are a document and a grenade. The document is a U.S. memo and reads “Code = White X-Mas.” A Bing Crosby reference? Using the grenade is straightforward and works the same way as in Asylum: I can pull the pin out and then throw the grenade across the clearing to explode the gun nest. Now I can access the new area safely but boy, this game just loves to kill ya. There’s a dead Viet Cong soldier in the gun nest and the game helpfully tells me that “something is under him.” I can move him, causing a booby trap to blow up in my face. At least I can start anew without further penalties. There is also a small radio and when I listen to it, I can hear Bing Crosby sing “White Christmas”. What is this supposed to mean? Do the U.S. troops know they need to attack to the tune of this? Is this the reason my prison was blown to pieces in the beginning? Or will it become important later? Spoiler: it won’t.

East of the gun nest, there’s a Viet Cong minefield. If I move in any direction but north, I step on a mine and have to, you guessed it, start over again. There appears to be no way to map the minefield, and it’s not a maze either, merely a dead end. North of the mine field there’s a muddy dirt road stretched out over three screens. A jungle is east and dense bushes are west but I can’t enter either. Going too far north will let me enter a Viet Cong checkpoint but I get killed right away and I have to start over once more. However, looking and listening several times will help you out as is the case in most Jyym (and Robyn) Pearson games. Looking at the road on the second screen will reveal a gigantic rock. Yes, you just read that sentence. No, it doesn’t make sense. Climbing the rock will get you back to the beginning, effectively providing a circular route to prevent you from having to enter the minefield (i.e. dying) to restart. If you listen on the next screen, there’s a whirring sound from behind the bushes. I reckon that it’s a helicopter but can’t seem to find a way to enter the bushes. However, upon returning to the gun nest and looking again for no particular reason but my experience with this particular game designer, I find that the corpse and booby trap are now gone, Bing Crosby stopped singing and there’s a machete on the ground. Now what did popular culture teach us about machetes? Right, I’ll just cut that bush with it. I actually assume that this will open up a lot of new ex-jungle and ex-bush exits but that is not the case. “Cut bush” doesn’t even work. I remember the recent unfasten fiasco and think of other verbs Jyym Pearson is usually fond of, and “chop bush” reliably does the trick. This would’ve cost me some time if I hadn’t played the other OtherVentures so recently, I’m sure.

Now that I’ve cut a hole (yes, the game does not know the verb at first but tells me it did cut a hole after the fact!) I can enter a clearing with a U.S. helecopter (sic!). A soldier beckons me and I can talk to him but he only tells me to climb aboard. Inside the chopper there’s a ring of keys for some vehicle but otherwise there’s nothing to do except talk to the soldier. He’s got a lot to say as well: “Ford issued the orders we’re all leaving ‘Nam! The Viet Cong are outside the perimeter, Saigon is a mess! The Vietnamese are trying to crash the embassy to escape!” There’s your historical backstory. After that, however, something seems to be off. The soldier suddenly says “Hold on..what’s that?” and then the chopper is struck by a rocket. After another turn, we’re going down and I find myself “paralized” (sic!).

I try several things to get out of my conundrum but moving does not work and trying to open my eyes comes back with “not now”. But soon? I seem to be on the right track. “Move yourself” counterintuitively does the trick, and after entering the same thing four times I can move and my muscles are back to working condition. Now I can also open my eyes and find myself lying on the dirt floor of a small shabby hut. I really used to be stumped when I suddenly had to refer to my body parts in a text adventure as I didn’t consider them part of my ‘inventory’. In some Infocom adventure I needed to open my eyes as well, if I remember correctly. Nowadays, it’s standard repertoire.

Looking again reveals that I’m inside the home of a beautiful Vietnamese girl. When I talk to her, she relates that her name is Ming Li and proceeds to bring me some food. It’s rice but it’s crawling with bugs so I assume that it’s a puzzle – however, it’s only flavour (excuse the pun). I just have to eat it. When I talk to her again she asks me where I want to go. If I say “Saigon” she takes me there. Now this is one of Pearson’s famous scripted sequences but this time you really have to pay attention. Ming Li takes me along some secret path to Saigon and I have to attempt to map it while waiting for us to get there. In one of the dark tunnels I stumble over something – I suppose that I will need to return there to pick it up. In a dimly lit room, Ming Li pulls a chain and thus reveals a secret rope ladder. The next thing I know we’re in Saigon and I’m back in control – but not quite because Ming Li is suddenly shot to death by one of two soldiers running down the street chasing after a prisoner. Blood splatters all over me and if I look at Ming Li’s corpse, the game tells me that it makes me cry. Wow, that was an unforeseen turn of events. The whole encounter is a bit stereotypical but for a 1981 text adventure it’s a really moving attempt to show you the horrors that can occur in a war-torn environment.

  It almost does.

East of the scene of the war crime there is a flimsy wooden door behind which I can find a deserted warehouse. I can chop the door open with my machete and remove the wires with my pliers. It doesn’t take me too long to figure it out but the game still loves to kill me: the warehouse is dark and when I listen closely I can make out some heavy breathing from the south. If I go there, I am shot to death once more. None of my items seem to help me, so I try something else after restoring. West of the narrow street where we first entered Saigon some steps lead upwards. Similar to a situation in Earthquake, there is an American G.I. on top of the stairs guarding a security gate, and he won’t let me pass without a pass. Seeing as I don’t have one – my own people bombed the hut I was kept in as a prisoner, remember? – I suspect that I’ll have to backtrack via Ming Li’s secret passages. I die several more times as you have to retrace her steps precisely or you’ll drop down into deep pits which seem to be almost everywhere. Just where I stumbled over something when Ming Li led me past here, I can use my recently acquired Escape from Traam skills to “feel object” in the dark. I find that it’s a corpse, and upon closer examination I can steal his or her uniform. Not seeing how that may help me with the warehouse sniper (although possibly with the G.I. at the security gate?) I backtrack some more to Ming Li’s now abandoned hut. I find another screen (“W end of a ravine”) while mapping the non-lethal portions of this section as cautiously as possible, and also discover that Ming Li’s hut was destroyed by another rocket. I can investigate a crashed helecopter (sic!) – is this the horse I rode in on? – and a dead soldier which turns up some night-vision goggles (“binoculars”) as well as a wallet with a pass and a revolver. This should solve all of my problems! I go back to Saigon and discover along the way that the west end of the ravine is now populated with a party of Viet Cong. Better not go there in order to avoid another restart.

Back in Saigon I try the warehouse next. Looking through the binoculars reveals a figure to the south where the heavy breathing comes from. I can then proceed to shoot the revolver and the figure drops dead (he shot first!, albeit at another incarnation of me). He leaves behind a shovel, a parachute and dog tags but I can’t pick up all of these at once as the six-item inventory limit is as sneaky as the enemy. I decide to only take the shovel for now but take some notes to remember the other items when it seems that I might need them. Also I drop the binoculars, the pliers and the machete as it seems likely I won’t need them again.

I show the pass (not the wallet, that doesn’t work!) to the G.I. and he lets me enter a narrow street. There I am stopped by a Vietnamese soldier who wants something that will help him escape Saigon. This must be the U.S. Army uniform I found in the cave! I hand it to him and see him go away happily, leaving me to explore further. To the east there is a wide plaza. Refugees are sleeping on the ground. If I linger for too long, they kill me, lynch mob style. To the east there is a burned courtyard. It seems odd that all of the walls are described in detail: “Brick walls are N and S. A wood fence is E.” There was a similar room in Earthquake where I had to deduce that I might need a ladder. I don’t have anything I might need to build one, though. It doesn’t matter anyway, as the solution turns out to be a very different one.

Across the river

South of the plaza there is a tank, and a Vietnamese officer looks out of the hatch. I can shoot him but if I linger for too long the mob kills me. If I climb the tank I am stuck and cannot open the hatch anymore. I don’t figure out how to work the controls, either, so I restart the whole game, assuming I am dead-ended. After some more fiddling I eventually find out that “drive tank” does the trick. Nevertheless I end up dead, hitting a brick wall after two turns. However, I get it right on the next try: You have to maneuver the tank around the brick walls which is what the detailed descriptions were for. The trusty “E” does not work but “turn east” lets me drive into the burned courtyard and crash into the river which is where I can improbably escape the tank because the hatch is no longer stuck, I assume? It’s a nice sequence, though.

Swimming gets me across the river and I emerge on its eastern bank. Here there are some new puzzles for me to solve. To the west there’s a large makeshift arena where some people play chicken. A poisonous snake (get out of my head, Cedric!) is passed to and fro between two opponents and will bite him who moves first. The game plays out before my eyes but I cannot participate (yet). One of the opponents will win $1000, the other one will be doomed to die. Once more, Pearson’s choice of words is a bit off: a “chinaman” presents the game, and a “burly oriental” throws me out. From a 2019 point of view, I could have done without these.

Just to the south is another good example of a classic Pearson “look twice” puzzle. “You are at the E bank of a river on a rocky trail”, the game informs me. If I “look”, I see nothing special. I need to “look rocks” to discover some white streaks which turn out to be chalk. I can’t pick it up, though, so I don’t know what it’s for. Further to the south there is a dirty street. To the east I can see a barbed wire gate guarded by a Vietnamese man. He tells me that “only his people are allowed in gate” but if I return there and talk to him several more times he will ask me who sent me. The answer is obviously “Ming Li”, and he will grant me access.

Even further to the south there is a bricked up building with a water pipe leading up. It’s too slippery to climb but I have a suspicion how it might work. I can “rub hands” on the chalk and now it works. Good thing that I never miss my Olympic Games transmissions. I reach the roof of a building and from there I can see gunfire at the edge of the city. To the south there’s a fire ladder, and when I climb down I find myself in a plaza in front of a big pavillion (sic!) which turns out to be the Huang Lo Pavilion. (Shouldn’t that be Huang-Lao, and isn’t that in fact Chinese? Can somebody enlighten me?) I am confronted by a Vietnamese soldier who wants to be bribed in order to let me pass. I’d better win that snake game, I assume.

The first round nets me $1000 for doing absolutely nothing, so I go back to the Vietnamese solider in triumph but he informs me that $1000 is only half the sum he wants. Can I play again? Turns out I can but this time I die. Does it have a random outcome? Would the game be this cruel?

I decide to explore the crowded courtyard full of Vietnamese east of the barbed wire gate some more. Looking reveals nothing new except for a door to the south which I can’t unlock. I find, however, if I listen closely, that there appears to be a voice in my head! It’s Ming Li! And she helps me from beyond the grave, Obi-Wan Kenobi style! “Help inside..carry box….key in depths..” What does this mean? Key in depths? Wait, can I possibly dive in the river?

Turns out I can! At the bottom of the river there’s a rusty key that will open the door. Behind the door I find a smashed apothecary shop with shelves full of broken bottles. Trying to pick up a box with ampules causes me to break them, and some kind of liquid spills on my hands. I can’t read the “Chineze” symbols on the small box but as Ming Li advised me to carry it, I pick it up. Without a real lead, I try to venture south again. Maybe the soldier will let me pass because he will mistake me for a “Chineze” courier? No, I can’t even climb the pipe because the liquid made my hands slippery…wait a minute! Could this be helpful with the snake? It could! The game master even tells me that he hopes I have applied the snake repellent this time so I know I must be on the right track. I win another $1000 and can now pay the Vietnamese soldier.

This is where I’m stuck for quite a while, and I spend roughly my last half hour of playtime figuring out this final puzzle. I can’t enter the pavilion, no matter how hard I try. I figure out that I can climb the ramp leading up to a U.S. chopper but a soldier tells me to get lost because they will only transport the dead for now. Do I have to die first? Would the game be this cynical? I think of my previous OtherVentures experiences and think about the ending of Earthquake. To board the refugee boat I had to dress up like a woman. How would a dead soldier leave Vietnam? Is this why I found the dog tags?

All the places I’ve seen, boys

Convinced that I need some disguise I search the whole map once again. I find that the Viet Cong are no longer at the western end of the ravine. Instead there is a “V.C.map” with directions to the nearest escape route. Huang Lo Pavilion is marked in red. Looking at the place again also reveals a dirt mound. I backtrack to the warehouse to collect my shovel and then dig up the mound. Eureka – I uncover a corpse in a plastic bag, and removing the bag enables me to pick it up. I’ll spare you my last bout of parser-wrestling and just tell you that I manage to return to the ramp, drop the bag, climb the bag and after a few turns I find myself in that chopper on my way home. This is quite a strong anti-war metaphor, and it’s very much in keeping with the way the game constantly kills you through traps you cannot avoid. What do I make of all this? We’ll see right after the obligatory ports comparison.

I dood it!

Ports Comparison

This is going to be a short one, unfortunately. Only the two Atari versions – with and without pictures – are available. There are two screenshots from the TRS-80 CoCo version over at lcurtisboyle.com but apart from that I can’t show you much – the Apple ][ version which seems to have existed, too, is all but lost.

First Room

After the explosion

Because the text is the same in the two Atari ports, I have only played the version with pictures to let you see what they look like. In general, the pictures are really adding to the tension. You can see the gun nest across the clearing, for example, and picking up the pliers genuinely feels like stealing them from under the Viet Congs’ noses. The wording is sometimes different – I can’t look at the soldier in the beginning but need to “look Viet Cong” to see the jacket and my beloved snap pocket. After the helicopter crash, moving is sufficient, you don’t need to “move yourself” here. I am now “parylized”, not “paralized”, but still not paralyzed.

Ming Li: First Encounter

Ming Li: Final Goodbye

Ming Li now “mumbles Vietnamese” before telling me her name. They still didn’t correct the spelling of the “helecopter”. The Viet Cong no longer leave behind the V.C. map.

First person perspective

Apart from that, it’s the same game. I’ll rate the graphics below but I’ll just say that they are very atmospheric and much better than the Apple ][ graphics for the previous three OtherVentures.

Last room

WON!

PISSED Rating

Of all the four OtherVenture games I’ve recently played for the blog, I enjoyed Saigon: The Final Days the most. The serious setting was handled better than in Earthquake – San Francisco 1906 and it was not as pulpy (though I liked that, too!) as Curse of Crowley Manor. Let’s not talk about Escape from Traam, please. I’m curious how that will reflect in its PISSED score. I’ll try to be objective.

Puzzles & Solvability: That bottleneck puzzle! It took me a long, long time to solve it and I’d almost given up on the game when I finally did. It’s possibly my own fault but I feel that there was quite a bit of guess-the-verb involved here. Previous knowledge helped, making “chop bush” or “remove wire” rather minor offenders. Had I not played the other OtherVentures first I may have been stuck in these situations, too. Apart from that, puzzles are generally much more logical and much more enjoyable to solve than in the other three games. It’s a mixed bag but still an improvement, so I’ll say 4.

Interface & Inventory: More of the same. The use of the parser feels more natural and the inventory limit is not as punishing – there is only one situation that requires you to backtrack because of it. However, there are still some instances of guesswork as described above in the P category. Same release year, no changes: still a 3.

Story & Setting: Ambitious and effective. Saigon: The Final Days takes a cue from Earthquake – San Francisco 1906 and includes many descriptions for the sake of atmosphere while adding a (very short, potential) love story, many encounters with refugees, Viet Cong and G.I.s as well as a varied depiction of Vietnam: 4.

Sound & Graphics: Just a picture on the right side of the screen. The pictures in the Atari version are really good and much better than the ones made for the Apple ][ ports of the other games. Sadly I am unable to compare them to the Apple ][ version of this game but I assume they may be the roughly the same. I’ll give it 1 point for the picture on the right and I’d give it 4 points for the Atari version.

Environment & Atmosphere: The game makes you feel tense and kills you often. I normally don’t like that in an adventure game but in this case the penalty for dying is not too bad – you restart with your inventory intact and there are only few instances in which your death will dead-end you. Saigon: The Final Days does a great job to evoke a situation of utmost urgency – a country during the final days of a devastating war is represented by an air of mistrust, corruption, and general sobriety. This is amazing work for a text adventure and I’ll award that with a high score of 6.

Dialogue & Acting: Better dialogue than in Earthquake – take, for example, the soldier in the chopper who informs you of the background situation, or Ming Li who makes her presence felt even after her cruel and random death. No acting, of course, but Saigon tries to make human encounters more meaningful which is a commendable idea: 2.

Jyym & Robyn Pearson teamed up for this game for the first time. They also worked together on The Institute, I think but after that he went it alone for his final three games. I have played The Institute years ago and thought that it was a great game, in fact it was one of the two reasons for this marathon (the other was Asylum II). Maybe their joint efforts resulted in their best games – they seem to have made a great team from what I can tell by playing through these games. I also like that all of these games have a clear handwriting to them, yet they’re all very different. Jyym Pearson tried something new with every one of his games and that makes his œuvre constantly interesting. Without further ado, I’ll add it up now: 4 + 3 + 4 + 1 + 6 + 2 = 20 / 0.6 = 33 points.

Sounds reasonable! It’s less complex than Asylum but makes up for it through its atmosphere and its writing. I could have punished the initial puzzle a bit harder but maybe it was just my own stupidity. In my post-game research I have found two reader’s letters asking for help with the game: one was stuck in the minefield, the other was unable to get past the gun nest. Apparently I was not alone with this but still: I won’t be too harsh. Anybody who will be stuck there in the future can now look up the solution at The Adventure Gamer! The Atari version would receive an even higher score due to the nice graphics: 38 points seems right as well.

All things considered, Saigon: The Final Days receives the highest score I’ve given so far: 33 points. I feel like such a cheapskate! The PISSED rating system was not conceived for early adventures – especially text adventures – and I definitely had more fun with the game than that. By comparison with all of the other games from the era, it seems fair enough. Coincidentally, this concludes my Jyym & Robyn Pearson mini-marathon. Their other four games were published by Med Systems and are thus part of the main marathon. Next up is The Institute before I will wrap up the second year of our marathon and play all of their available non-adventure games released in 1981. See you soon!

Session time: 2 hr Total time: 6 hr

Med Systems Marathon Overview:

(a) 1980 Summary (b) Reality Ends (1980) (c) Rat’s Revenge / Deathmaze 5000 (1980) (d) Labyrinth (1980) (e) Asylum (1981) (f) Microworld (1981)

Jyym & Robyn Pearson Mini-Marathon Overview: (a) Curse of Crowley Manor (1981) (b) Escape from Traam (1981) (c) Earthquake – San Francisco (1981)

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/saigon-the-final-days-won-and-final-rating/

[kidsviral-blog]

Facebook For Felons

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/facebook-for-felons/

Facebook For Felons

Kamaal Bennett built a social platform for incarcerated gang leaders. It’s already changing how they see themselves, and the outside world.

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Chris Ritter/BuzzFeed News

Early in 2014, Jacqueline Nugent came across an online profile written by Roderick Sutton, her ex-boyfriend and the father of her teenage daughter. Hosted on a website called Live From Lockdown, the profile featured much of the personal information we now regard as the web standard thanks to Facebook: a head shot, a hometown, a nickname, an institution, some groups, an inspirational quote. It also included a long “about me” section that ended with an old social media refrain: a bitter recrimination of an ex — Jacqueline.

I am the father of two queens (daughters). I lost total correspondence with one due to the fact her mother was responsible for my incarceration. She snithched [sic] to the F.B.I because she was scorned about my relationship and fathering a child with another female.

Nugent was shocked: It was the first time she’d heard anything from Sutton in eight years, since her testimony at a 2006 trial helped put him in federal prison for armed robbery. Sutton’s Live From Lockdown profile gave all the details of that incarceration: His sentence (17 years), his time served (eight), his inmate number, and his institution (Allenwood, a medium security prison in Pennsylvania). Angered, Nugent responded to Sutton’s post in the comments:

Take responsibility for you own actions Roderick and stop blaming me for your incarceration! You have learned nothing from your incarceration! Grow up! Honestly you don’t deserve freedom! Your daughter wants nothing to do with you! When you were in the free world you didn’t care about her so don’t write this bullshit on here acting like your some saint that should be granted clemency!

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If the shape of this confrontation — a digital reconnection, old grievances opened, an angry back-and-forth — feels familiar, its specifics are anything but: Live From Lockdown is the closest thing on the internet to a social network for federal inmates. Unlike the immediacy of the online networks that have come to dominate American life, Live From Lockdown might best be thought of as slow social, each post a several-stage process that is both ingenious and a reflection of the vast communication barrier between our silent incarcerated nation and our hyperconnected free one.

“Network” is something of a misnomer — federal prisoners have no direct internet access and so the “users” can’t interact directly with each other — and the site’s founder, Kamaal Bennett, calls it a “platform for social engagement.” But in its structure, its aesthetics, and its dissemination, Live From Lockdown looks and feels like any fledgling social network.

Except it’s very small. Right now, Live From Lockdown is comprised of 28 profiles of male inmates in maximum-security federal prisons around America (some, like Sutton, have been moved from maximum- to medium-security facilities). They run the gamut of ages, ethnicities, offenses, affiliations, attitudes. Each prisoner has a simple profile — a picture and identifying information — on top of a feed of blog entries. These entries, which range from dozens of words to many hundreds, tackle subjects inside and outside the prison walls: corrections officers, special housing units, and gangs, but also faith, family, current events, and psychology. Save the focus on prison and gang culture, there isn’t a huge difference between these posts and the kind of long bloggy posts, perhaps written by an eccentric relative or a friend from middle school, which show up in your Facebook feed. Many of the Live From Lockdown posts are uncommonly reflective, self-lacerating, clear-eyed, and eloquent. Some are moving.

Other websites that feature the unedited writing of prisoners exist, notably the Voices From Solitary project, by the anti-solitary-confinement advocacy group Solitary Watch, and Between the Bars, a blogging platform for people in prison that started at the MIT Center for Civic Media. But Live From Lockdown feels different: first, in its lack of an obviously stated advocacy or social justice position; second, in its attention-grabbing aesthetic and tone, from the giant, steel-colored header to the austere prison yard photos, to the rusty bevels that surround them; and third, in the composition of its “users,” who are mostly gang leaders in federal prison.

That’s deliberate. Live’s mission is “to utilize gang leadership as credible messengers to provide an unvarnished view of prison and the harsh reality facing gang members who are behind bars. A message delivered by those best equipped to deliver it to our youth in a way that will ensure the message is received, believed and heeded.” But the self-presentation of the inmates — as complex and weird and vain as anything you’d find on Facebook — makes it much more than Scared Straight.

The site is run entirely by Bennett, a 35-year-old New Jersey nonprofit executive. It’s a part-time job but a painstaking process: Bennett receives profile information and blog entries via traditional mail and CorrLinks, the Federal Bureau of Prison’s proprietary email system, then inputs them manually to the site. Bennett says he tries to add at least one new post a day; he also prints outs and mails the profiles and as many of the posts and comments as he can to the inmates, who have no other way of seeing them. In that sense, it’s an online social network that seems to exist (for the ones who rely on it most) primarily offline.

Some of the posts — which are all embedded with social media sharing widgets — receive hundreds of Facebook likes and dozens of tweets. Others receive dozens of comments. The comments are frequently encouragement from people around the world, but sometimes they come from people who know the inmates quite well.

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Chris Ritter/BuzzFeed News

Jaqueline Nugent and Roderick Sutton met as teenagers in Easton, Pennsylvania, in the mid ’90s and fell in love; they had their daughter, Destiny, when Nugent was 18. Sutton sold crack cocaine and ran with a local gang, the Yootie Yoo Crew, and when Sutton went to jail for a few months for threatening a police officer, Nugent sold for him to support Destiny. In 2003 Sutton had a daughter with another woman, and lived a secret double family life, to Nugent’s growing suspicions.

On Jan. 30, 2004, Easton police arrested Sutton outside the condo he shared with Nugent, who, furious at Sutton’s disloyalty, had offered to incriminate him. At trial, Nugent was the federal prosecution’s “star witness,” according to Sutton. Such were the accumulated bad feelings surrounding their first communcation on Live From Lockdown.

Still, Nugent, who had since married, sent Sutton a letter. While Nugent castigated him for refusing to take responsibility for his crimes, she also included a picture of Destiny, and went into detail about their new life. She felt responsible to tell Sutton “what was going on with our daughter.”

Sutton addressed the letter in a series of Live From Lockdown posts called “Understanding,” condensed here:

Just recently I received a kite (letter) that made my understanding much more clear. It also showed me how much this one person had such a profound affect on my life; and I’ve come to– Understand that justification is a way of life in our culture. Something will happen, and we’ll spend endless days, months, even years justifying why it was right or wrong!

Understand YOU are currently acting more as a problem-maker rather than a problem solver. Understand, how can amends be made among ourselves if one is trying to one up the other by throwing shade and things in their face to stir-up emotions and humiliate?

Nugent responded in the comments to one of the posts:

Understand that time is passing and we have all changed. Understand that some wounds have not healed and probably never will. Understand that you have hurt me far beyond your understanding. Understand that I can try and forgive but can never forget.

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Kamaal Bennett grew up in East Orange, New Jersey, a gritty Newark suburb known as the birthplace of Blood gang activity on the East Coast. He was the only one of his childhood friends to go to college; one of those friends, a neighbor named Tewhan Butler, eventually became the leader of the notorious Double II Bloods. Butler, who was featured on the History Channel reality series Gangland, is currently serving 30 years in federal prison after pleading guilty in 2007 to racketeering charges that included murder and conspiracy to distribute heroin.

After college and a stint working for the state of Utah during the 2002 Winter Olympics, Bennett moved back to New Jersey, where he started a nonprofit to set up sponsorships for interscholastic athletics in New Jersey cities. That organization grew from four schools in 2006 to a statewide program today.

In 2010, Bennett was spending the day at a program center in Newark, across from a housing project infamous for its gangs, when he noticed adults outside were shrinking away from something. He went outside and discovered what they were avoiding: a group of 11-year-old kids — nascent gang members. Bennett tried to start a conversation with the ringleader, but the boy wouldn’t give his name.

“It was obvious to me what his affiliation was,” Bennett told BuzzFeed News. “I said, ‘Who’s your big homie?’ and he looked at me like, ‘What the hell do you know about that?'”

Despite Bennett’s upbringing, he realized he had no way of reaching the boy, who idolized a local gang leader who had been in prison for years.

“The guy who he was talking about, you would have thought they were best friends — here it was 2011, this kid is 11 years old, how old could he have been the last time this guy was on the street? It’s an urban legend, but that’s who these kids aspire to be. They’re like celebrities.”

For Bennett, that realization was “a lightbulb moment”: The absence of information from maximum-security prisons didn’t erase the cultural influence of incarcerated gang leaders. Instead, it turned them into nearly mythical figures with an incredibly powerful allure for impressionable kids. He reached out to his old friend Butler, by that point serving his sentence at USP Lewisburg, a maximum-security prison in Pennsylvania, and told him that he wanted to reach kids like the ones outside the Newark program center by exposing them to the “authentic and uncensored” voices of the people they idolized, people silenced by, in Bennett’s words, “a dark spot that many people weren’t hearing from.”

Butler agreed, and started writing. His first posts are a series of unsparing essays about his experiences, hopes, and fears as a prisoner. They are harrowing, but not sensational: authentic and uncensored. The third post, “Awakened by Death,” describes Butler witnessing the aftermath of a cellblock murder:

“Stop cuff up now!” yell prison guards.

Though I can’t see, what is taking place is plainly obvious. Understanding that within the confines of this concrete jungle the best line of business is nobody’s business, I stay away from my door and try to begin my daily routine of hygiene etc. Maybe it was the heat, a long-simmering beef, an early morning argument or like the many who now embrace their nightmares because their dreams long ago faded… someone that’s just sick and tired of being sick and tired. Before completing my thoughts, as does the calm before the storm, all stopped- Silence!

Covered in blood from head to toe, out walked a prisoner as reserved as anything I’ve ever seen. What was seen in his eyes said it all and the screams that vibrated throughout the tight-fitted tier confirmed it. Minutes later, a stretcher was pushed down the tier in no hurry for the inmate on top was already blanketed by the sheet that walks you from this life to another.

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Chris Ritter/BuzzFeed News

In the months following their reconnection, Roderick Sutton and Jacqueline Nugent kept up their exchange over Live From Lockdown. It followed a pattern: Sutton would write something mixing conciliation and rancor, and Nugent would follow up in the comments in a similar tone. Often, the topic was Destiny, who Sutton refers to by her middle name, Sadesia. In a post titled “Is this woman scorned justified?” Sutton wrote:

I’ve finally accepted my actions and reactions years ago! My hate, bitterness and contempt also subsided years ago! For what it’s worth, I AM SORRY for the hurt I’ve caused others, including Sadesia! MAYBE SOMEONE NEEDS TO DO THE SAME! WHY IS THIS SOMEONE STILL TRYING TO TEAR ME DOWN?! YOU’RE CONTRIBUTING TO THE DESTRUCTION! LIVE YOUR LIFE POSITIVE! That’s what Live From Lockdown is about. This isn’t Facebook, Google+, Twitter, Instagram, Vine, or Youtube. Save all that negativity for those sites!

In the comments, Nugent responded:

Congratulations,but action speak much, much louder than words…. I am happy you received my letter and commenting now on your lockdown live. Nothing in my letter was negative at all make this clear and I wrote you a letter on my thoughts. I am older and wiser now as I hope you are….Oh and btw(by the way) I love your title a bit negative isn’t it? I was scorned by you honestly didn’t I have a right to be? You had almost ruined a very good women! But a great man came along and helped that women be great! Thank my husband for that amongst other things like raising your daughter. She is not a trip in the park but he does a great job as her step father. I truly hope you are a grown man now with all these qualities you say you have and hopefully learned alot about this experience…

Sutton’s next post, “Mission Impossible?” was even more openly contrite:

About seven or eight years into my bid I realized who and what the fuck I had become!! I realized I had put a lifestyle above what should’ve been royalty to me, my family, particularly my daughters!

In the comments of “Mission Impossible?”, Nugent posted a picture of Sutton’s two daughters, standing arm in arm and smiling. Several years after Sutton went to prison, Nugent became friends with the mother of his other daughter, and the two girls became friends. Nugent added a caption to the photo:

Regardless how I have felt about anything you have done to me I made sure they know each other and have a relationship.

Shortly after she posted the photo, Nugent received a letter in the mail addressed to Destiny, from Roderick. It was 25 pages long.

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Tewhan Butler’s writing on Live From Lockdown proved popular, and early analytics showed the majority of the site’s traffic came from mobile devices. That was an encouraging sign: Black and Latino kids in the poor neighborhoods Bennett wanted to reach, whose families frequently can’t afford computers, may get their only internet access through smartphones. (It may have also been a sign that inmates themselves, who frequently, and illegally, gain access to contraband phones, were reading the site from prisons.)

Still, Bennett knew it wasn’t enough. To effectively reach vulnerable kids around the country, he needed representatives on the site from different regions and different gangs. He talked to Butler.

“I said, ‘Listen, if we’re really gonna have the impact we’re looking to have, we have to get other people from other affiliations here. ‘Cause the kid who’s a Latin King might not tune in to what you have to say.'”

Due to his status as a high-profile gang leader, Butler was being held in the Special Management Unit at USP Lewisburg, which houses, as Bennett told BuzzFeed News, “1,000 or so of the most influential or disruptive inmates in the federal system.” That gave him easy access to important inmates with different stripes. Ironically, this kind of cooperation was probably only possible in prison, where gang rivalries are often put on hold and hostilities frequently take racial dimensions.

That’s how Bennett built out Live From Lockdown: on a referral basis, thanks to the initial efforts of a particularly charismatic prisoner. And it’s still how it works today. Interested inmates send Bennett a request via CorrLink, and Bennett sends approved new “users” a welcome letter and asks them to write a brief biography. Compared to the instant, or near-instant verification processes social media users are accustomed to, this half-digital, half-physical system, built on actual relationships, trust, and discretion seems almost shockingly arduous. Given the degree to which the voices of incarcerated Americans are segregated from the national conversation, however, it feels nearly miraculous.

The initial goal of Live From Lockdown was to bring those voices to at-risk kids — and the site still has that element. But it also proved valuable for another at-risk group: the inmates themselves. Prison reform advocates — and prisoners — frequently point to the act of writing as an invaluable form of therapy for the incarcerated, especially for inmates in max prisons and segregation units, in which programs are strictly limited because of security concerns.

“It is is a source of sanity for people who are desperately clinging to it in an environment that is designed to deprive you of your personality and your humanity and ultimately your sanity,” said Jean Casella, the co-founder of Solitary Watch.

The site’s profiles serve both as connections to the outside world — stories like Roderick Sutton’s are not unique — and, maybe even more significantly, affirmations of their subjects’ existences, rare sources of pride. Some of the inmates involved with Live From Lockdown hang printouts of their profiles on their cell walls.

That self-expression can have consequences. In February 2013, an inmate at USP Canaan, in Pennsylvania, fatally stabbed a corrections officer. Soon after, Tewhan Butler wrote a post for Live From Lockdown titled “Inmate Reaction To Killing Of Corrections Officer At USP Canaan”:

A lot of things transpire between inmate and C.O. as a result blatant disrespect. Just two days ago, I was locked up and going through a normal search, which I had no problem with, when the C.O. demanded that I take my boots off outside. Looking at the bigger picture and not wanting to allow them to trap me off, I complied and began taking off my boots, one boot at a time, and handing them to the C.O.

When done searching my last boot, he removes the insole of my shoe, then throws my boot in a different direction and commands me to pick them up. This was in no way a possibility for me, as I am nobody’s “lil boy”. My refusal landed me in the hole. As you can see I’m out, but I ask- Do you honestly believe the blatant disrespect was warranted? Absolutely not! But we prisoners have nobody to turn to. We can only suck it up and move on, or allow the mental games to be played and find ourselves in more of a situation. This is in no way to say that what transpired at USP Canaan in Pennsylvania and resulted in the death of a corrections officer and Bureau of Prisons employee on Monday was justified. I’m just saying some of these corrections officers lack serious professional skills.

According to Bennett, the post landed Butler back in solitary.

Still, given the sensitive nature of the posts on Live From Lockdown, Bennett has had surprisingly little contact with prison officials. He knows that the Federal Bureau of Prisons monitors the site because his analytics show traffic coming from the Department of Justice. Though the FBOP doesn’t have any kind of official stance on Live From Lockdown, Bennett has heard privately from prison officials. “They said, ‘What you’re doing is a good thing,'” he said.

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Chris Ritter/BuzzFeed News

On Nov. 1, Kamaal Bennett published a post by Roderick Sutton to Live From Lockdown titled “A Princess to a Queen.” It was all about Destiny:

On November 3, she will turn sixteen and my little princess who I once knew is becoming a little queen who I barely know anymore. Out of these sixteen years, I’ve only been there for three of them! Her birth year, and her third and fourth years!

We incarcerated “fathers” are mere ghosts. I’m no exception! We are the source of our own destruction, and we are to DUMB, DEAF, and BLIND to that fact because we are immersed in the “street life” and crave “street cred”! Not many will dare to admit if they truly miss or care about their kid(s) because that’s not “KEEPING IT REAL” in prison!

Sadesia, I LOVE YOU, and I MISS YOU MORE THAN YOU MAY EVER KNOW or REALIZE. I JUST WISH THAT I COULD TELL YOU SO! EMBRACE WHO YOU ARE, A QUEEN! WEAR YOUR CROWN WITH PRIDE AND NEVER FORGET YOUR VALUE AND REFUSE TO ACCEPT ANYTHING LESS THAN YOUR WORTH!

Jaqueline Nugent responded soon after, in the comments:

Just to let you know she received your letter and she is still reading it. She told me it has given her a better understanding of a lot of things. She also says thank you for her birthday cards. I guess this is a start for you two.

correction

Tewhan Butler was found guilty of racketeering charges including the Oct. 19, 2000 murder of Robin Dwayne Thompson at a gasoline station in East Orange.An earlier version of this article incorrectly stated that Butler was found guilty of racketeering charges including the July 25, 2002 murder of LaQuan Brooks in front of his 8-year-old son. BF_STATIC.timequeue.push(function () document.getElementById(“update_article_correction_time_4535684”).innerHTML = UI.dateFormat.get_formatted_date(‘2014-12-21 14:58:20 -0500’, ‘update’); );

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/josephbernstein/facebookforfelons

[symphathy]

Fuck The Symphath

*It takes a special kind of vampire to feed from someone before killing them. For a half-breed symphath assassin, it’s just another Tuesday. And given the details of how this kill has to go down, I damn well need to be at full strength. Not that Arkyn is likely to put up any sort of fight, but whoever wants him dead might. The location is painfully public during daylight, and at night it’s well covered by surveillance cameras. Most of which are functional. All of which I have been instructed to leave that way, if I want to see my payment. Fucker wants to watch shit go down, and make sure a crispy corpse gets found in the morning. It does limit some of my more entertaining options. I may have made peace with dying decades ago, but I’m not about to let my symphath freak flag fly. Those psychopaths couldn’t get the job done the first time I went to the colony, and I have no interest in being a science experiment for humans again. Pulling out my cell phone, I scroll through a very short list of contacts, stopping at Rehvenge. My thumb hovers over send for a good ten seconds before I switch the screen off and stuff it back in back in my jacket pocket. If he kept the number, and if he’s behind this elaborate maneuver, he could call off the contract. If this isn’t a ploy of his to get my undivided attention, I risk triggering his asinine hero-slash-martyr complex. Again. Fucking sin eater should be a little more self-centered. If it isn’t Rehvenge try to yank my strings, then I lose my only lead on whoever is keeping tabs on me if I don’t follow through. Pulling my local burner from my back pocket, I text Arkyn the address of a motel, and a time to meet me. In an informal community of outlaws, my paranoid habits aren’t out of place. Hourly rate motels keep anyone from ever finding out where you live, and nobody in their right mind would ever use the same one twice. I had a half dozen to pick from in easy walking distance of my designated kill zone. Waiting for a reply, I circle the outside of the dingy motel, making note of all the cars, and cataloging grids. All human, all wrapped up in their own petty lusts and drama. I don’t expect to find any vampires or symphaths nearby, not with the obvious video coverage, but it’s better to be sure. Nothing more exciting than lewd graffiti and the stench of urine and cheap booze for blocks, which is honestly disappointing. I’d rather spend my night torturing some flunky for every secret he’s ever known than killing a kid who ran from a mating. The vibration that hits my ass is the most action I’ve seen in years. A quick check of my phone confirms that Arkyn can make my specified meeting time. Nice that he’s punctual for death. Shaking my head, I make my way back to the crappy plastic motel room. Two chairs, close together, in the largest open space in the room. Neither of us goes anywhere near the bed. Arkyn learned that lesson when I broke his wrist the first time I paid to take his vein. I also pay double what any other female in town does, as there is no way in hell anybody gets to take my vein in return. The sealed envelope full of cash gets dropped on one chair before I comb through the room again, securing the curtains and checking for anything out of place. Nothing about this situation is sitting right, and I need to pretend that it is. Lucky thing deception is right up there with killing on my list of skills. The room is faintly musty, and I shudder at the thought of what a blacklight would do, but the walls are thicker than many of the other cheap motels. My phone vibrates again, a text, followed by a knock. Showtime. Opening the door wide, I stand back, letting the male see as much of the room as possible. He’s a little taller than me, even slouching down in his hoodie. His eyes dart around the room, missing everything he should be checking, but giving him a false sense of security. He nods as he enters, “Xhex.” He waits until I close and lock the door to pull down his hood, revealing dark blonde hair threaded with bright red. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you this soon.” His voice has a vaguely nasal quality that always makes me think his nose got broken, and healed poorly.* Something’s come up. I’m heading out of town, and it may be awhile before I get back. Thanks for coming on short notice. *The male stuffs the envelope into an inside pocket before sitting down on the opposite chair. Cute. He thinks that move is clever, but it’s also predictable. I take my seat in the remaining chair, pressing down on my thighs and the cilices hiding under my leathers as I do. Arkyn rolls up his sleeve, and extends his arm without any preamble. Too many males don’t get the hint the first time around that I really mean I’m only looking for a blood source. The feeding is quick and efficient, his blood like fast food; nothing special, but it fills a void. Releasing his arm, I let him seal the wound himself, following my usual pattern. I can’t risk spooking him before I get him to the kill zone. Not unless I want to knock him unconscious and drag him a few blocks.* Look, Arkyn? Do you have time to grab a some food, maybe a drink? *His eyes flare, darting between the bed and the door.* I wanted to ask you about a few rumors that have been floating around, and with this sudden trip, I skipped First Meal. *His eyes no longer hit the bed, but bounce between me and the door. Great. So much for not spooking him.* It’s fine if you have to go, but I’d still like to ask a few questions after I get back. *And just like that his posture relaxes, his shoulders dropping as my deviation from habit moves from immediate threat to casual question. Shrugging my jacket on, I walk to the door, not looking back. I always arrive first, and leave first. It’s up to the male now to either follow me, or get followed by me. “You know what? I could use a bite. And a drink. Especially a drink.” Quick glance over my shoulder shows Arkyn sporting a small grin as he approaches the door. He hooks his thumbs into his belt loops, jacking up his jeans. His erection is obvious, and I have to resist rolling my eyes at the cliche move. I don’t like to trade on lust, but it will make this go quicker for me. I have no reason to torture this kid, so if he comes willingly, all the better. Not many people get the luxury of a quick death when I’m involved.* I know a place not far from here. Typical clientele minds their own damn business, the food is decent, and the bar is well stocked. Give me a minute to settle up. *Settling up involves walking into the office and sliding some cash, and the old school key, across the greasy counter to the twitchy human who would never get a job in a reputable hotel. I wipe his mind out of habit. I may be leaving the city, but that’s no excuse to get sloppy. I give Arkyn a tight smile and nod, gesturing away from the motel. I barely register the small talk, responding politely to whatever comments are made about weather, traffic, news; both human and vampire. We’re nearly at the kill zone as I slide a blade out of my pocket and into place up my jacket sleeve.  The word doggen grabs my attention, and I latch onto the opening I was hoping to create.* I was trying to be careful not to panic anyone by asking questions about that doggen. *Like hell. I wanted to create this exact panic. Nervous people make mistakes. I give an apologetic half-shrug as I continue.* It’s not exactly like anyone around here brought doggen with them. Or anything beyond cash and the clothes on their back. He was a real old school number. *Nothing changes about Arkyn’s demeanor, not his posture, his facial expression, or his grid. “My mahmen would hire a doggen to help out with big family gatherings sometimes. Not from a glymera household. That’s about as much exposure as I ever had to doggen. Why are you asking about the doggen anyway?” Not much farther to full camera coverage. Fuck. This is going to burn me in this city.* He showed up in one of the casinos I consult for, and made an impression. So, no doggen coming to take you back to the family. What about the female’s family? No servants being sent to politely drag you back to get your back carved? *As his eyes flare wide, surprise lighting up his grid, I simply shrug.* I’m good at listening. I keep my eyes open, and my head down. I could tell you what every vampire here is running from, and who might be looking for them. I can do that with a lot of the humans too. This doggen though? I don’t know why he’s here, and I don’t like it. *I let that sink in for a few seconds. It’s not a secret out here that I’m the one to talk to for information. Those pieces fall into place quickly, and his expression turns thoughtful. “Her family does have a doggen, but she’s a tiny little female. I thought only glymera types kept their doggen in formal wear these days.” He puts his heels together, his arms down at his side with his hands sticking out as he does a mocking little penguin walk.* One more dead end I guess. Nobody knows this doggen, and nobody will admit to knowing anyone who might send a doggen after them. You’re sure you haven’t pissed off any glymera, or anyone else who might sic their hounds on you? *He’s really making a solid effort, so I push gently at his mind, sifting through his thoughts with him. Nothing. No efforts to hide anyone who might hate him that much. “Sorry. I wish I could help.” He shrugs, walking into perfect view of the cameras.* And I really wish you had a different answer. *I spin on my heel, my hand coming free of my pocket and the dagger finding my palm. With one quick thrust, the blade is embedded in Arkyn’s heart. His hands reflexively jerk upwards, but pulling it out will only end things quicker for him, so I force myself closer to keep it in place.* This isn’t personal. Someone hired me to kill you. If you knew who, we could’ve worked something out. But you don’t. And that makes this a trap that I had to spring. *Finally, the pain and shock register on his face, and he stops batting at the dagger.* I’m supposed to make sure you’re still here for the sun. If there’s anyone you want me to tell that you’re gone, talk fast. I’ll give them your cash, too, if you want. *He coughs up some blood, but shakes his head. At least he’s smart enough not to beg. I always make sure the fun ones beg, but this is not a good kill.* Alright. I’m not going to make you suffer any longer. *Hooking my leg behind his, I rip the knife free of his chest, and spin around to slice his throat. As I do, I pointedly glare at each camera in turn. As his grid flickers to darkness, I drop his body, and quickly rifle the pockets, taking anything of value. My envelope of literal blood money, cash and credit cards from his wallet, and the cell phone. Dropping the wallet beside the body, I climb the fire escape of an abandoned building nearby. Good sightlines on both Arkyn, and a number of the approaches. The fake ID in the wallet should hit the news, letting any friends he had know that he’s gone. Pulling my burner cell, I take a picture of the body, and text it to the specified number. Almost immediately, I get a reply text -WAIT- is all it says. Like I would do anything else. My entire body is on high alert. Anybody stupid enough to approach me right now will be eating a bullet. Or twelve. I stretch out my senses, as much to calm myself as to make sure I don’t get taken by surprise. Dawn is still hours away, so I can’t get complacent. The minutes tick by as I plan what I want to do to Rehvenge, or whoever decided to play Fuck The Symphath, for putting me through this bullshit. If the contract had come through regular channels, and not been my blood supply, this would be just another assassination. Finally, after hours with nobody getting closer than two blocks, the sun creeps along the street, inching closer to Arkyn. As his skin starts to blacken, before bursting into flames, I wonder idly what it is that makes vampire flesh so much more flammable than human. Taking another picture, I text my secondary proof. If anything is going to happen, it has to be now, Another text hits the phone, and a notification to my cell. The real phone is a banking notification, telling me funds have been transferred in to my account. The burner simply says -PAID-, which is followed by a picture of me, with my knife at Arkyn’s throat. I turn towards the camera that would have had that angle, only to hear a pop, as it explodes in a crackle of flames. Another text to the burner -See you next Tuesday- has me rolling my eyes. Not falling for that bait after springing this trap. First, I have no intention of still being here in the next hour, let alone the next week. Second, it takes make more than unsubtle juvenile name calling to ruffle me. The final text has me questioning if this is really Rehv’s doing, since that petty shit is not his style. Whatever. Caldwell is thirty-eight hours away, if I drive straight, and follow the speed limit like some candy ass motherfucker. Dematerializing back to my Ducati in stages to make sure I’m not followed, it hits me; whoever set this up either knew I can tolerate the sun, or expected me to die too. Throwing on the backpack I left strapped to my bike, I hop on, and kick the motorcycle to life. Somebody is going to pay for this, and the sooner I get back to Caldwell, the sooner I can figure out who I need to make bleed.* #FuckTheSymphath

[thatcrazyfanfictionwriter]

Secret of the Sewers: The Breakout

Professor Honeycutt paced around the room he'd been locked in, his face wracked with worry. Every so often, his eyes would glance over at the closed door, knowing full well there were at least two Triceratons guarding it. His eyes drifted from the door down to his metallic hands, knowing the secrets he's installed into them. Though he had been able to escape similar circumstances while the prisoner of Darius Dunn, he had been in familiar surroundings, and he had to only worry about himself. This time, he was in unfamiliar territory, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that the Gamarons and their sister would be punished for his attempts.

He let out a sigh, sitting down on the cot and putting his head in his hands. All he could do was sit there and wait.

"I do hope you five are well." he said quietly.

...

Mealtime came around for Incarceron, and the motley group of six gathered around a single table in the back, the Hamato Siblings looking at the lump of brown mush that served as food.

"Umm, Mona Lisa?" Mikey questioned, poking the mush with his fork, "Are you sure we can actually eat this?"

"It is nutrients paste." Mona explained, eating her own paste. "A single portion provides you with all of the necessary sustenance for a full solar cycle of activity."

The five still looked at it skeptically, then Mikey scooped up a bit on his finger and licked it.

"Huh... Not that bad." he commented.

Eventually, the others were brave enough to give it a test, and then they two began eating it. As they chowed down, Leo spoke up.

"Mona Lisa, what can you tell us about how this place works?" He asked.

"What do you wish to know?" Mona replied, scooping up some more of the paste.

"I have the basic lay of our way out already planned." Donny explained. "However, without the inner workings of the prison, all my data is useless."

"I am afraid there's not much I can tell you." she replied, setting her fork down. "No prisoner has seen the outside of this cell block. Only the guards can travel through the outer halls."

"But how do the guards get in and out of the block?" Hisako wondered.

"Each guard has a special key card." Mona explained. "These cards allow them access all across the prison. However, they are rarely if ever in the block."

"So I guess what Rynokk said was true." Raph remarked. "They're just here to keep us in and clean up the blood."

"That is partially true." Mona agreed.

Raph glanced up in confusion.

"Partially?" he repeated.

"The guards will intervene in fights." she clarified. "Warden Tetrax talks a big game when he says that you will leave at the end of your sentence or in a body bag, but nobody wants to deal with dead prisoners."

"Then why didn't Tetris intervene when Rynokk and his buddies were beating the shell out of you?" Leo wondered.

"Because they only intervene during serious fights where someone gets injured to the point that they need medical attention." Mona explained.

As she said that, Raph glanced around the main area, his eyes catching sight of Rynokk and his buddies. He could feel an idea beginning to form, and a smirk playing on his face. He slipped away as the five continued talking.

"So that's the only way to get the guards in here..." Donny surmised. "And for our plan to succeed, we're going to need one of those cards."

"So we need to pick a fight, but a fight we know we can win." Hisako added.

"How the shell are we going to do that?" Mikey questioned.

Mona Lisa glanced over at where Raph had been sitting, noticing that he was gone. She looked around before finally catching sight of him approaching Rynokk's table.

"It would seem that Raphael is already working on that part of the plan."

She pointed towards the red turtle, the other four following her finger to where she was pointing. Their eyes went wide as Hisako immediately made a mental connection.

Raphael, no! She mentally hissed.

Raphael yes. Raph replied.

He came right up behind Rynokk, rearing his fist back before punching Rynokk in the back of the head with all is strength. The pink alien went face first into his nutrients paste, splattering it all across his respirator and all over the table. His cronies stifled a snicker, then they all began backing away slowly as Rynokk stood up. He turned towards Raph, glaring at the turtle.

"I hope for your sake that was an accident and you are about to beg for forgiveness." he snarled.

"Oh trust me, it wasn't an accident." Raph promised, putting on his cockiest grin and channeling every annoyance tactic he'd learned from Mikey. "That was just the precursor to a world of pain."

Rynokk snarled, leaning closer to Raph.

"You better apologize now, or-"

"Or what?" Raph interrupted, throwing his arms up. "You gonna sic your cronies on me?"

Rynokk went to say something, but Raph just went on.

"Ya know, I'm starting to think that there's a reason you let your cronies do all the dirty work." he ribbed. "I think that Rynokk is nothing but a big. Fat. Coward!"

By now, Raph had managed to gather a bit of a crowd, and from the many observation windows surrounding the block, the silhouettes of several guards could be seen.

"I bet that Rynokk wouldn't last five seconds in a fight against a real warrior!" Raph exclaimed. "He talks big, but the only thing scary about him is his body odor!"

Rynokk was done. He let out a loud screech, then went to punch at Raph. Raph just ducked out of the way, letting the big pink lummox stumble forward a bit.

"Awww, did I hurt widdle Rynokk's feelings?"

Rynokk recovered, then attempted a few more punches. With both his hands behind his back, Raph easily bobbed left and right, easily avoiding the blows. As this continued on, Hisako stood up and began cheering.

"Raph! Raph! Raph! Raph!"

After a second, Mikey joined her in her cheering, then Donny, then Leo. Soon, Mona Lisa was joining in on the cheering, and it spread from there, infecting all of the aliens watching until they were all cheering Raph's name. Rynokk's temperament did not improve. If anything it got worse.

"Here that, you overgrown pimple?" Raph taunted. "That's my name they're cheering. Not yours, mine. Guess these guys know who the real boss is."

Rynokk continued his futile attempts to hit Raph, then stopped, screaming in unadulterated rage.

"Stop screwing with me and actually fight!" he exclaimed.

"You sure you want that, Rynokk?" Raph questioned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Shut you're Rakkin' gob and fight!"

With that, Rynokk charged towards Raph swinging a punch at him. Raph caught the punch and delivered one of his own to the face. Raph then unleashed one punch after another at Rynokk's face and chest, not giving the alien even a second to counter.

...

Up in the security room, several guards were watching the fight with great interest. A few were even making bets as to who the winner might be.

"Looks like someone's finally giving Rynokk a beat down." One of the guards commented.

"It's those Gamarons the Prime Leader sent us." another realized.

Warden Tetrax glanced at the screen as he stroked his chin in contemplation.

"These creatures are tougher than I anticipated." he remarked. "Perhaps even tough enough for the Games."

...

Back in the fight, Rynokk's respirator was showing some serious dents. He was stumbling around, holding his fists up in an attempt to defend himself. Raph breathed on his nails, shining them on his shirt before smirking.

"Had enough yet?" he questioned. "Cause I could do this all day."

Rynokk was breathing hard, but he ran at Raph with one last charge. Raph let him come, then jumped into the air. Before he even began his downward arc, Raph straightened his legs, coming in for a final blow at Rynokk's back. Both of his feet connected with the large alien's back, and you could almost see Rynokk's eyes bulge from the sudden attack. He fell on his stomach, groaning in pain as Raph gave a bow.

"And that's how you take down a prison boss." he declared.

As he said that, a shrill beep echoed through the block, then the Warden's voice came over an intercom system.

"Attention all prisoners, report to your designated sleeping areas immediately!" he ordered. "Failure to comply will result in any participating prisons being sent immediately to the Games!"

That's when guards began pouring into the block, causing all of the prisoners to scatter. Everyone immediately began scrambling towards the cells, tripping over one another to get moving. Raph jumped off of Rynokk, joining his brothers.

"Umm, what exactly are these games?" he asked. "And why is everyone so desperate to avoid them."

"Don't know, don't want to know." Leo answered. "We best get back to the cell now."

The five Hamato siblings raced up to the cell, vaulting over railing and even leapfrogging over other prisoners in a mad dash. When they finally reached the cell, the five of them leaned against the walls, breathing heavily and sliding to the floor.

"Well, we got what we wanted." Donny huffed. "So who grabbed the keycard?"

"Don't look at me." Hisako replied, holding up her empty hands. "I thought Leo grabbed it."

"And I though Donny grabbed it." Leo retorted.

"Well I didn't grab it." Donny snapped. "Mikey?"

"No, I thought Raph grabbed it." Mikey replied.

"I was busy fighting Rynokk, shell for brains." Raph exclaimed, face palming. "How could I possibly grab it?"

About that time, Mona Lisa came rolling into the cell seconds before the clear door slammed home. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, then smirked, unfolding her hand to reveal a keycard.

"I do believe we can cross the keycard off of our list." she declared.

Raph was grinning from ear to ear.

"Mona Lisa, I could kiss you!" he practically shouted.

Mona stared at Raph in surprise as the others began snickering. Mikey began making kissy faces, making fake mouths with his hands and smashing them together. Raph turned bright red, slowing lowering his face into his hands in shame.

"Guys, I think he's turning red!" Hisako snickered.

"Hard to tell through all the green." Mikey joked.

Raph muttered something unintelligible as Leo and Donny attempted to regain composure.

"Alright guys, we can poke fun at Raph later." Leo decided. "Mona's right though. We now have one less thing to worry about."

"Unfortunately, we still have an entire load of other problems to deal with." Donny added.

"The lockdown will remain in effect for another quigon." Mona informed them. "We should use this time to plan our next move."

"Good idea." Leo agreed, taking the key card from Lisa. "While we may have the card, it's going to be difficult to use it with guards watching our every move."

"We're going to need a distraction, and a big one." Donny suggested.

"And sicing Raph on more helpless prisoners isn't gonna cut it." Mikey added. "Those dudes didn't even come inside until AFTER the fight was done."

"We're going to need something bigger." Hisako rationalized. "Something to draw attention away from our escape attempt."

They all thought for a minute, then Raph finally spoke up again.

"How about a prison riot?" he asked.

Mona Lisa looked over at him, then smiled and nodded.

"That could work." she told him. "If we manage to get all of the prisoners to participate, it will force Warden Tetrax to send in all of his guards to deal with them."

"And in the resulting chaos, we can use the keycard to slip out." Donny added.

"But here's the million dollar question." Hisako reminded them. "How the shell are we going to organize a riot? I'm pretty sure Rynokk's cronies are probably gonna try and sabotage us."

"We'll have to worry about that once the lockdown ends." Leo decided. "But right now, let's just get some rest. Something tells me we're going to need it."

"Leonardo is right." Mona Lisa agreed. "This may be our one chance to sleep without the need for someone to keep watch."

With no more words needed, the turtles cozied up to one another, Hisako wedging herself into the center of the turtle pile. Within seconds, the five of them were out. Mona Lisa smiled softly at this, she curled up herself, joining her allies in sleep.

...

Prime Leader Zanramon sat down in the communication center of his palace, placing a call to Incarceron. Within a few trigons, the large communication screen came up, revealing the face of Warden Tetrax.

"Prime Leader." He greeted, saluting.

"Tetrax, I received a report that you initiated a lockdown." he declared, lacing his claws together in a sign of dissatisfaction. "Is there something I should know?"

"It was merely a precaution." Tetrax assured the Prime Leader, confidence practically oozing off his frame. "One of the Gamarons you sent me initiated a fight with Rynokk."

Zanramon snorted at the thought.

"No doubt he was reduced to little more than a green smear on the walls of the prison." he chuckled.

"No sir." Tetrax replied. "Actually, Rynokk wasn't even able to lay a single appendage on the Gamaron."

This made Zanramon pause. Rynokk was a well-known brawler, and had been the leader of a notorious group of space pirates before he had been captured. He'd seized control of the prison within the first Nexton of his sentence, and had gotten many of the strongest prisoners under his influence. And yet, a single Gamaron had taken him down.

"This is troubling news." He remarked. "You were wise to initiate the lockdown."

"Thank you Prime Leader."

"Keep an eye on the Gamarons." he ordered. "And keep me informed if anything out of the ordinary occurs."

"As you command."

Tetrax cut the communication, leaving Zanramon alone. He thought back to the Gamaron's threats, and their promise to handle whatever he threw at them. He'd brushed it off as being nothing more than an attempt to bolster the Fugitoid's confidence, but now he was beginning to think that they had meant every word.

...

The sound of the pneumatic locks to the cell door opening cause Hisako to bolt awake. She sat up, almost instinctively eying the door. Her brothers were awoken as well, feeling their sister's urgency. Mona Lisa awoke as well, immediately taking note of Hisako's frightened demeanor and pale complexion.

"Hisako, are we under attack?" she questioned.

Hisako shook her head, taking a deep breath in order to calm herself.

"Sorry..." she muttered, "I half expected... Him... to walk through the door."

The turtles instinctively pulled their sister closer, hugging her tightly and reassuringly. Mona Lisa noted this, looking at her allies in confusion and sympathy.

"Who is it she speaks of?" she asked.

"A person that we don't talk about." Raph explained. "You'll never meet him, so don't worry about it."

"Yeah." Leo agreed, his eyes catching sight of a few shadows approaching the door of their cell. "Something tells me we've got bigger things to worry about."

Everyone turned to see a few of Rynokk's cronies approaching the cell. The turtles all rose to their feet, Mona Lisa and Hisako doing the same. Raph moved to the front of the group, getting between the others and Rynokk's goons.

"You jokers come for a rematch?" he asked, getting into a defensive stance.

The aliens all immediately raised their appendages in pacifying gestures.

"Easy Gamaron." one hissed. "We're not here to fight."

"Far from it." another one added. "We're here to thank you."

This made all six of them blink in confusion. Raph lowered his stance, which prompted the aliens to lower their appendages.

"We've tried standing up to Rynokk before, and he's always pounded us into the floor." the first alien explained. "You're the first being in this rakkan hellhole that actually beat him."

"If you need or want anything at all, just ask." a third alien piped up. "We owe you that much."

Raph mulled that over, then a cocky grin plastered itself on his face.

"As it just so happens, there is something you guys could help me with."

He gestured for them to come closer and he began to whisper.

"My friends and I are thinking of starting a riot." he explained in a hushed tone. "We could use your help to spread the word and make sure everyone gets involved."

The aliens were all nodding enthusiastically, the idea of a prison riot making all of them eager for a fight.

"However, you got to wait for our signal." Raph insisted. "You go off too quickly, and the entire thing is moot."

"Don't worry Gamaron." The first alien insisted. "We've got this."

The aliens spread out to do what they'd been told, leaving the Hamato siblings and Mona Lisa to themselves.

"And that's two problems solved with one fight." Raph declared, his cocky grin becoming even more so. "You guys really need to step it up."

The turtles and Hisako just chuckled, clapping and patting their brother on the shell.

"So far everything has worked out, but we've seen how quickly Tetris can reclaim order down here." Donny reminded him. "If we want this to work, we need to take that power away from him."

"The intercom system." Mikey remembered. "I bet if we take that out, then old Tetris won't be able to call in the cavalry."

"It's Tetrax, why do you insist on getting his name wrong?" Mona Lisa questioned.

"Because it probably pisses him off, and I find that extremely satisfying." Mikey answered.

Lisa gave a nod of understanding, then returned to the matter at hand.

"The warden's name aside, Michelangelo is right." Mona Lisa agreed. "The key to any successful mission is cutting off communication."

"Maybe one of us can use the keycard to access the security room." Hisako suggested. "No doubt that's where the intercom is. We can commandeer it and use it to give a signal to Raph's new best friends."

Leo took the card out from where he'd hidden it, handing it to Hisako.

"That should probably be you then." he told her. "Out of all of us, you're the smallest, and no doubt have the best chance of actually finding the security room."

Hisako nodded, taking the keycard and sliding it onto the hem of her pants.

"So when do we do this?" she asked.

"Tonight." Leo declared.

...

When the lights shut off all throughout the prison, the Hamato siblings assumed that it was lights out. Hisako and her brothers exchanged knowing glances, then they all shared a nod. Hisako slipped out of the cell, grateful that the prison didn't seem to care about locking them in unless it was a lockdown. She jumped down to the first level, immediately rolling under a table for a second in case one of the cameras caught her jump.

After a few moments, nothing happened, so Hisako emerged from under the table. She approached the large door that she and her brothers had been forced through when they first arrived, her eyes immediately hitting the card swiper right by the door.

"Let's hope this works." she muttered.

She swiped the card, then the doors hissed open. Hisako wasted no time running through, ducking for cover as they closed behind her. She leaned against the wall, then closed her eyes, trying to listen for any guards. Though her physical senses picked up nothing, she did manage to catch a few stray thoughts from a pair of guards not far from her. She opened her eyes, then made her way towards the security room. She leaned against the door, placing her ear against the metal.

"I'm telling you Raz, the orange Gamaron had this in his pocket." one of the guards commented. "It has to be important."

"It's a primitive piece of technology that the creature probably picked up from a street vendor back on Dhoonib." the second guard, Raz, retorted. "Now put it back Zed."

Hisako slid the keycard, opening the door to reveal the two guards arguing over Mikey's shell cell. They had their backs to the door and didn't seem to notice her enter, too caught up in their argument.

"I'm just not sure you're right about it being useless." Zed argued. "He seemed rather adamant that I be careful with it. Perhaps it's some kind of weapon?"

"Knowing Donatello, it might be." Hisako remarked.

Both Raz and Zed turned just in time for Hisako to split kick them both, knocking them unconscious. Mikey's shell cell went flying into the air before Hisako snagged it. She turned it on and opened up a single app, her smile growing.

"This is gonna be good."

...

Back in the main prison block, the intercom system let out a shrill beep, one that roused all the prisoners from their sleep. However, the voice over the intercom got all the guards riled up as well.

"Hello? Is this thing on? Testing. Testing."

The prisoners were beginning to emerge from their cells, realizing that this was the signal they'd been waiting for.

"Hello Incarceron!" Hisako called over the intercom, putting on her best Radio Host voice. "This is Hamato Hisako, coming to you live from the security room, and I have got quite the treat for my fellow inmates. My brother Michelangelo managed to hold onto his cellphone before we got arrested, and he has access to a plethora of well-known tunes from my planet of Earth."

Mikey was beaming from ear to ear.

"She gave me a shout out!" he squeed.

"I think I have the perfect song to start off this prison riot, a classic done by the king of Rock and Roll himself! Give it up for Elvis Presley's Jailhouse Rock!"

A second later, the ever familiar beat of the classic song began to echo through the speakers. About the same time, the doors opened to allow the guards into the facility. By the time the first line of the song had been sung, prisoners were engaging guards in an all-out brawl. Raph popped his neck, then leapt into the fray, unable to pass up a good fight.

...

Up in the security room, Hisako looked at the camera feeds with a large smile. Everything seemed to be going just as they'd planned. She ripped off a piece of her shirt, tying Mikey's shell cell to the intercom before stashing it in a compartment. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of several guards making their way towards the security room.

"About time." she said with a grin.

...

Outside, several Triceraton guards aimed their weapons at the door. One leaned forward, swiping his card so the door would open. The second it opened, all of the guards let loose a barrage of laser fire, practically annihilating several of the security cameras, as well as the pair of chairs. After about a minute, they all stopped firing, taking a look around the destroyed room. There only appeared to be two occupants, the two guards that had initially been on duty. Thankfully, they were both on the floor unconscious, so had been left unharmed by the laser fire.

"Where'd the humanoid go?" One of the guards questioned.

As they scanned the room, Hisako watched them from above, having found a way onto the ceiling and was currently hanging there. Once the last one entered the room, she dropped down behind him, nerve jabbing him in the neck. The guy went down with a thud, drawing the attention of the other guards.

"It's the humanoid!" one shouted. "Open fire!"

They all began attacking, attempting to shoot Hisako down. However, she quickly dove for cover in a small closet, slamming the button to close the door. The gunfire was beginning to heat up the metal door as Hisako leaned against it.

"That was probably not my brightest idea." she muttered.

As she took a deep breath, her foot connected with a broom leaning against the wall, making it connect with her head. She yelped in surprise, grabbing the broom. She was about to push it off, then she paused.

"Well, it's no tessen, but beggars can't be choosers."

She grasped the broom, then opened the door again. The second it opened, she slid under one of the Triceratons, using the broom to trip him up. She then jumped to her feet, spinning the broom like a Bo staff and getting into a fighting stance.

"Bring it on, Dino-breath!" she exclaimed.

...

In the cell block, the main area had been reduced to a warzone. Triceratons and prisoners alike were everywhere, most still fighting tooth, nail, and claw while a few had been knocked unconscious. The turtles and Mona Lisa were all right in the middle of it all, forming a shell to shell circle in order to protect themselves.

"You know, I'm starting to think this may not have been such a good plan!" Donny noted as he kicked a Triceraton in the face.

"You kidding?" Raph exclaimed, punching two Triceratons simultaneously while grinning like a maniac. "I haven't had this much fun since that bar fight!"

"We need to make for the exit!" Mona Lisa exclaimed, dodging a bout of laser fire before tail whipping the shooter.

"Without Hisako, we don't stand a chance!" Leo replied. "She's got our keycard!"

"Then where is she?!" Mikey screamed.

About that time, Hisako came running up to them, a couple brooms in her hand as she swung them like bats, knocking a few guards aside.

"Sorry I'm late." she apologized. "But I found us some makeshift weapons."

She doled out the brooms so each of her brothers had one.

"They're no ninja weapons, but they're better than nothing." she admitted.

"Remember what Master Splinter taught us." Leo replied. "In the hands of a ninja master, anything can be a weapon."

Now armed, the Hamato siblings scattered. Donny had the easiest time adjusting to the broom since it worked similarly to his staff. He spun it around for a bit before smacking it across the face of a Triceraton guard several times. He then swung the broom at his feet knocking him down to the ground.

Raph charged at the Triceraton, holding his broom like a battering ram with the broom end out. The Triceraton grabbed the end of the broom and picked him up, bringing him up to eye level. Raph then kicked the Triceraton in the face repeatedly. One last kick knocked the Triceraton to the ground as Raph back flipped onto the ground.

"Now that felt good." he muttered to himself.

Leo planted the broom on the ground, running forward and using it to trip up his enemies. Once they were down, he twisted the broom, using the side to clock the unfortunate Triceraton on the side of the head. He might as well have hit the guy with a bat because he was out in an instant.

Mikey meanwhile, was snapping the handle of his broom in the face of a Triceraton.

"A little to the right, a little to the left, one more time, a little bit more like that."

He punctuated each direction with a snap of the handle, forcing the Triceraton into the position he wanted. Finally, he was right where the orange turtle wanted him.

"And... stop." He declared. "Perfect."

Hisako swung her broom with all her strength, connecting with the side of the Triceratons head. He fell hard as Hisako grinned at her brother.

"You're a natural, sis." he told her, holding out a fist.

"Thanks, bro." she replied, fist bumping him.

Lisa came up behind a Triceraton, latching onto his back and pounding on his head. He attempted to shake her off, but found the action impossible. Raph watched her fighting, unable to keep a lovesick puppy dog grin off his face. One Triceraton attempted to take advantage of his daze, only to receive a rabbit punch to the face from the red turtle, who didn't even bother looking back. Once Mona Lisa had dispatched her Triceraton, she turned to the Hamato Siblings.

"We have wasted enough time here." she declared. "If we are to make our escape, we must act now."

"You heard Lisa, let's book!" Leo shouted.

They all ran for the exit, occasionally bashing guards aside as they got to the door. Hisako wasted no time swiping the card, the six of them pouring through the door before it even opened all the way.

"Donny, which way to the hangar bay?" Hisako questioned.

"Turn right at the next intersection." Donny answered. "Then a sharp left, and we should be at the doors of the hanger."

The six ran at top speeds, even sliding slightly as they took the two necessary turns. Once they reached the door, Hisako swiped the card again. They prepared to charge through the doors, but were met by Warden Tetrax standing in their way, an entire army of armed guards behind him. He gave a slow clap, a smug smile on his face.

"Congratulations." he told them. "This is the farthest any escape attempt has ever gotten."

"We aim to please." Raph remarked.

"Let us pass Tetris!" Mikey demanded.

Tetrax's face faltered slightly as his eye twitched.

"That's Warden Tetrax to you, Gamaron." he snarled. "And what makes you think I'll listen to a single word you say?"

Mona Lisa stepped forward, punching her palm.

"I will handle this, Gamarons." she whispered to them. "You five make for one of the shuttles. I will be right behind you."

"Lisa, you're outnumbered 200 to 1." Donny calculated. "The chances of you succeeding are-"

"Do not tell me the odds, Donatello." she interrupted. "Just go!"

She charged at Tetrax, tackling the Warden to the ground. The guards were shocked by the sudden movement, which gave the Hamato Siblings the opening they needed.

"Now's our chance, let's go!" Leo ordered.

The Hamato Siblings made a beeline towards the first shuttle they laid their eyes on. They were about halfway up the gangplank before laser fire echoed through the hangar. Raph's blood ran cold when he heard a pained scream come from Mona Lisa. The world seemed to slow down as he looked back. He saw Mona Lisa fall to the ground, where she was immediately dogpiled by a dozen or so guards.

"Mona Lisa!" he shrieked.

Hisako felt what he was about to do and her eyes went wide.

"Raph! Stop!"

But he didn't. Gripping his broom so tightly his knuckles turned light green, he ran at the Triceratons, screaming with every step.

"What's that shell-head doing?!" Donny shouted.

"He's ruining the plan!" Hisako snapped.

"Leo, what do we do?!" Mikey questioned.

By now, Raph was swinging his broom like a madman, the sides connecting with faces, abdomens, and even between a few legs. However, the guards were closing in fast and it was clear that he would soon be overwhelmed.

"We have to help him, now!" Leo decided.

They all ran to join their brother, hoping to even the odds in their favor. Unfortunately, even with all five of them there, they were all exhausted from their previous bouts, and there were just too many of them. Within a few minutes, they had been stripped of their brooms and were all lying on the ground in a groaning, unconscious heap.

"Like I told you before, off worlders..." Tetrax said to their unconscious bodies. "Nobody leaves this prison unless their sentence is up, or they're dead."

A guard came up to Tetrax, giving a salute.

"We've managed to subdue the riot sir." he declared. "We'll have the prisoners locked down in a matter of trigons."

"See that you do." Tetrax replied. "And somebody get me in contact with the Prime Leader."

...

Zanramon was fast asleep in his royal chambers when the call came in. When he heard the constant beeping noise letting him know the call was waiting, he let out an audible growl. He sat up, shuffling over to the communication array and turning it on.

"I do hope that this call is important." He snarled in barely concealed annoyance and rage. "Because if it is not, you will find yourself either on the next transport to the Klackspire mines, or the next featured attraction in the games!"

"I am sorry to wake you, Prime Leader." Warden Tetrax apologized. "However, you did ask me to inform you if anything out of the ordinary happened."

Zanramon paused, now honestly intrigued. He didn't even need to ask before Tetrax explained.

"The Gamarons and their humanoid ally seem to have formed an alliance with the Salamandarian Y'Gythgba, and they organized a riot in order to make an escape."

"WHAT?!" Zanramon exclaimed.

"Fear not, Prime Leader." Tetrax assured him. "We have successfully contained the riot, and the six would-be escape artists are back in custody."

Zanramon let out a sigh of relief. It seemed that his earlier assessment of the off worlders' promises was correct. They were indeed much stronger than he had originally anticipated. They would have to be dealt with, and Zanramon already knew the perfect way to do it.

"What are your orders sir?"

Zanramon smiled.

"Send them all to the Games."

[trendingnewsb]

Heres Everything Youve Ever Wanted To Know About The JonBent Ramsey Murder

—

1. JonBenét’s first name is what is know as a “portmanteau” given that her name is a combination of her father’s first and middle name, creating a completely new name.

2. JonBenét was a decorated beauty pageant contestant winning titles such as Little Miss Colorado, Little Miss Charlevoix, Colorado State All-Star Kids Cover Girl, America’s Royale Miss, and National Tiny Miss Beauty.

JonBenét, photograhped for a pageant. (Wikipedia)

3. Investigators found 38 registered sex offenders within a 1.8 mile radius of the Ramsey’s Boulder, Colorado home.

4. Jon Bennett Ramsey, JonBenét’s father, was the President and Chief Executive Officer of Access Graphics, a computer services company. In 1996, the same year as JonBenét’s murder, Access Graphics grossed over $1 billion, and he was named “Entrepreneur of the Year” by the Boulder Chamber of Commerce.

5. Although JonBenét’s half brother from her father’s first marriage spent half of Christmas day with the Ramseys, her parents Patsy and John and 9-year-old brother Burke are the only people known to have been in the family home the night of her murder.

Burke, Patsy, and JonBenét Ramsey. (Splash News)

6. At 5:52 AM on the morning of December 26th, 1996, Patsy called 911 to report her daughter was missing after finding a two page ransom note on the back staircase of the family house, allegedly to be from someone who had kidnapped JonBenét in the middle of the night.

7. There was a phone call prior to Patsy’s from the Ramsey household to 911, but whoever made that phone call immediately hung up.

8. The ransom note is a point of suspicion for many people, given that it was proven to have been written in the Ramsey household, a “practice” ransom letter was found, and several handwriting analysis experts have determined it was very probable that Patsy herself wrote the letter.

9. The letter reads as follows:

Mr. Ramsey,

Listen carefully! We are a group of individuals that represent a small foreign faction. We do respect your bussiness [sic] but not the country that it serves. At this time we have your daughter in our posession [sic]. She is safe and unharmed and if you want her to see 1997, you must follow our instructions to the letter.

You will withdraw $118,000.00 from your account. $100,000 will be in $100 bills and the remaining $18,000 in $20 bills. Make sure that you bring an adequate size attache to the bank. When you get home you will put the money in a brown paper bag. I will call you between 8 and 10 am tomorrow to instruct you on delivery. The delivery will be exhausting so I advise you to be rested. If we monitor you getting the money early, we might call you early to arrange an earlier delivery of the money and hence a [sic] earlier delivery pick-up of your daughter.

Any deviation of my instructions will result in the immediate execution of your daughter. You will also be denied her remains for proper burial. The two gentlemen watching over your daughter do not particularly like you so I advise you not to provoke them. Speaking to anyone about your situation, such as Police, F.B.I., etc., will result in your daughter being beheaded. If we catch you talking to a stray dog, she dies. If you alert bank authorities, she dies. If the money is in any way marked or tampered with, she dies. You will be scanned for electronic devices and if any are found, she dies. You can try to deceive us but be warned that we are familiar with law enforcement countermeasures and tactics. You stand a 99% chance of killing your daughter if you try to out smart [sic] us. Follow our instructions and you stand a 100% chance of getting her back.

You and your family are under constant scrutiny as well as the authorities. Don’t try to grow a brain John. You are not the only fat cat around so don’t think that killing will be difficult. Don’t underestimate us John. Use that good southern common sense of yours. It is up to you now John!

Victory!

S.B.T.C

10. Another point of suspicion in regards to the ransom letter is the specificity of the amount of money. It was almost the exact amount of what John Ramsey’s Christmas bonus had been that year.

11. Despite being instructed not to contact anyone in the ransom letter, Patsy called the authorities as well and friends and family to alert them to her daughter’s disappearance.

12. When police entered the house they did a cursory search, but after failing to find any sign of a break in, struggle, or forced entry, only sectioned of JonBenét’s room and treated the scene as a kidnapping.

The Ramsey Home in Boulder (Jennifer Boyer)

13. Because the murder took place during Christmas, there were fewer police available to take statements from the Ramsey family and to secure the house. This lead to JonBenét’s room not being properly sectioned off, friends and family coming and going from the house contaminating the scene, and other missteps that basically made any DNA evidence unusable.

14. During a 2015 Reddit AMA, former Police Chief Mark Beckner said, “As for the police department in general, I wish we would have done a much better job of securing and controlling the crime scene on day one…We also should have separated John and Patsy and gotten full statements from them that day.”

15. At 1 PM Boulder Police Detective Linda Arndt suggested that John Ramsey and his friend Fleet White search through the house to see if they could spot if “anything seemed amiss.” While looking through the basement, the two men discovered the body of JonBenét.

15. JonBenét was bound by her wrists and ankles with a nylon cord, had duct tape over her mouth, and was covered in a white blanket. John Ramsey immediately carried her upstairs and Detective Arndt moved her into the living room.

16. Patsy claimed the clothes JonBenét was found in (white t-shirt and leggings) were not what she had put her daughter to bed wearing the night before.

18. The autopsy report showed that JoneBenét had been killed by strangulation (likely with the nylon cord wrapped around her neck) and also had a skull fracture. Her vaginal area had been wiped down, but there wasn’t any physical evidence of “conventional rape.” There was some sort of undigested fruit, thought to potentially be pineapple, in her stomach that had been consumed just a few hours before she died.

19. In photographs taken of the Ramsey household, there was a bowl of pineapple with a spoon on the kitchen table. The bowl and the spoon were covered in 9-year-old Burke’s fingerprints. Both John and Patsy said they had no memory of putting pineapple out for either of their children, and adamantly maintained that Burke had been asleep the entire night and woke up several hours after they called the police to report JonBenét missing.

The pineapple with milk, photographed during the 1996 investigation. (CBS)

20. After calling 911, Patsy thought she had hung up the phone but it was actually still on the line for a few seconds and voices were audible.

21. On the 911 call voices can be heard in the background during those seconds when the phone was not actually hung up. Some speculate that they can hear Patsy saying, “Help me Jesus,” or “What did you do?” and man, maybe John Ramsey, saying, “We’re not speaking to you.”

22. Kimberly Archuleta, the 911 dispatcher who took Patsy Ramsey’s call, was not questioned by the police.

23. Burke Ramsey, when questioned by the police about what happened to JonBenét, maintained (both as a child and to this day) that he was in bed when the 911 call was made.

25. A window in the basement was found to be broken, however it didn’t seem likely to be an actual, feasible point of entry for a break in. The window remained quite dirty (an intruder would have likely wiped most of the debris away while sliding through), it wasn’t actually found to be open at the time of investigation (reports vary on this), and a spider web in the corner was completely undisturbed.

26. It was however reported that there were “two sets of unidentifiable footprints” and a “palm print on the cellar door” in the basement where JonBenét’s body was found.

27. In 1999 there was an indictment against the Ramseys for two counts of child neglect that resulted in the death of JonBenét. However, District Attorney Alex Hunter refused to sign off on the documents stating lack of evidence, and therefore they were never actually indicted and/or prosecuted.

John and Patsy Ramsey during a local interview in 1997. (YouTube)

28. There was (and continues to be) wild speculation that JonBenét had been sexually abused/assaulted, both during her life and during her murder. When she was around 3 years old she was brought to the doctor for vaginal irritation, but her parents and the doctor stated that was simply from an allergic reaction to bubble bath. JonBenét was also a known bedwetter, which can be a sign of trauma and abuse in children. Lastly, although no seminal fluid was found there did appear to be vaginal trauma on her body during the autopsy. All of this has lead to the speculation that there was a sexual component to the crime.

29. In 2003 investigators found DNA evidence from a droplet of blood that was found in/on JonBenét’s underwear. The DNA was from an unknown male, not related to the Ramseys. While the DNA has been put into the FBI database so far it has lead to no new leads and no new developments.

30. One of the popular suspects was the “Santa Claus” suspect. A man named Bill McReynolds, who played Santa Claus along with his wife, Janet, who played Mrs. Claus, was at the Ramsey home just two days before JonBenét’s death. McReynolds described feeling very close to JonBenét and allegedly gave her a card that said, “You will receive a special gift after Christmas.” Mrs. McReynolds also wrote a play about a child who is murdered and their body is discovered in a basement. But despite these coincidences, as chilling as they may be, no other evidence was found to tie McReynolds to the case. McReynolds died at age 72 of a heart attack in 2002.

31. Lou Smit, a detective who came out of retirement to assist the District Attorney’s office with the case in early 1997, has stated that one of his main suspects is Gary Oliva. Oliva, a registered sex offender, was found with a photo of JonBenét in his backpack when he was arrested on drug charges in 2000. Oliva said of the photograph, “I feel she was an exceptional girl whose death was an exceptional loss. I felt the need to build a monument, a shrine, to remember this little girl.”

32. Michael Vail, a friend of Oliva’s, came forward to magazine with the information that just a day after the 1996 murder Oliva called him in distress saying, “I hurt a little girl, I hurt a little girl.” However, the DNA evidence was not a match to Oliva’s.

33. In 2006 at the age of 49, Patsy Ramsey died of ovarian cancer. She was buried at St. James Episcopal Cemetery in Marietta, Georgia, next to JonBenét.

JonBenét’s Grave. (Wikipedia)

34. 10 years after the murder, John Mark Karr confessed via email to murdering JonBenét to a journalism professor named Michael Tracey. Tracey had been emailing with Karr for over 4 years in order to gain his trust.

35. In the emails sent to Tracey, Karr used vernacular similar to that which was used in the ransom note left at the Ramsey house. He also called Patsy by a nickname, “Neddie”, that it was strange he would even have knowledge of. Eventually, Karr confessed to being in love with JonBenét and that on that night in December, he hit her over the head with a flashlight.

36. In a conversation with Tracey about the murder Karr said,

“I guess I might have just kind of had like a nervous breakdown at that point, I think I must have. I think I must have had really something kind of clicked in my head and I kind of lost it, really lost it. I mean, I just started really feeling strange and I just kept looking up at her.

And then all of sudden it was like now she was dead and she once was this little girl, but now she was like a holy deity; she was just like a goddess at that point.

She was beyond a child; she was just like when Jesus died on the cross… and when Jesus died on the cross he transcended from being a man to being something immortal, and that’s what she became to me.

I don’t give damn if anyone understand it or not….

I just looked up at her I though I just want to worship her…she’s my goddess…”

37. On August 16, 2008, with the assistance of British Intelligence and the Royal Thai Authorities, the US Department of Homeland Security was able to locate Karr in Bangkok where he had traveled to avoid child pornography charges from the state of California.

John Mark Karr in an interview post-confession. (YouTube)

38. A few months after Karr’s confession, Boulder County District Attorney Mary Lacy issued a formal apology to John Ramsey and his family saying, “No one in the Ramsey family is considered a suspect.”

39. Despite his confession, Karr’s DNA did not match the DNA found at the scene of the crime, and he was never charged.

40. Furthermore, Former Police Chief Mark Beckner said of Karr and Mary Lacy, “My gut reaction was that Mary Lacy did not know the facts of the case and was making a big mistake. His confession, once they shared it with us, did not match the evidence at the scene. After she asked for our help in proving he did it, we knew in about 18 hours he was not the guy. We were able to confirm he was not even in Colorado at the time by just doing some routine checking and then obtained photos of him in Georgia at the time.”

41. In the CBS documentary special , DNA specialist Dr. Henry Lee revisited the DNA found on JonBenét’s underwear. Lee concluded that it was highly possible that the DNA found was transfer DNA from the manufacturer, and proved this by testing an unopened bag of underwear that ended up also containing trace DNA. This meant that the DNA evidence wasn’t conclusive, and any prior suspects could in fact be JonBenét’s killer despite previously being ruled out when they were not a DNA match.

42. A popular theory is that Patsy Ramsey, known to be a strict mother, accidentally killed JonBenét while reprimanding her for wetting the bed. This, coupled with the fact that several experts say that the ransom note was written by a woman, lead people to assume Patsy’s guilt.

43. Another theory, greatly reinforced by the CBS special, says that Burke Ramsey killed JonBenét for eating some of his pineapple, and that Patsy and John worked together to stage the kidnapping/murder scene to keep their son out of trouble. Burke was known to show hostility towards his sister (housekeepers reported that he defecated in her bed and rubbed feces on her Christmas presents and bedroom walls), so this with the pineapple bowl being covered in his fingerprints, JonBenét having undigested pineapple in her system, and his bizarre testimonials where he is seen smiling and seems like he’s reciting a script lead people to the conclusion that Burke killed his little sister in 1996. In December 2016 following the special, Burke filed a lawsuit against CBS for $750 million, alleging defamation.

Burke Ramsey during a 2016 interview with Dr. Phil. (YouTube)

44. On top of his confession to Michael Tracey, John Mark Karr has maintained that while he was present when JonBenét died, he did not act alone and wasn’t solely responsible for her murder. Karr claims that he knows who this killer is, but that he staged the crime scene in order to throw the police off the trail. This “real killer” has never been identifed by Karr or anyone else.

45. A particularly bizarre internet conspiracy theory is that the popstar Katy Perry is actually JonBenét Ramsey. Stemming from a 2014 YouTube video (now removed), the theory states that the similarities in their facial structure proves Perry is actually JonBenét and claims that the Ramseys staged the murder and cover up so that JonBenét/Katy could become famous.

46. A man named Michael Helgoth worked near the Ramsey home and allegedly told a friend on the night of the murder that he would be making “between $50,000 and $80,000 that night.” Helgoth had a history of sexual abuse and violence, but two days after the DA announced they had narrowed down a list of suspects, Helgoth committed suicide.

47. In December of 2016 authorities in Colorado revealed they would be using new DNA technology on the evidence found in the JonBenét Ramsey case. However, they cautioned that this would likely not reveal anything new and that in order to make a strong case, “new results [would only be significant] if they can be matched with other evidence authorities already have.”

JonBenét Ramsey (Splash News)

48. Current Boulder County District Attorney Stan Garnett claims he’s very certain he knows who killed JonBenét and that, “If we can ever file a case in open court, I’ll tell the world.”

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