#there's something that makes me so feral when eden's eyes go empty like that after / during a battle

[lunaetis]

" if i can bleed, does that mean i'm alive ? " tell me.

[arcadejohn127-9]

Could you do the Brothers and undatables reacting to MC being poisoned and finding out that Micheal was trying to kill them because he was jealous that MC was close with the brothers. Let me just say your work is great the way you describe the situation before going into the reactions is really interesting. Thank you so much!!!!

I already had this ask half way done but Tumblr decided to delete all my work due to buggy WiFi - I'm currently in pain 😭

I don't know much about poison so bare with me, I just looked at the basic symptoms and went "I'm smart" I've passed out after being ill or just in general quite a few times when younger so I had faith

This also has a bonus Michael part! I've decided to add his response to the boys reactions in its own format or else each one will just have a repeat of the same Michael Response

Warning: angst, implied vomitting, attempted murder, fainting, spoilers of lesson 37 and 16, gore on Michaels part, long

"from Michael...?" You questioned outloud, unsure on how to feel about the parcel you've found.

Your relationship with the angel wasn't a defined one. You didn't hate him but you didn't like him either; there was always something about his presence that made you fearful. You choked it up to be just internalised fear due to hearing the brothers experience of the celestial realm and angels.

You've never met him in person; the first conversation you had of him was when you stabbed yourself with the dagger instead of Lucifer. You saw the light and he spoke to you, surprised and shocked at the love you had for the demons. Even then you never really got to speak to him again, he was a mystery. You've sent a few letters and he's returned some and Simeon is a link between you two. But other than that? You didn't really have a relationship with him.

So why? Why would he send you a gift?

You looked inside to see a packet of apple pieces and herbs inside of a snack shaped teabag. You admired the unique shape and couldn't stop a small smile appearing. It was definitely cute! And you finally got to use the new kettle and cups barbatos got you.

You decided to text Simeon, telling him to thank Michael for your gift. He was surprised by this but agreed, happy you two were connecting.

Whilst your new tea brewed you were trying to figure out a way to repay his kindness. Sure it was simple small gift but he was reaching out - you were giddy! Hopeful this meant he was fully on board to the exchange program.

But you soon would regret drinking that tea. It was so sweet you couldn't stop drinking it; your lips only leaving the cup of a second of breath. It was addicting. The herb covered apples pieces gave it a nice slight bitterness. But it wasn't overbearing but didn't make it taste like sugar in your mouth.

As soon as the last gulp came down; something came up. You hunched over as your stomach churned, a disgusting taste forcing itself up your throat. Your vision growing blurry as you stumbled out of your seat, the light in your room feeling like knives to your eyes. You tried closing them but the effect didn't change. You were barely hunched over on your side releasing everything in your stomach. It stung your throat, your stomach feeling painfully empty.

There was this invisible feeling telling you to go to sleep. You wanted to obey but the light felt too painful. In your dazed state you shakily texted the groupchat a sloppy "help me ASAP, my room" before letting your body go limp, heaving as you just laid there, dragging a nearby jacket over your head and let your vision be consumed by the darkness.

Lucifer:

He's heart broken

How did this happen? You were fine and now you're not moving

Your breathing was faint against his neck as he held you

He saw the parcel and connected the dots, Eden's tea

It was a death sentence for any human, a treat for demons and a punishment for angels

He's started a war once, he can do it again

Whilst he knew he couldn't enter the celestial realm he demanded that Michael show himself

When his demands went unanswered, he was ready to break all rules

"He's gone too far, I don't care for his reasons! I WILL DESTORY THE CELESTIAL REALM IF I HAVE TO! HE WILL ANSWER ME!"

when you received a cure all his angers washed away with relief

Happy to have you awake again even if it was for a few moments

Mammon:

FLASHBACK ARE STRONG

All he can think about his how you looked like in the past; dying in his arms

He immediately went to blame belphie but almost tripped over the parcel

He's an idioit but he knew what this tea was

Becomes feral with rage and overly protective of your unconscious body

He's hunched over by your side at all times just growling at anyone who comes near you

He wanted to hurt Michael but he wanted to stay with you

He'd talk to you and tell you how he was going to get payback

"I should of known he'd do something-! I'll never forgive him- DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!!! I'M DOING THIS FOR THEM!"

As soon as you get the cure he's hugging you and telling you how much he missed you

Levithan:

When he found you, his heart dropped

It only got worse when he found the parcel and realized what Michael has done

he will remind the celestial realm why he is an admiral of hell's navy

He spends time by the sea communicating with any creature he can get; telling them if things go down he'll need them to flood the gates of heaven

When he isn't planning war he's with you, playing games, trying to ignore how dead you looked

He would remind you what buttons to push when your chatacter didn't move

"YOU THINK I'LL JUST LET THIS SLIDE??!! HE'S KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!"

He broke down sobbing when you woke up after getting a cure

He was convinced you were dead but here you were, alive and awake

Satan:

He's a detective nerd so of course he scoped out the scene

When he found the parcel and Michaels name - oh boy

Never met the man and pities him for letting their first meeting be the angels demise

It wasn't long before he had to be detained

Screaming and tearing up anything he could, yelling at his brother's for falling

He blamed his brothers, he blamed Michael and he blamed himself

Hated being locked away from you, would course more of a fuss when he couldn't see you

"I WILL KILL EVERY ONE OF YOU IF YOU DON'T LET ME GET TO THAT DAMN ANGEL!! I HATE YOU!"

He's only calmed down when you are given a cure and he's told you're alive

Is finally allowed to see you and he holds you tight

Asmodeus:

When he found you he was sobbing

It only grew worse when he found out what happened

In Denial

Not of Michael, he believed that but in denial you were dead or were dying

Kept insisting you were just tired and sleeping

Destroyed an entire room when one of them insisted you weren't sleeping

He'd help you get ready and pamper you, telling you it's okay and you can thank him when you feel better

Would be seen wiping your face often in hopes it'll get rid of that death like appearance you have

"They're fine but Michael won't be, when my precious darling wakes up I'll make sure they know I'll make everything better."

When you bad your cure he started crying and laughing, telling everyone he was right

Clinged to you and let you sleep

Beezlebub:

He found the parcel almost immediately

And went into a rage - we all know how his hunger tantrums are

Would've destroyed the whole house if he wasn't restrained

Guilt

So much guilt, his shoulders are always sagging

Sits by your unconscious body so he feels like he's protecting you

Has tried kissing you awake

Hoping you'll wake up like a fairy tale Character and everything will be fine

"I'm going to kill Michael and I won't let any of you stop me....protect (Y/N) For me."

Was so happy and relieved when you got the cure, sticking to your side at all times even when you were awake

Belphegor:

He was quick to help you into bed and on your side

When he found the parcel he was ready to murder

His rage towards Michael massively outweighed his hatred for humanity - even Lucifer!

Beel couldn't keep control of him mostnofnthe time unless he got forceful, belphegor stuck in a headlock screeching bloody murder

Stress sleeping

Like many of the brothers he develops two modes: calm or PLANNING MASS MURDER

Whenever he gets overwhelmed he just forces body to shut down and sleep besides you

"Michael will face me again, I won't let him kill anyone else that I love! He got Lilith killed and he can't do the same for (Y/N)!"

As soon as the cure was found he was by your side

Letting you rest and watched over you

UNDATEABLES↓

Diavolo:

Found out through the brothers

Sees this as an act of war against the peace he's working for

He was normally sweet and forgiving but it seemed Michael wanted to rip to his last nerve

Demanded for every reliable demon to search for a cure

Even had Solomon try to make one

"Barbatos, what is the possibility of Michael coming down to the devildom or the human realm? I want 'discuss' with him what his actions have caused."

As soon he he found out you were alive and safe

He didn't stop his plans but let himself have time with you

Barbatos:

So much guilt

Like holy shit

Is just constantly questioning how he didn't prevent this

Asked permission from the lord to just change the timelines so this didn't happen but the brothers were against it

They demanded they didn't avoid this situation and let Michael face punishment

That he couldn't refuse, he was angered by the angel's actions

More than he would ever show

"humans are so fragile and their time is so limited - that's why I'm never going to let anyone cut theirs short again."

Was part of the cure search party, he led the group

Once you were cured he stayed with you

Acting as your butler and made to check each of your foods and drinks

Solomon:

It wasn't a wise decision to piss off a wizard with stupid amount of pacts

To think an angel would do such a thing

But whilst Everyone lost their temper and searched for a cure

He was wondering - why did it happen

He was ordered asked to make you a cure

He was able to do it but the real cure was also found - giving you extra cure wasn't going to harm you

But he did plan to harm Michael

"you'd think he was smarter than this, he didn't even hide he was the one who did it but all it does is make my job easier."

nursed you until you woke up

Making sure you had mini cures to completely magic it out of your system

Simeon:

When he found out he was stunned

Betrayal - that's all he felt

How could Michael do such a thing?

But he knew Michael was a cruel angel, many having to drink Eden's tea as punishment

It burned their insides and had any poor soul sobbing for mercy after a gulp

"Michael you fool, you can get away with things in your league but you've involved the three realms into this....I pray you do not make your demise harder for yourself."

Was apart of the cure search party

Soothed you when you finally woke up, telling you it'll be okay

Let you rest as much as you wanted

Luke:

They tried to hide it from him but he kept demanding to see you

He wanted to know why everyone was acting strange

When he finally found out he was broken

His mentor

His idol

His everything

The person who always went for permission and knowledge

He thought so highly of him but he's hurt you

He's done more than that! He's tried to kill you!

He's been sobbing for days and locked himself away, he couldn't bare to see you after his once visit

He believed you were dead and they were just keeping your body

"Michael....why....why would you do this.... I thought you loved your brother's....I thought you were kind..!"

When he found out there was a cure he begged to help but they wouldn't let him

He only got to see you when you woke up and he was hugging you, crying

+ bonus Character↓

Michael:

The angel knew they'd be upset

But 9 demons wanting his blood? One wizard ready to cause mayhem and even his own kind wanting his downfall?

That he didn't expect

In his blind jealousy he didn't expect they'd all care for you this much

Thinking apart of them would be relieved you weren't there

But no

"You were my brother's before you were their partner, I'm simply doing what is right! It was their time to meet him and finally stop controlling all of you! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME! I'M YOUR FAMILY! WHY ARE THEY MORE IMPORTANT?!"

He got his answer

His wings torn to shreds, chunks of flesh bitten off him and slashes all over his body

He was left in human world bleeding and barely recognisable

They didn't hold back

He dread to think what the rest of them would do when they find him

[necros-writing-stuff]

It's pie. And sorry if I'm bothering you with this omegaverse stuff but. Please could I get a highschool Eden, breeding/ knotting/ marking the tiny omega feminine PC from before infront of a beta Leighton who thought he could take them away. Bonus if Bailey is pinning them down and making him watch by force

NEVER apologise for giving me an excuse to write Eden knotting the PC. It is always the time to write Eden knotting the PC. Also, anyone for the headcanon of demisexual Bailey?

NSFW below

You're covered in marks everyday. Eden's marks, to be specific. In a shithole like this, it was important for an alpha to mark their omega, so that others wouldn't get the wrong idea.

Especially with how pretty your are. How your hips attract glances, people watching your lips as you talk, sniffing the air around you when you go into pre-heat. But Eden had made it abundantly clear you belonged to him.

So then why was fucking Leighton hovering over you at lunch, sitting unreasonably close and trying to touch you. Can't he fucking see you pulling away? Can't that fucking beta smell how uncomfortable you are? Eden can, his nose sensitive to your scent.

"You gonna do anything about that?" Bailey asks from next to him, and Eden grunts. Marching over, he pulls you up by the arm, not caring if you spilt you drink and pulls you into his arms.

"Are you stupid, Leighton? This one's taken," he seethes, growl rising in his throat when the cocky bastard smirks.

"Oh? You must be a terrible alpha then, everyone knows how scared of you they are," the slimy beta lounges in his seat as you look up at Eden panicked.

"I've never said that!" you yelp out, clutching Eden's arm and giving him a pleading look.

He knows that. He knows you love him, knows that you're his little omega. You always have been.

"Come on," he says picking up your tray and bringing you to sit in between him and Bailey across the cafeteria. Bailey ruffles your hair as you sit and Eden allows it. He knows Bailey has his eyes on money rather than sex, anyways.

You snuggle into his side while you eat, but he can't bring himself to calm down. This was the third time he'd caught Leighton getting touchy, something had to be done about it.

When you get up to clear your tray he turns to Bailey, face stern.

"You free after school?"

You're content as you walk with Eden, arm wound around his. He said he needed help with something, dragging you towards the English room after your final lesson (which he had mysteriously missed), but you know him well enough to know you're about to get wrecked.

He's been tense since lunch, Leighton's comments probably running though his head and fueling his paranoia. No matter how much you tried to tell your mate that he was the only one, doubts could settle in easily. And he got like this, possessive and horny. Not that you were complaining.

He leads you in, pulling at your uniform and revealing your hole, never one to beat around the bush. All you can do is bend over the desk he pins you to, sighing when he slides a finger into your slick heat. Juices begin to gather as he fingers you, your moans muffled by your hands covering your mouth. People were still passing by in the corridors, it wouldn't do to be heard. Even though they could probably smell the arousal coming from both of you.

You're on the verge of cumming when the door flies open, making you yelp and cover yourself. It's Bailey, dragging in a very beat up Leighton. Blood pools from the dark haired student's nose, clothes ripped and stained, gag in his mouth and arms bound by some old rope.

Eden pins you back down to the desk before you can ask what's going on, Bailey forcing Leighton to kneel as he kicks the door closed.

"This one's mine," Eden growls into your ear as he starts pushing his cock into your wet hole. You can barley move with his weight pressing into your back, only able to gasp at how full you feel.

Bailey takes out a cigarette and lights it up, kicking Leighton to the floor as he does so.

"What kind of delusional twat do you have to be to think you have a chance there?" Bailey questions, taking a drag. "Those two have been mated since the start, you know? Ever since they both presented."

Bailey would know, he was there in the room when your heat had struck, violently being wrestled away by Eden who had claimed you without hesitation.

You scrunch your eyes shut, half from pleasure, half from the embarrassment of being taken in front of others. Eden pulls your hands from your mouth, kissing your neck as he roughly thrusts in and out, always hitting that one spot. It was hard for him to miss any parts of your insides, cock so big you always felt full to the brim.

"Let me hear you, love. Let that slimy toad know exactly who makes you feel like this."

You sob out, unable to hold in the sounds from how intense it all feels. You can feel his knot building, catching on your walls as he pulls out.

"That's it, say my name," Eden encourages you, bending over to places kisses on your neck.

Leighton looks furious on the floor, trying to get up only to be kicked in the gut again by Bailey. Grasping the beta's hair, Bailey forces him to look, blowing smoke into his face.

Your tiny body rocks against the desk with every thrust, voice calling out Eden's name as your orgasm builds. You look absolutely fucked out, like your were having the best time of your life getting impaled on the cock of that delinquent.

You would be much better off with Leighton, the beta thinks. Leighton has money. Has excellent grades. Doesn't dissappear into the woods and behave like a feral caveman. But here you are begging for that brute to knot you.

Eden's knot pushes past your entrance, snuggly fitting and making him grind into your hole instead of thrusting. It takes only one or two grinds for you to cum, whimpering and writhing as you try to milk him to completion.

It works, warm feeling of his seed filling you up familiar and soothing. For good measure, Eden pulls you up into his chest, teeth digging into the sent glands on your neck while his cock empties inside you.

Your mate pulls you into his lap as he sits on one of the seats behind the desk, bodies joined together for the next however long it would take. He kisses your forehead, gently whispering praise to you while you catch your breath.

You hide your face in his chest, embarrassed at the audience now that you were coming down from your high. Especially since Bailey had watched - ew he was like a brother to you. At least you can tell he hadn't gotten turned on.

Speaking of, the smoker begins rifling through Leighton's pockets, pulling out a wallet and taking all the money within. Its rather a lot for a student.

"Hope you learned your lesson," Bailey takes one last drag of the cigarette before crushing it under his feet. A nod from Eden has him taking Leighton by the collar and sitting him up.

Eden stretches his legs a little, making you shuffle to keep the knot from moving and hurting you.

"You're gonna leave them alone now, or we'll do more than take your money and bloody your nose. Your parents know about that little photo collection in your locker?"

Leighton's eyes fly wide at Eden's threat, muffled yell angry behind the gag.

Your mate strokes your hair as Bailey starts to drag Leighton from the room, almost lulling you to sleep as he kisses you again.

"Good omega."

[foxtophat]

ugh my grammar checker is on the fritz so sorry if i fucked up something somewhere

ANYWAY HEY HOWDY HI guys how are you? boy it’s been two weeks already huh?  time flies when you’re on island time i guess.  SO HERE IS TODAY’S CHAPTER, it’s about john and nick dealing with their emotions, also it’s the first time where we officially touch actual factual canon!!! which is just crazy, my buds, absolutely nutso

i don’t have a lot to say today, i’m kind of tired and i’m dreading going to take my dog for a walk because nobody in this neighborhood understands that they need to stay away from me!!! so i’m gonna keep this simple. i really appreciate all of you, from the humble kudos i recieve from someone who got tired after the first chapter, to the mighty comment chains that you guys indulge me with when i finally get my socially anxious ass up to the task of replying to your beautiful comments. i am so happy that y’all are having fun with me, and i hope that we continue to all have fun together!!!

not much else to say without ruining it, so i’ll just say this: boy howdy, do people just not wear shirts in the apocalypse?

for the non-linkers out there, click the read-more to get straight to this chapter’s text!!! and if you enjoy, consider giving my project a little boost with one of those rebloggy things. you know i love it, and you know i love you!!! be safe buds!!!

Nick and John have spent the last day and a half repairing the fence that once enclosed the whole Rye property. Nick wouldn't bother if it weren't for the return of wildlife after the long winter, but they need to do something to prevent dogs from getting into the yard, and just this week Kim caught a deer trying to get at the planters. The last thing they need is to go another round with mother nature after they just reclaimed their place in her.

It's one of those days where the weather can't make up its mind, alternating between sunshine and shadow as massive clouds roll across the blue sky overhead. It doesn't quite look like rain, but they should be expecting it any day now.

Nick takes a swig from his canteen, waiting on Kim to bring him the box of nails from the hangar. He leans against a newly restored stretch of fencing, which doesn't collapse under his weight.

"Guess we're doing something right," he says to John, who's more interested in finishing the job than talking about it.

Still, he replies, "Don't jinx it." He even gives Nick a distrusting look, as though he's the liability around here.

"It's my fence, I'll jinx whatever I damn well want."

John scoffs. "I have enough bad luck without you making it worse."

"Oh yeah, real bad luck you've got here."

Kim finally returns with the box of nails, which admittedly had been left in a pile with a bunch of other components for later sorting. As she hands them over, she looks around the yard for Carmina.

"I think she's taking a nap," Nick reassures her.

"She's going to be up all night if she is," Kim replies, running a hand through her hair. "Maybe it's time she learns how to mend a fence. She'll probably enjoy it more than doing times-tables all afternoon."

"We still got a ways to go," Nick says. "All four of us might be able to get it done quicker."

With that settled, Kim turns towards the house. "Carmina!" she hollers. She waits a few beats for a response, then sighs wearily. "Alright, I'll be right back."

Nick shrugs away his first inkling of concern as he watches her go. John doesn't seem to care one way or another, ignoring Kim as she heads inside. It's taken a while, but he's finally mastered reattaching the cross-posts, and now he can throw himself into it as mindlessly as digging dirt or hauling trash. Nick used to think he was bad about burying himself in work, but jeeze . Watching John tune out the rest of the world while he works is fascinating, if only in the same way watching Hoarders or My 600 Pound Life had been. The only difference here is that there's no talking head to tell Nick just what John is trying to distract himself from.

"Nick!" Kim shouts, somewhere on the other side of the house. It isn't a scream or cry for help, but there is a deep and worrying concern underlying her voice.

Panic that Nick hadn't realized he had leaps into his throat, a thousand hideous possibilities flying through his mind as he springs to his feet. He forgets all about John, who follows behind him with his hammer still in hand. His mind is too busy coming up with dozens of feral dogs for him to fight off, if not maniacs with guns, or one of those god-awful bears ! He doesn't have time to consider whether or not he's dropped too much of his guard around John when Carmina is being kidnapped by raiders!

Nick turns the corner and sees Kim dragging Carmina across the front yard by her bicep. There's no blood, no screaming, not even a dead wolf in the yard to reveal to Nick the problem. For that, he has to look further, down the dilapidated front drive, where a group of people stands bunched together. They're far enough back that Nick can't see their faces, but the way they mill around worryingly reminds Nick of a pack of angels.

Two people are retreating from the house. Nick only catches their backs, but that's all he needs. It's impossible, after all, to miss the massive, faded black Eden's Gate brand, and while Nick can't read the words carved into the flesh around it, he recognizes them immediately.

Of course Joseph Seed is still wandering around shirtless, even a decade after the apocalypse. He's flanked by some beefy, hoodie-wearing jackass, returning to his flock who are spreading out to eagerly accept him back into the fold, without so much as a backward glance at the house or the people in it. He doesn't even seem to care that he's left his back wide open to them. Like he knows they aren't going to do anything about it.

Nick should shoot him. No, wait, Kim has the rifle, so she should shoot him. Somebody should shoot him!

But they don't. Kim drags Carmina inside while Nick stares helplessly after the retreating cultists, who swallow Joseph's form up in their group before disappearing down the drive the way they came. They're almost out of eyesight before Nick realizes that John's supposed to be standing next to him, but isn't.

He looks around wildly for a second, trying to catch John mid-escape, but the guy has vanished. There's no sign of him rejoining the group leaving their property, but Nick hasn't been paying attention, and John knows the area better now; he could easily be making a loop somewhere out of Nick's sight.

Swearing under his breath, Nick hovers in the doorway, keeping his eyes peeled for the missing Seed even as he desperately wants to check on Carmina. Thankfully, Kim has their daughter cornered by the stairs, so she isn't going anywhere.

Although the initial adrenaline seems to have worn off now that Carmina is safe and Joseph has left, Kim's still jittery and tense, trying and failing to hide it from their increasingly confused daughter.

"What did he do?" she asks Carmina, "Did he hurt you?"

"Who?" Carmina scoffs, "The bearded man? He was just... giving me some food. What's the matter?"

"If he ever shows up here again," Nick snaps, "You come straight to your mom and me, you understand?"

" You said to find food wherever we can!"

"Yeah, well, we don't take anything from him. Not even food!"

Carmina squints so hard that her lips purse. " Why ?"

Nick throws up his hands. He has no idea how he's supposed to explain Joseph to his daughter. He doesn't know how to warn her about bliss-tainted food, or the cult's violence, or all their fucked up brainwashing. He doesn't know how he's supposed to convince her not to go near that maniac when they've been keeping one of his brothers fed and sheltered for half a year!

Kim, lifesaver that she is, takes the burden of explanation onto her shoulders. She turns to Nick, looking to either side before asking him, "Where's John?"

Nick hisses through his teeth in response, unwilling to admit he lost sight of the guy pretty much the second danger presented itself. He should have known better. He shouldn't have let his guard down. If he'd known the problem was going to be Joseph, he would have been more careful!

"Go find him," Kim says. "I'll — let me handle this."

As much as Nick doesn't want to leave the burden to Kim alone, she's right. They can't lose sight of the bigger picture here — and that picture involves Joseph's youngest, most irrational brother, who's probably running through the brush right now to reunite with his stupid, psychopathic family.

Still, before he goes, he points at Carmina and demands, "The next time you see him, you run the other way."

"Go, Nick," Kim tells him, and so he reluctantly does.

Although logically , Nick should be making a beeline for Joseph's last known location, since that's undoubtedly where John has fled, his gut keeps him close to home. Instead of sneaking through the brush to confirm his suspicions, Nick turns to investigate the rest of the property first. He knows he's being naive, and a real idiot, but he needs to make sure John hasn't gone off to find a weapon or alternate escape route. More importantly, he has to prove to himself that John really did flee at the first sign of rescue.

There's no sign of John anywhere in the backyard, leaving the space weirdly empty. After so many months with another person living in their space, there's something strangely lonely about the concept of going back to living on their own. John is a creep, sure, but he had still been better than being on their own. And besides, he'd been getting better as of late — not exactly quality companionship, but at least he's been a little less of a dick and holding conversations for a full two or three sentences longer than usual. Just the other night, he'd managed to eat dinner and say two full words without turning into a morose teenager desperate to go back to his room.

Something crashes inside of the hangar, breaking Nick out of his thoughts. Of course, one paranoia is replaced by another, and Nick approaches the open service door ready for an attack. After all, there aren't a lot of reasons for John to stick around that don't involve beating Nick to death with a length of irrigation pipe.

The hangar is dark and silent. Nick stands in the doorway for a full ten seconds, waiting for some kind of response from the gloom, another noise, John calling out the all-clear... but nothing. He almost calls out, catching himself at the last second and biting his tongue. Since they've organized most everything in here by now, there aren't a lot of places for an ambush, but Nick steps slowly nonetheless, leaning around heaps of scrap metal and carefully edging around wobbly shelves holding boxes of materials. Every time he braces himself for a blow, he winds up wincing at nothing for seconds at a time.

Nick eventually finds John hiding behind the counter in the back of the hangar, pinned down against the wall. Crouched down with his head against his knees and his hands over his neck, he looks braced for another nuclear blast. His teeth audibly grind as Nick steps behind the counter, but if he's got anything to say, he keeps it to himself.

"John?" Nick asks. He's still braced for a fight, but John seems miles away.

He tries again. "John. Hey, John ."

" Yeah ," John hisses through his teeth, hunkered down for the apocalypse, "I hear you."

Neither of them move. Nick, getting increasingly uncomfortable under the tension, leans into his outrage to keep him from stalling out into a panic right alongside John. "What the hell was that?" he exclaims, throwing a hand up. "That psycho brother of yours was supposed to be dead — what, did you all have goddamn contingency plans in case the rest of you fucked up?"

"No," John mutters.

"And you said that goddamn cult shit was over with! Well, I just saw a dozen Peggies lurking around my property with that maniac. What do you have to say about that ? Doesn't seem very dead to me! He's coming around here, trying to pass handouts around, smug sonofabitch —"

John, bracing his feet against the ground, breaks past Nick's whirling anxiety. "Did he see me?" he asks.

"What?" Nick replies, abruptly forgetting about his rant. "I mean... No, I don't think so." He waits a beat for John to relax, to respond, continuing awkwardly when he doesn't. "He didn't look back, I mean."

John exhales, although it does nothing to ease his tension. "Okay," he says, repeating distantly, "Okay."

Nick had been so sure that John was going to try to escape, storming across the yard just a minute ago. But now, looking at the guy now, he's not sure John can even stand up, much less make a break for it. He realizes that despite all his reservations before, he doesn't think John is going anywhere. Not right now, anyway. Whether he wants to be or not, he's stuck here for the foreseeable future.

"You really didn't know, huh?" Nick asks. He lays on the pity thick enough that even he feels like he's being a dick about it, but all he gets is a nonverbal grunt in return. "Well, don't get any ideas," he continues, each word feeling like a step further into uncharted waters. "Just because we've been lax around here doesn't mean you're not still watched twenty-four-seven, you know! I hear you pacing around at night, so I'll know if you try to, uh..."

Nick really doesn't want to keep yelling at the back of John's head. He doesn't really mean to yell at all, letting his motor mouth run for him until he realizes abruptly that nothing he's saying is having an effect.

"John," Nick says again. He wishes he didn't sound as anxious as he does.

" Yes ," John rasps, "I hear you ."

Nick falls back against the counter, resting his weight against it as he watches John's tense form. "You don't even want to look at him?" he asks when the silence gets too uncomfortable.

"No," John mutters.

The next stretch of silence is broken as Kim enters the hangar. Nick wheels around, thankfully able to direct his energy towards someone who will respond to him for once.

"What happened?" he asks her, "Is Carmina alright?"

Kim makes a middling gesture with her hand, coming to a stop at the counter across from Nick. "I tried my best," she says. "I explained that he was the one who — well, that a lot of what happened before was because of him. She's going to need some time to process it, though. It's a lot to think about."

"What's there to think about?" Nick asks incredulously. "It's simple: they're whack-job cultists, and we're not . This is an anti-Peggy household! She isn't going to accept any handouts from Joseph Seed!"

Kim ignores Nick, turning her uncertain frown in John's direction. Honestly, though, Nick is just fine with that, considering that he isn't going to be any help with John's mental spiral.

She chews on her lip as she tries to figure out the best thing to say. "You're going to have to talk to us," she tells him at last. It's not exactly an ultimatum, but there's not a lot of room for arguing.

"I didn't know," John says after the silence stretches out between the three of them. It would be more convincing if he would make some eye-contact, but Nick finds himself believing it anyway. Especially as John miserably continues, "I thought he was dead."

"If there's anything you know that could help us figure out what he's doing here, now would be a great time to tell us," Kim points out, gentler than maybe she even intended. "What's his plan? What is he going to do next?"

John swallows heavily. Nick wonders if he has any loyalty left to his brother, if he has to struggle between revealing information or continuing to live with them the way he has been. Maybe he's just too panicked to think of anything beyond how to get out of this immediate situation. Again, eye contact would really help here, but Nick's not banking on that happening.

"It was so long ago," John mutters finally. "He wanted to start over. Jacob was meant to — to lock the armory. No one was going to need it after the Collapse. He and the faithful would establish New Eden together — without sin, without the unfaithful, and..." He lifts his shoulders, the first move he's made since Nick's found him. "No matter what, they would get it right this time."

"Last thing I heard before everything went nutty, the deputy trashed Jacob's armory," Nick says.

John huffs. At last, he uncurls from his doomsday position, slumping back into the cabinet behind him. "That does sound like them," he says, oddly relieved.

"He gave Carmina food," Kim says. "Should I be worried? It could be contaminated, right?"

"What kind of food?" he asks.

"Bread, I think? Crackers? I don't know exactly."

John shakes his head, scrubbing his eyes briefly. "It wouldn't be Bliss. The heat would kill it."

Kim sighs with relief. "Okay. I'll take your word for it."

Nick almost asks if that's such a good idea, but John doesn't look like he can take another kick lying down right now. "So what are we supposed to do?" he asks instead. "Just let him go rebuild his bullshit back on the island? Reform the cult and retake all the land that we thought he lost when the bombs dropped? Trust him not to have another psychotic breakdown and envision a good reason to get violent again?"

"I don't know," John sighs. He's so pale and tired, as though his panic attack had burned through all of his energy. He works his jaw over some thought or another. At last, he admits to them, "You should shoot him, although I doubt he will ever get close enough again."

Kim blinks, nails scratching the counter-top as she curls her hands defensively. "Are you serious?" she asks.

John takes a deep breath. "Yes," he says. "I am."

"Okay, well, it's something to keep in mind," Kim says, slowly feeling out her own opinion on the matter. "But I don't think that murdering him is going to be the answer. Maybe it was back then, but now... I mean, things change."

"He won't change," John tells her. "He won't."

"That's what everyone thinks about you," Nick points out. He doesn't realize it's a low blow until John bows his head again, leaving him to flounder. "I just mean, you know..."

"I know what you mean," John replies. Nick isn't appreciative of the icy tone, but at least it's put an end to him eating his own foot.

"Right now, we need to keep calm," Kim tells them, disappointedly eying Nick. "I'm going to get on the radio and let Grace know what happened. I'll trust her to tell the right people, so the whole county doesn't turn into a witch-hunt. The last thing we need is for another war to break out and destroy all the progress everyone's made."

"Right. Okay." Nick scuffs his shoe on the dirty concrete. "John, uh. We can keep working on the fence. Unless you... need a break. You can stay here, if you want."

He feels like an ass offering it, but John doesn't let it hang for long. "No," he shakes his head, lifting it again, "I can work."

Nick doesn't think "can" and "should" are the same here, but who is he to judge? All he wants to do right now is focus on something he can get done, rather than sit around speculating. John is probably even more eager to bury himself back into his work, now that he has something he really needs to be distracted from.

Kim doesn't wait for them, taking off for the house at a brisk walk. Nick waits for John to stand, then follows him out of the hangar, setting him to work on the part they'd been working on before. He starts to help, but John seems to have it and he seems to be more interested in spiraling mentally, so Nick sets up a few yards down to work in silence. The entire time, he watches as John goes through the motions, a million miles away as he stops to occasionally stare at the trees not so far away. Nick doesn't know what he's looking for, but even though he wants to ask, he can't bring himself to risk detonating whatever emotional time-bomb is building.

Nick wakes up that night not knowing what roused him. Sleeping for more than a few hours at a time is a miracle most nights, interspersed by long stretches of watching the passage of time from the shadows on the wall. Tonight is no different, and Nick blearily watches the deep, dark blue shadows that fill the room during the deepest hours of the night. He almost doesn't realize that Kim is awake, not until she reaches out to gently shake his shoulder once again.

"What," he groggily whispers, "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," Kim whispers back. "I thought I heard something."

The only thing Nick can hear is the house creaking all around them. He catches a thud from the other room, which usually means John is up and pacing around. It's much more apparent that isn't the case when the second bedroom door slams open, rattling the wall, followed by running footsteps down the hall.

Carmina groans, half-awake as Nick throws off the blankets, leaping out of bed and yanking on his jeans. "Son of a bitch ," he hisses, "That goddamn liar — no, stay here." He waves a hand at Carmina, who groggily waves a hand back, and tells Kim, "Somebody has to keep an eye on her. I'll handle this."

"Nick..."

He doesn't have time to argue about it, so he just bolts from the room and hopes Kim won't follow. He doesn't bother to check the damage to the door, which is hanging wide open against the wall; instead, he chases John's footsteps down the stairs, thundering down them and coming to a brief halt in the living room as he guesses where John has gone next.

The front door is wide open, leaving Nick staring out into the misty dark by himself. It's just thick enough that Nick can't see past the car parked protectively in front of the house, and boy does he not want to go out there. He's exhausted, and the last thing he wants to do is go running around in the mist like it's 2018 all over again.

But he has to, because he can't let John get away. To think he believed that rotten, lying asshole! Of course, the second Nick lets his guard down, the second he decides to believe that John isn't frothing at the mouth to return to his old life, of course that bastard has to go and shove it in his face! He hadn't been able to hold up the act for one night after Joseph reared his goddamn head? What a joke.

It's a wet, cool night, and the mist is thick enough that Nick can't immediately see John as he jogs down the drive, but it doesn't take him long to catch up. John's escape plan seems to come to an abrupt end halfway down the lane as he comes to an unsteady stop on the cracked dirt. Nick picks up the pace, angry enough to jog barefoot after the bastard trying to escape. At this distance, Nick could probably shoot him — that is, if he'd bothered to bring either of the guns with him. If Joseph appears and has his lackeys attack him, he's going to be shit out of luck.

Nick gets within a yard of John and finds himself pulling up short. "What the hell, John!" he exclaims, too tired to notice his voice cracking and far too exhausted to care that he's given up his only chance at a surprise attack. "Are you kidding me with this bullshit, you lying, no-good —"

John whirls around, fist balled up and pulled back like he's actually going to strike at Nick. His face is blotchy and wet, his eyes heavily rimmed with red. "Get the fuck away from me!" he shouts, voice welled with panic, and Nick takes an immediate obliging step backwards. He's run right out into no-man's land without any defenses and he does not want to get caught up in the messy storm of John's emotions if he can help it. He especially doesn't want to get punched in the face for his effort.

As soon as he moves, John drops his fist, run ragged by the burst of adrenaline that got him this far out of the house. He breathes like he's just run twenty miles. His eyes drop to Nick's hands, to his hip where he usually holsters the pistol, up to where the rifle should be strapped to his chest, and then finally he directs his wild eyes to Nick's face.

"What are you doing," he gasps.

"What am I doing," Nick shouts, "What the hell are you doing! You can't just break down the door and go running for your brother whenever you have a — a nightmare, or whatever!"

"You don't now what you're talking about," John hisses.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about! As soon as you find out he's alive, you go running after him! I'm catching you in the act!"

"That's not —!" John's objection is strangled by emotion, pushing past it to shout hoarsely, " He was supposed to be dead ! And now he knows I'm here, he has to, and he's going to come for me and there is nothing I can do about it!" He throws his hands in the air. "Nothing will ever stop him," he exclaims, "And there's no point — there's no fucking point to any of this if he's just going to rip it away from me!"

John is easily twice as strong as Nick, but that doesn't stop Nick from wanting to grab him and shake him until he shuts up. "Maybe you should think about somebody other than yourself, then, you stupid bastard!" He throws a hand back towards the house. "If you go back to Joseph, you're going to ruin our lives . We've been helping you because you said you were done! We promised Grace you were telling the truth! Do you think she's going to forgive us? And how do you expect us to explain it to Carmina when you show up with your goddamn inquisition again? Eventually, you'll come for us, and you'll force Carmina through — and I can't let that happen!"

Nick swallows back the heavy emotion that's threatening to overwhelm him. "Come the hell on, no point ," he finally snaps, voice frayed. "You goddamn asshole."

John frowns heavily. He doesn't have anything to say in response, standing there mutely hopeless for a full thirty seconds before he finally tries to speak. "I didn't think about that," he finally mumbles.

"No, you did not ." Nick sighs, heaving out all of the anger left inside. "Look. You can sit out here all night and wait for Joseph if you want, but you're doing it on your own. I'm not gonna watch you waste your time. If you're coming back inside, let's go."

Nick plays the gambit for what it is, turning his back to John and starting back for the house. He walks slowly, and though at first he thinks John might not follow, he eventually feels John trailing behind him, a ball of tense anxiety right at his back. When they reach the front yard, John comes to a stop, forcing Nick to turn to him.

"I just... need a minute."

"It's way too late for this," Nick groans, "Just — be quiet when you come back upstairs. I don't need Carmina waking up a second time."

John swallows. He looks weirdly desperate as he tries to find something to say, but that's no surprise. He's always perpetually waiting for Nick or Kim to start treating him the way he would treat his own prisoners. "Okay," he rasps, like he might start crying again.

That is Nick's cue, so he darts back inside and upstairs, careful to limit the creaking as much as he can so as to not rouse Carmina. Hopefully she didn't keep Kim up with a bunch of questions about what's going on — those will be fine in the morning, but Kim doesn't get enough sleep as it is.

Kim is still awake, even if Carmina has passed out again. She looks worried, and Nick can't help but wonder how much of their argument had made it through the windows and cracks in the wall.

"Is everything okay?" she asks as he shoves off his jeans and climbs back into bed.

"Who knows," Nick sighs. "He's outside. Don't worry, I locked our door, and the rifle's right here."

"I'm not worried about that," Kim mutters. She brushes some of his hair out of his face as he lies down, following his lead reluctantly. "Next time, let me handle it."

Nick yawns and closes his eyes. "That's crazy talk," he mumbles, although maybe next time John has a meltdown, it would be better for Kim to take care of it. That's a problem for Nick tomorrow, though — right now, his brain is shutting off the lights at a rapid pace, and it's barely a minute later before Nick has completely passed out.

Nick wakes up to the cool, blue-gray light before dawn. It takes a few minutes for Nick to gather the energy to move, but he needs to check and see what happened to John after last night. Hopefully, he went back to bed and Nick will only have to look outside his own door to check on him.

Kim and Carmina are still fast asleep as he carefully climbs out of bed, taking care not to step on the creakiest floorboards as he pulls on his jeans and boots. He's sure that Kim would be glad to do this for him, but she needs to rest and he needs to make sure he didn't put his faith in the wrong Seed brother.

The whole house is quiet. Even the creaks that he can normally hear all night have eased up, leaving Nick's footsteps to echo as he carefully steps out into the hall, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

John's door is still hanging open. Nick takes a moment to look in, but John's nowhere to be seen; when he closes the door, the broken lock scrapes against the doorframe and leaves it stuck half in place. It'll be easy enough to repair, and Nick knows just the petulant jackass to fix it.

The stairs creak as Nick heads down into the first floor gloom. There's only enough light to clear the darkest shadows, but once the sun rises and they open up the back porch, it'll be fine. For now, Nick heads out the front door and circles around the the backyard. There's a chance that John' won't be found anywhere, that he's given up and gone off to find his family, but Nick can't bring himself to consider it. After everything John said last night — Nick would never be able to believe the man if he turned out to be a turn-coat.

Thankfully, John isn't hard to find at all. He's taken a seat on the empty planter, watching the spinach heads grow. From his pale, haggard face and the dampness of his shirt, it's clear he stayed out here all night. He doesn't outright acknowledge it as Nick approaches, but there's no mistaking the way his entire body tenses for a fight.

It's way too early for a fight, and honestly Nick doesn't think he's got one in him anyway. "Morning," he offers instead, coming to a stop next to the planter. "Guess you didn't get any sleep."

John exhales. "No," he says, his voice rough. He hesitates another second or two longer. "I needed to think."

"Yeah, I figured."

On the right side of groggy like he is, Nick doesn't hesitate to take a seat next to John. He drags his boot through the dirt for an awkward moment, before finally saying, "I guess you decided to stay."

"I was never going to..." John bites his cheek, taking a breath before continuing in a more subdued tone, "I didn't want to leave. I'm well aware that I'm better off here than I've been anywhere else. It was just... a lapse in clarity." He takes a breath, like he might be gearing up for one of those old-fashioned monologues of his, and Nick finds himself weirdly eager to hear it. Kim's curiosity is definitely rubbing off on him.

"I've had these... dreams," he admits quietly. "For years now. They're... intense. So vivid, so real that I used to... They used to consume all of my time." His hand gestures limply towards the ground, as close as he's ever gotten to talking openly about the bunker. "They happen less, now, but I still recieve... messages, warnings from Joseph. When I thought he was dead, they were easier to ignore. But I never could dismiss them outright. And the one I had last night felt so real. So much so that I suppose I didn't realize when I woke up. All I could think about was what he was saying and I... I panicked."

Nick probably shouldn't ask. This is the most John's spoken in months, and he shouldn't interrupt, but he can't help himself. "What'd he say?" he asks.

John looks over at him, his expression complicated and dark. "That he knew where I was," he says. "That no one would stop him from saving me." He closes his eyes, turning his face away. "But he didn't come," he finishes. "He didn't show. It was just a dream. I know that now. I won't make the same mistake again."

There's nothing Nick can say to that, and nothing that John wants to add, so they sit in silence for a minute or so.

Eventually, John looks back to Nick, checking him over for weapons with much less panic than last night. "What happens now?" he asks.

"Well, we still have half a fence to build," Nick points out. "Plus, we gotta start laying out plans for the electrical wiring, so when we get the generator up and running..."

"I meant with me," John interrupts. "I broke out — I tried to escape. Doesn't that warrant — something ?"

"You're going to have to fix the door," Nick replies. "And you're already doing the heavy lifting around the house. You want me to ground you, or something? No dessert for a week?"

John sighs heavily. "You could come up with better than that."

"I don't want to come up with something better." Nick braces his feet on the dirt, but fails to stand at the last moment, even though he wants nothing more than to propel himself out of this conversation. "Life is already hard enough as it is. I'm not going to add to it just to make you feel better."

It's clear from his furrowed brow that John doesn't get it, but that's okay. Nick's satisfied with the peaceful resolution as it is. John might scowl in confusion at the ground, but at least he isn't demanding Nick take a pound of flesh from him or something. It's too bad that he isn't satisfied by simply apologizing, since that's all Nick needs, but he'll get the hang of it eventually. Lord knows he's gotten the hang of plenty else so far.

Nick pushes himself to his feet. He might as well use this extra time to get everything ready for breakfast, even if it's technically Kim's turn to cook. Still, he stops to stand over John, waffling on whether or not the guy deserves some genuine comfort. He's been open and honest enough — Nick probably should do the same. "Look. I, uh, appreciate you telling me. About the, uh, dreams, and all that. I figured you'd forgotten how to talk about yourself." He hesitates, then suggests, "You might wanna go get some sleep before breakfast. We really do got a lot more fence to go over."

John turns his head, following the broken line of fencing that reaches out clear down to the end of the airstrip. "You're right," he says at last. "I should rest."

"Please tell me you don't need me to escort you all the way upstairs," Nick says, mostly joking as they make their way inside. Letting John walk around freely hasn't ended up in disaster so far, but John still seems surprised that Nick's going to let him continue on alone.

"No," he says, "I have it." He stops on the stairs, watching as Nick forcibly ignores him in favor of getting the kindling and cast iron skillet. When Nick fails to stop him, though, he finally turns and makes his way up. Nick tries not to make it obvious as he waits to hear John walk across the upper hallway to his room, the door scraping audibly against the frame as he opens and then shuts it again. Only then does Nick seriously get to work on starting the morning fire, glad to have some small task to distract him from the thoughts that would otherwise pin him in place — thoughts about loyalty, and about what John said, and about his own dreams that have sometimes seemed too real to be anything less than prophetic. Maybe someday, he'll sort all his feelings out, but for now he can build a fire and hold on to the vague suspicion he has that maybe, just maybe, pulling John out of that bunker had been a good idea after all.

[fakeyellow]

Based on a prompt asking for an insane Kamilah. The story’s structured so that the main events are revealed in a series of flashbacks told by Kamilah.

Since the First Vampire’s rise and fall 500 years ago, Kamilah Sayeed has moved into legend, a woman drenched in the blood of thousands. 

Rosella has made it her mission to find out why. 

Part 2.  Part 3.

Rosella came to, feeling a dull, throbbing ache in the back of her head, and made to rub it when she found her hands cuffed to the chair. The memories flooded back into her mind at the feel of the cold iron and she quickly swivelled her head around to try to gain insight into where she was being held. 

She was in an expansive chamber with no exit in sight, broken shards of glass littering the sides of the room. The room was like the ruins of a museum, empty exhibits everywhere where artefacts must once have been. This must have been where the Order of Dawn had kept the articles, trophies of their conquests and she couldn’t help but hiss in disgust.

And then Rosella heard the sound of doors being pushed open somewhere behind her and the clicking of heels against the marble floor.

Her heart sped erratically as she smelled the calming scent of lavender and Rosella finally laid eyes upon her captor.

Kamilah Sayeed.

The living legend was standing right in front of her, dressed in an impeccably tailored pantsuit that outlined every inch of her curves. In the light, her suit looked as if it were drenched in blood, and Rosella internally shuddered at the terrifyingly beautiful image. She was every bit the striking figure of legend and more.

Every newly Turned vampire learned about this woman as she was a vital part of vampire history and present, and was responsible for thousands of deaths. If the First Vampire had been a goddess, she was a Queen, who was perhaps even more feared than the former now that the First Vampire was long dead.

Her features were timeless, set in an immovable and beautiful face, and yet there was something more to her, something that hinted at the two thousand and five hundred years of life she had experienced.

But what surprised Rosella most was the lucid, brown depth of the woman’s eyes. They weren’t the bright red of vampires caught in the throes of bloodlust and they contained no hint of madness like the myths said. No, these were the eyes of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

She noticed the daggers sheathed at the vampire’s hip and knew instantly that this was the pair of infamous daggers that had claimed the lives of countless lives. It was deceptively simple with only the barest of ornamentation on their pommels.

Nobody except the leader of her clan, who had once been a member of Clan Sayeed, knew how these daggers looked because the people who laid eyes on them did not last long enough to tell others. Seeing them was a death sentence but Rosella felt a surge of fearful triumph; she was here with Kamilah Sayeed (although there was no telling how much longer she’d be here alive).

Being captured by the legend herself had never been the plan, but now that she was in this position, Rosella realised this was the best chance she had of finding out the truth directly from the source.

She just needed to keep the world’s oldest living and most dangerous vampire interested enough in her to not kill her, at least until she was able to hear the truth. No big deal, she could do that… She hoped.

Rosella knew she’d have to speak first in order to pique the woman’s interest but the words spilled out of her naturally, “I don’t understand.”

The vampire stared at her silently, offering no signs that she had heard or was willing to entertain her, but Rosella continued anyway, unable to stop the words that had started flowing, the questions that had built up inside her ever since she had been Turned and learned of this woman.

“You’re Kamilah Sayeed. Everyone respected you, everyone knew how powerful you were, but you used that power in order to maintain peace. You committed... devastating atrocities against humans with Gaius but it seemed like you were at least atoning for them. You protected vampires and humans alike from the wrath of Gaius and then the First Vampire when she arose again and you helped defeat both of them. You single-handedly destroyed the Order of the Dawn… So why did you turn against us? Why do you hunt us? Are you so bloodthirsty that you need to resort to killing your own brethren?! Haven’t you spilled enough blood?!”

Rosella had tried to keep her emotions restrained; she knew throwing frenzied accusations at the woman would only serve to alienate her, which was the very opposite of what she wanted. But she couldn’t do it. Her voice rose in intensity with each word until she was feverishly yelling the last question at the woman, tears rolling down her cheeks. The faces of all the friends and family she had lost appeared in her mind like a never-ending movie, causing her heart to break all over again but she kept her eyes open and fixed on the unmoving woman.

There had been a flicker of amusement on Kamilah’s face at the beginning but her face had quickly smoothed over again. Kamilah easily met Rosella’s watery and yet determined gaze before frowning and looking away as if she had found something she didn’t like in Rosella’s eyes.

“Do you know who was with me the night the First Vampire rose again?”

The sudden question startled Rosella but she answered instinctively, listing off the names that had been taught to her and every other newly Turned vampire since the Great Battle, ““Adrian Raines, head of Clan Raines, Jax Matsuo, head of clan Matsuo, formerly the Clanless, and Lily Spencer, second in command of Clan Matsuo.”

A dark flash came over Kamilah’s face before she gave a bitter laugh.

“Nobody ever mentions her. She was the one person tying everything together and yet, it’s like she never existed.”

Rosella furrowed her brows in confusion; she knew she hadn’t missed anyone from her lessons, but she was wary of asking, not wanting to test Kamilah’s patience any more than she already had.

“Her name was Eden,” Kamilah said, her voice growing somehow soft, each syllable said with tender affection.

“She was the most remarkable person I’d met.”

—-

The fight hadn’t been going well. They had been too cornered, too outnumbered, too powerless against the First Son. Even if he hadn’t sustained himself with blood for thousands of years, he had the undiluted blood of the First flowing through him, and with his limitless forces of trained killers, there was no way they could leave with their lives intact.

Xenocrates hadn’t even made use of his skills yet; in an arrogant and yet not unfounded show of power, he stood in the center of the fighting, simply watching as his soldiers were replaced as quickly as they were killed.

Not even Adrian or Kamilah could keep this up infinitely.

With the Order’s weapons, there was no choice but to keep the fighting as close in proximity to the soldiers as possible. The three of them moved effortlessly through the crowds, their weapons making quick work of the humans even as their actions gradually slowed.

Eden was running around the chamber, knocking out soldiers with one of the Order’s weapons. Kamilah spared a split second to look towards Eden and found her using her weapon to knock down the arm of a soldier who had gotten too close to her. She felt a fierce sense of pride and relief, recognising Eden’s move as one she had taught her.

But this momentary lapse in focus cost Kamilah and she felt the tip of a crossbow drag down her forearm, opening an angry gash. The Egyptian woman let out a snarl, killing the attacker in a matter of seconds before stepping over the dead bodies she had accrued around her to attack the next soldier.

She could feel her body knitting itself back together but it was too slow, it made her too slow.  

A UV bomb clipped her side and Kamilah faltered in her bloody stride. A quick scan of the chamber showed that Adrian and Jax were in similar states, their wounds too accumulated. And Eden. Kamilah locked eyes with Eden, seeing her own desperation mirrored.

Could this truly be it? Would this be where they met their end, unable to stop Gaius or Xenocrates?

She saw Eden’s face harden with resolve and Kamilah felt a terror greater than any she had felt during the night when Eden darted to the Tree. She made to go after her, noticing in her peripheral vision that Xenocrates was following suit, also having seen where she was headed.

“No, don’t-”

The warning died in her throat as Eden threw herself at the Tree, biting it with all her might, and a blinding light suddenly illuminated the room.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Xenocrates howled in fury.

The fighting momentarily halted, vampires and soldiers alike turned towards the figure who stepped out of the vortex of light.

“It’s been so long, my fallen prince.”

The body of the woman who spoke was at once Eden and yet not. Oppressing amounts of power rolled off her in waves and dripped from her unearthly voice. With a mere raise of her hand, blazing bolts of fire soared in the air before finding their mark in the chests of hundreds of soldiers, who promptly fell to the ground.

But her eyes, her blood-red eyes, were fixed solely on the cowering figure of Xenocrates, promising revenge on the one who had dared to imprison her. There were no pithy remarks, no clever insults thrown. Instead, in one last valiant attempt, he threw himself at her with a wordless cry.

Eden, no, Rheya thrust her hand into his chest and pulled it out, holding a throbbing heart. He fell to the ground in an unceremonious heap, a gaping hole in his chest through which large globules of fat and other organs could be seen glistening underneath the torn tatters of skin.

Rheya stared impassively at the still beating source of life before baring her fangless mouth and biting into it in one feral motion. Blood sputtered out of the flailing organ but she continued to steadily chew until its movements stopped and the heart fell apart into ashes.

It was only then that she turned towards the sole living survivors in the room, all of whom had remained frozen in horror at the unfolding scene.

“My children, you have nothing to fear from me,” she raised her arms as if to embrace them lovingly, but Xenocrate’s blood had painted deep rivulets of crimson down her chin and arms.

When the looks of distrust and fear did not disappear from their faces and they instead readied their weary bodies to attack, she looked disappointingly at the three of them.

“I-”

Her face suddenly twisted into a terrible grimace and she lurched forward, only just able to maintain her balance. As the three watched her in confusion, she hissed angrily to herself, “Do not fight the blood. Embrace it.”

And then whatever internal struggle she had been undergoing seemed to end and Rheya spared them not a single glance as she disappeared out of the chambers.

—-

Kamilah abruptly stopped, walking out of the room and leaving Rosella alone to think about this woman who had never once come up in her lessons.

Eden, the mortal Bloodkeeper who had, in an act of foolish bravery, become possessed by the First Vampire.

Kamilah talked about her as if she were speaking of a lover and she had not been quick enough in her exit for Rosella to not notice the yearnfullook on her face.

Rosella knew the First Vampire was long dead, killed in the Great Battle, but what had happened to Eden in the process?

She had a feeling that the answer to this question would explain Kamilah’s steep descent.

—-

A/N: Damn it. I’m literally about to start med school and here I am with an outline for a whole new story. Apologies for any errors; I’m going out with my classmates tonight but I really wanted to get this out first.

Insane Kamilah was asked for by @galaxyside-0​ and I was also inspired by a post by @thefirstcourtesan​ about how she thinks MC will be possessed by Rheya when she drinks from the Tree.

In case it’s not clear, Rosella is an OC, a fairly new/young vampire. The events of BB2 happened around ~500 years ago and Eden is the MC. You’ll be learning along with Rosella about what happened to cause Kamilah to become the infamous legend she now is.

[snakes-stories]

The Armourer’s Garden

Once there was a girl who worked tirelessly to make weapons and empires. She was an architect of creation who worked under the titan rule of an arms company known as Tantalus. It’s factories dominated the city, swallowing up its circumference, like a virulent mechanised virus. This cold blooded company worked her to bone and sinew, pushing their arms on only the richest of the world’s elite. This was a world of progress and progress could not be denied. The war machine was absolute. The girl didn’t like these ideals; she didn’t even like the ugly industrial city she‘d ended up in, but that’s just how life had worked out; so she got on with it. But what she remembered was the sweet air of her youth, the fresh green grass and thriving growth of a little green garden she had grown up with. The place was little more than a distant dream now, it’s pristine edges smudged with time. The garden’s little plot of land had been bulldozed to make way for the towering progress of Tantalus’s workshops. It was the deepest of cuts, but the girl was tough; she had to be in this city, so not a single tear got shed. But on that day, when her little garden ceased to exist, the rain poured down like tears from the heavens over the city.

The girl had always been an astute creature, able to bolt together whatever scraps of metal were lying round into something more than useful. Growing up surrounded by all this gargantuan machinery and tech was not without advantageous consequences. Tools were like an extension of her body and anything in front of her got moulded into the most deadly of instruments. Her affinity for arms grew and successes brought notoriety, with Tantalus immediately snapping her up as a worker. From there she quickly climbed the spiralling ranks of Tantalus and centred her place as their most prized armourer. When she whispered words into her workers’ ears insight and inspiration captured their waring minds. Everything she conceived worked with an absolute cutthroat precision. If she spent the night in a workshed by morning time the empty space would be transformed into a museum of mechanical creations. She worked and worked, and worried about what she did, and then worked some more. She was an instrument of creation, an artist in the true sense of the word. This was her pre-set. She had always been this way, and now it was expected of her.

The ultimate day of war was approaching. A foreign lord had placed an order with the lords of Tantalus, the greatest anyone had ever asked for in the history of the company. With this army the lord was destined to dominate the world, and the girl had been given the task of creating this mechanised plague. The warriors she created were colossal hulking giants of plate, robust mechs with A.I. systems so ruthless and adept at killing that not a single living creature stood a chance at defeating them. She called these warriors the Devil’s Children. They were her masterpiece, and as production began the army swelled in size, growing like a colony of ants.

One day I met her in a tavern known as the Black Cat, a convivial safari full of eccentric exotic characters. She had taken shelter in the place because even creatures of work like her needed down time, ways to unburden her high powered mind. Booze was one way. A companion was another. She married the two and we drink till the early hours of the morning, getting to know one another in the most intimate of exchanges, flushing all the stress and stain out of her system. This became a regular thing, because work wasn’t slowing down for the girl. It was increasing. Delivery was approaching. You could taste the tension in the air. It was a kind of wild energy that leaked out into the atmosphere, consuming all in its vicinity. The city grew feral. Workers on the project became unruly. Trouble was a daily issue in her dungeon and workshops, causing the girl to waste precious time pacifying. What’s more, the lords were also feeling the pressure to deliver, their hearts fluttering like trapped insects. The girl could feel their tense iron thumbs bruising her back to get the job done. I could see it too, this amazing creature shrinking, her body and mind becoming bent and battered from the strain, as she battled to create.

But pressure cannot continue indefinitely. It must be released, like a rain storm, one way or the other. So slowly a plan began to formulate. I’m sure the many bottles of rum we drank had a bearing on this decision. But the girl’s inhibitions had loosened, like the first rocks from avalanche. She confided in me, releasing all that built up frustration. Her one and only goal past the creation of this army was to escape this hardwired matrix and seek sanctuary. Her ideal was to find a little green garden like the one she grew up in. So I suggested, “why not do it now?” She was desperate for a break. But in her mind that was impossible. For one, there wasn’t a single green spot left in existence. Even if Tantalus let her go, which they wouldn’t, it’s spider like war machine had swallowed all earth’s vegetation. At least that was what she thought. But I knew about a place, a secret place, a spot cradled high up in the mountains flourishing with fresh plant life. Naturally she was resistant at believing such hope. But after I described it in meticulous detail she began to taste it on her tongue and became enraptured by the idea. The girl had to see it. So that’s where we headed, fast as we could, under the cover of darkness. She designated tasks to her lieutenants and off we went for the weekend.

The journey was epic, a drive that took us across sprawling desert sands and towering forest pines, but eventually we arrived. And just as I had promised it was everything I had said, a Garden of Eden for two weary souls. The likeness to her childhood garden was uncanny, she said, like someone had taken a snap shot from her memory and recreated it. The girl couldn’t have been more happy and harmonised. She was in paradise, finally able to bask in pure and absolute freedom. I found myself watching her as she pranced with swirls and twirls up and down and through the plants, not a care on the world.

But even good times have to come to an end. They run out like a sumptuous bottles of rum you can’t stop drinking. The girl had to return, despite my reservations. I offered to return with her but she refused. She said it was her fight. The towering head office of Tantalus stood more menacing than ever before. As she entered every worker glared at her, their eyes communicating the words: ‘dead-woman-walking’. She reached the throne room and found the lords. But to her surprise a glass of wine was ready. They were celebrating. Production was nearly compete. In fact, several Devil’s Children stood guarding the lords, evidence of her success. She was relieved and took a sip of the wine. The lords watched, their smile gradually curdling into a snarl. Fingers were snapped and she was shackled in barbed wire chains and strung up. One of the lord’s heavy brutes, an ape like man, all muscle and fat, coiled with black like barbed hair, went to work on her with his hardened fists, beating the life out of her. An indulgent holiday at their critical hour could not be forgiven. The lords wanted revenge, a savage and savoured revenge, because now that the army was nearly complete they had no more use for the girl. She would be made a bloody and beaten example of. But as blood dripped from her long dark hair she scoffed a sneaky smile. The lords demanded to know why she was smiling. The smile then turned into laughter and immediate the mechs turned on the lords’ men, pulverising then into unrecognisable sacks of gushing meat. Then they turned on the lords. The girl wasn’t a sadist but she did take an exuberant amount of satisfaction in watching their faces run red with blood. The mechs then released their mother creator. This had been her plan all along: to take back the city. We hadn’t just had a windy weekend of relaxing. The girl had formulated a battle plan for a military cue and it had worked. The worst thing was going to go back into the city when she knew a torturous beating was waiting for her. But there was no other way to get a hacking signal close enough to overwrite the mechs’ programs. It had to be her, and she knew that. But she’d suffered worse. A beating was nothing, and now the empire was all hers. She was free.

In the coming months a restoration of policies went into effect. The army was reprogrammed to tear up and strip all none-essential tech that had raped the planet’s surface. Instead the mechs were set to work planting new seeds of life everywhere. Greenery began to once again blossom across the land. A new beginning dawned. No longer was ‘progress’ the word of the day. Instead freedom grew back in its place. As for the girl...well... she retired. The work wasn’t sustainable for her anymore and she settled deep in the mountain paradise we had shared together, surrounding herself with plants of every variety. And what of me, her male companion, you ask? Well, I bound her story in ink, written on the very pages you’re reading right now. It is my hope that she will never be forgotten, that her legend will live on forever. She will in my mind. Most days I sit in her little garden, watching her nurture new life prancing about with the plants. And every so often I make her cups of coffee and write her a poem. She seems to like that. I get a smile that beams as bright as the sun and reminds me just how lucky I am. Because it was luck that brought us together. For that I’m truly grateful.

Her name is Elorhan and this is her story.

[blooblooded]

Idiot Rich Guy Does Stuff

Really can tell the exact place where I gave up on this lol but it started out so good. I wish I didn’t get bored and give up so easy. Anyways, this has got everything....West being young and stupid...Vega being responsible...Dana fucking hating West’s guts...Marshall Singh shows up....

West’s biggest thing is that he’s so loving, generous, and protective, but underneath that is anger and selfishness...but he’s great. He’s one of the few people I’m like “well it’s time to spend a paragraph describing a stupid outfit”

#

The sound of gunfire woke 12 year old West Agapama in the middle of the night.

Given what his family did for a living, this was not terribly unusual. It happened several times a year.

(I can’t write about this violence rn. TLDR Westy wakes up to his entire family getting slaughtered by a Squad of secret police kids who are too feral and bloodthirsty to follow orders correctly. They were only supposed to kill his dad but it gets out of hand. West’s missing sister Iphigenia breaks out of her brainwashing and saves her youngest brother’s life by locking him in a cupboard)

INTERLUDE

The boy grew older and angrier, but he hid that anger beneath a charming, playful shell. He played the role of wealthy idiot well and all of Eden knew of him in that way. And all the while, he learned how to bring down a hammer and how to kill.

WEST TRIES TO ADD RESPONSIBILITY TO HIS LIFE

During his first year of college, West rolled out his most ridiculous pick-up line to date. He tried to tailor the things that he said to his crushes well, since he did not want to appear to be a creep. Usually he got dates easily. He did not keep them for long. He was just too much for people: too excessive or too strange. He put his entire heart into things and could not contain himself. College kids did not want that kind of authenticity in a casual date.

So after the class the two of them took together was over, West approached the girl who he intended to take out for coffee. Other students left and gave him a wide berth. It used to bother him. He kept telling himself that people did not like him because he was so much better than they were, but he knew that it was because he radiated danger like a poison dart frog. Even the way he dressed drove people away. The girl always sat at the front of the classroom and raised her hand to answer every question. She did not hear West walk up behind her, even though he was wearing cowboy boots with metal soles.

“Hey,” he said, about to roll out the line that he knew in his gut would reel her in. “You seem very responsible.”

She turned to blink at him with her tablet held close to her chest. “Thank you?” she said suspiciously. She was broad-shouldered, almost as tall as he was, with a calm, sensible aura. Initially West had been attracted to that calm way that she carried herself, but it didn’t hurt that she was good looking as well. It looked like she had just started growing out her short brown hair. “Do you need something? I have to be on the 12th floor in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m West.” He smiled.

The way that she looked at him told him that she already knew exactly what his name was. “Vega Church.”

“Pretty name.”

“I picked it out it myself. What do you need? I can’t be late to my next class.”

“Can I walk you there?” West felt himself cringe inside. He was being too forthcoming, as usual. He couldn’t stop himself, he never could. Even though he had stopped drinking and stopped using recreational substances, it was like there was too much of him. He was too much. He put himself out there too fast and people didn’t like it; it was the reason why he didn’t have any actual friends.

Vega furrowed her eyebrows, probably weighing the probability that she was going to get murdered. She knew who he was, everyone did. Everyone knew what his family had once been, everyone knew the ruin they had come to. And everyone knew what a ridiculous idiot he was.

Well what could they expect of a 19 year old billionaire with no family to control him or reign him in? He did what he wanted, he lived how he wanted. As a teenager he had been irresponsible and reckless-- still angry. He was still angry, would never stop being angry. That anger manifested itself in the loose way he lived his life. He wasted his money and poisoned his body and became a well known laughingstock. He hired goons to help him commit petty crimes to achieve notoriety, but that notoriety just made people think he was a flamboyant wastrel.

If he had it his way, he would just party and kill and wreak havoc until he died. But every night when he closed his eyes he dreamed of his slaughtered family. Every night he went to sleep in his big, empty house and dreamed of the blood that had been spilled inside of it. And every day when his mind became blank, the terrible knowledge of what had happened to his sister and so many children like her did not let him rest. Iphigenia, in her last words to him, had said that the real leader of the colony was using children to maintain social control, and the guilt of knowing that was too much for him to deal with. The things that were happening to people in Eden were unacceptable but he was too immature and wild to do anything about it.

Well, he tried to do things about it. He tried poorly, through the only way he knew how: violence. West had killed 3 men already; all criminals with whispered ties to the central government. After paying off informants to find them, West had dragged them one by one to one of his family warehouses to try and make them talk. Who was truly in charge of Eden? Why were secret police utilized when there were already so many cops who operated against the good of the people? Why had his family been killed?

He got no answers. West remembered the heft of his hammer in his hand as he brought it down. The act didn’t bother him as much as the memory of how one of the men had laughed at him.

He had to become more serious. It was one of the reasons he felt attracted to Vega’s responsible nature. He needed someone like that in his life to temper him so that he could actually do something.

“Look,” Vega said after a lengthy pause. When West looked closely at her face, something glimmered across it that made him dizzy. A sort of haze. “What do you want from me?”

West shook his head to clear the dizziness. Perhaps it was from standing under the classroom’s bright lights. Unlike the rest of Eden, the Education District’s lights did not mimic sunlight and could cause headaches. He was not a fan of school but was attending business classes in order to further his goals. “To get to know you.”

“Why?”

His smile never faltered. “Suspicious, much?  Why does anyone want to get to know anyone? Or talk to anyone? You’re cute and I like the way you talk in class, I think it’s insightful. Haven’t you ever been on a date?”

“Sure I have,” she answered. She placed her tablet into a messenger bag on her shoulder. While West wore a pink crop-top and capris, she wore a white button up and knee-length black skirt. She didn’t smile at him, not even a little, but her eyes were kind. “But I have this policy of only dating people whose lengthy illegal exploits aren’t published and gossipped about in the tabloids, since I’m on the Criminal Justice track and have goals I want to accomplish. I’ll be Commissioner one day if I play my cards right. It would be stupid of me to associate myself with somebody like you.”

People who had the last name ‘Church’ did not become Commissioners. People who had the last name ‘Church’ never did much of anything at all. West noticed the scuff marks on Vega’s sensible second hand shoes.

“Harsh,” said West.

“I guess,” said Vega, tucking the short curls of her hair back behind her ears. It was an earnest motion. “I appreciate the offer though. You’re sweeter than they make you out to be online.” She straightened her bag, turned, and walked out away with careful little steps. When she walked, a modicum of shyness revealed itself.

After a moment’s deliberation over his own creepiness levels, West hurried after her so that he could hold the classroom door open for her. The corners of Vega’s mouth twitched slightly like she was trying not to laugh.

“Don’t worry,” said West, as he shut the door. “I’m not going to stalk you to your next class like some kind of murderer. You called me sweet-- what was I supposed to do, not be a gentleman and get the door for you? Can’t let you say something nice about me without doing something you can remember me by when you’re the Commissioner one day.” He meant this as a flirtatious joke but it came across sincerely. He gulped.

Despite everything, he was still only 19 years old and did not yet know how to balance all the warring parts of himself. He had been alone for 7 years. That does something to a person.

Vega paused. The glimmer passed over her face once again-- what was that? She could be a person with Abilities, the exact kind of person West was on the look-out for, but he had no way of knowing what traits to look for. They could not be all the same, could they? He knew nothing about the matter but knew he had to know everything if he was going to make Eden a better place.

Here was another person who had been alone all her life. Another person whose lofty goals would never be achieved. Against all logic, West actually wanted her to achieve those goals. His initial physical attraction towards her faded, only to be replaced by...what was it? Did he want to be her friend?

“You said that like you believed it,” said Vega, who would be late to her next class if she did not get a move on, but still hesitated. She tucked her hair behind her ears again, which must have been a self-conscious tic, despite her earnesty. “You can’t just say things. You don’t know me.”

“If you say things out loud, you manifest them into existence.” It was a goofy thing to say. West felt himself cringing inside because he still wanted her to like him. “I’m a good judge of character. You’ll get what you want one day, I’m positive.”

She gave him a sensible, slightly bewildered smile. And because she was so sensible, she did not waste any more of her precious time talking to him. She left so that she would not be late.

But the next class period that they had together, Vega abandoned her usual seat and chose to sit near the back, next to West. This choice-- which appeared to be a huge downgrade on her end-- marked a clear point in West’s life as it began to change for the better.

Because for whatever reason, people began to take him more seriously.

MEET THE DEMONIC PRESENCES THAT CREATE AYDA

West returned to his large family home one day after school. He was happy. He was 20 years old, doing well in college, making money hand over fist shipping contraband items to the nearby Colony of Serenity, and had stopped for frozen yogurt after class. It was strawberry yogurt. Life was very good to him.

He messaged Vega when he got off the metro. She was living with him now, and worried about him often. The two of them weren’t dating or anything, although many people assumed that. He could see why: their relationship was strange. He gave her tens of thousands of credits, payed for her classes, her gender affirmation procedures, everything. He thought of her like she was a family member and all he wanted was to know that she was on her way to success.

Of course, she could get kind of annoying with her anxiety over what he did or did not do. After all, she was a cop who was connected to a guy who was a smuggler attempting to resurrect his family’s organized crime empire. People believed that he had her in his pockets, which...was sort of true. But Vega was not loyal to him because of his money. She was loyal to him because she loved him just as much as he loved her.

West ate his yogurt and walked to his front door, playing with his comm and not realizing that anything was out of sorts. His home was on the Surface Level, of course, and sunlight filtered down on him through the Dome. The Agapama family house was built in the same blocky Brutalist fashion that every structure was built in and had 12 bedrooms. It was very, very lonely. West tried not to think of that. He had to have constant distractions or else he would grow depressed and angry.

He was dressed in black jeans, an orange tank top, and an oversized green sweater that opened at the front and hung down to his knees. His shoes were just normal sneakers, since he had to do a lot of walking that day. Purple polish was on his nails, which didn’t really go with his outfit, but couldn’t be helped since he had been in too much of a hurry that morning to repaint them. Nowadays, West could dress outrageously as he wanted and still got respect from his peers. Word was getting out about what he could do to a person, what he had done to people.

Only last week, one of the guys he employed had told him that some low level Prospas thug had broken into one of his warehouses to terrorize the employees. To send a message. Well, West had sent that message right back. He was not afraid to kill.

He contemplated this as he let himself into his house. He was not paying attention to his surroundings, because he felt safe in his own home.

Which, given what had happened there during his childhood, was not exactly wise of him.

West walked into the kitchen with the intention of putting his unfinished frozen yogurt into the refrigerator for later, and froze.

The intruders also froze. There were two of them, a girl and a boy, West’s age or maybe a little younger. Big, and muscled like they had been training for a long time. Both of them had their heads shaved, and they wore the same grey sweatpants and white tank tops. The boy’s tank top was covered in blood. Their expressions were fierce, maybe a little cruel, and frightened in the way that hunted animals are frightened.

Before West could move, or even think, sharp pain blossomed behind his eyes. He found himself forced down onto his knees, his own body betraying him. The intruders walked over to stand above him with the careful precision of people who have been trained to move a certain way. They were totally silent and made a great deal of eye contact with one another, as if they were communicating without speaking.

There was nothing in West’s mind. He did not know how much time passed. All he could do was stare at the white linoleum floor.

“OK, no,” the girl finally said, and West’s trance ended. “Talk. Out loud. We’re doing this right.” She squatted down so that she could look at West’s face. Her olive skin still had some acne around the jawline and her eyes were brown and as long-lashed as a cow’s. Peculiar circular scars were on both sides of her head, near the hairline. “Are you--” But then she noticed West’s melting frozen yogurt and she went green. She rushed to the sink and began throwing up.

If anything, that just freaked West out more. He still could not move his own muscles. He tried to speak and could not do that either. These people were obviously controlling him with their minds, and he could only assume they were there to kill him. But they were in normal clothes, not in uniforms. When the secret police broke into his house all those years ago, Iphigenia had been in all black and wearing a helmet. And throwing up did not seem like the behavior of a trained killer on a mission. His pulse pounded as he tried to think.

The boy put his hand on the girl’s back as she was vomiting and she swatted him away. He was tall and slightly chunky, with a strong nose and thick eyebrows. “You’re West,” he said, clearly not looking for an answer because West could still not speak. His own voice was raspy like he hadn’t used it much for a while, like he didn’t talk much. “Don’t be scared.”

That was not a comforting thing to hear.

“I’m Argo,” said the boy awkwardly. This was not a person skilled in normal human interaction. “My girlfriend is Sweetie. We’re not gonna hurt you. Probably.”

The girl, Sweetie, straightened up and splashed her round face with water. “This is getting worse.”

“It’s the same.”

“It’s worse!” She must have done something, because Argo shuddered and cringed like he was in pain.

West couldn’t even gulp. Not only were there secret police agents in his house, but there were unhinged secret police agents in his house. He was going to die, not because of some organized government hit on him, but because one of these people was going to do something crazy.

This was so close to what he had wanted for so long: real answers about what was going on in Eden. Real answers about the person in charge, real answers about the secret police. If only he did not get killed, he could find out everything.

They had to be psychics, capable of intercepting his thoughts, because both intruders suddenly gave him a strange look. “We’re gonna let you up,” said Sweetie, warily. She held her arms over her stomach.  “Don’t scream or nothing. If you scream I’ll hurt you bad.”

And then he could move again, but he chose not to get up off his knees. How to gain their trust and make sure they didn’t run away or kill him before he found out everything he wanted to know? He began with a joke: “Argo and Sweetie aren’t real names.” He said it with a cheeky smile that he had to force his lips to make, to make sure they understood he was being funny.

Argo gave a short, bark-like laugh. “West isn’t a real name either, it’s a direction, rich-guy.”

“Our real names are 9045A and 3502A,” said Sweetie.

Those numbers weren’t consecutive, but could pertain to rank. Numbers, not names. Names that were not names. West filed that away for later. His knees hurt from kneeling. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Oh, I already know all about you,” Sweetie told him. “Little you. I peeled the thought of you out of a girl’s memory when I was just 12 and I kept it safe. I thought, oh, so much money, so much love, what’s better than that? Those memories didn’t have anything bad in them. No pain, no violence. No suffering. Only love. You were the first one I thought of when I tried to come up with somewhere safe.”

They were psychics and the girl, at least, must have known Iphigenia. West should have focused on this scrap of information about his sister but he couldn’t. 12? There were 12 year olds doing god knew what for the government? Killing people? Hurting people? He didn’t even feel angry, he felt tired and sad. He stared at these intruders.

‘Somewhere safe’, she had said. West held that inside of him.

“Turn that frown upside down,” said Argo in a sing-song tone. He itched his nose.

“We needed somewhere to hide,” said Sweetie.

West slowly got to his feet, not wanting to startle them. He didn’t need to worry; they weren’t afraid of him. “You can hide here,” he said, thinking all the information he could get out of them. Also thinking of how the word ‘hide’ implies that someone out there is searching. He shook that fear away, it did not serve him yet. “For as long as you need. But why are you hiding?” He knew it was a stupid question the moment he asked it. When neither of them said anything and instead, appeared to be speaking to each other in whatever telepathic language they shared, he knew that it was a hurtful, stupid question. “Sorry. You don’t need to tell me.”

Even now, he was too much. The two ways that he wanted to behave were too different. On the one hand, he wanted answers, he wanted to ask the questions that he needed to ask so that he could move forward and formulate plans. Formulate revenge. On the other hand, which was a much more human hand, West Agapama’s defining traits were his love and empathy. He wanted to give, not to take.

He walked over to the kitchen table. It was old and huge, once big enough to fit him, his parents, and his 6 brothers and sisters. Now there were only two chairs. He sat down to give the intruders some room to...talk.

With this time he considered the safety of his home. He was positive there were no cameras he did not know about, just like he was positive every window was bulletproof and that there was no way in except through the doors. As of late, Gena Voorst had started considering him a threat, and he had begun to make sure that none of her cybernetically enhanced goons could get in and hurt him or Vega. He had been so sure everything was safe, but it was not safe enough if these two could waltz right in.

How suspicious would it be to start building up the safety measures? He could cover it up by making some elaborate renovations story. Just young Westy being flashy and ridiculous again, nothing to take notice of…

The psychics were talking totally telepathically and he watched them. The blood on Argo’s tank top did not belong to him or to Sweetie, so some act of violence had precluded them finding him. Both of them had black rags tied around their forearms like bandages.

Everyone knew a little bit about how some people were born different. Born with Abilities. But people like that really never showed up in public, for whatever reason. It wasn’t that they were persecuted or anything, they simply never showed up. West knew more than most, and he felt like he didn’t know anything at all. After knowing Vega for months, she finally told him about how she was a psychic, but only barely. That was the glimmer that was always on her, the thing that made it hard to look at her sometimes, especially when she was stressed. She didn’t know how to control it, but she was only 20. West wanted her to learn.

One had to admit that it would be useful to employ the talents of people with Abilities. As of yet, West’s men were all skilled in the aarts of violence and espionage. He was working on building their loyalty with his money and charm; how else was he to compete with the Voorsts and the Prospases? But imagine what he could accomplish with a dozen people who could paralyze with a thought or summon electricity at a glance.

Imagine even two.

That thought was bad. Dangerous. And it made him bad as well to have even produced it.

At length, Sweetie turned her big brown eyes upon him. Her name must have been given in irony, because she radiated childish cruelty.  “It doesn’t really matter what you know. You won’t remember it anyway when we’re done with you.”

Again, West wondered if they were going to kill him and hide out in his house. For Vega’s sake, he hoped not.

The girl continued. “I started feeling weird a while ago. I was sick all the time and I couldn’t stop sleeping. We couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me until I missed my period. And that’s no good at all where we come from. Everyone turns a blind eye if you’re just fucking, ‘specially if you’re A class, but getting pregnant? I was gonna get Retired for sure, no matter how good I am.”

Of course, a psychic being pregnant brought up the kind of metaphysical questions about conception that people always argue about. Luckily West did not care about such things. Nowadays people were even designing children for exorbitant amounts of money and growing them in tubes. They called them ‘Artificials’, which was a bit derogatory. The first ones began to be, well, created about 10 years ago.

He did not know what A-Class meant, nor what getting Retired entailed, but he nodded like he understood.

“Zap figured it out this morning,” Argo said, and he looked down at the blood on his shirt. “So I killed him in our own room. And I killed Frisky too, while she was still asleep. We cut out our chips and busted the fuck out of there. Sweetie knew about you from when she was working on Bounder, but that was before I was around. She thinks we’ll be safe here if we’re careful.” He did not seem to believe this, judging from the way he kept looking over at the windows.

Sweetie had a strange look on her face. “But before. Before that. We talked when I first figured it out. Like wouldn’t it be nice to have a baby together? I used to dream about being normal. We promised each other that we would protect it or we would die. I don’t know. I think I already love it.”

Loyal words from creatures that seemed devoid of human normalcy.

“No one can get in here, if I turn on my security system,” West lied, wanting to keep them talking. Bounder must have been his sister’s name there. Why did they take away their names? Stripping kidnapped children of their identities? What was their purpose?

Argo snorted derisively. He took off his blood covered tank top and tossed it in the sink. His bare chest had a number of old scars and it looked like he had been shot at one point.

“I have plenty of room here,” West said lamely. “I want to help you as much as I can.”

They found that hysterical and began to laugh at him. Their laughter was also cruel and hearing it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It did not take too much intuition to figure out that these two had hurt a lot of people, and enjoyed doing it. All of his instincts urged him to stand up and do everything it took to get out of his own kitchen. But his logic and emotions kept him from doing so.

Even if something bad happened to him, he could endure it. This lead had fallen into his lap by chance and he could not just abandon it because he was scared. Usually West was not lucky. He was not sure if this was luck, but it was something. It was more than he once had.

Sweetie stopped laughing at him. She put her hands on her hips in a mocking caricature of the way one scolds a child. “You are just too cute. You think you have a choice.”

Now the instinct kicked in. West moved quickly, standing up so fast that his chair slid back.

And then his mind went completely blank.

INTERLUDE II

The next couple of months were only a fuzzy blur, but West knew that he had a good time. He genuinely believed that he had married Argo and Sweetie. The control that they had over his mind was overwhelming, but he had never been so happy in his life. They did not allow him to experience fear or anger or sadness; he existed in a state of joyful, loving chaos with the two of them.

And together, they formulated a way to eliminate the existence of the secret police.

I CAME HERE TO HAVE A GOOD TIME AND HONESTLY I FEEL SO ATTACKED RN.

Up until that point, West had not known how bad things really were.

Up until that point, he had not known the extent of the brutality these people were capable of. He was aware of it, in theory. But he had not experienced it and for months his mind had been so clouded over that he had been incapable of realizing the kind of danger he was really in. The kind of danger that all of Eden was really in.

They were dealing with the kind of people who could tear someone’s body apart with their mind. What were psychics compared to that? Nothing. There was nothing so terrifying as an Elite member of the secret police.

He, Vega, and the boy who had narrowly escaped being disemboweled huddled in one of the Agapama safehouses, waiting for news that it was safe to come out. There were safe houses all over Eden; hidey holes of all sorts. This one was impossible to find. It was build in between two city Levels, nestled inside the very structure of the Colony. It was little more than a metal hatch, but it was totally secure. If anywhere was safe, it was.

He did not feel safe. He did not know what was going on and it made him feel helpless and angry.

The boy, Percy, was drenched in blood. He was shaking and his eyes were so wide that the whites showed all the way around. He sat with his knees drawn up to his skinny chest in a corner, as far away from West and Vega as possible. When Hax had dragged him out from beneath the bed he was hiding under, she had used her Ability to force him to urinate on himself, so he smelled. It was hard to see how he would recover from what had happened to him, despite being unharmed.

West wondered if this made him more or less likely to work with him. He needed a technopath desperately if he was ever going to start getting to kids who had Abilities before the government did. He still did not know who was really in charge of Eden because Argo and Sweetie did not know, but he was on the right track. He just needed this kid.

He glanced over at Vega. She was in her uniform and looked seethingly angry or maybe scared, which was unlike her. It was likely that she was thinking about Percy’s murdered roommates, the dying secret police agent who had been Hax’s partner, and her own helplessness. When she caught him looking at her, she shook her head curtly. The glimmer passed over her and for a second, West could not see her.

It was not a useful Ability. He understood why she had not been snatched up as a child.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her quietly, because he could not ever shut up, not even if he wanted to. He could never just shut his fucking mouth and be quiet.

Vega’s teeth were clenched and chattering. She glared at him. “This is all your fault,” she hissed. “Do you know I haven’t been able to get through to you for months? You’ve been completely unlike yourself. This is the first time since those two showed up that your eyes aren’t completely glazed over and of course it’s when we’re about to die in a hole.”

“We aren’t going to die in a hole.”

“You’re right. It’s a tomb.”

She was not one for being dramatic, so she must have been really scared. But West understood. He was scared too, and not just because of what he had seen that night. He was scared because he could only vaguely remember what he had been up to.

He had paid one of the geneticists to create an Artificial daughter for him. He knew that. He knew that she was growing inside a vat right now, just like he knew baby Ayda was growing inside of her mother.

That made his heart skip a beat. The blood pounded in his head. At least he hoped that baby Ayda was still OK; she only had a month until she was born. He had seen Sweetie’s face crumple up in pain when she had confronted Hax. Surely even that girl wouldn’t harm a pregnant mother.

But he knew that wasn’t true and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. The girl he had seen wreaking havoc inside of Percy’s dormitory was exactly the kind of person to kill an 8-month old fetus. She had made Percy’s room-mate’s organs explode inside of him and had killed her own injured partner as he crawled toward her crying and begging for help. And all the while, the look on Hax’s round, pretty face had been one of complete serenity.

But when Hax saw Sweetie and Argo, that serenity had vanished. Her face turned red and a vein pulsed in her forehead. She was frightened of them. ‘Torturers’, she had called them. It disturbed West. Could they be worse than her? Impossible.

He didn’t really know them, though.

“I’m going to die because of you,” said Percy, his tone flat as if he could not believe it. He was only 17. He stared directly ahead and was not blinking as much as he should have been. The blood on his face and hair had dried and started to flake. “You’ve killed me.”

“We saved you,” West told him. He did not want to explain this again, to someone who did not appreciate him. Percy was a deeply unpleasant person to speak to, despite his value. “We went back for you, do you know where you’d be right now if we hadn’t? You’d be in some dark little room about to have every thought blasted out of your head so that the city could use you as a dog. You should be thanking me. You should be happy you’re coming home with me, where you’ll be safe.”

“Shut up, West,” said Vega.

His feelings were a little hurt. She had never told him to shut up before.

Percy finally looked at West. He did not look angry. Not yet. He couldn’t, not with all his shivering and shaking. The way he was holding himself for comfort was sad to see, and West was reminded that Percy was another Church. Another person who did not have that foundation of love built into him from day one from family.

“That girl is going to find me,” he said.

“No she isn’t. We’re safe.” West did not believe this for a minute, but he liked the sound of his own voice. It was comforting. He ran his hands over his hair, which he had recently bleached and then dyed turquoise. That act of vanity had seemed so important to him less than 24 hours ago. “I’m here to protect you, anyways.”

Percy seemed to be looking right through West. He looked very young, too young to have gone through what had just happened to him. His blood-covered and soiled pajamas were too big for him. But it didn’t matter. He was needed so that West could make sure it didn’t happen to anybody else.

As the three of them hid in that chilly little metal cavern, this was nothing more than a far off dream.

After another hour, there was a knock at the hatch above them. Everyone flinched. Percy covered his face with his hands. West stood up so that he could look through the tiny glass window in the center of it, then sighed in relief. He opened the hatch so that his comrades could slide down inside.

With five people in the hole, there was definitely no room. West found himself smashed up against the wall so that he didn’t touch anyone who was mad at him. Both he and Vega were taller and broader than most people in Eden. Argo was large as well, with his muscular frame. Sweetie’s huge belly took up even more space. Immediately the hiding place smelled more strongly of sweat.

“Hello friends,” Sweetie said, panting a little. “Everything is fine, no need to thank us.” The small circular scars at the sides of her head were flushed red. Who knows what she had been up to, when she should have been resting. West could not help himself because he was so worried; he reached out and put a hand on her stomach to try and feel Ayda moving. She smacked his hand away with an annoyed look before he could feel anything.

Percy shivered harder and his breath came fast.

“What do you mean, ‘everything is fine’?” Vega demanded. Her teeth had stopped chattering but her face was still shiny with sweat, betraying her fear. In her police uniform, she should have looked fierce. But after seeing Hax in her terrible black uniform, Vega comparatively could have been a girl playing dress up. Her body language was tense, while Sweetie and Argo’s was languid. Still, she questioned them. “We’ve been down here for 5 hours, what have you been doing? Is it safe for us to go home or is that girl going to find us?”

Argo barked his mean, short laugh, rolled his eyes,  but didn’t say anything. He talked less and less these days, always preferring to use telepathy instead. Psychics were strange creatures, that was one thing West could pick out of his hazy memories of the last few months. Out of the two of them, Argo was the touchier one. He scooched himself closer to West, despite the ramped quarters, and put a hand on his thigh and then squeezed it. Instantly, most of West’s fear floated away to be replaced by a warm sensation of love and security.

He knew they were doing things to him. Especially now. Altering his thoughts, altering his feelings. He was still himself and he was still able to think clearly but...but something. Was it really so bad to be loved? Was it really so bad to have a family?

“Don’t ignore me, I’m not joking around with you,” said Vega, using her cop voice. That prompted another laugh and the blood rose to her cheeks. She still had her taser on her belt, but if she tried to pull it she would be paralyzed and brain dead before her finger pulled the trigger. “Tell me what’s going on right now. I saw that girl kill two people, and she had killed a third. I saw what she did to Percy and I saw what she did to you. She was shouting that she would find us, so I need to hear you tell me that we’re going to be OK.”

“You’re OK, stupid,” said Sweetie. She continued to pant. The pregnancy was hard on her. “We’ve been creeping around up there for hours, intercepting thoughts. You don’t need to worry about Hax at all, you don’t know her like we do. Yeah she’s unhinged and bloodthirsty, but she’s a coward too. We used to play with her all the time, she’s very well trained. She’d never act without orders, and after the monumental embarrassing fuck up tonight was, she’s not going to be assigned new orders-- and and and, they’ll likely decide to drop Mr. Numbers here’s file.”

“Play with her?” Percy said shrilly and without warning. Beneath the blood, his tan skin had turned white. “What do you mean you played with her?”

“Hurt her. We hurt people when they are bad.” The admission was casual and lacked shame. Neither her nor Argo were capable of that emotion. She rested her palms on her huge belly, paused as she felt for something, and then smiled. Whatever she felt made her breathing regulate. “Would it make you feel better about what you saw if I told you some of the things we’ve done to her? Hax was bad all the time so we saw her a lot. Sometimes when people hurt others, you gotta hurt them even worse so that they learn. She’s a screamer.”

Vega closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall when she heard that, as if everything she had suspected had just been confirmed. It was time for them all to crawl up out of the hole and go home, but Vega suddenly looked sick and tired instead of scared. Percy continued to shiver and hug himself for comfort.

Influenced as he was, West was unable to process that the people he loved were monsters. He was more lucid than he had been the past few months, simply because their control over him had lapsed due to the stress they were under. But even if he was not being influenced, it would be difficult for him to reconcile this knowledge with the things he knew about his partners. He knew that they had escaped a terrible place because they were tired of being mistreated. He knew that they loved each other and they loved him. He knew that they were willing to kill and die for Ayda, and when the as of yet unnamed Artificial baby came along, they’d do the same for her. Those traits meant that they could not be completely bad, could they?

And he felt safe and happy when they were around. That was it. That was all there was. West had always been ‘too much’, but with Sweetie and Argo, he felt balanced. He was in love.

He hoped he was in love.

It had been a terrible night but they all had a beautiful future ahead of them. Everyone was going to have a beautiful future, where they didn’t get hurt any longer. West was going to make sure of it. He was going to do anything to make it happen.

INTERLUDE III

Baby Ayda was born, and five months later, Cassiopeia was pulled out of her incubator.

But one month after that, Sweetie and Argo were just gone. They went out and never came back. West never found closure, he never was able to truly process his feelings for them. The loss was an indescribable phenomenon that nobody he talked with could hope relate to. It culminated in him feeling completely alone again.

He had the girls though. And he had his sense of purpose.

TERRIBLE CHILDREN

It was hard to be a dad. It was even harder to be a single dad.

Even with all his money, all his love, and his growing patience, the fact remained that Ayda and Cassiopeia were difficult children. West had never been disciplined by his parents, and now he did not discipline his daughters. He did not know how to.

“You need to be tougher on them or else they’ll grow up to be sociopaths,” Vega told him. Of course, Vega had been smacked by Church nuns when she was a kid, so she never attempted to discipline the girls either. They grew up without hearing the word “no”.

Percy, who still lived with West despite his perpetual dislike of the man, ignored the girls. Or he tried to. When Ayda approached him, he would become scared and tell her to go away, which made everyone involved angry. His addition to the household was a negative one, but unavoidable. Where else was he supposed to go?

When the girls were 4 years old, bedtime became a perpetual struggle. West had to physically pull them out of the bathtub, which resulted in crying and fighting. Then he had to bribe them into their pajamas with promises of treats. Already Cassiopeia was becoming a shrewd bargainer.

“I want hot chocolate,” Casey told him, as he dried off her kinky hair. Even though she was an Artificial, he hadn’t manipulated her genes, so she looked exactly like he did. She had the same dark brown skin, the same big smile, the same curl pattern. Some of the kids he saw other wealthy people creating did not look quite human, so West was glad for his insight while telling the geneticist what he wanted in a daughter. “Two chocolates.”

“OK, only if you get to bed.” West separated his daughter’s hair into sections and rubbed a leave-in conditioner into it before he tied it into afro-puffs. She was out of the bathtub and already wearing her purple nightgown, so half the battle was won. It was a good night. They were actually listening to him; if they decided to gang up on him and ignore basic bedtime rules, there was no chance. He was 25 years old and he listened to any order his preschoolers told him.

He was too young to be a father, but it was too late to think about that. Ayda had come to him by precious accident and Casey’s creation was lost in memories of excessive joy and passion. They were worth it; they were worth everything. It did not change the fact that he felt too young.

“I want ice cream,” said Casey, and she winced and pulled her head away. She was sitting on the white marble counter of the bathroom the girls shared and although she couldn’t climb up there by herself, she could certainly sit down.

“I’ll get you some ice cream,” West told her, “Pistachio ice cream. Only if you and your sister go to bed. And you’ll have to brush your teeth again.”

Casey looked at him dead in the eye. “Chocolate. I don’t want to go to bed.”

That did not bode well. West picked her up off the sink and put her down, where she immediately started to open and close every drawer in the bathroom. No, not close: slam.  He did not sigh or show his frustration, even though he had only had about 5 hours of sleep the night before. Casey was done. Now for the infinitely more difficult child.

Ayda, well, was her parents’ daughter. Which was to say, she was impossible to read. While Cassiopeia was perpetually joyful, mean, and clever, Ayda was moody. At times she was loving, but when she got mad at West or Vega, she would throw tantrums that turned their moods black as well. Even at her young age it was clear she was a psychic. When West thought about how hard he would have to fight in order to protect her from facing the same fate her biological parents did, he felt sick and terrified.

The trick was to teach her how to hide and control her powers so that nobody found her. It was difficult enough to potty-train two toddlers, how was he supposed to introduce her to the knowledge that if she did this thing that came naturally to her, she might get taken away from him. Vega tried to explain to him how she controlled her own weak Abilities, and Percy was unable to articulate what he did.

West’s criminal empire had expanded greatly by that time and he had countless men and women who were loyal to him. But what did that matter against an enemy who might steal his child and raise her up to hurt people?

He still didn’t even know his enemy’s name.

At 4 years old, Ayda was still sucking her thumb and refused to stop the habit. You couldn’t bribe Ayda like Casey. She was stubborn. You had to use the kind of psychological manipulation that West didn’t want to use on a little kid. And even then, sometimes that failed.

West crouched down next to his eldest daughter, who was sitting on the bathroom floor in her green onesie, watching him. Ayda had her mother’s big brown eyes, olive complexion, and silky straight black hair. She’d cried the last 3 times West had tried to trim her hair, so it was very long. She cried a lot, and her emotions always bled on to West. She blinked at him with her thumb in her mouth, then watched her sister pull hair bands out of a bathroom drawer and throw them on the ground.

“Daddy wants you to take your thumb out of your mouth, Ayda,” said West gently.

Ayda made a face and didn’t listen to him. The way Casey was making a mess was evidently more interesting.

It was time to resort to psychological warfare. “If you keep sucking your thumb like that, it’s going to make your teeth crooked,” West told her, and felt like crap for saying it, even though it was true. She was about to go to kindergarten. If she was still sucking her thumb, the other kids would make fun of her, and that would send him into a tailspin. He already knew that Casey would be a terror to her peers, but a different kind of terror. Ayda? She was so sensitive, but in a different kind of way than most people are sensitive.

Ayda whipped her thumb out of her mouth. Her lower lip wobbled.

“I want ice cream,” said Casey, squeezing toothpaste onto the floor. West didn’t reprimand her. He knew he needed to. He couldn’t, it was easier to just clean it up later.

One day he would really regret not disciplining his children. That day would not come for several years, by which time it would be already too late. They would grow up to be spoiled rotten monsters, and he would still love them more than anything else in the world.

He was more afraid of not being able to protect them than he was of not raising them right.

FUCKING BASTARD CRASHES A FUNERAL AND MEETS DANA NGUYEN

When West was 27, he walked in on something he had never seen before.

He walked in on Vega crying in the living room.

She was such a serious, stalwart stone of a person who had overcome so much in her life that he did not think she had the capacity to cry. Over the last few years, she had risen through the ranks quickly and was already a Captain. Her ambition and loyalty was what set her head and shoulder above her peers. When they had first met, she said that she was going to be Commissioner one day, and West had never doubted her. He supported her efforts in the same way she supported his: never interfering, never crossing into the other realms.

The way she cried was not pretty and it made West freeze and choke up because at first he thought that she was hurt. Vega curled herself up on one of the ornate red velvet couches and cried without touching her face. She stared straight ahead as she did so, her black eyeliner running down her cheeks. It was a Thursday, a work day, and she had not yet changed out of her uniform.

West scrambled over to her and knocked a lamp over as he did so. The very thought that she was upset pained him. She had seen him cry or rage so many times and had always been his emotional rock. He threw his arms around her. “Are you OK?” he asked frantically, going over a list of reasons Vega might get upset. “Did something happen?”

She was not a hugger like he was, but she didn’t shove him away. “C-commissioner Vasquez resigned t-today,” she hiccupped. “The p-position has already been filled.”

He released her. Oh. Of course. “I know that’s disappointing,” he told her, as gently as he could. She kept blinking away tears. It was clear that she was holding a lot of it in because she did not want to be seen crying, not by him, and especially not by the girls. “But you expected that, right? You were just telling me about how it’s going to take you another 10 years to work up the ranks, to get that kind of experience.”

“That’s not it,” Vega said. She rubbed her eyes with her hands and only smeared her make-up worse. She swallowed. “The p-person who was appointed does not have enough experience. A n-nobody. Literally just a sergeant I’ve never even heard of before, someone with no managerial experience, n-nothing. She must have b-been appointed based on some high-up

S reference, but n-nobody knows who.put it in for her-- Malena d-dropped the papers off in Vasquez’s office this morning and that was that. No warning, no gossip. I’m n-not upset this woman was promoted, I’m upset because it seems-- it seems like hard work doesn’t matter at all, compared to who you know, compared to who likes you. It seems like my hard work d-doesn’t matter at all.” She kept hiccupping because of her attempt to keep the volume down.

This was unfortunately the nature of the game in Eden. Lots of people worked hard, some harder than others. Most people worked hard their whole lives without getting much of anywhere, nor making much of anything. Getting ahead depended almost entirely on who you were and who you knew. Being successful was something you were born into. Nowadays it was literal, with children being engineered to be stronger, smarter, and better looking. What hope was there for someone who just worked hard?

West didn’t like the system, but understood how he benefited from it. Understood exactly where his millions of credits came from-- it was not his labor which he profited from, it was his control over other peoples’ labor. He watched Vega try not to cry and didn’t feel guilty; rather, he felt the desire to take over and help her out. He was a fixer, he always had been.

He took one of her hands to comfort her and Vega brushed him away. She looked at him with the air of a woman coming to a final decision. .

“Sometimes I think being friends with you is holding me back,” she told him, in a measured, hesitant way that revealed she had been thinking about this for a long time. West felt his heart fall to his stomach. “Everyone-- I mean, everyone at work thinks I work for you. That you pay me off. I’m never going to get what I want, even if I’m better than I need to be because they’re always going to think that I’m a bad person.”

There was nothing to say to that. West had been lonely for so long. He had gained a friend, then gained partners, then gained his daughters. Then he had lost his partners. The prospect of losing his friend was terrifying to him. He would not be lonely again, not ever, but deep down inside this confirmed what he was afraid of: he was too much and he was unlikable. He was too much and he made life painful for the people he cared about. He wanted to be a good person and he wanted to make the large scale changes he dreamed about but deep down inside, he knew who he really was.

In his ideal life, West did not care what other people thought about him. Vega’s feelings that he was detrimental to her life however, struck at his weak spot. The only way he could stop thinking about something like that was by distracting himself, by leaning into the next best thing and tricking himself into thinking he was being productive.

He stood up from the couch. “I’ll find out what I can about why this happened,” he told her.

West never broke his promises.

The new Commissioner’s location was not difficult for him to find. He knew immediately that something strange was occurring and it fascinated him. It looked like another piece of the authoritarian puzzle. He searched her name-- Dana Nguyen-- on his comm (no need to involve Percy’s technopathy in this) and beneath the countless announcements of her promotion, was an Obituary. Nguyen was a recent widow.

It turned out that her wife had killed herself only two nights before. The memorial service was that evening.

Coincidences existed but this could not be one of them.

Was the suicide a set up? The dead wife was, after all, another cop. Or was it an act that had made someone in a position of power feel such sympathy for Nguyen that it made them promote this unqualified woman to one of the most important jobs in the city? West had not found much on Nguyen. She was just another working class cop from a long line of working class cops. The pictures he was able to find of her showed a plain, dull looking woman, although one he found showed her smiling and drunken at a party with her wife.

Who did this woman know and why did that person think she was important? As West dressed himself to crash the memorial service, he found himself feeling happier and more confident despite these questions.

Commissioner Vasquez had been a thorn in his ass for years, an old fashioned type of cop who was constantly implementing programs to crack down on organized crime. It affected Richard Prospas more than it did West’s organizations, but he had still lost tens of thousands of credits in profit because of Vasquez’s targeted searches of his warehouses and trucks. Since Nguyen was so new and underqualified, West would be able to run circles around her and get more of a leg up on his competition.

Making money wasn’t his first objective, but it was important to him.

West put on appropriate attire for a memorial service. The nature of his work left him attending more than his fair share of services for his employees who were killed by bastard cops or rival goons. He wore a black velvet suit with a black tie. Black snakeskin loafers, without socks. Black eyeliner and nail polish. When it came to events like funerals, he tried to tone down his ostentatious presence, because the attention was not supposed to be on him.

Eden didn’t really have funerals. In the old days, there had been different ways of preparing the bodies of the dead. Burying them in the ground and such. But now everyone lived underground, and there was no place to plant the dead. Cremation was mandatory. The smoke was piped through miles of tubing, from the basement of the Hospital, all the way up past the Dome. Nothing was left of anyone other than ash and bits of bone.

As he rode the metro from the Surface, all the way down to the dark guts of the Colony where the service was unsurprisingly taking place, West remembered his new knuckle tattoos and had the good grace to tug his sleeves down a bit to cover them up. The tattoos read “LIVE” on his right hand and “RICH” on his left. He didn’t want any prole to see that and get any wrong ideas about him. At this point in his life, he was well aware of how to public perceived him to be a capitalist scumbag and a dangerous idiot. At least nobody laughed at him anymore.

It took 45 minutes for the metro to make its descent into the Lower Levels. West felt his ears pop. He did not like going all the way down, it made him sick. At over mile underground, the Lower Levels were unbearably hot and the air was foul. The engineers were constantly working on the air filtration down there, as well as on the fans. It was no wonder that the people who lived and worked down there their entire lives were so miserable. A handful of working class activists had recently committed ritual suicide to protest the poor conditions down there, which seemed a bit useless if you asked him.

When people stared at him on the metro, he made eye contact until they looked away.

The location of the memorial service had been listed online. Why wouldn’t it be? He had expected it to be located in one of the many misery-filled churches that people in the Lower Levels loved so much, but it was taking place staunchly inside of a community center instead. This inferred that Nguyen, and perhaps her late wife as well, adhered to the same state atheism that West did. Good. Churches made him nervous and when he had to hear some holy man talk about the afterlife, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

He walked into the community center like he belonged there and sat near the back. There were not many people in attendance-- mostly cops-- and he scoured the crowd for the widow up at the front.

The chair he was sitting in was metal and uncomfortable and the air around him was stifling. West pulled at his tie while fanning himself. A child was crying loudly and nobody was doing anything to quiet them, something which always set him on edge. He hated to hear kids cry. It made him want to step in and do something about it, which was overstepping his bounds. He shifted his sturdy body.

The speaker was a little wiry cop who had been close friends with the deceased. He talked about her life in a fashion that was fond and without bitterness. She had been passionate, full of life and love. She had been a brilliant mother. She had been a good cop.

What was a good cop, any way? One who didn’t bug out and shoot unarmed civilians? Seemed like a low bar.

West kept fanning himself and wondered what the C02 in the air around him was doing to his brain. The pollution down there had to be part of the reason why so many people in the Lower Levels were religious. They were all packed in together without fresh air or sunlight and it was affecting their brains. Between the heat and the crying kid, he could hardly pay attention to what the speaker was saying.

He did notice, however, that Nguyen did not choose to step up front and speak. Usually bereaved spouses did that. This added to his theory that there was something going on with her. Perhaps she was just grieving, but he didn’t think so. After all, he had spoken words after the deaths of his parents and 5 siblings, with a 6th presumed dead (‘Retired’, as Sweetie and Argo would have put it.) He could not imagine a worse grief than that, and he had still been able to do it, even at 12 years of age.

It was important to live life as fully as possible. Even for depressive plebs such as these, it was feasible to find happiness. Instead of worrying about whatever happened after death, it was better to worry about life. It was better to avoid loss until the final moment, it was better to cling onto life with both hands.

As he considered all the loss he had experienced, he almost wanted to tear up. He had never been a man able to control his emotions. He always laughed loudly and always let himself cry when he needed to cry.  It would be fitting, at a memorial service, but it would rouse the suspicion of the pigs. It would also mess up his eyeliner, and he couldn’t have that.

After about 45 minutes of the speaker going on and on about the dead woman (much to West’s chagrin, the cheeky bastard did start talking about an after-life), it was over. West remained in his seat as the crowd began to disperse, most of them paying their respects to the widow. He watched the way that nobody spent much time speaking to her, and wondered about that. Dislikable? The speaker lingered the longest and he gave Nguyen a chaste kiss on the cheek before he wandered away to comfort someone else.

Nguyen was not moving around much, she stayed in her chair as if she was stuck there. She had two children with her, probably hers. The boy one was the one who had been crying hysterically throughout the service, and was still crying. The girl was pallid and listless. They were of an age with his daughters, give or take a year or two. From time to time, the widow would touch her face, but that was it.

It was as good a time as any to approach her. He stood and started to walk to the front of the room. People were recognizing him. It was not his fault, he was very recognizable. They all parted before him because of that reputation. When West moved, he moved with purpose and determination. In his youth he had been jauntier, but that was before everything happened. He circled around Nguyen to face her because he did not want to startle her.

“I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for your loss,” he began, sincerely. West arranged his expression into something he hoped was consoling and was well aware that many other eyes were on him. Let them watch. He was the very picture of well mannered in situations such as this, and all he wanted out of the woman was to get a feel for the kind of person she was so he could start getting answers. “If there’s anything I can do for you during this time, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dana Nguyen said, slurring a little like she had been drinking recently. She was a short scrawny woman a couple years older than him, with cropped black hair and dark eyes hidden behind square glasses. The black clothing she wore was ill-fitting and masculine, and she was not wearing makeup. She stood up aggressively and wobbled on her feet. In the seats next to her, her little boy cried and cried, while the girl chewed on the ends of her hair. “As if things can’t get any worse.”

Her expression was not one of grief, or even sadness. She had her teeth clenched and her eyes were dead.

“I’m sorry,” said West. He took a step back because she was too close to him. “Your predecessor and I did not get along, I’d like a relationship of a different nature for the two of us.”

“Predecessor?” Nguyen asked, then scoffed. She had definitely been drinking, she smelled like liquor. “Vasquez. Right, I want to break bread with a smuggler and a murderer about as much as he did. Why do you need me, huh? Everyone knows you already have a spy within us. I used to see her whenever I worked nights; completely stuck-up, she ignores everyone who isn’t an officer.”

At this mention of Vega, West felt his calm and concerned smile tighten.

Nguyen continued. “Yeah, no. Didn’t ask for you, didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask for any of it.” Her kid’s crying must have finally irritated her too much to keep neglecting him because she jerked her head towards him and barked, “Christopher!” in a frustrated tone. That just made the child wail harder. He lay down on the floor and cried like he could not control himself. Nguyen pressed a hand to the side of her head.

Two nights. That kid had probably been crying since he found out his mother had died. Again, West found himself thinking of Ayda and Casey. Nguyen’s children seemed so unfortunate and ill-behaved compared to his own.

It was so hard to not say anything about the crying kid, but he did not want to piss anyone off by getting too involved.

He smiled ingratiatingly at this small unpleasant woman, who was now one of the most powerful people in Eden. A future policy maker, a person who would have say over his future and the futures of his daughters. “I’m just offering my condolences, Commissioner.”

Nguyen’s mouth twisted when she heard the title.

She scooped her up son into her arms to try and comfort him, but did a poor job of it. The boy struggled and fought her, escaping from her grasp and returning to his younger sister. Copying his mother, he hugged his sickly sister tightly until she whined and pushed him away.

“Keep your condolences,” Nguyen told him. Her body language continued to speak of frustration and pent up aggression. Her hands kept opening and closing into fists and her shoulders were tight. Like a dog that wanted to snap but was chained up. Whoever put her in her new position had her on a tight leash. “What good are your condolences to me? You have balls for waltzing in here through a room full of cops to harass me.”

“Thank you. See, I’ve never been caught doing anything wrong. All I do is move things from one place to another.”

“Give it some time.” It was a threat.

“You’re accepting my offer of friendship?”

“People are right when they say you’re funny,” Nguyen said humorlessly.

West shrugged amiably. He knew he needed to leave. If he did not, things would soon become ugly. He could already hear whispers around them, buzzing snips of hateful gossip. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Commissioner,” he said it again just to see her face twitch and confirm his suspicions. “I’m sure we’ll meet again. I do feel that I won’t be the most pressing of your problems.” Another dig at her.

The kind of grim, accepting terror hidden beneath Dana Nguyen’s false aggression had been put there by somebody, that was for sure. She had revealed very little in her words, but faces and body language showed more than words ever could. Now West felt sure that someone had forced her into the position of Commissioner, either as a punishment or to keep a close eye on her. Something to do with the dead wife. Now he doubted that she had killed herself, targeted assassination seemed more likely.

So who was both powerful and stupid enough to give an ill-intentioned favor to a person like Nguyen?

It all seemed personal. Nguyen was just too low a person to have been deemed deserving of her position. She had no money, no connections, and lacked charisma.

West felt positive that he would be able to manipulate this woman in the future though. Too inexperienced, not educated enough to be playing with the top contenders. And deeply unhappy as well-- drinking before her own wife’s memorial service, unable to control her children. Perhaps in time he would be able to pull more information from her.

He gave her a kind smile and took his leave. The whispering around him intensified and he let it flow off him.

As he walked away, he considered the type of person who would take any kind of interest in Nguyen. It did not yet occur to him that that type of person now included him

INTERLUDE

Despite everything, Vega began to spend less and less time with West, more and more time at work. Once again, he was surrounded by people but was still alone and friendless. Something was wrong with him, something that kept people from connecting with him at an intimate level despite his best efforts.

He did not understand why he remained this way after so many years.

DON’T FORGET WEST IS A PIECE OF SHIT CAPITALIST

West enjoyed meeting with his rivals. He was a civil man when it came to interacting with them face to face, pleasant even. When he was younger, he was a lot less pleasant. He had wanted to eradicate anyone who threatened his businesses back then. At 32 years old, he understood that their existence was essential to his existence. It was possible to coexist for short periods of time, especially if a good meal was involved.

For example, West understood that without maintaining a good professional relationship with Richard Prospas, he could lose access to the man’s products, which West shipped to the nearby Colonies of Serenity and Green River, then sold to them at a 20% profit. In fact, it was more profitable for Prospas to sell half to West to distribute, than to sell all of it to the supermarkets in Eden. Both of them won. The only problem was that Prospas was a moody sort of fellow, and would often threaten to stop providing West with anything at all over perceived insults. It was in West’s best interest to buddy up with him.

They met over dinner at a fine restaurant. A restaurant that was supplied by Prosperity Inc., of course. West always chose to dress conservatively to these meetings; black linen jacket, black slacks, and a green tie to give his outfit a pop of color. Serving as a reminder of his own capital, there were diamond studs in his ears and big golden rings on nearly every finger. He looked good, but not good enough to be threatening.

In contrast, Prospas was a very average looking man who always wore a suit. He had dark skin and a slightly receding hairline that was likely a result of his nervous disposition. Seeing him on the street was nothing special, which was why he had engineered his Artificial children to look like literal vampires.

“How’s the baby?” West asked his competitor, remembering that he had a one year old.

“Wonderful. I’ve never seen such a happy child. He doesn’t even cry, not like the others.” Prospas was tense. He kept looking over his shoulder to check for his bodyguards who sat at a table near the restaurant’s door. This was a bad sign, it meant that he did not trust West to not call in his own goons to kill everyone.

Well, West didn’t trust this guy either, which was precisely why he had 5 of his own people lurking outside the restaurant, ready to bust in the second things went south.

Civil business.

(TO FINISH THIS I WOULD HAVE TO UNDERSTAND THE ECONOMY IN EDEN WHICH I STILL DON’T. THE POINT IS WEST IS A DIRTBAG RICH GUY AND IT’S PARTIALLY HIS FAULT THAT PEOPLE LIKE KIP AND LEE ARE RADICALIZED COMMIES)

CURSE YOUR SUDDEN BUT INEVITABLE BETRAYAL

When West was 33, he faced true consequences for his actions for the first time. Many times he had avoided certain death. He had seen it in the in the faces of faces of the cops who pointed their guns at him when they raided his warehouses or his trucks. He had seen it in the faces of his enemies; men and women who worked for the other great rival families of Eden. Never had he seen it in the face of someone he believed was loyal to him.

Betrayal was for other people. West was friendly and paid generously. It was not at the top of his list of things to concern himself with.

He preened in front of his bathroom mirror. It was early in the morning; in an hour he would ride down to the Education District with the girls. They complained about how embarrassing he was, but he always wanted to make sure they were safe. There were bad people out there, unscrupulous people. His daughters were too young to know that yet, but he had learned that first essential lesson when he was precisely their age.

West leaned close to his reflection so that he could inspect his skin. He was still young and unwrinkled, and he invested a great deal of time in his appearance. He washed his face, then moisturized. Since it was so early, he still wore his bathrobe, slippers, and nothing else.

There were so many choices for him in his wardrobe that he did not plan his outfits in advance any longer. The inspiration simply came to him. That day he had a meeting with Richard Prospas over shipping futures; the nearby Colony of Serenity was consuming more of Prosperity Inc.’s product than West could ship. He considered wearing something outlandish, since that always threw his dour, angry rival off.

A knock came at the door.

He was not expecting any company. Perhaps a delivery; while West could not remember ordering anything, it was possible that one of the girls had. Ayda was especially bad with online shopping, she spent nearly every minute of her free-time staring at her tablet. It was early though, too early for a delivery. It was also too early for any of his degenerate enemies to be up and about as well.

West tied his bathrobe tighter around his waist. He left the bathroom, his slippers making slap noises against the floor as he walked. A couple of years ago he’d re-finished the floors upstairs due to 10 year old Cassiopeia leaving the faucet running and flooding everything. The floors were now covered in white carpet instead of the ancient hardwood he had known when he was a child. It took some getting used to.

As he got older, he lost more and more memories of his youth. He had forgotten the face of his father, but still remembered what the wood floors felt like when he was 8 and Eden went through a terrible cold spell.

As a single father, he did not have time to contemplate his own loss, anger, and sadness anymore. That’s what he told himself.

As he went down the steps, the rapping at the door persisted, hard and sharp. It was strange, since there was a doorbell right there. “I’m coming,” West muttered to himself as he thought about exactly how frighteningly he would smile at this person who was disturbing his morning ritual. His home was large and it took him time to traverse it. The flooring was not the only thing to have changed over the years. The walls were now covered in pictures of his children and he had removed all evidence of his dead family.

He could not stand the way those old pictures stared at him. So maybe he was still sad.

West opened his front door, fully expecting some idiotic delivery-person who he could yell at. Instead he found himself looking down at the Police Commissioner and a handful of uniformed goons. Dana Nguyen smiled at him in a way that made it clear she was unused to smiling. It was nasty and behind her glasses, her dark eyes glinted with malicious victory like she had caught him doing something wrong.

He blinked at her mildly, intending to infuriate her. Over the last 6 years, she had been completely useless at her job. Somehow violent criminals kept disappearing or turning up dead, but it was no thanks to her-- there was some kind of vigilante operating in the Lower Levels. West was right in his first impression of her: nothing but a puppet for somebody far more sinister. He could see her powerlessness in the pathetic way she was looking at him. She really believed she was up to something, this early on a weekday morning.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I don’t have time to play games with you right now,” And he closed the door on them.

Just to fuck with her.

There was another barrage of incensed knocking. West snickered and re-opened the door, then crossed his arms over his chest.

Nguyen’s nasty smile stretched wider. “I guess you think you’re funny,” she told him in her low-class voice. Such a vulgar little woman. Her role in the public eye forced her to be more feminine and it did not suit her. She had grown her black hair down to her shoulders and she wore a bit of makeup. Her button-up shirt was wrinkled like she had slept in it.

“I am funny,” West replied. He cocked his head. Four cops on his doorstep, including the Commissioner. Did they think they could threaten him? His business-- both the legal and illegal aspects of it-- was doing better than ever. It had been over 3 months since any of his people had been busted by the police, and none of them ever snitched on him. “What do you want? I’m busy, I don’t have time for whatever it is you think we’re doing here.”

With her hands on her hips, Nguyen said, “I’m here to take you directly to the Prison District. From there you can contact your lawyer, though I don’t think the trial will go in your favor.” She showed her teeth.

West laughed in her face. “Oh, I think you’re the funny one, Dana. You think you’re taking me to prison? Have you been drinking this early in the morning? You need professional help.”

His comment made one of the police goons, a big soft woman with a kind expression, shift nervously. Nguyen did not react.

Behind him, he could hear footsteps coming down the stairs: one set quiet and steady, the other loud and rapid. The girls had heard the commotion. They stood behind their father to peer out at the strangers on their doorstep. Neither one of them was ready for school yet.

Suddenly West felt anxiety rise from the pit of his stomach, where it had not been before.

“What are you people doing here?” Cassiopeia asked insolently. She had recently hit puberty and was growing tall and strong. Unlike many adolescents, she was eternally graceful, comfortable in her own skin. “Don’t you have some doughnuts to eat instead of making our doorstep look ugly?”

Ayda, undoubtedly the source of West’s anxiety, was silent.

“Tell your kids to go back inside, Agapama,” Nguyen ordered. West bristled. He did not listen to commands. Nobody gave him commands. Nobody had told him what to do for years. “I don’t want a scene here.”

West fought his growing anxiety away with that familiar old emotion, anger. He drew himself up and squared his shoulders, as frightening as a man could be while wearing a pink bathrobe and slippers with hearts on them. He towered over the diminutive Nguyen and took a step closer so that he could physically intimidate her. “Who do you think you are?” he asked her, raising his voice.“You think you can come to my house without a warrant and threaten me in front of my kids? What a blessing it is that you hate your career, because I’m going to destroy it, you’re going to be begging for scraps by next week. Whoever plucked you from your job as a desk-monkey and put you up top is a real idiot. What are the charges, huh, Dana? Smuggling? Assault? Murder? You don’t have anything on me.”

Remarkably, Nguyen did not show any fear at his display of aggression. She did not even cringe away from him. Her chin was up and her eyes were bright, triumphant even. For the first time since he had met her, she was proud of herself.  “Felony tax evasion,” she said, like she had won.

That was impossible. Percy did West’s taxes for him, as he had for the last 8 years. He’d gone to school for accounting, after all, and he was excellent. Being a technopath helped a great deal in that area. He claimed to be able to see every loophole and break and saved West thousands of credits a year. Punctual and practice; he was not the sort to make a mistake. Dotted every I and crossed every T.

This was all a huge misunderstanding. West felt relieved. He was happy that he had someone like Percy to have his back in this situation. In the beginning, Percy seemed to fear and resent him. Something to do with the trauma and the being forced to live in the Agapama mansion for a few years. For god’s sake, who complains about living in a mansion? It took a long time, but West knew that Percy was finally loyal to him.

It did not occur to him that he was being stabbed in the back.

“Fine,” he told the moronic Police Commissioner, this woman who could not possibly understand the powerful loyalty that every single person who worked for him had. “I’ll go with you to the Prison District. And from there I’ll call my attorney, as well as my accountant. You’ll be eating crow by noon, you’ll see.”

#

As it turned out, Percy had betrayed him. Not only had he spent 8 years filing fraudulent tax returns, but that morning he had used his Ability to steal 500,000 credits from West’s account before disappearing down into the Lower Levels.

West found himself sentenced to 18 months in prison.

#

The Assistant Warden was a runty man with a kind face. He had an irritating habit of running his hands through his dark wavy hair while he was talking, but West could not focus on that. He was in shock. He was in the Prison District, about to lose his freedom because of that Judas of an accountant. This could not possibly be happening to him.

It was happening to him.

He sat slumped and defeated in a chair in the Assistant Warden’s small depressing office, where he was supposed to have an initial interview and do some paperwork before getting processed. Processed. West did not like the sound of that. Most inmates did not do this administrative stuff here, but because of West’s status, the Assistant Warden had taken it upon himself to get him settled in.

“Are you doing alright, Mr. Agapama?” asked the man, whose name was Marshall Singh. He had the look of a middle-school counselor instead of a correctional officer, and he sat cross-legged in a beanbag chair behind his desk instead of a normal one. Every decorative choice in his office hinted at it being the lair of a deeply disturbed individual, from the kitten poster that said ‘Paws and Reflect’ to the rubber stress ball which had eyes that bugged out if someone squeezed it. “Do you need another tissue?”

It was thoroughly humiliating and West had not even had his medical exam yet. Yes, he had cried a little when he said goodbye to Casey and Ayda in the District’s entrance, before Singh led him behind the dozens of heavily locked steel doors. Well, he had cried a lot. The girls would be staying with Vega during the course of his incarceration; she was the only person he could trust. Poor Ayda did not understand what was happening and Casey was angrier than he had ever seen her. When he hugged them for the last time, he had not wanted to let go. He had squeezed them like they were the last people on earth.

“Those were your daughters?” Singh asked, gently trying to open a conversation with the uncharacteristically reticent West. “I have a daughter as well. Lucy. She’s 8.” He picked up a tablet and showed a picture to West; a solemn child who had the misfortune to share Singh’s big nose.

Was this supposed to make West feel better? He wondered if he was going to start crying again. If he couldn’t toughen up soon, he was going to get eaten alive. Every story he heard about what happened in the Prison District was enough to frighten even him. There were thousands of people housed there, for crimes as innocuous as tax fraud, all the way to arson or necrophilia. Riots occurred often and people got killed. He always recalled reading about how inmates were getting killed by other inmates. Expose after expose had been written on the horrific abuses perpetrated by the staff themselves and nothing was ever done about it.

West had never paid much attention to the politics and news regarding incarceration, but now he wished he had. He slumped lower in his chair.

“OK,” Singh said at length. “Well. I see that you are upset. That’s fine, that’s natural. I promise that everything will be OK. I promise that the staff here cares about helping you as much as you can. You’ll actually come out of here far better off than when you started. Everyone in the District gets assigned a case manager and--”

Before he could finish, the door to his wannabe-guidance-counselor office slammed open and a beautiful woman stalked inside.

She was not yet 30, and carried herself with predatory intent. Her straight black hair fell to the middle of her back. Like Singh, her high rank allowed her to wear casual clothes rather than a uniform, but regardless she dressed in all black; black slacks and a black turtleneck. On her feet were heavy boots rather than ordinary office shoes. Her face though....Her face was round and lovely as the moon, but it was void of anything but familiar childish cruelty.

West’s blood ran cold.

“Marshall,” she said, completely ignoring West and walking by so that she could get into Singh’s personal space. He did not appear to mind and looked at peace with this woman was breathing down his neck. She put one of her hands around his wrist like she intended to pull him up out of his comfy beanbag chair. “What are you doing right now? There are reporters here again who want a statement on what happened with Olowe. I need you to go out there and talk to them because I can’t come up with a creative enough lie.”

The disturbingly tranquil Singh removed himself from her grasp and nodded at West. “Mr. Agapama,” he said, and the young woman’s attention was drawn to him. A glimmer of curiosity flickered. “May I introduce you to our Warden? She’s here to help you during your stay as well, she cares a great deal about everyone’s welfare here.”

“What the hell do you think this is, Singh, a hotel? Don’t talk to this guy like you’re his buddy. We’re not here to help these scumbags, we’re here to punish them for being bad people.” The Warden’s thin black eyebrows furrowed as she regarded the new man in her custody. “I’ve seen you before.”

If she recognized or remembered him, he knew that she would liquify his organs with her Ability or contort his body against his will

West tried to smile his charming, friendly smile but found that he could not. He could not speak, he was too afraid to. The memory of this woman’s face-- of Hax’s face, not whatever she was called now-- was so crystal clear although it was 12 years old. When he ran from her, back then in the Education District, she had been covered in blood and screaming her head off about how she would kill Percy.

That desire, at least, was one thing the two of them shared.

Somehow she had been elevated to the position she was in now, instead of being shot in the back of the head the second she started aging. Sweetie once told him that it was impossible for secret police to get out, that the only way out was to die and that for some of them, dying was better than staying alive. Surely Hax had not escaped and then been allowed to work in a position of power.

She was frowning now, completely focused on West with an intense energy. If Nguyen was like a dog straining against its leash, Hax was like a wolf. Her red lips parted. The urge to cause harm was evident in the  small movements of her hands. Beside her, Marshall Singh serenely checked his communicator, unaffected by her negativity. The two of them made for a strange pair. One sincere little hippie and one violent murderer.

West swallowed his fear and reached for his most familiar facade: the rich-guy idiot. “Of course you’ve seen me before,” he said and somehow his voice did not shake. “I’m on TV all the time. You’re probably remembering me from the interview I had with Judy Wong 2 weeks ago. You know, the one I did when I was wearing that purple cape? I looked great in that.”

Hax’s eyes narrowed, but she shoved her hands down into her pockets. The way that she moved, so unpredictable and confident, reminded West of his former partners. Whatever happened to the children who went into the secret police, they all came out moving like killers. “Hurry up and get this stupid gangster processed, then take care of the reporters,” she ordered Singh. “I’ll be in my office.”

It was not until after she was gone that West realized he had barely been breathing.

He did not know how he was going to survive 18 months. She would remember him eventually. She would remember seeing his terrified face as he watched her drag Percy into the dormitory hallway and made him writhe on the floor in pain as she twisted his body with her mind. If his sister had been able to break her psychic brainwashing and regain her memories of him, then Hax could as well.

Marshall Singh, so aware of the introspection of others, smiled at West and gave him an amicable nod. “Don’t look so nervous, take a couple of deep calming breaths. You’re going to do just fine during your stay with us, I promise.”

BANG BANG MAXWELL’S SILVER HAMMER CAME DOWN ON HIS HEAD

18 months go by quickly when you are being mistreated and are terrified for your life every day. West did not mind it so much when it came from his fellow inmates, but staff was a different matter entirely. Whenever one of the correctional officers refused to give him basic necessities or tried to humiliate him, he committed their name to his memory. It was lucky that his status afforded him some protection-- most of them were too afraid of what he would do to them when he got out to really mess with him. Some of the other inmates were not as lucky.

Whoever had made Hax the Warden of the Prison District was a fool, he knew that for sure. The environment she fostered there was one of chaos and sadistic cruelty. Like Dana Nguyen, she was ill-suited for her position of power. She habitually looked the other way when inmates were mistreated by staff and completely ignored violence perpetrated by inmates. Without Marshall Singh there to run damage control, the entire District would probably go up in flames.

So West was very happy to get out. He was even happier to see his daughters. During his incarceration, he had missed out on too much. They grew too fast. It hurt him to even think about how he had not been there for them for so long.

“I couldn’t control them,” Vega had told him, stress radiating out from her. She was only 35, like he was, but being forced into the role of guardian for two teenagers had put lines under her eyes. When she picked West up from the Prison District, she had actually cried. “You have to start disciplining them. Casey’s getting in trouble at school, she’s bullying other kids and got suspended twice for bringing knives to school. It’s terrible. Ayda-- you’re not going to like this-- Ayda has been hanging out with Gena Voorst’s girl.”

“The one in the wheelchair?”

“Yes. She has cybernetics now.”

After living with murderers, rapists, and thieves for 18 months, West was not concerned to hear that his daughters were bullies or spending time with the child of one of his rivals.

He still did not want to discipline them at all. He couldn’t. He loved them too much to even take away their communication devices and tablets.

There was, however, one person who he did want to discipline. Someone he wanted to punish.

Someone he wanted to kill.

West retrieved his hammer.

It was easy to find Percy. He had been hiding like a rat in the Lower Levels, living off of West’s stolen money. What had he thought was going to happen? Perhaps he thought that he would be able to get away with it, perhaps he thought that West would die in prison. The technopath was intelligent only in his realms of expertise. When it came to understanding human nature, or the normal behaviors of others, he was useless.

(I DONT WANT TO WRITE THIS. TLDR WEST BUSTS INTO PERCY’S APARTMENT AND IS ABOUT TO SMASH ALL HIS FINGERS BUT PERCY CONVINCES HIM NOT TO BY REVEALING THAT HE HAS BEEN COMMUNICATING WITH THE TECHNOPATH IN THE SECRET POLICE. PERCY REVEALS SILAS’S NAME AND PROMISES TO HELP WEST LOCATE CHILDREN WITH ABILITIES)