#they didn’t have a shade (likely their defect) but they did become a ghost! and they looked like their whole self

[bugging-robot]

I touched on it in a fic I wrote; I think it can be explained in the game’s death mechanic. Upon death, we see their mask break (the body seemingly disappears into a shade, but we could assume their entire carapace cracks open to release the shade). I think, in their travels and fights for survival, they’ve “died” repeatedly, never living long enough to reach the next stage of growth because their shell respawns as young and new every time.

Maybe if they naturally grew bigger (perhaps molted to a larger size, as bugs do), then the shell would form to the size they were upon death. New and fresh, but not any smaller.

In contrast, I doubt THK would’ve ever “died” while in the White Palace. Besides the care they would’ve received under the Pale King, death would’ve had two major consequences: 1) THK would be a proven failure, because if a mortal bug could fell it, what chance would it have against the Radiance? 2) THK’s shade, freed from the limits of a solid body, could potentially be contacted by and even reunite with the countless shades of its siblings in the Abyss, and Hallownest’s savior would be gone.

If THK had died at any point, it wouldn’t have been with the same frequency as their sibling.

Gnawing cement, I actually wonder what allowed the Hollow Knight to grow up but not the Ghost. I mean, both of them were, apparently, from the same hatch, but, by the end of the game, while the Hollow knight is massive, Ghost is still a baby. And its not like the the Ghost was locked in an abyss with all the other vessels all this time, since they clearly came from an outside world in the beginning of the game. Was it only because of the Father's presence?

[arotechno]

O. basilicum, part v

This is the secret about grief: somewhere between the ages of ten and thirteen, Basil stopped thinking very often of his parents, or of Ace, or of Swallow’s Point. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss them—but it was a longing for a home that did not exist any longer. It ached, deep within the open well of his chest, but only in the way that his knee still seized up on him from time to time, never to truly heal.

He still didn’t know what had become of his parents. The price you paid for harboring a Heartless child was said to be a steep one. Do not speak of it, they’d told him. You’ll bring death upon this house.

Don’t speak of it. That was how it always was, wasn’t it? You can live as you are, just live it in silence. You’re still human, just defective. Hide who you are. Know your place. Keep quiet, and never speak the truth aloud. You’ll ruin us all.

A sharp snap pulled Basil out of his thoughts, and he looked down at his hand to find that he’d crushed the beans he’d been shelling in his fist. Damn. He hadn’t realized he’d been gripping them so hard.

Basil pushed the anger and frustration down, way down. He didn’t know if his parents had heard tales of the curse that had been said to plague him, or if they’d have sent him away if they did. It wasn’t something they ever discussed. Basil never even told them about Ace—one’s own child was a different story, but someone else’s child whom they had no real reason to protect? Well, there was no telling what they would do.

It was better not to know. It was better to assume they were as good as dead rather than ask questions, like why they’d never come looking for him. Better not to face the possibility of rejection. Better to let ghosts continue to be ghosts, haunt him always as they may.

Basil returned to shelling beans. Looking around the garden, it seemed no one had noticed his minor episode.

This was the other secret about grief: it never actually got any smaller. You simply had to grow around it, like a meadow around a line of sharp brambles. Eventually, it didn’t seem like the only part of you anymore. It became easier to ignore, and most days, that was just fine. But touching it was just as painful, even still.

Frida said Basil was growing like a weed. Dusty always disputed this, saying that she should choose something more respectable, like a poplar tree or the humble spinach, but Basil didn’t mind the comparison. Wildflowers were like weeds, after all—hardy little things, growing where they may not be wanted, but beautiful all the same.

Basil grew up around the pain, sprouting like summer grass and digging his roots into Verdigris’ fertile soil. After three years, the vestiges of his old life were likely lost forever, but no amount of hurting was going to change that.

A shadow loomed over Basil. He looked up from his work and saw Dusty standing over him with a tin cup of water outstretched in one hand, the other clutching a pair of dirty gloves.

“Break time,” they said.

“I’m not done shelling.”

“Don’t care. Drink.”

Begrudgingly, Basil accepted the cup and took a sip. The water was still cool, having been kept in a canteen in the shade all afternoon. The weather was growing cooler and the days shorter, but the sun was still warm most days.

Dusty settled down in the dirt beside Basil with a grunt, leaning back against a fencepost. They removed their sunhat and let their long hair spill out, then dropped the hat onto Basil’s head.

“I don’t need to rest,” Basil said.

“Maybe I do, and wanted company. Besides��” Dusty gave him a side-eye “—you were shelling aggressively, and you usually have steadier hands than that. That’s why I asked you for help in the first place.”

Basil sighed, staring at his hands in his lap. His fingernails were caked with grime, dirt smeared across his palms. He clenched them tightly, then released them, feeling the anger wash through and away from him like a hot breeze.

“I’m alright,” Basil said. “It was just… I got upset for a moment, but it passed.”

Dusty just hummed and reached for Basil’s unfinished basket of beans. So much for needing a break.

Basil often came to help Dusty or the others with the community garden. Dusty had a passion and a knack for gardening, and the arrangement gave them someone to share that knowledge with and Basil something to keep himself and his fidgeting hands occupied. Plus, it got him out from under Frida’s feet for the day. It was a win-win situation.

“You’re allowed to be upset,” they eventually said, tossing a shell aside. They worked much faster than Basil had. “You’re a traumatized thirteen-year-old. Who is telling you not to be upset?”

“Me,” Basil said without thinking.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be angry. I don’t like the way it feels. It feels like someone else is controlling me, and I can’t stop it.”

Basil sank back into the quiet of the garden. There were only a few others milling about, mostly down by the far gate, but the admission made it feel as if the whole town were watching. The setting sun cast the sky a dusty pink to match the blush rising on Basil’s cheeks.

“Basil,” Dusty said, “you just have to accept that this is who you are.”

“What if it’s not?” Basil looked up at them pleadingly. “What if I don’t want it to be?”

“Then you can change, if you try. But shoving it all down inside of you isn’t going to help.”

“Did you do it? Change, I mean.”

Dusty laughed. “Kid, I’m changing all the time. I left my family behind years and years ago, because I could only stay with them if I denied and hid everything about who I was. It was hard, and it isn’t fair that I had to burn my whole life down to build one I was happy with. But it happened. And I don’t regret it. I regret that life is unfair. I definitely regret that somebody ever tried to hurt you for being who you are. But I’m becoming who I want to be more and more every single day, and that I don’t regret one little bit.”

Pensive, Basil clutched at the hem of his sweater, uncaring of the dirt. “I know who I am,” he said softly, more to himself and to the plants than to Dusty. “I’m Heartless, and there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“No way! Me too!”

Basil scowled. “Dusty, I’m being serious!”

“Well, have you ever given a really good shout about it?”

“What?”

“Now, it’s my turn to be serious.” Dusty grinned, nudging him with their elbow. “Go on, let it out. Nobody will care. I promise you’ll feel better, I do it all the time.”

There was a chance it was a prank. But Dusty wasn’t the type to embarrass Basil like that—at least not when he was already upset. So Basil shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it all flow out of him like water in a stream.

“I’m Heartless,” he shouted, “and there’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Atta boy, Basil,” Dusty cheered. “Again, louder!”

Basil staggered to his feet and leaned out over the garden fence, shouting into the day’s dying light over the hillside.

“I’m Heartless, and there’s nothing wrong with me! I know who I am, and no one can hurt me!”

Once he started, Basil found he couldn’t stop. At his side, Dusty had also gotten to their feet and was whooping and hollering along with him.

“They tried to get rid of me,” Basil continued, “but I don’t care! I know who I am and I won’t let them stop me. I’m going to be happy. I’m going to get better! And I’m going to do it on purpose!”

Basil cut himself off and opened his eyes, panting. He felt lighter, but raw, like those spiny brambles had snaked their way out of his ribcage through his mouth. Down at the other end of the garden, a few looked on amusedly, while others cheered him on in return.

“There we go,” Dusty said. “Feel better?”

Basil stood quietly for a moment, looking out beyond the garden’s edge at the setting sun. Then, his face split into a grin, and he nodded. It didn’t feel like a revelation. More like a reaffirmation of what he already knew, a moment of striking clarity that although the anger and sorrow of grief would creep up on him from time to time, he did not have to be defined by it.

The past was in the past. He could let it stay there, even if he would never truly be free of it.

On his way home that evening, Basil stopped by Hank’s door. When the man opened up, Basil asked, without greeting, “Do you remember when you first took me to the Ridge, and you said you would take me anywhere I asked? Back to my hometown, if I wanted?”

Hank blinked at him for a few moments, and then chuckled.

“Yes, I remember. Why?”

“Well, I’m not going back. I don’t want to leave Verdigris. I’m staying.”

Hank cocked his head. “I’m happy to hear it, kid, but I thought that was pretty much clear already, seeing as you’ve settled yourself in here so well after three years now.”

“I know,” Basil said simply, before turning on his heel and marching himself home, cane in hand, leaving Hank to scratch at the top of his head in bewilderment before chuckling to himself and going back inside.

[remsmoonlight]

Title: safety net

Pairing: daryl dixon / original female character

Chapter: one

Summary: In a world designed to test your humanity, a woman fights to keep hers. But she walks a fine line between staying human and welcoming death and darkness. [ S2 - S4 ]

The light coloured gaze that belongs to a lone female almost darkens in frustration as she notices the sky beginning to dull and bleed into beautiful tones that always signified the oncoming approach of the night and the glistening stars that could only be seen more prominently ever since the world had passed its very own death day. Light pollution has become a thing of the past. Cassie hadn’t meant to stay out so late, but she had wanted to prove to herself and members of the Greene family that she was able to survive out in the town as she scavenged for things that would be useful to them.

Maggie had made many trips into town, always refusing Cassie’s help. Now, whether or not that was because she couldn’t trust her friend to hold her own, she doesn’t know but this was something that would only bring concrete proof that she was able to survive. She lets out a sigh at the whole situation, digging into her backpack for the half full bottle of water that she’d managed to ration very well -- you couldn’t be too careful those days. Such as when you lose track of time and end up staying out hours later than you should. They’re so gonna kill me later Cassie mentally remarks to herself, she thought it would be a quick trip but she’d gotten too distracted by trying to be useful.

The woman drops the bottle back into the backpack as she drags her feet along the cooling dirt that had suffered the heat from the punishing Georgian sun. She scans every building in her line of sight, call her a perfectionist but all she can see are the defects with the potential safe shelter. Are you trying to die out here? she asks, as she thinks negatively to herself. Too many breaks in that window, that door looks weak, not enough exit routes. The slow dragging of a pair of feet and snarls causes her to turn suddenly, she hates this part. Cassie knows she can handle herself, she’d done so with those things before she’d found refuge at her old school friend’s farm but it isn’t something she enjoys. It wouldn’t even be the first thing she wished to do, but it had to be done.

I don’t have to like it but I’ll do it.

Gripping the knife, Cassie slowly advances to meet the dead being halfway, studying its movements intently  -- a few seconds and it’s over. She pulls the knife from their head with little less fight than she was used to, I’m getting better at this she comments to herself in her mind, though a heavy feeling soon begins to settle in her heart as she realises that this person used to have life. They used to have friends and family, they used to have bills to pay, they used to have favourite songs to sing along to. They were human. Cassie doesn’t want to believe that she disregarded their humanity so easily in favour of thinking about herself and how well she was able to cope.

This is what you were afraid of. You’re losing yourself faster than you thought.

She pushes herself up harshly with a verbal shudder, tears beginning to build. She rubs her eyes with force to banish them away and sniffs. The young woman needs to collect herself before she finds herself in a situation she can’t get out of. One of the things she has feared ever since killing the first of those things was losing her humanity.. even before the world turned she knew how despicable people could become. She didn’t want to think about who she could become if she survived this world, Cassie didn’t want to lose her light or her life -- the world was dark as it was.

As if planned perfectly, her eyes settle on an aging liquor store.The cobwebs and dried spray paint were visible from the distance she sadly stood. I remember that, she mused fondly. It was when she and some friends were caught trying to convince someone to buy a bottle of alcohol for them as teenagers - before her father forced them to move out of the town to the next one over. It was a strange sight to see, how these places that held so much life now dead and silent.

Still, the stone walls and bars on the windows are perfect and wash a warming comfort over her entire body, it was safe enough to spend the night in. She only prays silently that  trouble doesn’t follow in her path.

A small grunt of effort is dropped into the open air from her parted lips as she dedicates little energy and force to open the doors into the building. People had been there before her, the assumption is only confirmed when she makes her way through the door and scans the area - everything, empty. A disbelieving chuckle erupts from her. The end of the world where the dead roam the Earth and what do people go and do? They leave the shelves bare from bottles of alcohol. When you need your wits about you and they want themselves inebriated, Cassie didn’t want to believe it. Human nature was still a surprising thing.

With a bicycle lock secured to prevent anything or anyone gaining entry into her temporary housing, the woman allows herself some steady breaths before she overturns one of the few chairs from it’s upside down position on the floor to sit down on it. There isn’t much effort when she lifts the bag to the table, not much was left to scavenge. Cassie is happy with what she did get however, smiling to herself when she pulls out dried food that would be beneficial in the long run and the batteries that would be needed soon. There were a few other trinkets that may or may not be of use but she proved something to herself -- and for that, she learnt something about herself.

Despite laying herself on the floor to sleep, it doesn’t come easy. Her mind is too preoccupied with the noises from the outside of the building, sometimes they were too close to be able to tell if they belonged to the living or the dead. She tries, however, to give a mighty fight with her own mind to fall asleep by scrutinising the dust that littered the creaky floors but it’s a fight she’s destined to be defeated in. When she finally spots sunlight beginning to break through the clouds to fill the dirtied room, Cassie makes no hesitation in deciding it is a good enough alarm clock. She swiftly realises that she isn’t  going to be getting anymore sleep and she’d rather be back at the farm anyway.

There’s an energetic spring in her step despite the lack of sleep she had been able to get but that doesn’t matter, she’s happy to be home soon. The nagging thought of Maggie and her family being furious with her lack of notification of her whereabouts lay heavily on her soul -- though she was good with confrontation though, her patience was almost never ending.

Her heart beats rapidly as she spots a group of people she had never laid eyes on in her life, they surrounded one of the wells on the property, standing out against the warm shades of the ever growing grass and oversized bushes that were everywhere. The only solace granted to her weary soul is that Maggie is standing with them and does not appear to be in any distress by their presence. She cautiously steps closer and closer to the scene, mentally placing the pieces to make a puzzle -- yet even then it’s as if her fingers are trying to force pieces that do not fit together.

“ Maggie! What’s going on? “ she calls out to her friend, closing the distance between them with each growing second.

“ Ca- where have you been ?! “ Maggie shouts, ignoring the question put to her. Maggie storms forward to her friend, eyes have been ignited with a growing fire as she sets her sight on the other woman.

“ I went out on a run, I .. I just lost track of time, I guess. “ Cassie shrugs effortlessly with an upbeat tone despite the tense atmosphere.

“ How do you lose track of time? “ scoffs Maggie, she could feel the panic merging with the pain in her veins to form a melted pot of furiosity. “ You didn’t -? We didn’t know where you were! Cassie, Otis is dead. “

The optimistic glow that had powered her journey back to the home is instantaneously diminished until it’s no more than dying embers as she allows the words Maggie had just spoken to her to soak in completely. The bag that she held on one shoulder fell to the hay covered grass with a flat thud as she moves closer to her friend to embrace her. In the time Cassie had known the man, he was nothing more than a gentle giant. She can physically feel her heart break into pieces at their loss, the woman clinging to Maggie as she disregards the others who watch curiously momentarily.

“ Mag’s.. I’m so sorry. “

“ Come on, let’s get you back. “ Maggie speaks, pulling away from Cassie. She tries to paint a lighter image on her features as this. She was grateful that her friend had not suffered a fate that is a mirror image to that of Otis. “ Everyone will be happy to know you’re here. “

“ What happened to him? Who are they? “ she asks with curiosity, as she’s led back by her friend with an arm around her shoulder.

“ They showed up last night, one of their guy’s with an injured kid on our doorstep. '' the two walk up the steps of the large house, facing one another. “ Couldn’t exactly say no. They showed up after. “

A storm slowly battles its through the woman’s features as she tries to come to terms with how inverted their situation had quickly become in the hours she had not been present, she doesn’t want to shed her tears in front of strangers but you never expected to lose your friends or family under such circumstances. She brings both of her hands to wipe her face - as if to wash the pain away until it was no more than a ghost across her image.

“ He died gettin’ equipment dad needed to help their boy. “

Cassie is hardly looking forward to any lecture that every Greene in the household probably had for her absence. She admits to herself she should have told them that she was going but her stubbornness prevented her, to her, it was just a quick trip. However quick trips were not to the corner stores now, but what used to be people’s own homes. Their sanctuaries that now have become their graves.. providing they were not graced with the blessing to escape from one nightmare into another, one they had more control over.

Her knees bob up and down at a brisk pace as she watches Hershel walk into the room from her seated position on the plush couch in the living room.

“ What you did was very irresponsible, Cassie. We wouldn’t have been able to send anyone out after you. Between the boy and Otis.. “ Hershel’s tones are filled to the brim with disappointment, especially as they had the little boy to deal with.

The eye contact shared is broke harshly, she’s unable to hold the connection under the burden of his disappointment.

“ I’m sorry, I mean it. But you guys wouldn’t let me out! Even with Maggie. “

“ You must understand there’s a reason for these decisions. You might not understand now, but down the road. “ Hershel replies gently, his voice is a step above a whisper. He’d known the woman since she was a child -- Maggie and her were both so close as children.

A cynical laugh hangs in the air over those in the room, she hates to be so disrespectful to the family who has handed her security with the seclusion the farm provides. On a rare occasion she would find herself forgetting that the world had collapsed into itself, the serenity providing her a peace that was often a missing part that her soul craved from time to time. Cassie certainly doesn't want to offend anyone but she needs them to realise that she wasn’t naive as she may present herself to be, she knows how the world works.. though his denial would prove a burdensome load on that plan of hers.

“ I understand! I mean it that I’m super grateful for everything, but you need to realise. It’s not what you think! “ she argues, feeling a tingle in the very ends of her fingertips from the emotion she felt.

“ I don’t want anyone in this house getting sick, that was the risk that you took without consulting us and it’s something that I can’t allow to happen again. “

Guilt begins to overwhelm her shuddering body, she knew she did wrong and it was the circumstances that really threw her plan of independence into the deep river of inconveniences but it was a battle she would lose and she knows it’s best not to argue. She truly does feel bad that she had added onto the Greene family’s stress those two days, she prefers not to burden people after all -- knowing there had been incidents in the past that had been out of her control yet she brought down the spectacle from time to time. However, within the dark corners of her mind she yearns to intently to yell at him, to scream they’re not sick but rather they are dead. Hershel was a man in denial, and there was nothing harder to break than a man who cannot confront the truth that is right in front of him.

“ You’re right, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. “

“ Look -- “ Hershel leans forward, and clasped his hands together. He could see both of her parents in her. “ I promised your father you would be safe here, and if you’re not here that can’t happen. “

“ May I be excused? “ she asks the man, inching towards the end of her seat.  

Hershel simply nods, he’d also rather wash his hands of the situation, especially as they had bigger things to worry about now. The new additions to the farm did not taste so sweet on his tongue and the sooner the boy was ready and healthy, the sooner they could leave.

As Cassie stands before the declining state of the mirror, small particles of dust lining the mirror as a light blanket she washes the cooling liquid running from the tap over her face. She can hear the voices from the unknown new arrivals from the open window, needless to say she was curious of the new situation but, there was also a sense of dread clawing its way from her gut. She had a bad feeling that a storm was on its way.

AN: okay this is the first time writing for twd and im nervous and excited, especially as i'm not used to writing in this style! but i hope this will be something you will like soooo just let me know what you liked or what could be done better! we'll be having team family interactions next!

[reynesofcastamere]

Broken Shards[β]

(A/N: This fic is for @awryen, who I also asked for prompts/requests and was given the option of a slightly more dark/cynical Ahsoka working with Maul, or him helping her deal with her nightmares. Once again, having no self-control-and a lot of free time-, I chose both. Also, smut was not requested but it wound up in here anyway! XD. Mention of previous Ahsoka/Barriss. Warnings for disturbing imagery, violence, death, depression/intrusive thoughts, blood and possible dub-con.(Potentially triggering sections will be marked with ****) Absolutely Not Safe For Work and unbeta’d as usual.) 

****

How could you do it?

The Temple burns, and the Jedi with it. But they do not fall. They stand, mouths gaping open in silent screams, empty eye sockets weeping blood in half a hundred colours. Her Master cuts them to pieces, again and again. He is not alone. Barriss stands beside him, eyes filled with grim conviction, the clone troopers flanking this tableau of horror and carnage like mindless automatons. Ahsoka can only watch, helpless and immobilized as the people she loves are burnt, broken and mutilated by their own comrades. Even the younglings...Her stomach churns.

There is only one body, one face that remains undefiled in all of this. Senator Amidala smiles, serene and welcoming. But she is just as dead as all the rest. Did you kill her too? The woman you loved, the one you trusted with your life: Did you even care, in the end? Anakin Skywalker stops to look back at her, eyes corrupted, turned to sickly, acidic yellow rimmed in old blood. ‘You weren’t here, Ahsoka.’ He pronounces with utter certainty, that her leaving was the one thing that sent him toppling into the Dark. ‘But it’s not too late.’ Black segments crawl, beetle-like, over him and Barriss, transforming them into her waking nightmares. Vader and the Seventh Sister. ‘Join us. And seize your destiny.’

NO!

****

“Ahsoka.” Her lids snap open, breathing stuttered and rapid, heartbeat going into overdrive as she sees another pair of awful, venomous eyes looming over her in the semi-darkness. She lashes out blindly, determined not to go down without a fight. The hands that catch her wrists are bare and callused. Strong. She needs to fight harder, to get out, get away- “Naak, cabur. Gar racin kyr’adiise munit dar. [Peace, guardian. Your pale corpses (are) long gone].” Her eyes well up with unbidden moisture, suddenly overwhelmed. Ahsoka is relieved at hearing a ruthless killer speak Mando’a to her in a hushed, hypnotic tone. Because it is better than the hiss and wheeze of the machines powering the...abomination that her Master has become. She can feel Maul’s hands move to cup her face, the pads of his thumbs brushing the tears that managed to escape. He seems more curious than anything else, head tilted slightly as he examines her. “Have you never seen anyone cry before?” Her voice is weak, despite the attempt at humour. “Not this close. I lost the ability some time ago.” He replies, calm and completely untroubled. As if it were normal, and she is somehow the strange one for not being able to control her body’s response to the terrors plaguing her sleep.  Perhaps she is. Her Master has willingly chained himself to a monster that devours galaxies to satiate his hunger for absolute power. Most of her friends and comrades-in-arms are either dead or missing, a fellow Padawan and former lover is hunting down Force-sensitive children for slaughter or brainwashing; Her current lover-enemy-ally is a former Sith assassin at the head of a criminal empire. And Ahsoka....Ahsoka lies, steals, and kills while she bargains with slavers and worse for anything that will help keep the Rebel Alliance alive and undetected just one day longer. What is the point?  Even control of the Force eludes her because she cannot find peace. The closest she comes to it these days is the brief oblivion of climax or a few hours of dreamless slumber. The rest is bitterness and pain wrapped in a dull grey haze.Which is why she is here. Maul at least makes her feel something. The sharp bite of anger, the rush of drive and ambition, the raw red strength of clinging to life and refusing to let go. She pulls away then, turning over and presenting herself to him. “Are you certain?” “I’m not in the mood to beg. Now-aaaaaAAAaaah-” Before she can issue an order, he has grasped her hips and is entering her roughly. She is not quite ready. Every shift and thrust hurts, but this is what she wants. To be used hard enough that she aches for days afterwards, just to hold on to some sliver of what keeps him burning so fiercely. Maul presses her down, forcing her to turn her head to avoid being smothered by the pillow, the peaks of her breasts rubbing against the sheets as she is made to lift her backside higher. The change in angle is enough to provoke another long, mangled stream of vowels. “Touch yourself.” He hisses, and oh, it feels as if he could pierce right through her and keep going.Every sharp plunge impacts her cervix, the sound of their bodies meeting only becoming more and more crude as her arousal builds. Ahsoka pants and reaches for herself in a half-dazed state as he growls and fucks her harder. The base of him slides against her fingertips a few times before she finds her nub, circling it with her middle finger as her other digits spread her folds open. “Now. You will tell me what is wrong.” Her stomach sinks even as he makes her moan. “W-what are you talking about?” “Your presence in the Force is practically non-existant, despite the ghosts that cling to your shoulders.” Maul snarls. “You are lost, listless, submissive...Before, you would have made me struggle for the privilege of having you like this.” She is trapped, something he emphasizes by leaning over, lips brushing against her jaw with each word. “You were glorious, Ahsoka Tano. And now you are a ruin, waiting to crumble.” He still hasn’t let up his pace, as if to discipline her for these ‘defects’. Her lips tighten as she buries her face in the pillow. It is none of his damned business why she is different, now. Besides, why should he care? Ahsoka expects him to keep going, and is mildly shocked when he stops, withdrawing from her core with a speed that borders on violent as he turns her over and yanks her upright. “Look at me.” A demand which she blatantly ignores until he manipulates the Dark Side to hold her chin in place, his hands gripping tightly to her upper arms.

There is anger in his sunburst gaze and in the power that roils and snaps around him, but beneath that...Oh. He is afraid...For her? The revelation hits with the force of a sudden blow to the chest, and only grows more solid as their foreheads come to rest together, his stare softening by slow degrees. “I-” Ahsoka swallows a choked sob. “You were right. Anakin- he-he was Sidious’s apprentice all along. I didn’t want to believe it, but Vader-” She can’t bring herself to say the words. “I failed him. If I hadn’t left-” “No.” Maul’s snarl cuts into her self-recrimination. “Your Master failed. And continues to fail every day that he allows Sidious to live.” He releases his grip to trace the outline of her lekku, then up her throat and along her jaw. “They think themselves untouchable, but they forget...The dark is generous, and it is patient, and soon, very soon, their stars will burn out.” His words are silk and poison on the air, and she wants- “Join me.”

“What, no offer to rule the galaxy this time?” She retorts dryly, trying to cover up the fact that she is wavering, kept on the edge of a steep cliff by the barest sliver of rock.

“You have rejected power, revenge, and almost every other shade of temptation placed before you. I can only offer myself.” There is some scrap of cautious hope in his gaze as he answers, the words devastatingly simple. Yet for someone like him, secrets and vulnerabilities so carefully safeguarded, it means everything. If she accepts, if she falls, her life will change irreversibly. There is no guarantee that she will be able to hold onto herself once she takes that final step. Maul has never been a moderating influence. And Rex...She’s not certain what he or anyone else she still calls ‘friend’ would think of this.  Perhaps...it is not impossible to find a middle ground. “Show me?” Ahsoka asks, breathless and uncertain, but willing to extend some degree of trust. “Breathe.” His hands sweep downwards to rest lightly at her sides, ribcage expanding and contracting under his fingertips. “Focus on your passions, your fury...And let them out.” Her eyes close as she matches his pattern of breathing, positioning herself on his lap and bracing her hands on his chest. She takes him inside her again. Gradually, gently as the Dark Side seeps in. It is cold at first, almost numbingly so. But after the first adjustment...Ahsoka can feel Maul much more intensely; The difference of being on the same wavelength as opposed to different signals. There is even a dizzying moment where she sees herself through him, sees her eyes open, burning gold with a ring of blue flickering around the pupil like a candle-flame. The surge of wonder-possession-desire-protection from her lover threatens to sweep her away for a moment. “Is...Is this what you feel all the time?” When he’s with her, at least. Considering his default state is prickly at best and downright murderous at worst.

“The intensity is the same, yes.” His head lowers to let his mouth pay homage to her breasts as they move together. This feels...right. A slow build-up of pleasure as emotions, thoughts, and sensations twist and weave together. There are words lurking within his head that have her dragging her nails over his torso. He really...Wants that, with her? Strangely, the idea isn’t repulsive. At the very least, it means that he desires an equal partner, not a subordinate. "Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde. [We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.]" Their voices merge in ancient oath, parting only when something else speaks through them.

“There is no Light-” “-without the Dark.” “Through passion, I gain focus.” “Through knowledge, I gain power.”

“Through serenity, I gain strength.”

“Through victory, I gain harmony.”

“There is only the Force.”

There are no words to describe what is happening to them right now. No defined point where she ends and he begins. Their awareness is scattered across galaxies, caught in the endless cycles of birth, death, and renewal before everything is once again narrowed to a single point and they cannot handle it... It feels as though years have passed when Ahsoka opens her eyes again.The Light practically hums without her even needing to reach for it, but the Dark is there too, vibrating in harmony. She is not...free from her burdens or her ghosts, but she has another purpose, now. And perhaps more than that. “I can feel your ambition, my Lady.” Maul’s voice is a teasing rumble next to one of her montrails. “Whatever are you planning?” “To lure Vader into a trap. He can either fall in line...Or get out of the way.” If she cannot persuade her former Master to topple Sidious, she will have to kill him. There is no other option. Of course, she will need to plan carefully to have any hope of success. But if the risk pays off...She kisses him one last time, brief but passionately, his grin full of visceral pleasure as they part. “I may have some...suggestions to that effect.” “Mm, I’m not surprised. But first, my Lord, I think we’re due another round of celebrating.” (A/N: Whoo! Okay, so going in order. Barriss Offee is the Seventh Sister in this fic and her and Ahsoka were previously involved because I’m a sucker for tragedy. The ‘dark is patient’ line is taken and bastardized from Matthew Stover. Yes, Ahsoka and Maul are married by Mandalorian custom in this fic and they’re speaking the version of the Gray Jedi code that I like best because it flows well. *insert ‘That’s not how the Force works!’ joke here* Also Ahsoka’s eye colour is back to normal after they ‘finish’;). Hopefully this works as a suitable compromise between the tropes that I wanted to incorporate. Cheers!)

[tmandpm]

Four Names She Had, and One She Didn’t

Daughter.

Her eyes darted around the moving scenery as they drove. Her heart was conflicted over the new chapter she was starting. She hated to leave home, but she was ecstatic to see the world beyond the vicarages and churches her childhood had been filled with. She looked to the front of the car where her parents were sitting, holding hands, and she smiled sadly.

She had been her father’s little companion since the day she was born. He had given her the world as she grew. They passed by a pond, and she laughed quietly as she remembered when her father had attempted to take her fishing. She couldn’t have been more than four. He had sat her in his lap, fishing pole between her hands that his were holding, and they had waited and waited and waited. Nothing had bitten, and she was sleepy and moody when an older man had passed by, stopping at the fence to yell that there were no fish in the pond. It was meant for swimming only.

“Tessa, are you okay? You’re very quiet,” her mother said in a soft voice.

“I’m fine. Just thinking.”

Her eyes took in the half smile as the older woman turned back to look at the road. Her mother. Her mummy. She always felt a tug in her chest when she looked at her. She could vividly recall the days they would spend in the back garden playing all sorts of games. Her mother had always been the sort to make the best of the worst situation. It had been her birthday, and they had promised to take her to the park and have a picnic when a storm came from nowhere. She remembered how she had cried until she’d made herself sick when her mother had come in her room quietly and pulled her downstairs. Her eyes had gone wide when she saw the indoor picnic and sheet fort she had made. They’d stayed in that thing all day, playing with dolls and board games and cards. It had broken her heart to see the older woman shrivel into someone she wasn’t...someone who was a ghost of who she had been.

“Love, we’re here,” she could hear her father say as she snapped back to reality.

“I’m glad you two will only be a phone call away.”

“We are too,” her mother whispered as tears filled her eyes.

………………………………………………………..

Sister.

She couldn’t quite believe her ears when Cathy had said it. “I’m...what now?” She asked.

“I told them you were my sister,” she said with a smile as she took in the dumbfounded look on her face. “Face it, Theresa. You practically are.”

She nodded as she sat back on the couch. Sister. She had heard the word countless times, but she had never considered herself close to one. She had been an only child. Her parents had, had her late in life, and any cousins that she had were much older than her. It boggled her mind that Cathy considered her one. Joy and John had taken her in without so much as a second thought, but she never thought Philip’s siblings would.

Philip plopped down beside her on the couch, arm slinging around her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Does David think of me as a sister?” She asked suddenly.

“Yeah. I guess,” he shrugged. “He wanted to poke his eyes out after he walked in on you in the bath. That’s something he’d do with the girls.”

She nodded as she stared in front of her.

“What is it? You’re thinking awfully hard.”

She sighed, leaning into him. “I just never thought I’d have siblings. It’s a bit...I don’t know.”

“Gross? Annoying? Irritating?” He teased.

“Odd. It’s odd to have a family so...big,” she admitted.

Philip smiled, kissing her forehead. “Get used to it. You aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

……………………………………………………….

Wife.

The weight was obvious on her hand, specifically her left hand. And to be exact, her ring finger. It had yet to be twenty-four hours, and her whole life had changed. She was married. She didn’t even have the same last name. Her eyes drifted to the man laying beside her. He was on his stomach, eyes closed as he dozed. The sheet was draped across his legs, and the first thing she noticed was how youthful he looked in his sleep. Her hand ran through is unruly curls as she shifted, sighing at the soreness between her legs.

“Morning,” he muttered as he pulled her closer.

“Not quite,” she giggled out.

He smirked, eyes still closed. “It’s after midnight.”

“Damn. You’re right.”

“Look at that. A wife telling her husband he’s right,” he teased, kissing her head. He smiled as she rolled into him more, face buried in his neck.

“I like that name.”

“Wife?” He asked curiously.

“Your wife,” she corrected.

“I like you being my wife too,” he whispered before kissing her neck softly. “I like that I get to kiss you anytime I want.”

She giggled as they snuggled again. She loved the fact they got to do this, share an intimacy they didn’t before. She couldn’t wait to see all the little things she missed. They had put in an offer on a house, and they had a good chance, but she loved having him in her flat...in her personal space for a long period of time. They had decided to put off a honeymoon until after they had a house, saying it was more important to have a home than a week away. Her eyes fluttered closed as his hand traced up her thigh.

He kissed her deeply, rolling her onto her back. “What would you like, wife?” He asked while smiling down at her.

“You. It’s always going to be you.”

……………………………………………………….

Orphan.

She hated it. It was like acid on her tongue every time she said it. She saw the pitying looks everyone gave her. She wasn’t stupid. Her life had been ripped apart. Everything was painted in black and shades of grey. She was tired of the tears and the pain and the hollowness that wouldn’t leave. Her parents were gone, and she had to accept that.

She had thought it was getting better. She had gone back to work, she had taken her life in her hands and forced normality back into it, but she could feel the volcano about to rupture inside. She kept pushing in down until Philip had brought her a cup of tea one night. The sobs had come so easily it was like they had never left.

“Oh, darling,” he whispered as he rubbed her back.

She looked at the cup, heart wrenching. “It’s her tea set.”

He gasped. “I...I didn’t know. It was in the cupboard,” he explained, pain lacing his words.

“Why me? Why did they leave me?”

They were questions that had been swirling around her head since her mother died, and she wanted the answers. She wanted the closure. She craved it.

“They didn’t want to. You were their world, Tessa.” His arms pulled her into his chest as he rocked them back and forth on the couch.

“I’m an orphan,” she said through her tears, voice quivering and cracking. “It’s not fair. He...He was only meant to take her...not both of them.”

“Who, love?”

“God. Did he abandon me too?” She asked.

His eyes went soft as his heart crumbled. “He most certainly did not. I don’t know why He did it, love, but He’s not cruel, and He did not abandon you.”

“I just want them back,” she whispered. “I just want them back.”

……………………………………………………..

Mother.

It was the one that hurt more than the rest because if people called her that it was cruel. They taunted her with it. Political cartoons, critics, even family members that didn’t particularly like her. It was all some sick joke to them. Her and her husband’s infertility had become a punchline, and it broke her heart every time. She knew it hurt Philip just as much as her, if not more than. He had told her that one night after they had gotten tipsy on a bottle of his favorite red and made love. He had whispered into her hair that he wished the public didn’t automatically blame her for it all because he knew she blamed herself enough.

The truth of it was that they didn’t know. She had decided after one too many negative pregnancy tests that they should stop. She didn’t want to know whose fault it was. She didn’t want to know which body was too defective to create a life. It never really stopped though, the ache to grow a child in her belly or to see Philip as a father. It was ever present and ever painful.

The older she got, the more she looked back on her periods with speculation. She began to wonder if the unusually heavy cycles had been miscarriages, and she had been too naive to realize it. She asked herself if the great blood clots that she passed at times were actually the babies she had so wanted. She had only voiced these thoughts once to her doctor, and she had never mentioned it again.

It was a dull ache now. The fact they didn’t have a spare room made up for the grandchildren was a constant reminder. She could see the resigned sadness in Philip’s eyes when he watched her with children, and she knew he could see it in hers when he held a family member’s child. They had each other, but they both knew it wasn’t the same. Love conquered and love healed, but love also brought wants and desires. And sometimes love just wasn’t enough to fix everything no matter how much two people loved each other.

[makoheadrush]

hazy shade of winter [WIP]

[So...I wrote this all in one sitting.  There’s more to come - Cloud’s POV follows this passage - but the beginning part is all Tifa. Kind of a follow up to my one-shot piece, Outside - follows Cloud at the very beginning of the OG]

Tifa smiled to herself as she finished drying off the last pint glass, placing it back in the rack. She very judiciously tried to ignore Barret’s probing stare as he came back upstairs from Seventh Heaven’s basement hideout; she could tell there was a question behind Barret’s frown, before he even opened his mouth.

She had a feeling she knew what the question was going to be, too; but one thing Tifa was not sure of, was how she would answer.  Or if she even could.

“Where’d he go?” Barret asked her gruffly, his frown deepening as he took a seat at the bar.  “The hell’s wrong with him, anyway?”  

Tifa pursed her lips, cheeks flaming slightly, ready to spring to Cloud’s defense.  “He just stepped outside to get some air, Barret…don’t worry about it.  What do you mean, what’s wrong with him?” She wanted to get Barret’s take on Cloud, even though he’d only just met him; Tifa had been wondering the same thing herself.  It was Cloud, just like she remembered him….but also not at all like she’d remembered him.  He was acting…not like himself.  Cockier than Tifa had remembered him being, but maybe that came of being in SOLDIER.  And then he’d talked about that day as though he’d been there.

But he wasn’t there…I don’t remember him being there…I don’t think?  Tifa shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts, to make sense of the puzzle pieces of her past that didn’t quite seem to fit together neatly. I lost a lot of blood that day…maybe I’m the one with a bad memory?  

“I mean,” Barret continued, downing half a bottle of soda pop in one go, “somethin’ wrong with him.  I know you say he’s your friend from back home, but how well do you really know ‘im, Tifa?”  Barret finished the rest of his soda, exhaled a satisfied sounding sigh, and set the bottle back on the bar.  They had a mission the next day, Reactor No. 5, and Barret never drank the night before a job.  Tempting though it was, living beneath a bar, Barret wanted to keep a clear head when it came to business.

“We grew up together,” Tifa replied, shrugging her shoulders. “Cloud lived next door to me for….well, ever since I could remember.  He was…kind of sweet on me, back then.”   She smiled a bit at that, remembering.

Barret chuckled, then leaned his arms on the bar, shaking his head.   “Childhood sweethearts, huh? He sure seems like he’s still tryin’ ta impress ya – “

“No – well – it wasn’t like that,”  Tifa explained quickly.  “We – we never dated or anything like that.  Cloud….he had a huge crush on me, I knew that much.  Everyone knew it, really.”

“So you didn’t like him back?  Man…that’s cold, Tifa,”  Barret commented, laughing and teasing.  Tifa’s face reddened again.

“Barret!  Just stop. It wasn’t like that. He – I thought Cloud was cute, okay?  But – he was always getting into fights back then.  He was picked on a lot by the other kids.  Sometimes….sometimes I wish I’d said something to them, to get them to stop.  I could have stuck up for him more than I did.  But I didn’t want to embarrass Cloud, either.” She sighed.  “Maybe I should’ve said something – “

“Nah, you did what you thought was right at the time, yeah?”     Barret shrugged, feeling a small pang of sympathy, but mostly he was indifferent. After all, why should Tifa blame herself for something that had happened so many years ago?  “Wasn’t your fault, right? Can’t be fightin’ the dude’s battles for him – “

“Well…” Tifa continued slowly.  “It wasn’t only that.  Something happened.  I got hurt – and Papa – “  her voice caught on the word, only for a second – “He blamed Cloud. I think that was the last straw for him, really.  Cloud left Nibelheim not long after that.  Said he’d prove everyone wrong.”  She remembered that last night, the last time she’d even seen Cloud until he resurfaced in Midgar years later.

But she didn’t share that memory with Barret, for some reason it felt like one she wanted to keep to herself; it was too private.  Just between the two of them and nobody else.

“Huh.  Well…I guess he showed ‘em, joinin’ SOLDIER an’ all, yeah?” Barret raised a bushy eyebrow quizzically.  “Too bad he hooked up with the damn Shinra – “

“But he’s not with them anymore, Barret,”  Tifa clarified.   “You have to remember that.”  

Barret snorted, and got up from his seat at the bar.  “I don’t know nothin’ about the guy, Tifa.  You’re vouching for him, so I’m hopin’ you’re right about this dude.  He don’t seem right to me.  Looks all skinny, and his eyes  - “

“That’s from the mako, Barret.  Remember? The mako treatments for SOLDIER – “

“That’s not what I mean, Tifa.  His eyes – looks like he seen a ghost or something.  They look – haunted.  Like he ain’t all there.”

“Well, he was in SOLDIER, right?  He’s probably seen some horrible things.”  Tifa was grasping for what felt like a reasonable explanation, but she didn’t believe it herself.  Not entirely. Barret was right, and he didn’t even know Cloud, not the way Tifa did.  Cloud wasn’t all there.  What had those eyes seen?  What had Cloud been through, and what made him defect from Shinra?

All he ever talked about was becoming good enough for SOLDIER…it was his dream.  And he walked away from that dream.  Something really, really bad must have happened to him, Tifa mused.  

“He just went out to get some supplies,” Tifa pretended to sound as though she wasn’t worried.  “I’ll just talk to him later.”  

[rvbficwars]

Angst War Masterpost

Submissions listed under the cut!

Art Submissions:

@artsyorangeykay

Removing Bullets: Wash gets shot and Tucker has to remove the bullets on-site

Guess That First Date Isn’t Happening: Tucker has to choose between saving Caboose or saving Wash

OH: 

The Crash of Merope:

@captainkonot

Too Late: draw the team/characters of my choice finding wash and caro too late. and then i accidentally posted it early and deleted it and accidentally deleted the original request with it wh oo ps haha

@chickendentist

Felix Haunts Tucker: Felix’s ghost haunts Tucker.

@creatrixanimi

Grif Leaving Home: Grif and Kai’s last night together

One Saved, One Lost: Reds and Blue are too late to save Wash

Remote Control:

@grimmmons

After Charon:

@fandomescapades

Betrayed: Warned by Santa that Locus is about to betray him, Felix strikes First.

@hazk

That’s Not Simmons:  Grif sees his friends again - but why do they have blue visors?

Search and Receive: Season 8 - Grif falls off the cliff with the Meta, but the Reds and Blues won’t leave without finding his body

@loyle-trash

Simmons in a Closet: Spoilers for RVB ep 10. Simmons has a hard time with closets.

@lostlegendaerie

Reverse Transistor AU: A character is immortal, it’s less pleasant than it sounds

@novarcade

Cyborg Vision: Being a cyborg has its drawbacks

@quetzalcactus

Supposed to Be: After Felix dies, things start adding up to Locus. Mostly how relationships are supposed to work and how theirs did.

Over:  how about Felix deciding the only way to get past his “fear” is killing Locus?

@sabishiita

Kids of Yesterday: Some Jensen angst for @kansasjustgotgayer. Warning for a bit of blood.

A Reflection: Anon prompted “Nightmares” and I knew I had to attempt something I’ve been wanting to do since I began watching this show.

@sxpaiscia

Grif Alone:

Donut’s Nightmares: Donut has nightmares about being shot

@telekenetic-pony

Hello Gene:

Fic Submissions:

@agent-murica

A Letter to Sunday Drive: Felix is supposed to have nice parents according to Miles. How do they take to their son's actions when everything comes to light?

Beach of Melancholy Thoughts: Grif sees Simmons again – and discovers it isn’t the real Simmons.

@anneapocalypse

Line of Sight: agent illinois is actually camped out in a sniper’s nest when wash and carolina find his place. he knows he’s being hunted, and he intends to strike first. 

Please (Don’t Leave Me): CT tries to convince south to defect with her, and fails.

Cascade: the moment PFL-era tex discovers what she is 

@arirashake

An Eye Opening Experience: Locus goes back in time to the start of the Chorus trilogy

Poor Mary is A-Weeping: Carwash siblings in their current predicament?

@aquatariuswrites

Freckles: oh, for rvb angst war, maybe something with Freckles and Caboose angst?

@awesomenessagenda

Phantom Pains: What happened to Siris?

That’s What I Am To You: Caboose has never seen this many empty tables at a party.

Wait: It takes Felix twelve seconds to hit the ground.

Unwelcome: Felix knows that, if Siris knew they were leaving on this job, he’d never let them go. So Felix and Locus don’t say goodbye. They leave for Chorus, and they know they’ll never see Siris again.

@bizarrebird

Shatter: how about epsilon fragmenting inside of tuckers mind and seeing tuckers memories vanish and not being able to stop it????

Through the Fallout: After a nightmare, Wash shoots Donut again. This time, forgiveness might not come so easily.

when it’s burning low: “You have to let go” - Tuckington

@comefeedtherainn

Crumble: Franklin Delano Donut is not afraid of Frank Dufresne. But should he be?

@cptgrif

Acceptance: For the Angst War: Grif dies during N+1, after falling off the cliff at Sidewinder. Simmons deals with the aftermath.

Double: something where simmons meets fake grif? (or, a bonus if its actually the real grif ;0)  

Care: grimmons where one of them takes a bullet/other attack for the other person, maybe?

@cutellic

I Lose Everyone and Now I Lose Myself: The Director didn’t lose it just because of Alison. He lost Carolina’s older sibling too.

@daftprodigy

Last Words: Warned by Santa that Locus is about to betray him, Felix strikes first. 

@darthrevaan

lay this body down: Lavernius Tucker knows who he is, and what he’s doing. He knows why the Reds and Blues are taking these missions; he knows why they have to work with Charon. Lavernius Tucker knows who he is. (Doesn’t he?)

@deltawash

Exposure Therapy: DID!Church, with a focus on Theta, as requested by anon for the angst war. child abuse, psychiatric abuse, and very blatant manipulation of a damaged kid

@eclaire-de-lune

Asset Retrieval: Instead of imploding by itself, PFL survives until Chairman Hargrove’s investigation brings all its secrets to light. Hargrove offers some of the Freelancers a deal; in return for getting them out of prison, they’ll do whatever dirty work he needs doing, no questions asked.

York and Tex Look for the D: Something’s gone wrong with the implant. York can’t hear Delta talk anymore.

@freelancercarolina

Past is Past: The Reds and Blues had returned to Blood Gulch after Chorus as originally planned, Donut and Kaikaina reminice on past events with Carolina, horrifying and upsetting her.

@gkingoffez

Paralysis: After Temple leaves, Wash and Carolina attempt to remain calm.

The Malfunction: Simmons never meant for anyone to get hurt. Running away was supposed to avoid that.

@hakanakiki

Walnuts: Caboose genuinely doesn't seem to understand that Epsilon is gone. Tucker and Wash discuss whether they need to have a talk with him.

@hazk

The One Day Regret: Grif changes his mind and comes back, but he’s too late and Simmons is already dead

@herecomesthesniperbutt

Felix’s Last Thoughts: felix's thoughts as he falls to his death

@illumynare

Rookie: You’re so tired. You’ve never been able to tell what’s real.

@irenkaferalkitty

This is What Family Means: Kai helps Grif build a new life after the Reds and Blues depart on a new mission. When the others finally return, the reunions aren’t what any of them expect. Written for RvB Angst War, @rvbficwars, 6/9-6/16/2017.

Just Broken Pieces: AU where North sides with Locus and Felix, South fights for the People of Chorus

Magic in the Marks: Each day, he reminds himself that his sister is the most important person in the world. No matter what, she’s all that matters. Written for the RvB Angst War. Dark fic.

@isumagica

Code: Alpha Church meeting the fragments for the first time… right before he’s killed by the EMP.

@justabookworm39

Can You Repair a Broken Heart: character of your choice becomes fed up (sorta the same way Grif did this season) and leaves the group behind.

Old Habits Die Hard: For the angst war how about North calming South down after her finds her pacing the halls having a panic attack because of a nightmare?

I think you’re my best friend: Caboose breaks his leg in the middle of a fight, and Tucker gets hurt trying to drag him out. Carolina and Epsilon find them once the battle is over. Happy or sad ending, you decide. *finger guns*

@lavernius-tucker

Alone: After Chorus, Wash decides to go home to find his family, only to discover there’s nothing left. 

@loyle-trash

Simmons Has Nightmares: Simmons has nightmares

@madqueenalanna

A Story, A Love Story: Set after 15x06. Caboose and Simmons can’t sleep, so Caboose begs Simmons to tell him a story.

Grief and Closure and How To Drink Your Way Through Both: After CT’s death, her friends drink and share their memories of her.

Negative Category: Tex spends a late night watching York and Carolina train and muses on their relationship and her own.

What if this is it?: During season 10, Tucker takes a quiet moment to call Junior, but it doesn’t go as well as he hopes.

@meteoratdusk

This Pale Shade of Blue: he Reds and Blues do find Church. But there’s one problem for Carolina. It’s Alpha, not Epsilon. And he doesn’t know her.

@my-nerdy-shiny-self

My Mind Repeats the Scene: "Caboose! No!"

Protect and Defend: “I will always be there for you.” “We lost my brother! Not just an agent! Not a state name on your leaderboard! My brother! My brother is dead!”

@nms-manga-and-other-stuff

Gene and Simmons: Here’s where I’ll be posting all my entries for the angst war.  I only received two prompts, but I’ll be writing more than just those.  Thanks to @riathedreamer and @secretlystephaniebrown for sending me prompts!  All fic warnings should be listed in the tags.  If anything is improperly tagged, feel free to let me know.

The Triplets: The Triplets learn that Wash is dead

@notabyronichero

The Fire and the Flames: Agents Maine and South Dakota are sent on a mission. They have a simple set of instructions. If they fail to accomplish their mission, South could completely fall off the leaderboard. She is willing to do anything to stop that from happening.

@primtheamazing

numbers are a pain: “You’re welcome, Agent Carolina,” he says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say, and his body remembers that, his mouth moving to say you’re welcome as soon as his ears hears the thank you, no thought needed. “It was fun!” he adds himself after a moment of thinking, because it was, he got to do something he’s good at and doesn’t have to think about that reminded him of his sisters, so he could just sit there and braid and brush and think about his sisters while Agent Carolina slowly relaxed when he didn’t rip her scalp off or set her hair on fire or something.

@recxvery-xne

Unlocking the Truth:  Tucker dies on the staff of Charon. Wash gets his sword. And the fate of those who carry it.

@riathedreamer

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: Grif comes back, only to discover that Simmons has started dating his doppleganger.

Theft: grif siblings shitty abusive childhood, especially their early childhood. Maybe including grif protecting Kai from one of their mom’s shitty boyfriends or something?

Digging Like You Can Bury: red team dies and grif’s the only survivor

@twinmeansneveralone

South vs North: Angst War: AU where South isn’t recruited to Project Freelancer, but her brother is. Instead, she joins the Insurrection, fighting against North.

@what-happened-to-agent-georgia

Promises Promises: North Survives the Meta taking Theta

I Know You Can Hear Me: Simmons returns to the moon to find it empty

Identity Crisis: hi! from the discord chat for the angst war: simmons keeping mistaken for jene (gene?) and even sarge and grif (if he comes back) just mistake the two soldiers, making simmons go crazy because they know him from years but this guy can easily take his place without nobody noticing. i hope u like this : ) 

@whatevertotesyourgoat

Memory: Chex role reversal: Tex is the AI that came from the director, Church is the echo

Grif: Grimmons, maybe Simmons's thoughts when he thinks Grif is dead after the Meta pulls him off the cliff? (Or you could go darker, up to you haha).

@whimsical-writer

Separation: after locking Wash and Carolina in their armor, Temple plays on Caboose’s abandonment issues, telling him they left him without saying goodbye. By @anneapocalypse Thanks Anne! Hope you enjoy this. :’D

What five things Wash would want for his team and one thing he would:

@winter-okami12

Time’s Up: Hey!! I have a prompt for the rvb angst war: Temple fails in killing Wash and Carolina, but when they go search for the reds and blues, they find out they’re already dead, and Temple kills Tucker last so Wash can watch it (Tuckington *•*).

@wordsysayswords

Please Don’t Go: The stupid part is, Tucker’s angry at the helmet. He couldn’t leave it behind, Goddammit, he just couldn’t. Abandoning it felt like abandoning some small part of Washington. And the thought makes Tucker’s stomach churn.

@zalia

Old Yeller Lived Here: the AU where Wash is still adopted by the Reds & Blues, but they’re mercenaries who work for Hargrove ;)

Cold Comfort: Tucker and Carolina find more than they bargained for when they explore the Staff of Charon.

Mod Submissions:

@a-taller-tale

You Suck: Simmon is still new to being a vampire and loses control. Set in my Vampire AU, though not in that canon.

@goodluckdetective

I Don’t Want to Set the World On Fire: The Institute catches up with Simmons.

Echoes and Other Ghosts: Tucker has to choose between believing Wash or believing Temple. He chooses Temple. (Or wash if you'd rather have fun~)

@powerfulpomegranate

Zeus: If Hawley had managed to kill Locus is ch 19, what would she have done to Carolina?

Grif driving: Simmons is hurt.

Your Fault: Carolina went with York and Tex

@renaroo

Claustrophobia: Wash and Carolina are paralyzed in a room with the bodies of their dead friends.

The Battle is Won: maine recovering/remembering himself only after killing washington

Revenge is a Dish: wesome, can you do a short where Temple and the Blues and Reds kill the Reds and Blues. But Dylan and Jax make it to the Freelancers and they plot revenge?

All In the Phrase: The Counsellor secretly brainwashed control phrases into all the Freelancer Agents. When he allies with Felix and Locus, he tells them the phrases to use on Wash and Carolina.

Time’s a Funny Thing: Grif and Simmons drift apart and years later, before he knows it, Simmons gets a wedding invitation in the mail. Could be "Took a Wrong Turn at Normal"-verse except they never patched things up. :D

@secretlystephaniebrown

Loves Me Not: schrodinger’s relationship. you don’t know if you’re boyfriends until he’s gone. grimmons.

Boxed: Felix and Locus put Wash in a box, then die before they tell anyone where it is.

Back to the Start: Tucker finds the murder fridge before they find wash and Carolina. Maybe he realizes. Maybe he doesn’t

Deprivation: Wash is kidnapped after season 11, and Tucker is told he's dead. Things go downhill from there.

Breaks Your Little Heart in TwoYork’s terminally ill from having Delta plugged in nonstop for [X] number of years. Set after “How to Heal a Broken Heart”. (bonus for “-But I just got you back!”)

Start the Clock: Tex trying to rescue Wash and Carolina from the murder fridge! And I was like “what, Tex in 15? this is the dream scenario.” Then I figured out how to make it angsty anyways

[stuffphilmade]

Life as a Cyborg - Day 0 - Implantation

Please note: No blood or gore is shown in this blog or the accompanying video. It was the 22nd of April 2017 15:00, my phone lights up with facebook notifications, change of plan, it’s GO time.  My partner and I change out of our casual clothes into something a bit more presentable, grab my camera, with a shade of cowardice I pop a few painkillers in the hope to defend against some of the perceived (but false) impending pain. 

What I didn’t know is that I would be introduced to my new cyborg family and our joint 2nd birthday, 22/04/17.

We were not to become Human 2.0 but something closer to Human 1.2. 

This is not a work of fiction, on the 22nd of April 2017 my partner and I got dressed and jumped into my car to attend a so-called #implantParty where we were implanted with a Dangerous Things xNT NFC chip.

Leeds International Festival, a tech and art festival in the North of England, had invited Hannes Sjob (@hsjob) and Keren Elazari (@k3r3n3) to fly in from Israel and Sweden respectively.  They flew from their own countries to give a talk on Biohacking, Cyberpunk & Hacker Culture. 

I had known of this talk was for me since the first week it was announced, I, like Keren was massively influenced by 1995′s “Hackers”, “Ghost in the Shell” and 1999′s turn of the millennium western cyberpunk classic, “The Matrix”. 

From the moment I heard this talk was going ahead, I booked tickets. On the booking page, there was one line that blew my mind:  “If you’re brave enough, you’re able at the event to get a live chip implant onstage too.”

I had watched the Vice documentary about Dangerous Things: The Man Biohacking Encryption From His Garage

I had watched Keren’s Ted Talk: Hackers: The internets Immune system

I had just finished rewatching Ghost in the Shell and reading the manga in anticipation of the Scarlett Johansson’s remake.  I was ready to join Major Kusanagi. 

I bought tickets for my partner, knowing what and opportunity this was I proceeded to assault the Facebook and Twitter feed of the organisers trying to find a method of signing up to get what would have been a $100~ implant for free, zero, zilch, without shipping, import tax, even without having to pay a piercer or a private medic to “install” it in a safe manner.  

I heard nothing.

The day before the event I read a post on social media, from one of the lovely organisers, that the chipset WOULD be xNT NFC model from Dangerous Things in the USA. 

I got butterflies at hearing this, I knew of their pride in their products, their high standard of construction, their extensive (if a bit ghetto) testing procedures including Amal (the owner of Dangerous Things) having the first model he produced implanted in his hand for 11 years and counting. On top of this, the NFC model was the one I wanted for two reasons: 1) I have a Google Pixel phone with an NFC reader, I could use this to hand out my business card in a futuristic technical manner. 2) The 13.56MHz frequency is what my current hackspace card registers at, TL;DR I COULD USE IT TO GET IN AND OUT OF DOORS WITHOUT KEYS! 

Tech Specs: 

xNT tag – 13.56MHz ISO14443A & NFC Type 2 NTAG216 chip

2x12mm cylindrical sterile biocompatible implant package

ISO14443A – compatible with all ISO14443A RFID systems

Fully NFC Type 2 compliant – compatible with all NFC devices

The day of the event rolls around, I get up, have lunch and wait nervously for 18:00 to roll around so that I can head to the University of Leeds lecture hall, watch two amazing speakers and, presumably, thrust my hand in the air and hope to be selected as one of the few people who could get implanted as my wonderful partner waves on from the stands.  .. now.. some of you may have noticed my time discrepancies above, that is because it did not unfold as such: Sat waiting for 18:00 to roll around, we eat and as it hits about 15:00 my phone lights up as if all the posts on the event page I had made over the past month had been replied to... it turns out they had:

“Hey folks! Due to complications with the venue, we're unable to do the piercings there BUT DONT WORRY as we are still able to do them but before the event. 10 places are available” 

Followed by instructions that it would happen at 16:30 in the north of the city at a well-known piercing parlour. 

I had a Sherlock Holmes out of body moment as I planned our route from the south to the north of the city, what to wear, logistics of keeping my hands clean, messaged a fellow Leeds Hackspace member about the change of plan, I threw a dress at my partner and ran into the shower... Let's do this!  I had spent enough time thinking about infection, my family history of auto-immune diseases, not getting tattoos or piercings. If I trusted anyone to implant me with a sterile microchip the size of a grain of rice, it would be these speakers, this brand, this event and this studio. It felt like the metaphorical moons had aligned. This year I am 30 years old and had an experience with a severe spinal injury that really made me think about how safe I have been playing life so far, I could be run over by a bus tomorrow or become paralyzed, so let’s do something a bit dangerous for the progress of science and my cyborg street cred. 

16:30, I step into Rude Studios in Leeds, I scan around the room, 5 people, MADE IT!  One, I know, the others I do not, but they will become part of my Cyborg Family and share in an experience I never thought I would have. 

After a quick chat with Hannes, fresh off his flight from Sweden, we sign a consent form, get a quick briefing and are directed into the piercing room, where we meet Luke, the first man to stab me, just a little bit, FOR SCIENCE! 

(Photo Credit Ben Bentley)  

Luke, wearing nitrile gloves, sterilises his work surface, lays fresh paper down and asks which hand I would like my implant in, as I am right handed I opt for my left hand  Luke mentally finds the trapezium and trapezoid bones where the metacarpal bones of my thumb and index finger meet. Next he finds the first proximal interphalangeal joint (first knuckle) of the index finger, then halves the distance between the bottom of that joint and the top of my carpometacarpal joint. Then taking a biosafe pen, marks the insertion point. 

This point is chosen because: 1) low risk of damaging major radial and median nerves  2) low risk of damaging major blood vessels  3) low risk of damaging tendons or their synovial sheaths  4) plenty of soft tissue to help absorb blunt force impacts  5) good distance from bones to avoid pinching and crushing

Once this is has been marked, he opens the sterile package containing the sterile NFC implant within a sealed injector, gauze and importantly sterile gloves. 

Lukes professionalism and hygiene best practices show as I notice him move from the standard piercing and tattoo gloves to the sterile gloves included in the implantation kit. 

The nitrile gloves protect him from any biohazard coming from the person that is being implanted or tattooed, whereas the sterile gloves protect me from infection as he breaks my skin with the needle.

Big breath in.  Slow breath out.  My cowardice is unfounded, the implantation is no worse than any time I have had blood drawn at the doctors, just a little bit more of a sting. 

I am now a cyborg. A piece of technology is now part of my body, working to compliment my other features. 

This is an upgrade of choice, I am Human 1.2, unlike people I like to class as Human 1.1, upgraded by doctors to help fix defects such as pacemakers, insulin pumps. 

I am lucky to have been able to choose my upgrade and it that my upgrade be purely for scientific interest and life improvement rather than forced life extension. 

I get a sticky plaster and the proverbial lollipop for good behaviour.  Luke looks to my partner Holly and says “Next!”, motioning for her to sit down. Wires had been crossed, she had not intended to be next, never mind be anything but a supportive partner (and very good looking camera stand).  She grabs hold of the moment, she asks if there is enough for everyone... and within 2 minutes ...  WE are cyborgs. 

We step into the waiting room where Hannes is waiting to give us a lesson on programming our NFC chips.  I type HELLO WORLD. /Write  We step out onto the streets of Leeds new, upgraded and excited with the possibilities ahead.  I will be documenting our ongoing adventures in cyborg in a series of Blogs and Vlogs. Make sure you subscribe to my channels to hear more, also more technical nitty gritty experimentation to follow! Please check out our first vlog below: 

[blueprintnewspapers-blog]

Adedibu’s deserted crumbling political dynasty

New Post has been published on http://blueprint.ng/adedibus-deserted-crumbling-political-dynasty/

Adedibu’s deserted crumbling political dynasty

Chief Lamidi Adedibu straddled Oyo political landscape like a colossus. At his ‘palace’ in Ibadan, he held sway as an oracle and dished out orders that were considered laws at a time in Ibadan and other parts of Oyo state. Deserted palace On a clear day, a visitor can perch on its veranda and behold the Molete overhead bridge. At a spot adjacent the mosque lies a poorly kept, dust-covered pavement provided for Muslim faithful for ablution. The pavement reeks of urine. There are about five buildings inside the compound but unlike what was the norm when hief Adedibu was alive, they all looked empty, dust-ridden and deserted. At a far-flung corner of the ‘palace’, a white-and-brown-striped cow was grazing around. The space used to be the spot prepared for cattle, from which visitors and other appendages of power got their beef. There were no goats and pigeons, neither was there any sign of the usual Amala and gbegiri festival held on Fridays. Beggars, political thugs, artisans, old women and others, who thronged the ‘palace’ for favours, have all disappeared. The place had become a ‘ghost community’. As against the norm when the ‘palace’ was operated like a car mart with hundreds of vehicles occupying the open space, there were just six vehicles in the entire compound when PREMIUM TIMES visited – three cars were parked at the front of the main buildings; a bus was stationed at road leading to the gate; while two other cars were placed on the tarred road at the entrance. The main building where Chief Adedibu lived clings to the side of another building where political meetings were held. At the entrance of the building, painted in white and green, there are portraits of some deceased Nigerian politicians and foremost nationalists: Adegoke Adelabu, Ladoke Akintola, Obafemi Awolowo, Nnamdi Azikiwe and Tafawa Balewa. It is February 2018, about a year away from a major national election and few months to the state’s local government elections. Yet here in Chief Adedibu’s Molete Palace, there was pin-drop silence and the entire place reeked of emptiness and inactivity. For the old-time visitor, it was quite difficult to imagine this was the much-dreaded Lamidi Adedibu’s famed ‘Molete Palace’, otherwise considered the political ‘mecca’ of politicians and their hangers-on in Oyo State, the southwest region and beyond.

Adedibu as ‘Garrison Commander’ In 2006, former governor Rashidi Ladoja was ‘impeached’ by 18 members of a 32-member Oyo State House of Assembly, in clear contravention of the rule of law. Chief Ladoja’s impeachment came against the backdrop of the crisis caused by an alleged money-sharing disagreement between him (Ladoja) and Chief Adedibu, his estranged godfather. Chief Adedibu had in 2003 thrown his support behind Ladoja of the PDP, who contested against the then incumbent, Lam Adesina of the Alliance for Democracy (AD) Ladoja won the election, but following Ladoja’s impeachment, Adebayo Alao-Akala who was then deputy governor was sworn in as governor. In the heat of the crisis rocking the state, the then national chairman of the PDP, Ahmadu Ali, had described Ibadan as a ‘Garrison Command’ and Chief Adedibu as the ‘Garrison Commander’. Political analysts opined that Adedibu bestrode Ibadan like a colossus, with the covert support of the federal government, led by then President Olusegun Obasanjo of the PDP. True to his name, Chief Adedibu ruled Oyo State like a ‘garrison’. With the support of men of the state wing of the National Union of Road Transport Workers, NURTW–– e.g. Sule Adu, Lati Elewe Omo, Concord, Alado, Ismail Agbaje – he battled opposition figures both within the then ruling PDP and other parties. In 2007, he supported Mr. Alao-Akala of the PDP and led the party to victory in the state. On June 11, 2008, Mr. Adedibu died.

Crumbling political dynasty Since Mr. Adedibu’s death, his political dynasty has been thrown into disarray as many of his political protegees have either deserted his Molete home or deviated from his ‘style’ of politics and choice of political party. Alao-Akala, believed to be one of the direct beneficiaries of the Adedibu brand of politics, has since defected from the PDP to the Labour Party (LP), and lately the APC since he lost his re-election bid in 2011. A former Senate Leader and renown Adedibu loyalist, Teslim Folarin, has also defected from the PDP to the APC, after he contested the governorship seat on the platform of the party in 2015 and lost out to the incumbent Abiola Ajimobi of the APC. Similarly, Taofeeq Arapaja, the then deputy to Alao-Akala has since defected to the ruling APC in a bid to maintain relevance in the state’s political space. Adedibu’s biological son who was the senator representing Oyo South Senatorial district before his father’s death, Kamorudeen Adedibu, has exited the political space in the state since he lost his re-election bid in 2011. When his campaign office in Molete was visited, officials said the former senator could not be reached. “He is just trying to stage a comeback and you can see the banner,” a resident of the area who craved anonymity said. He left here long time ago and we didn’t even hear anything from him. I think he is also preparing to come back in 2019,” he added.

Mixed reactions trail ‘legacy’ For Tawakalitu Ajibola, a trader at Oja’ba market in Ibadan, Chief Adedibu was a colossus who she remembered for his support for the poor and the needy in the society. She explained that the late politician’s position remains unfilled. “He gave out rice and other things during festivals. Many people ate in his house on Fridays, he was a great philanthropist and benefactor to many. We miss him.” But a butcher at Bode market, Tiamiyu Ajao, said the late politician’s death signalled the end of politically-motivated violence in the state. “We have been enjoying peace in Ibadan since he left; we must recognise that too as a part of his ‘legacy’,” he said in Yoruba. For the spokesperson of the Oyo State APC, Wasiu Sadare, Mr. Adedibu played his part in the political scene of the city and the state. “Adedibu has left the political scene for good as no human can live forever,” he said in an interview. Also, Maroof Asindemade, an Ibadan-based public affairs analyst, traced Mr. Adedibu’s authority to his role in the politics of the Fourth Republic. “The political heavyweight appellated as the garrison commander resurfaced at the return of democratic rule in 1999 but in a low-key fashion. He belonged to the All People’s Party, a less thriving political party at the time. “Late Chief Adedibu regained political prominence when he became a staunch and prominent member of the ruling party then, the PDP. His house at Molete became a political Mecca for all shades of politicians and hangers-on who wanted one political favour or the other. “Late Chief Adedibu understood the language of local politics and he deployed it to great advantage. The gate of his palatial premises was left open for poverty-stricken people and political opportunists who swarmed his house for food and financial favour; not to talk of those who hanged their political destinies on the late political godfather. ” Asindemade, who lamented the manner politicians deserted the Molete home of the Ibadan politician, attributed the development to Chief Adedibu’s refusal to embrace refined politics. “Chief Adedibu only empowered people with stomach infrastructure and once he was not there again to sustain the empowerment, people moved on to where their stomach would have sustenance. “Chief Adedibu did not inculcate worthy political ideology into his political godsons and daughters. The result of this is that there’s nothing to immortalise him on; such that till date, no memorial lecture has been held in honour of the political enigma. “Third, the maverick politicians did not leave behind offspring with the large heart and political acumen that he possessed. They could not manage the political dynasty the chief left behind. Molete home of the late garrison commander has become a shadow of itself”, he said. For Akeem Olatunji, spokesperson of the Oyo State Chapter of the PDP, the late Adedibu was a great politician in his era; but time has changed. “Unlike in the past, thuggery and rigging associated with the politics of Adedibu era are no more in vogue as the electorate are now more enlightened and prepared to defend their votes,” he said in a chat. “Although PDP missed Chief Adedibu’s organisation skill and generosity, the party is fortunate to have Sen. Rashidi Ladoja as the Leader of PDP in Oyo State and Kunmi Mustapha as the State Chairman of the party because the three were instrumental to the victory of PDP over the ruling AD government in 2003 despite intimidation and harassment suffered in the hands of the then AD government. “Oyo State PDP as presently constituted is in safe hands and well prepared to replicate the winning streak of 2003 when PDP won the presidential, National Assembly, governorship and State House of Assembly by landslide.” He hinted that if the party won the gubernatorial election in 2019, it would dedicate the victory to the late Adedibu. “According to our leader, Rashidi Ladoja, and the state chairman, Kunmi Mustapha, PDP victory in 2019 will surely be dedicated to the memories of Late Lamidi Ariyibi Adedibu as a mark of respect to the great leader,” he said.

[cerebusfire17]

The Story of Exile: Alice, Broken of Glass

The old tales told to the youth, The Thousand Year Rebirth, by the elders, who still remember when it first started, remained lingering in the air even after my original passing. It has waged for eons, with only the gods to truly remember the beginnings of such an event. For why this began, the answers are still unknown to most. Many do not even realize that they are trapped in an endless cycle of living over and over again. When some do, they go mad with anguish and sorrow, but it never ends for them... .

During this war, the heroes and villains of new and old are told of legend and led to fight over and over, to gain some sort of lead over their adversaries, not that such a thing existed anymore. Death was meaningless for those that knew, and madness was as rampant whores in their brothels. All battled for supremacy, for power, for the upmost strength in numbers and control of all whom saw the sun fall and rise. Then, there was the one called Raven…

She was stopped by the remaining heirs of the four empires during the last repetition and exiled to the The World to live out her remaining days, in a mortal state, to live a more mundane, normal life rather than face her punishment in full force. Stripped of most of her unusual powers and only given as many years as a mere mortal. She was halted from all the evil she was willing to commit and handed a new life to live.

However, one has to wonder... with a monster such as Raven, how can you stop a person from disrupting everything in their path whilst sustaining themselves?

Silly Alice and her stories...

An experiment is an understatement when it comes to me. I am over a decades work and dedication. A biological droid created from flesh and metal. I am not originally the first of my kind, neither was I the last, but the decision to create me and let me loose on the two worlds proved dangerous and, well, irresponsible on my creator’s part. The machine which is me is 98% organic, whilst the rest must remain mechanical, though for reasons beyond my knowledge. I never did learn of my own blueprints, though the information would be wonderful to have.

Machine might be too strong of a word for my breed. I was the beginning of a new type of “god.” Originally, there were three of us, but I was the only one left to fulfill a dream. My story is of the most importance, and those two shall come later. For now, the focus is upon myself and what I’ve become. Some would call me a cyborg, or a bioroid. The latter sounds much more attractive than the former, so I adopted such, yet in truth I am neither of those things. There is no better word to describe me than “god.” A “god” that is immutable to death, but death can come to it if the right hands administer the blow. Unlike other “gods,” I was indestructible by any means, thanks to the good Dr. Crowley. She gave her own life, unwittingly, to bring me into this world.

And then it took one idiot to take me out in the end...

<><><><><>

Chapter one: Alice Liddell is not Alice Liddell

The story of Alice was just a simple misadventure tale of a little girl in a world where she didn't belong. It was a story of the chaos of society, the confusion of culture, and the abnormal actions of a normal girl. It was a story of a girl that could not belong, would not belong, and was unable to learn in order to belong, and what she did learn was completely useless.  It’s a story, nonetheless. It makes one wonder if Mr. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson had an incredible imagination, or if he were merely too close to the original Alice. The story, however, remained my faithful lullaby.

Of course, to be fair, they never read me anything else. Ever. It was always the same: Alice and Her Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass.  I was forced to listen to this tale every three nights. It's not a long book, but I was a fast sleeper. Even after the book would be finished, my foster mother, Lorina, would read it all over again to me, like I wanted to hear the shit on repeat for the rest of my existing.

They even went so far to change my name to “Alice”, something I wish they'd never done. I don't remember my original name at this point. Some say it is Alice, others say it's something else, but none of them could tell me my real name. It was unfortunate and the beginning of my resignation of my foster parents. There was something about my child name that called to me, to have me remember who I was before. I never recalled what it was like before Lorina and Henry, and eventually I didn’t care to.

I was told when I was young, when my foster parents took me from the facilities, that “Alice” was a name for real people. I hated the name “Alice,” but I kept it because I had no other. “Alice” sounds too much of a girl’s name, and I wasn’t like many of the other children. Their faces were like shadows on the wall with blurred colors and details. I couldn’t picture myself as a child, but for the fact I was wearing a black and blue dress, painting a house near water on a small canvas. Lorina and Henry seemed to take kindly to me when they first saw me. The Doctor seemed to recall my coming with more emotion than the foster parents did, especially when it came to their kindness and devotion.

Yet, they were strict, and they kept to their word of making sure that I, in no way or form, could be perceived as anything but mortal. I would consider them the more human side of me, but the other workers of the project weren’t so keen on their ideas. They considered me nothing but machinery, for the purpose of weaponry, and victory was my only objective. From them, I was only given a serial number and a set of dates to remember as identification. My voice was a manufactured replica of 158 different female voice blended together by a professional sound team in order to make my voice as realistic as possible. The making of my skin was that of Dragon Silk, a synthetic dragonskin material to replicate blood and irritation, much like human skin's thickness. It’s almost identical to Mortal skin with injury and wounds, but it must be woven into several layers beforehand. Much of my blood was not synthetic, as I was what some would call a “cyborg.” Being raised from a young age to believe in such a miniscule detail of life has such a lasting impact, and for it to be true makes dying all the more welcoming.

I didn’t realize the Liddells wished to have me much more than simply a slaughter machine, or else I would have just shooed them away or cut their heads off. When they broke into the lab, one August night if I recall correctly, I was asleep in the chamber they kept me in. I eventually woke up to find the two searching for me. I watched the Liddells scramble through the lab, reading the charts on all the other subjects-- AVALON #1132-E, YUKARI #11175959FW, etc.—and search frantically before the alarms were set to go off. I suppose that they either used some sort of device to cancel the signal to alert the system of trespassers, or maybe because they worked there, they knew all of the codes. I recognized neither of the two and found them to be a threat until they explained that they could aid me in escape, as long as I lived with them as their daughter.

And I accept the offer.

We stayed in hiding for a period of 12 years, and I slowly came to accept the idea that the two scientists wished to keep me forever. The idea did not cause me to hesitate in trusting them, but it was welcoming if it meant that I could leave the confinements of my sheltered world. During that time, they tried to make me more human than what I was; giving me my mortal name, the birthdays, enrollments into schools, even fixating on the very details of my hair to match the original Alice Liddell.  For the first two years of my life with them, they wanted to dye my hair, change my eye color, and blue clothes. I never understood why they wished to make me like that girl whom lived centuries before and miles away in the minds of the elderly. I ended their obsession early and allowed my hair to do what it wanted, I kept my eyes the same shade instead of continually wearing contacts. I preferred black clothing to the blue they were obsessed with. Even though they adopted me to be their child, I eventually grew to resent going with them, even to this very day.

I didn’t enjoy being someone else’s doll. I wished to control myself for the longest of time, to do what I wished, yet the programming in my mind wouldn’t allow me to do so. As long as Lorina and Henry were present, they prompted what I would accomplished, controlled me beyond the resentment. Some would suggest this is gratitude and respect. I disagree. Of all the people, individuals, and things that have raised my ire, Lorina was the only person to never know of it. She would cry, and then I would feel like the bad guy. Henry would simply argue semantics and philosophy every time I wanted to rebel

Those years made me bitter, all the more bitter, and I had every reason to be. Then I found her, my “mother,” the Boxeto.

The Boxeto, you may be wondering, is the first and original bloodline of the Vampiric race and the first queen of the Parliament. She was powerful, beautiful, and from what the scientists of the facilities have done, I was the new Boxeto. The main reason for my creation was to have the most powerful of the Wraiths alive and willing to kill for the Mortals. My personality, which different from that which the workers created for me, was said to possibly be similar the Original, and my hair was considered a defect from so many experimentations and variables involved. To be honest, then only thing I seemed to share with the Boxeto was my height. I was considered her resurrected soul, which created the problem.

The Boxeto never died. Her body laid decayed elsewhere, on the world of Amara, hidden from the rest of the living and the dead. Her ghost roamed the land for decades, often taking over the bodies of her descendents until their deaths. It was one of the many powers held by the Veilios, humanoid like golems that are able to cater and alter history to their liking. There were very few of them left, and the last of them was dead. Well, technically, the last living descendant was a woman by the name of Myranda Crane; I broke the technicality by existing. My creation in her image made me the last of her bloodline.

This beast of a ghost wasn’t anything close to what the mortals described her to be. Her words spun in my mind like whispers in my ear and only I could see her. She would appear before me, curious of what I was and how I came to be. She would ask me questions unlike what the workers queried. Some of the questions pertained to colors I liked, and other times to ask me if I had ever seen the stars away from barred windows. She would talk to me of what the worlds changed over various distances, igniting my mind to wonder. Sometimes, she would bring me books, and others she would recite stories, and I would appear as if I were speaking to myself if anyone were to catch us. This ghost had convinced me to do things I would have no reason to commit to without her words. I wished to venture and roam freely, while the Liddells only wanted me to stay their “Alice.”

Alice and Her Adventures in Wonderland became one of my favorite books after the Boxeto came to me.

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On a usual morning, my pet, whom my foster parents named Dinah. Lorina never allowed me to have any say with any decision without it matching somewhat with that stupid book. Dinah stuck, but the kitten was worth keeping. She would be resting on my chest, waiting for me to wake up from my slumber and get out of bed. Dinah wasn't too terribly small, but she was tinier than most female cats, but I liked her for it. It was one of the things I liked the most about my cat, since I could hide her in a pocket book if I had to. She had a habit of liking to climb on my head and try to sleep. I could speak to her about what she would like to eat, where she would sleep, and sometimes why she couldn’t stop meowing so often. Better to speak to an animal than a couple of crazed mortals, really. I had gotten her about a year after returning to the mortal world, The World. She was found in the street by Lorina and was brought home to me. She was so small—shy and scared, but she liked me. She would occasionally hiss at Lorina, mostly because she didn't like her—and I couldn't find hate for this cat. After a year, she belonged to me. As most usual mornings, she was sleeping with me, nothing out of the ordinary.

My more agreeable ritual would be to lay in bed, long after sleeping, to wake—staring at the ceiling and letting the silence take over. I believe it is one of the most taken for granted movement of sound to exist. The nothingness, can be overwhelming. To me, the quiet, silent mornings were much like my sleep. I did not dream. Why? I didn’t know. I would ask Lorina and Henry, but they would never give me an answer, so I came to speculate that machines can’t dream. So, I would conclude that, if I were to dream, what I woke to: the sun gushing into through the windows, turning the room gold; the sounds of trees whispering to the locust songs; the attention to the stillness of the room consisted of my dreams

Unfortunately, as well as routinely, my foster mother, with nearly silent footsteps, would open the door and wake me up to join her and my foster father at the table for a “hot” breakfast. I didn't understand the meaning of why it was called “hot” until it was explained that it was only “hot” if it was right from the stove or an oven or cooked in a pot, served at a piping temperature. I don't understand how that's different from cooking food for later and that's “cold,” but for the fact that the temperature isn’t freezing or close to it. I’ve seen the Mortals take perfectly “hot” food and place it in the refrigerator, making it colder than “cold” in order to save it for later.  I guess it would make a difference if I knew what they meant by it, but I wasn't too terribly curious to ask a question that could be viewed as silly.

I didn't need the nagging woman, whose intention is to wake me up and have a conversation while I’m half asleep.  Silence was my weapon and I used it to my advantage as much as possible with my foster parents. With my silence, she would enter. Lorina was an older Mortal, about 55 years of age, with blue eyes and yellow hair, and a brain that never shut off (Henry himself boasted a head of red hair and deep green eyes, in contrast to his wife). The much shorter woman would walk in, calling my name softly.  “Good morning, my little Alice! Are we ready for the day?” came from her lips, and she would disappear once I rose from the bed. It would be, after her entrance and exit, I would drag my ass down the stairs, with Dinah tagging along not far behind me, and sit down at the table.

There would be a bowl of oatmeal (Maple and brown sugar, since cinnamon would make me gag. How humans could eat the nasty shit was beyond me.), some orange juice and a pitcher of water at my side of the table. The radio would be playing some old English music—the kind I suppose the “original Alice” would listen to if she had a radio—and Lorina would be singing with it. Henry would be sitting at the table reading the latest politics of the day, his nose snubbed and wrinkled at whatever headlines and topics caught his attention.

Henry, himself, was a mad character, indeed. He never took his gloves off, ever. He would never take off his coat, no matter what. It was a brown suede blazer with inner black velvet pockets where he kept his cigars. The man was shorter than myself, only standing at 1.70m (I myself stand at 1.78m, but the man seemed to tower over me more often than the other way around, now that I look back at past). His demeanor was somewhat similar to my own, but he was Mortal, so he was able to smile, to enjoy, to live. He was one of the few Mortals that I could stand. He hated his own kind almost as much as myself. I suppose you could call it, as they say, respect. He was gentle, quiet and calm, and not much of a talker, as I found through time.

He loved Dinah, that much I do recall clearly.

Dinah would have her bowl of milk and dried tuna, something I did ritualistically since Lorina believed that cats were allergic to fish—something that makes no sense to me—and then she would climb into my foster father's lap. He would gently stroke her back and head and smile while she purred softly. It was one of the only times I would see him smile throughout the days we lived together. It was the only time Lorina would get jealous as well. Sometimes, out of retaliation or simple arrogance, Lorina would be louder than the radio in the kitchen. I could speculate it was to drown out the sound of the cat's vocal love for my foster father. Lorina would walk over and talk about her favorite topics; horses, dancing, meadows, boxing (strangely, boxing was something that she was good at, being all prissy as she was), and what books she was interested in getting. The way she talked over everything put a frown on Henry's face on occasion, but Dinah would continue to distract him regardless of my foster mother's efforts, which caused her to become more of an annoyance than anything else.

It was the typical morning, with every day being exactly the same. The only difference between yesterday and today were their names and my attitudes toward those days. Every day was exactly the same, except for this day—when the smell of soot woke me from my slumber and the sudden rush of heat that hits your body upon waking soaks you without warning.

How unfortunate it was that this morning started with a house fire.

Namely, my house was on fire. When I woke up, it was with a start. Alarms rang in my ears, my sensors being set off by the detection of sulfur and of the smoke, the robotic voice that speaks to me in my “mind” telling me to get up and out of wherever I was, telling me that this was not the time to sleep. For a moment, I didn't realize what was happening. The reboot to my system drowned out all other things, adjusting the settings to the strange dark red hue that had adapted the room to the situation.

Dinah was howling into my face, trying to wake me up, though I'm sure she understood that my actual reaction time was slow, and my operation system would still need time to reach optimal efficacy. I almost knocked her off of the bed from the start. She ended up at the foot of the bed, but managed to recover from the jolt, shaking herself off from the crash to the floor and continuing to mew at me with fear or panic. I looked around and saw red heat everywhere in the room. I could pick up the temperature the heat of the flames just outside my door: 232.8 degrees C. The perfect temperature to burn books, if I recall. It took me only 2.1855 seconds to realize what was happening, yet the timing was inappropriate enough to hit my ire in the wrong way. I almost forgot about Dinah when I jumped from the bed and went to the door that was billowing with smoke. The animal didn't move from where I threw her and she continued to howl at me. I managed to remember her and picked her up. The last thing I wanted was to be in a fire and forget my cat. After this, I looked at the door, irritated. I wasn't stupid enough to touch the door knob, but I was dumb enough to stay standing while the smoke blackened the inside and nearly lost consciousness from it. It was the only entrance I had in and out of the room, and it was sealed off by flames that were starting to eat at the door.

My room wasn't that big. The only things that could be considered furniture inside was a bed, dresser, a light that hung from the now burning wall, a piece of a Looking glass1 mirror that I had kept from Amara that sat on top of the head of my bed, and a telephone on the dresser. Staring at it with a quick glance, I remembered when I was dragged from that world, how I managed to find a random Looking glass, how I took it into my skin and hid it away retaining some of the power that was stolen from me. I only wanted the Looking glass so that nobody could stop me from retaining some of what I needed in order to survive the mortal world. I hadn't realized that it was the only thing that was bound to keep me alive, a tool more useful than just making me a threat.

Strangely enough, the Looking glass was what I needed more than anything at this point, and even with the threat of death right in front of me, I kept in mind what was more important. If the Mortals were to find this glass, if I were to leave it behind in this burning home of mine, there would be chaos beyond my control. With my free hand, I touched the mirror and sucked it into my skin. As a Veilios breed, the Looking glass was more important than simply staying alive.

Dinah tried to hiss at me when I did this. Tried. She never liked the damned glass, and I couldn't blame her, but even she understood what I was doing with it. The idea that I had to become the unheralded protector of this glass seemed unavoidable, no matter which way you could look at it. In a rush of emotion, I remembered that I wasn’t the only one who lived in the house. I hadn’t heard Lorina and Henry, and I realized that they could already be dead. Without thinking, I opened the door, burning my left hand, and gagged on the black smoke that billowed into the room. I fell to my knees, not to gather clean air, but to try and see down the burning hallway.

“Lorina! Henry!” I called out, but all I could hear was the roars of the fire. I learned quickly that fire is a very angry force to be reckoned with. The rage it produced was more than one could bear, and often consumes everything with an unending appetite. It flares with all of its passion, pushing quick, swift heat unto that which will feed its rage. It’s hunger would last until no more fuel is found, and then it blackenz down into a depressing, murderous black smoke. I cannot say that I was immune to the dance of the flames, but to watch it was intriguing, to say the least. Dinah was going limp in my arms, and then I realized that perhaps Mortals are not the only ones who cannot stand the thick soot of the fires.  

The Flames were getting higher and higher, and the red inside of the room overshadowed the glow of my eyes. Everything item in the room reflected as black of the soot pushed through above my head. If you could imagine the darkest storm gathering into a compressed formed square-like shape, the urge to get out of your home would cause you to panic a little as well. I had only one way out. I looked to my window and cringed.

Unlike most humans, I can shift my body into the Veil, turning myself into a ghost form and simply walk through walls and floors as if they weren't there. Mortals have said that this was similar to their Wraith stereotype, a man by the name of Vlad Trepe was said to be able to turn into the breeze himself. The action, though draining, would've been easy to perform, but I had neighbors. It was already bad enough that I had a fire going on, that the neighbors were nosy fuckers that wanted to know every little detail of our lives. It would end up being worse, however, if they saw me just floating with a half dead cat out of the house that just happens to be on fire.

However, that was a 12ft drop, and I'm not the most graceful when it came to falling.

My choices were limited, as was my time, so I chose the window. “These idiots had better still be alive...” the words escaped my lips as I grabbed the telephone that was hooked to my wall and used it to smash the window open (Simply using my hand to knock out the window and then getting questioned as to how and why my hand had no cuts or blood was choice I could avoid easily. I needed to look as human as possible in this day and age), then I looked down. I could just see myself slamming against the concrete—hard. I leapt out, in Hello Kitten pajama pants and a tank top, and hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in three weeks, and fell to the pavement.

The way I fell, I would’ve broken my ankle—the snapping sound that came with the fall almost gave me something to worry about—but since I'm not exactly human, all it felt like was a twist and a pop, and then it sprang back into place. Dinah was finally starting to come around with the clean air, so I let her on the ground and she walked around like she was drunk. She fell a couple times while I looked around to see the fire department on the way. The sirens shouted into the air, but their pitch and tone were distorted. The smoke must have fucked me up in some way. That's good, I thought, not too suspicious. At least nobody will notice me as that much of a freak. Lorina and Henry will... I couldn't continue the sentence. The Liddells, I hadn't seen them, nor heard either of them. That was when I realized that I hadn't seen either of the two since I exited the side of the house.

My first few steps were staggering. I couldn't keep my balance entirely, and my vision was hazed, dizzying, with everything splitting into two's and then three's. I looked down at my arms and hands. They were dark, covered in soot with any spot of pale hidden away. The dark morning sky was illuminated with red from the fire and the smell of the burning house caused others to come out and watch the scene. For a moment, the scene didn't seem real. My vision was cutting in and out while I tried to restore my oxygen reservoir. I was coughing, I remember, while trying to call for my foster parents in between.  I took a few steps more and fell to my knees, trying to keep from coughing. I didn't think that all of that black could affect me as much as a mortal, but it was possibly clogging my sensors and electrical mechanisms. Interference was fucking with my vision, “snowing” out the images.

“Quick! She’s over here!” “We need to get her out of here.” “What do we do?” “Take it outside, we need to get this started.” “What about you?”

In the grass, I fell, laying on the organic blades while I watched my home burn, the siren's still growing louder and the voices in my head changing.

“…it feels like things could crash all around, Yet all one can do is dance. If there is hope, it exists as a spice To flavor and glaze despair Was there ever, to begin with, a genuine chance? As if dying slowly could ever be fair?

For dust is the only touch to last…”

I know that poem, was the last thought that went through my head.

Our home wasn't that big. It had a small front yard, and the back yard was only about three feet back with some crab grass and a broke down lawn mower from the X2480's. Nothing too impressive really. A white, two story house that seemed to survive the huge dilemma of the wars that humans waged well before the coming of the second “world in the sky”. Henry had once told me that the house was older than the mower, dating back in the 19th Record century. Something that was hard to believe, really, but I didn't argue with that idea. It was grungy and distorted compared to the other houses in the neighborhood, even though there were a few others of the same age, but our house always stood out from the crowds of homes, with the white paint chipping from the siding and the shingles that protected the roof.

Strangely, the house was my most distinctive memory. I can describe every inch of that house with a greater extent than my own body. The creaking of the floor on the third square in the hallway downstairs would let Lorina know who was trying to get into the kitchen. The Photography room down in the basement still had a light out and Henry was supposed to go to the store that morning to get a new bulb. I was planning on skipping cleaning Dinah’s cat box for the third day in a row. I would have been very pleased to anger Lorina that morning, just to start a fight between her and Henry. Those were usually the better days. Those were the best days. I recall that I would never have days like that ever again.

When I finally woke up, the firemen were already trying to stop the flames from spreading, despite the flames, embers and the debris that was being cast into the air. Then, the sudden sense of dread filled me. I saw the neighbors, the firemen, the trucks, but I did not see my foster parents. I tried to call out for them, over and over again, waiting and hoping for a reply, but I never got one. The smoke rolled out of the house as black as the brink between morning and night.  

I tried to stand, but I fell, onto my hands and knees, angry. I was angry? How? There should've been no way I could feel anything. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to think about it. My vision was on the brink of failing in seconds, and there was nothing I could do. The sounds of the sirens began to flow away into nothing, and my eyes began to close while I continued to cough.

I remember that one of the firemen who arrived had grabbed me and took me further from the house. I had forgotten that I was stronger than he was, even with all of the world closing in around me. I reached out to strike at him, whether with nails or claws, I can't remember, and I almost took him down, but he had a friend—another fireman—and they pulled me away from the house. After that, I can't remember.

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“Aleister?”

No, sorry, that’s not my name.

“Aleister?”

I’m sorry?

“Aleister…”

“Alice?” A familiar voice pulled me from whatever thought I had been trapped in. My eyes focused on a body standing in front of me. I looked up to see the face of Henry's mother, Sam, talking to me, and I was immediately depressed. As if just waking up, I found myself wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of hot coffee in-between my hands and Dinah in my lap. My cat was looking up at me instead of napping. Highly unusual...   The sounds of the fire trucks and police vehicles grew louder as my mind woke from the sleep I endured. “What happened Alice?” I couldn't help but stare at this woman in front of me. I was surprised she would even show up after so many years. I hadn’t seen her since Lorina slapped her and threw her out of the house.

Oh. It’s Sam. “... Hello Sam.” I said blankly. I didn't like Sam, not since the day I came home from the laboratories, and she didn't like me at all.  Even as a child, Sam didn't like me. She made it apparent when I would be left at her house to be watched while my foster parents worked. She would beat me every chance that she got.  She did this, until I decided one day to throw her through her living room wall and broke her arm in eight places. That was just one warning, and she's had many more. She would tell Henry to leave Lorina and me, but mainly his wife. She never liked Lorina, which offended me. I never liked Lorina much myself, but I felt as though only I had that right. I began liking Lorina more when I realized I hated Sam. Henry, on the other hand, was a mother’s son, and he loved her, despite the fact that she was short, fat demon with old-woman red hair.

“What happened, Alice?” She grabbed me by my forearms and squeezed, I supposed to put some hurt in and try to get me to open up, or maybe just to scare me. Too bad I wasn't feeling a thing at that point. She lived up to the name of “fiery red-head.” whenever I was considered a child, she would act as if a demon's soul had possession of her. She would throw things and try to catch me if I ran. One day, she had caught me and slapped me across the face because I made a mess. I slapped her back, and now she wears a hearing aid in both ears. Henry yelled at me, of course, but only because I hit his mother. That was logical. That was another warning for her, though she still had yet to listen.

“If you make me spill coffee on Dinah, I'll rip your eyeballs from the sockets,” I stated simply, a tone of voice I oft used with dealing with the woman, and she let me go. She had a very good memory, I found out.

“What have you done with my son, you little monster?” Funny, coming from a 162cm woman and I towered at nearly 6ft tall.  She wasn't scared of me, though she had been scared before.

“I suppose the woman whose child is missing will always act on the instinct of finding her child alive. How ironic you decide to be a mother today—" The slap that landed on my face reminded me that Sam didn’t listen for long.

“You little bitch! That is my son! His life was perfect before you and that whore came into his life! Where is my son?” She was hysterical, and the neighbors were watching.

“Votre motality est devenu une nuisance Je souhaite que je pourrais comprendre cette merde de plus, mais la mortalité à ce jour n'a pas de sens pour moi. Comment pourraient-ils même être en mesure de comprendre l'autre... I didn't do anything to Henry, Sam, so I suggest that you take your bitchery elsewhere. I don't want to hear it today.”

Lorina, by chance, was french, but Henry was english. He learned, but his mother didn't. Sam lived in the city of the Franks for a few years when she had been my age, and yet she didn't care to learn enough in order to speak to others. Moving to this country, where English was the chosen language, my advantage was slanted. Many of this country didn't like one who spoke another language. They even felt so threatened, they believed that language was a tool for slander against residents whom didn't understand it. Sam was in her element, while I was not. However, I could still speak as freely as I could before. Speaking a language that wasn't common in these lands made me a target, but knowing English was also a benefit for me.

Of course, Sam didn't understand that. She didn't understand anything about me, nor did she care to. I could only wonder if she thought that I was some love child that Lorina had and talked Henry into accepting. I never asked, and I didn't care to. Why did it matter to someone who didn't give a shit about me?

“You did something!” Sam was wagging her fat, flabby, disgusting, nail-polished finger in my face. It smelled of bingo ink and shame. I had thought about biting it, but my sensors rejected that idea, and I decided to wait until she got closer so I could chew her eyeballs out instead. This woman and I hated each other so much, one could only wonder why. Well, a mortal could if they wanted to. “How did the house burn down? It's been standing for centuries, and now suddenly it's burning to the ground, with Henry and his girlfriend missing?”

“You mean Lorina. His wife.” The very fact that after 15 years, she still refused to acknowledge Lorina as Henry's wife, burned me like the fire of my house. “The house was old, Sam. Like you said, it's been standing for centuries. Now, it's dead, and as for Henry and Lorina, I have no idea. I just managed to get out of the house--”

“You set it on fire, you little bitch!” Now she was screaming and I took the time to see that those nosy fuckers down the street were listening to every word.  Of course, it’s the goddamned neighbors… they had to be out here, watching the show whilst listening if Sam was working to make someone feel inferior. She was, of course, a lawyer, after all, but I must admit that I am impressed with the fact that there is something more evil than I. “You are evil,” she yelled at me at some point, “filled with the sin of that Boxeto--”

“Sam!” I stood up, and took a step forward.  That fucking word again: sin. I hated it. Passionately, I hated it more than word “submit”. “If I had a soul, you would have a point, but machines don’t sin.” I took a sip of my coffee. “Also, I’m starting to believe that I hate you, Samantha.”

“You shut up! You’re just as responsible for killing my son just like you did all of those other people! You’re just like every other piece of scum from your stupid planet!”

“Actually, I was born on this world. If you were smart, you would know that. However, since we know you’re not…”

“Tell me what you’ve done to my son, bitch!”

“Well, I’m glad to know you were concerned about my surviving the fire, Sam. At least I know you care.” I took another sip of my coffee, but Sam ended up slapping that out of my hand before I was done. “Damn it. That was really good coffee, too.”

“Stop ignoring me and tell me what you’ve done with my son!”

“I’m trying to ignore you for a reason, but since you want my attention so badly, I’ll let you in on a little secret. The only reason you’re still alive is because of Henry. If Henry can’t be found, or if he’s dead, then that means you’re dead as well.”

“Ha! Like I’m scared of you!”

“You will be.”

“Fuck you!”

“Love you too, Grandma.” I began walking away when Sam grabbed my arm.

She said something else after that. She said that I deserved what the Mortals who followed the Path “Hell”. I deserved the worst; that I must suffer for everything. For all that I've done, in comparison to others who killed for conquest, I never tried to kill anyone because I wanted to. It was more along the lines of this one that stood before me at this moment.  

Mortals are constantly in my way, demanding things from me, expecting me to react to them in the same selfish, irrational intentions as they have for me. Like this woman, the Mortals would demand for my attention when I was annoyed. They would demand my voice when I was sore. They would deman from me their life after giving me more reason to kill them.

They were all fools, and I hated them, but Sam has a special place in my memories. She talked. She talked more than she did think. She, and the rest of her kind, spoke without thinking. They acted without thinking. Their decisions were based on false, twisted, indifferent idolizations that had nothing to do with a reality outside of their own. They barred out reality, replacing it with something that couldn't exist.

“Beasts that cannot follow the program that was given to them by nature are, by nature, selected to die off. This is a time where nature has been shot down and repressed, so those who do not and should not belong in the living at this moment, they were saved by scientists like us. We've defied nature, so that makes us gods. Do you understand this?”

I could recount what Dr. Crowley said about Mortals almost word for word, as familiar as the back of my hand. Dr. Crowley had an animosity towards the mortals that rivaled and triumphed over my own. Dr. Crowley was more accurate than anything else, and the hatred that was carried with this interesting Mortal was enough to earn my trust. I could only wonder what happened to the doctor. It seemed as though the doctor went into hiding right after my fall in the other world. Dr. Crowley would've been disappointed in me if I were to show concern to the very creatures I was created to destroy.

It's odd how I couldn't even recall the doctor's face, or anything else but the words spoken, if not repeated, in my mind several times a day.

At the time, it didn't matter at all.

The second cup of coffee I was able to procure during my scolding from Sam, was still steaming when I threw it on Sam and walked away, with Dinah right behind me. She made me angry, but I promised Henry I wouldn't kill her.

The house, once white with paint chipping, that had been untouched for centuries, was half standing, black soot smothered over the strange formations of what I guessed were wooden beams of the house. The house really was as old as Henry had said, it seemed. From the tops of the beams, where the black had boiled, look like it had been followed with a cauldron of tar that dripped and broke the wood, splintering them off and cracking them to the core. The front of the house, which still had broken apart in chunks that landed all around, was haunting. One half of my home was charred and fallen, whilst the other half of it still stood. The stairs that led right up to my bedroom had remained, regardless of my room no longer existing. In fact almost my entire bedroom had crashed to the foundation and was left as crumbled black slabs left to rot, all but for the door and part of the wall that had been attached to the front of the house. The front door and over to the left where the hallway and the living room used to be was eaten away by the fire, leaving burn wood, and ash.

The table in the kitchen, I saw as I continued to walk around the burnt home, still stood, along with the chairs. The refrigerator was still up, blackened by the smoke as well, the toaster looked as though it had melted away. The furniture in the living room was destroyed, leaving only their skeletons in their place. The piano Henry played was gone, though its black shape had shadowed the wall. The heat of the flames had burned the memory of the piano before destroying it, a brilliant display of the beauty of fire. If anything, I believed it to be the one thing a bioroid could love. Much like a computer, it didn't care what morals were. It didn't care at all. I think that made me slightly jealous, but I remembered my foster parents, and like that my feelings were behind me.

As I continued walking, I noticed something glaring from the ash and debris. The sunlight of the morning made it more noticeable than anything. It was a piece of another Looking glass.

Wait. What? I looked to my hand and the Looking glass I owned was still there, the outline of its shape appearing as a tattoo under my skin. The piece was still with me. The piece in the house wasn’t mine.

No, it wasn’t mine, nor was it a piece of mine. The piece that was buried in the ash pulsed a deep red color, similar to the Boxeto's, but its hum seemed different. I looked around me, wondering who was really going to notice me. Sam was still pissed over the coffee; some of the neighbors were comforting her. The police were taking statements. They hadn't come to me yet, even though I lived there. Cops, never a missing moment...

I blinked; a bloody vision of what surrounded me flashed in my mind, and everything stopped. Time was ticking in my ear as the slow movements of the second hand echoed.  It was one of the few things I inherited from Mother. Control of the environment surrounding me, slowing time for but a moment. My movements became swift and incapable of being seen by mortal eyes. I could move without hesitation or time constraints, though the power was temporary.

Mortals, still moving and aware, couldn't comprehend something that was so fast. To them, I was nothing but a flash of a ghost they couldn't quite grasp. To me, they were slow moving statues, barely able to catch the sounds of my footsteps as I walked past. They were like turtles who attempted to catch a humming bird. My movements were swift to their own, but the danger of them snapping from my, how would you say, “spell” was very likely. The ability didn't grant me a lot of time, and the need to hurry was essential  so I wasn't caught.

I walked forward past all who would've saw me. I passed under and through the caution police tape that was placed after the fire died down enough where it was safe to approach, and then I took the glass. Then something snapped. Time was altered, and this Looking glass was nothing like my own. It was a recording.

In a flash, the house was back to the way it was. It had built itself around me in colors of blues and reds, the walls were colored glass and the windows were as blue as the sky. I could walk through the house if I wanted to, but I couldn’t. For a moment, I was lost in the technocolored, artificial home that was once mine. Was this how it was, I remember asking myself. My home was this? Is this all it was? The emptiness in seeing this recording was strange. I could find what this emotion was, but I suspected nostalgia, or perhaps grief in knowing that my home was so boring.

The recording then showed that Lorina was getting breakfast ready, her outline was almost glass. She moved much more graciously than in real life, I supposed as an effort to give her some credit of not being a complete klutz. It was wrong. Lorina was clumsy, that’s how I remembered her.  Henry must have been in the bedroom, or even the downstairs bathroom, getting ready for the day. In a moment, she was happy, her song was echoing with some distortion from the recording. It was one of her favorite songs that she would sing from her radio. I couldn’t remember what the words were, even though I had heard it so many times before.

She stopped dancing, turned toward the hallway,  and then moved quickly to the back door. I couldn’t make out what's really going on, but I knew something has her. She was trying to stay away from it, but it grabbed her by the back of her hair and slammed her onto the ground. The recording didn't capture the assailant? Why wouldn't it do that, unless the person who left this behind wanted me to find it, to see it? Henry, another piece of glass that didn’t capture the personality, only a shadow, arrives but he falls for some reason, but he isn't dead. Yet. Other things happen to make Lorina cry out in agony, but I won't say. It's not necessary to the story. She stopped moving eventually, laying as lifeless as her husband. Whatever had attacked them, this thing,  takes her and Henry into the living room, and the recording changed.

As the Looking glass' memory fades away, I can see the fire start from where Lorina was cooking breakfast. Now it makes sense. While the recording faded away from me, I found that I had ended up back on the street, looking at the front of the house instead of the side where the kitchen once stood, time went back to normal. I was standing there with nothing but sand in my hand. It wasn't meant to be kept. It was a message. I looked at the house again, curious. They were alive, possibly, but I didn't know where they were, or who would want both of them, unless for some sadistic rituals. Yet, there was, I shall admit, an aching at this site. It was similar, almost exact to the time when they were taken the first time. Why someone would take them?

“Alice Liddell?” I heard my name and looked around. Another fireman came up to me, this one was a bit taller, and he had his mask over his face. Soot covered his yellow suit and his oxygen tank was low. Apparently, this one had just gotten out of the fire, but wasn't about to get treated like the others. There were still about four or five shooting water at the house, trying to tame the small flames that had reached other houses near mine, but it seemed futile. It seemed the fires would continue forever. Strange. “Miss Liddell?” He caught my attention again, and this time I looked at him.

“What?” I realized I hadn't scared him, so I stopped scowling. He stood tall, watching me carefully. Just what the fuck is he looking at? The thought was strong but quickly forgotten.

“Uh, we looked all over, but there are some areas that we can't get into. Do you know if there was anyone else in the house?” The voice was muffled by his mask over his face, but he didn't seem to bother him. He spoke loud enough for me to grasp his words.

“Only my foster parents. I can't find them, and I don't know where they are.” My voice was drifting into a whisper. The fireman had leaned in to try to make out my words, a bit closer than what I would appreciate. His eyes, bright and vivid through the mask, held a dull amethyst color I'd never seen before... There was something about them, but I wouldn't remember that until—

“She's over there!” I could hear Sam telling the officers that just now arrived to the scene. “I'm telling you, I know that bitch set the house on fire!” Oh, how I couldn't wait for the confirmation to tear that old hag's face from her skull. Can you tell that I have a sparkling personality? I didn't look over at her or the police, but I stared at the fireman. He didn't move his face away from mine, and there was something there that was bugging me about him. For one, he was taller than me, and two, he wasn’t looking at me. He was watching me.

I could see his eyes through the mask, nothing else. He watched me with those eyes, in way I can never shake even now. The plexiglass distorted their color, leaving only the edge that made them stick out so much. With the vision of a dog, I looked into those eyes and wondered what was making them stick out in my mind to notice them. He, however, turned away after he realized my own fascination with his eyes, walking away.

The fuck was that about?

“Miss Liddell?” It was one of the officers speaking to me now. He was taller than me as well, almost the same height as the fireman, if not more. I had to actually look up at him in order to connect to his eyes.  The man seemed familiar to me for some reason. I met him somewhere long ago, but at the moment I couldn't recall the face. “We need to have you come to the police station, if you wouldn't mind?” At first, when he looked at my face, it seemed that I was a stranger to him, but seconds later, his eyes widened with a fear I finally recognized, and my memory marked him as one of the humans whose family was murdered by my hands.

His wife worked for the facility and she was dead before she could react. Her words pissed me off the wrong way, though I don’t remember what exactly she said, I knew it angered me. I sliced her open with a weapon, a scythe, tearing her lower half apart and leaving her for dead. I was pulled away. He and another rushed to help her. I wondered how a man who used to work in the facilities made it as a cop. Many of the employees were murdered off either by myself or by the mortals to cover up the experimentation. It's been six years since, and I could only wonder if he remembered me as well as I remembered him now. It's not hard remembering your victims, living or dead, but it's harder to fully recall why you remember them when you don't really have a conscience.

“I do mind. Maybe you should be more interested to see if my parents are alive instead of listening to a crazed bitch that's blaming me for a death that hasn't been determined? That would be much appreciated, wouldn't you agree?” He scowled at me, nearly growling. I didn't mind going in for questions, but I didn't like him. He was smug, and he was taller than me. However, he did roll his eyes when Sam started to scream again. Apparently, she was heard loud and clear. Apparently, he found her just as annoying as I have. He looked back at her and waved his hand.

“Thank you, Ma'am. I appreciate your efforts.” He turned and softly whispered “fucking crazy lady” as he looked back at me. Huh, maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all.

“You would be bitter like me as well if that woman was your grandmother, agreed?” I said this despite Sam’s yelling.

“Where are you from?”

“How the fuck is that important?” I found my patience running thin. I didn't care to tell him about the wonderful vineyards of Dreux or the massacre of the Protestants, or any of that shit! “How about you worry more about finding the Liddells instead of asking me questions that have nothing to do with my house burning down.”

“Because I’m an investigator, and a cop, and it’s my job to ask questions.” His eyes narrowed at me, and I finally yielded.

“I’m from Dreux, as is my foster mother. The whore over there, as well as her son, are English. Now, will you please try to find my foster parents?”

“You’re from the Frank Lands, but you’re Amarian…”

Shit! “Kind of, but not really.”

“‘Kind of, but not really?’ doesn’t sound very convincing, Ms. …?”

“Liddell. My name is Liddell. You just said my name.”

“Okay, well Miss Liddell, as standard practice, you know that you have to be detained until the Crusade investigates your story, right?”

“No, they don’t.”

“They don’t?” He was looking more annoyed with me by the minute.

“No! They don’t, and I shouldn’t have to be detained for anything! My house just burned down, my family is missing, and you’re wanting to keep me like an animal! I haven’t even done anything wrong! Why do I have to be locked up because of something I’m not responsible for?”

“Well, Miss Liddell, you really don't have a choice in the matter. It's my job to find out what happened, and we'll be taking you down to the station. Now.” Oh, he remembered all right... there are always those tell-tale looks that lets you know just how much a person finds you in their mind, and that one had hatred with a dash of nostalgia. The way he looked at me now was with the glare of anguish, of torture. Of course! He was furious to see me, alive and well, while his wife was burning in an inferno forever, according to the mortal's beliefs anyway. I quite savored that thought. I was the reason for his pain, his hatred. I would forever be remembered by those whom lost a loved one to me. There were less things satisfying compared to such as that. I suppose you can blame the programming or myself, but I would rather believe it was my intentions, not that of a program.

His notepad was back in his pocket, as was his pen. I hadn’t noticed those items when they were out, but then again, he had never used them when he started speaking to me. “Come on. We need to go.”

“You can fucking wait!” I howled, then looked to the house. “I want to see if my parents are alive or not!” Then, he snorted,

“You mean, you care?” His words didn't bother me as much as I thought they should, but I tried my best to ignore them regardless. I didn't want the neighbors to freak out from seeing me reuniting this man with his wife, especially since I wanted Sam's blood more than his. “Fine, if it will make you happy.”

“I’ll never be happy.”

<><><><><>

No bodies were found in the fire. Nothing. The idea that I killed my foster parents had dissipated with the evidence, or rather a lack of bodies, but now the question of where my foster family had gone to when the fire started was brought up, and they were still looking at me for answers... And I was so looking forward to torturing Sam, too....

The Mortals had a policy on this planet: Investigate by any means, but the Crusade gets the ultimate say-so as judge, jury, and, too often enough, executioner. Between the two worlds, Amara was the smartest. They would simply kill any and all Mortals whom entered their wilderness world without hesitation. On this world, however, the Mortals “valued” life, and depending on how you define “value” is how valuable you could be to the Crusade. The Mortals, through their short lifespans, have developed a strange sense of “value” when it comes to life: They’re more upset by an animal dying than they are their own kind, though to be fair, Amara’s population was nowhere close to a percentage of the Mortals.

Dr. Crowley would oft speak about the misgivings and experimentations the Mortals would put our kind through. The Doctor was a half-breed, and had to go through many of those same experiments, just to avoid not being killed. The only way an Amarian is spared is if they show no, as the Mortals called it, “supernatural power” or animosity towards the Mortals. Some even had to pledge their allegiance against their own people in order to stay alive. Some of those whom had to do this were simply used for whatever the Mortals desired and then shot regardless. The Doctor must have been an exceptional liar, for the animosity remained and was carried on through me.

And now, there was a moron slamming his hands in front of me, trying to intimidate me for an answer I didn’t have.

“So, where are the Liddells?” One of the cops from the fire asked for the 178 time. He was flicking a pen back and forth between his fingers, exactly 287 times per minute within the past 4 minutes, and staring at me with a smug smile. He was a smoker, with yellow stained teeth and a cup of coffee next to him. The way he held his pen between his first two fingers were a giveaway as well. We were in a typical interrogation room for at least 4 hours, answering and asking the same things back and forth over and over. The idea that the room was empty was a lie; four chairs at a long table and a mirror the size of the room for the cops to watch us through. I could hear two heartbeats from beyond the mirror, and I knew possibly his chief and another officer, possibly the one I had spoken to earlier from the fire, had to be inside. “We know that they weren't in the house,” he continued, “so, what did you do with the bodies?”

“I didn't do anything with any bodies,” I said slowly, for the whatever-numbered time, trying to drive the words into his skull that I hadn't done the crime he was gunning for. His dark red hair fluttered over his blue eyes. They were different than Mother's. Not a crystal blue, but more of a deeper sky color. They were nice to staring into.

“So, why don't I believe you?” He was an Amarian that renounced his lineage to live with the Mortals. I suppose he knew more about who I was than any of the Mortals, but his eyes did not show that. He didn’t recognize me, which I thought was strange. What I didn’t like about him, was the fact that he was purposely trying to have me admit to something just to look good in front of his Mortal friends. I would have to remind him what happens to traitors…

“Vous êtes un crétin.”

“Excuse me? How about you learn some English or some shit?” How tastefully ironic that this individual hadn’t realized that within the third hour of this “questioning” that he and I slipped back into the Amarian language and were arguing that way. The Mortals behind the mirror didn’t understand what we had been saying since then, and were possibly frustrated with our discussion.  This one had been so frustrated with me, that I would not lie to make him look better in front of his stupid coworkers, that he had gone back to a tongue that he vowed to never speak again as long as he lived.

“Que diriez-vous d'apprendre à parler une autre langue vous baise porc. “

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Basically, I'm allowed to speak whatever I wish. It's not my fault you never took the time to learn something inviting.” I looked him up and down, and I couldn't help but wonder how big his dick was. Thoughts like this occasionally come to my attention when I smell children on an adult, and this man had to have a massive penis in order to have children. You could always tell someone has children because of the putrid smell of milk that lingers on their clothing and their skin. It’s like they bathed in it and let it dry. Perhaps my nostril was more sensitive because of programming, or you could argue from a natural standpoint that my nose caught everything.

I just so happened to also catch that my reflection was wrong; instead of me, sitting in a chair in my pajamas with my arms crossed, looking pissed that I was here, Mother was in the chair, staring at me the entire time. She had that look of murder on her face. She raised one of her hands from the table and pointed to the cop speaking to me. Then, she held up two fingers, and then five.

Are we suddenly bored, Mother? I asked to her, but she didn’t answer. She simply kept staring at me, smiling.

“What the fuck makes you think you can do what you want? ...Hello! I'm the cop, you're the suspect. What makes you think you're going to do whatever you want while I'm here, you little shit?” He slammed his hands onto the table, red hair flailing all over.  It was pretty long, with a stupid rattail tied up in the back. He was older than the other cop, but just as stupid and slow. I took a guess that one of his children were two, and the other five, just as Mother told me.

“So, would you prefer me to murder you, or one of your two children first? The two year old would be the most fun, though I find the older ones are such a treat! I can wait for an answer, if you wish.” Mother seemed to smile more as she watched the cop, the traitor in front of me, register in his mind that I had just threatened to murder his children. He went from shaking hands to shaking fists in a matter of 15 seconds. Another 5 seconds later, a chair had moved by his will to block the door, keeping anyone whom wanted in, out.

I suppose you could guarantee that an answer like that would warrant someone to get punched in the face. I suppose you could also guarantee that when one becomes enraged they would also flip a table on top of you and try to ram you with it. The cop, however, flipped the table over on top of me first, which I was not expecting.  I had become accustomed to how the Mortals fight, which would normally involve jumping head first into the fray without strategy or thought in how to defeat an enemy, and it had been a long time since I had to fight my own kind. He pulled me out from under the table and punched me several times in the face, he threw me across the room, grabbed me again and pinned me against the wall, with his hands were around my throat, choking my oxygen intake. His face was close to mine, seething and growling like a rabid wolf.

I felt him grab the crown of my head by the hair and slammed my head against the concrete wall over and over again until I was sure there was blood on the wall. “You want to threaten my kids? You want to go after my babies? It ain't no issue with me, or my superiors, if I beat the shit out of you and leave you for dead!”  He was screaming this at me, with a face as red as his hair. His blue eyes had begun to glow bright, telling me he didn’t care if he were to be slaughtered by man after this. The justification of violence and breaking a vow came with protecting his offspring.

I had to flail my arm around to grasp a few strands of my hair.  I had a few, not many, but they would worked. The hairs stood straight between my fingers, as sharp as knives, and I shoved them into the officer's forearm. He hadn't noticed at first, even while the others through the glass could be heard screaming behind the mirror.

“Quick! Get in there!” “He's going to kill her! Stop him!”

He could hear them as well, but that's not what stopped him. He loosened his grip of me as his arm started to lose feeling and the hairs sunk into his skin. Dark splotches grew all over his arm and body. It turned his veins a dark blue and his skin like scales, his jugular was pounding in his neck where I could see without trying to look. Black smog was rising from his body, telling me his muscle tissue and organs were decaying from the inside. All of his veins began popping from his skin, and blood started to splatter onto the wall from his arm. He finally let me go and tried to pull the hairs out of his arm, falling to his knees and screaming for mercy. Coughing and gasping for air, I could only look at him, watching him trying to reach for something only his mind could see. He cried out to whatever it was he thought was above his head, begging for forgiveness. What he needed forgiveness for, I wasn't sure. As his black, boiled blood pooled around him, he stared at me, but not in anger. I couldn’t name the sensation before me accurately at the time, but later on, I would recall his face when the time arrived once again.

I thought there would be some words for me in the end, but no. Not a word. It was the first time I didn't feel any satisfaction from watching an Amarian die in front of me. He didn't have the kind of soul I found delicious at all. His kind would only make me malfunction in some way, like a stomach illness to a Mortal. Besides, it wasn't going to be long before the idiot bled out like the pig he was.

After that, it was a blur of more cops running into the room, with nightsticks that were ready for a beating. They knocked me to the ground completely and struck me over and over until they were sure I couldn't move. They dragged me from the room to a cell that was a couple floors below the ground, with rows and rows of men, women, and whatever in between you could think of, all caged in their cells like zoo animals.

I was tossed in the eighth one down to the left by myself and left there, allowed to hear the doors clang and the lock snap close. Voices of the Mortals echoed throughout the holding cell, some of them talking about ripping my head off—Even though I didn't even start the shit, but it's not like it matters to them—and others were talking about the issue the cop who interrogated me was having. He would be dead before they got him to a hospital. I was bleeding, badly, but not enough to need medical attention. My blood had trailed through the holding cell room, all the way back to that single room. I could only imagine what would happen next. I dragged myself to other end of the cell and allowed the blood to fall to the ground in a large puddle. It would dry, but that wasn't what I was worried of.

With all the strangeness that was happening, I should have assumed the Boxeto would arrive; Mother would come find me. She had previously spoken to me, so it was only proper to make her day a little easier by leaving a “gate” for her to enter this world. She would need the blood to arrive, since this ghost didn't have the ability to create her own body, mine would have to do, whether I wished for it or not.

I passed out after that.

The Humans didn't really say or do much to me after that. They tried to say that I set the house on fire to cover up evidence for the murders of the Liddells, but that was more stupid than me just trying to kill them in the fire. The incident with the officer didn't help either. The fact that I used my hair to poison him gave the mortals a reason to hold me. Amarian people could be held as terrorists of the state, and I was no exception. I was held in the jail cell for a few days. I had to fight to keep Dinah with me, but I got my way.  One of the officers were nice enough to give her milk every morning, but it turned her crazy if she drank too much. I would have to take the bowl from her on occasion if she got too hyper and ran into the bars of the cell.

It wasn't like the bars could keep her in anyway. They were close enough together for a mortals—or myself—to be trapped inside, but my cat was small and slender and could escape from the bars whenever she wished. She would simply come back to me when she was done doing whatever it was she found entertaining, and then by night, she was asleep in my arms.

They said they had to hold me over night at first, then they found evidence, so it would be another night, and then testing had to be done, so another night was necessary, even though I already knew they were full of shit. I wasn't about to argue. I really had no place to go. I had no cohorts, other than Lorina and Henry, or friends, or even family. There was no one for me, and not a body to be found. The point of living with the Liddells was to simply live with them. I didn't have a life, other than the one they gave me. So, without them, I had no objectives, and the new objective became a mission to try to find them. I have to find them, so I can continue my original purpose.

However, that wasn't the case in a scenario I was stuck in. I wasn't about to object to staying, especially since I had no other place to call home.  That, and I didn't have money to feed my cat, and they were doing it for me, so there was another reason to stay. I thought of my objective through those three days I stayed in the cell, thinking. If I didn't have the Mortals to care for me, what the fuck was I supposed to do? It was during those three days that I realized that “Do what you want” was the only objective to follow at this point.

This was a first for me. No orders, no directions, absolutely nothing controlled me. I was now a variable, able to do what I wished to do without need of command or prompts. This was...  

I suppose the Mortals enjoyed this “freedom”, as they called it, more than I would. I found it damaging. A computer is only useful as the user. Though some of me was organic, my mind was still of a computer, and without a user, my only objective that I could continue was making sure that my cat would live. Until Mother showed herself to me, I had nothing. Why hadn't she arrived to me yet?

I felt restless, pacing in my cage like an animal, hands behind my back voluntarily. The fact that I hadn't been given any sort of command in so long was irritating.

Irrational. Irrational. Irrational.

Irrational. Irrational. Irrational.

Irrational? What? No, not now! I really don’t need this right now!  I needed an update, as the repetition of words and abstract thoughts ran through my mind. Mind. Mind. Mind. Mind. Mind.

Mind.

Maybe, I thought, I should stop pacing to fix the glitch. It must have come from the smoke in the house. It was the only reason why I couldn't—

“Hey! Why don't you sit down Sweetie?” One of the thugs said to me, laughing to one of the weaker ones whom stayed in the cell with him. I was the only one not paired with anyone. I supposed the Mortals were smart enough not to try and give me another victim. This one, on the other hand, was asking for it.

“Maybe you shouldn't fuck with her,” I could hear one of them say to the first. “I heard she almost killed a cop with a bunch of knives she hid in her hair.

Knives? The cop didn’t die? How insulting... I decided that I wanted to kill the small one for that.

“Shut up! Look at her! She’s a fucking twig!” said the large one.

“She looks like one of those weirdo aliens from that other world. Look at her hair and eyes!” Another spoke up, fear in his voice.

“All she needs is a stiff dick, and she’ll be just fine! Hey, baby! You need a dick, don’t you? Isn’t that why you look so pissed right now?” The large ones face was right between the bars as he stared at me. He looked like a fool, but I wasn't in the mood and decided ahead of time that I would vomit if I touched that disgusting looking male. He was bald. He had bad teeth. He was fat. He didn't look like he bathed regularly—not like I could say much after a few days in this cell—and he was getting on my nerves just with his voice. “Hey! Why don't you show me your tits?”

“Pourquoi n'avez-vous pas sucer ma bite douze pouces d'imaginaire, vous indigne fils de pute?”

“What the fuck kind of language is that? What, you speak retard or something?” He laughed at me. He was laughing either because he was stupid or he was trying to work my last nerve. The latter was working just fine on its own. “I said, ‘Show me your tits,’ you stupid cunt!” I suppose emphasizing his words by talking like a sloth is a bit much, but the fact that he was able to think that hard proves he’s aware enough for me. His ignorance should be apparent, but there are naïve people reading this story, and I'd rather not disappoint them. “Do you understand that? Why don't you learn some fucking English, you stupid bitch? I said, ‘Show me your tits,’ not stare at me like your deaf! Maybe your mommy and daddy need to teach you how to put out for a man?”

With my left hand raised, the bars were quick to crush his skull between the pressure of them pressing together, and his brains and blood poured out, over his chest and stomach, and splattered to the ground. His cellmates, terrified, backed to the walls of the cell, trying to stay out of my vision. I should've killed the other ones for opening their mouths, but decided not to. There really wasn't a point of getting more charges. I didn't feel like eating his soul either. There was something about Mortals, or anyone actually, telling me to learn their English that pissed me off. I could speak better English in French than the morons who demanded I do the opposite. The fools...

He was only fortunate that I couldn't use the power I had before. He got it easier than the cop...

“Hello!” I raised my head and realized I hadn’t moved at all. When I looked back over at the opposite cell, I saw that it was all a dream, and the men were still yelling stupid banter and crude remarks at me. Huh… Usually, I follow my dreams more than this. Amazing how vivid a daydream can be.

Dream was the right word, but I hadn’t been aware of this until much later.

<><><><><>

“Eighty-one hours remaining. Please update system, or shutdown will be initiated.”

I believe the fourth day broke me, making me feel something I can't comprehend. I stayed on the floor, sure that Mother wasn't coming. Maybe she wanted me to simply get out myself, but I didn't have the desire to now. I had decided that the objective would come to me, it was the only rational thing I could think.

It was the only rational thing I could think.

It was the only rational thing I could think.

“Fuck! I need that update.” I didn’t remember the last time I had needed one, but I knew if it were not taken soon, I would have to shut down. I didn't have the vial needed to finish the update. The vial, you may be asking, is something I'm not entirely sure about. Lorina and Henry would give me this to ensure that my data wasn't outdated, running behind. She used to call it “Meds.” It was a serum that I would take at the facilities, and Henry was able to replicate it easily. If I could get ahold of that, I would have not a single problem!

The only problem I did have currently was that policeman. Namely, it was the one from the fire, whose wife I just happened to decapitate. Oh, the irony.

He made sure that I was watched constantly as he awaited for the Crusade to arrive. He was a man of his duty, that was clear from the beginning, but I found something about him disturbing. I could have sworn, from the time I had met him to now, that I knew the man from somewhere. His dark hair and blue eyes weren’t so familiar to me, but his face was. The way he walked, how he carried himself, the way he spoke to me—all of this brought nostalgia I couldn’t recognize immediately. There were still only a few days before the Crusade would arrive for me, but the closer that time came, the more I believed that I knew that man. Even the officer seemed nervous about the Crusade coming for me. The fact that his eyes never wanted to leave me was unsettling, but the only form of comfort I knew at the time.

The World had always been my home, and I had only been to Amara once, mainly to kill the empires' families and destroy anything that lived, and other such similar tasks. There was never a reason to learn, to discover, to understand what heritage meant. How much difference could there be between the Immortals and myself, I did not know. I did remember that I shared most of the differences between Amara and myself was knowing what exactly I was.

“How are you holding up?” He had asked me at some point, standing in front of my cell door, but not so close as most would be. He was smart enough to know that, if I could reach him, I would break his neck and escape in some way. He was possibly the smartest officer there, now that I think about it.

“You care?” I was too drained to put any effort into being a bitch. The prompt for the update was clouding my personality algorithms.

“I care enough to watch you die. Monsters like you deserve the worst.”

“Do you believe you’re less of a monster than I?”

“No, but at least I can admit I am one.”

“Can you, now? Imagine that: A Mortal whom can separate himself from reality, only to lie to himself.”

“I’m not a liar, you are!” He kicked my cage, triggering me to giggle just a little.

“That’s two lies in two minutes. Are you trying to beat a record, or are you trying to impress me?”

“Oh, you like jokes? How funny would it be if I just shot your ass right now? I could get away with it, and nobody would give a fuck about it!”

“Oh? How excited you must be to know this.”

“Don’t you care at all?” He knelt down next to the door, holding onto the bar, looking at me as I sat on the floor with my back against the wall. “You think nobody recognizes you? I do. I know that you’re a monster because of all the victims and survivors who were maimed by your selfish need to kill. You killed people’s mothers, fathers, children, friends—my wife! I stood there and watched you rip her apart, how you killed her and took her soul into yourself. I watched you laugh after looking at her blood on your hands. You laughed because she was such an easy kill. You laughed, like it was the best thing to happen to you that day, and then you looked at me. You stopped laughing and you told me to remember you for as long as I could, because I would never see you again. Do you remember that?”

“Eh. In some fashion, yes, but then again, I’ve killed so many, it’s hard to keep track of the whining husbands who can’t live without their women.”

“Hey!” He slammed a hand against the bars, the sound echo

.

Azlagor

My foster mother favored dark auburn hair and dim green eyes as my look, making me match and displayed the reasonable assumption that I had inherited my foster father's genes. Henry didn't like it though. He said that he loved me like his own (his own “what” I still have yet to find information on), he thought that my white hair was more attractive and my crimson eyes beautiful, something he would remind me of, time and time again. Lorina's argument would be that allowing what I really looked like to show was as dangerous as announcing all of the murders I've committed, and Henry agreed. I was forced to keep displaying this hair, this false self that they grew to accept.

Hair was a good indicator of Amarian decent. Amarians didn’t need to dye their hair exaggerated colors like the Mortals did; we were born with a variety of bright and cheery colors. Many Amarian females would dye their hair dark colors, but the brighter your hair, the harder it was to dye the hair. I was fortunate, for the Boxeto’s blood allowed me to change my appearance to whatever I desired, though the default was pale white and red.

I hadn’t thought about how I looked to the Mortals since I had been placed in the jail. It didn’t matter much to me whether they knew or not. They knew I was Amarian, so my fate was sealed. It felt as though all Lorina and Henry had tried to accomplish had been wasted with my exposure.

Lorina had just cut my hair days prior to all of this. My hair had been long enough to reach past my back and she chopped most of it off. The front of my hair was long enough to touch past my shoulders, but the rest was cut back to the base of the skull, in a v-shape on either side. She said it would make my shoulders look more “feminine.” Fuck you, Lorina.

“Seventy-nine hours remaining. Please update system or shutdown will be initiated.”

“GO BACK TO SLEEP...”

“What the fuck was that?” I asked out loud. The voice I heard wasn’t one that was familiar, it was different. “Go back to sleep?” was the least strange thing to happen to me in this story. It wasn’t long before images would play in my head, images that I didn’t recognize, that would haunt me the rest of my days.

I remembered that Henry would love to sit and ask me questions most people wouldn't think to ask. He was a scientist as heart, and he wasn't ashamed to show it. At a younger age, he would read me books of science, books that had much to do with history, books on people who changed the world. We could talk about anything, and his patience matched mine when it came to our mutual enemy: stupidity and ignorance. He'd always made an effort to make sure that I knew the histories of the mortals and the Amarian folk. The one thing he never did was read to me “Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I never understood why for the longest time, especially since Lorina wanted that done. He stopped, after the facility sent their men to get me. He'd changed after they took me, it seemed. He didn't joke the way he would when I was a child, and he rarely smiled unless we were talking about how stupid other Mortals were. That was his joy. He hated humans, too. Maybe that's why we got along so well.

“So, we’re just going to bring the wrong one here, and then we’re going to wake her up? Is that really a good idea? Don’t you think you’ve fucked up shit enough here?” “I love you, too, Kit.” “I’m being serious!”

I remembered how my foster parents brought Dinah home from the shelter. I only liked her because she was a black cat, and figured that she would match my mood better than with someone else. I remembered how they would tuck me into bed even after I repeatedly told them that I was going to slit their throats in their sleep if they didn't stop, but they never stopped.  I remembered how Lorina and Henry almost got their divorce because of Sam, but remained together because of me. I remembered when they would take me to various places, whether I wanted to go or not, just so I could see something new. I remembered many things about my life with the Liddells.

However, every time I would attempt to escape to the land of memories and acquired skills, that fucking cop would come by. He would terrorize (or attempted to, anyway) me into confessing my guilt, that I was going to get the worst thing to come to me. That the police force would finally bring a villain, such as I, to justice...

“Fifty-two hours remaining. Please update system, or shutdown will be initiated.”

<><><><><>

Trent R. Everson, was his name. I found out after the second night in jail. His dark hair reminded me of the ravens I hated so much, but his eyes were blue like Mother's. He was a gentle looking man, when he wasn't glaring in my general direction. The very fact he made me use the word “glaring” in order to make a description in a true story is more than enough justification for me to loathe a person until, and after, they are dead.

Any other time, when he wasn't focused on “glaring” at me, he laughed a lot, and spoke like he read books, much like how Lorina talked. The reminder of my foster mother, I assume, was the reason he became so... how do you say, useful, later on in the tale I am giving. That’s not the right word. It was more like he reminded me of my mother, and that became something needed.

He seemed educated, knew the law and shared his knowledge with his coworkers. He even looked good in uniform, surprisingly. It was strange that his first interaction with me seemed to affect my sensors. He set something off that made me want to rip his throat out, but the desire was snubbed out when he was in the room. He was a total dick to me, and I enjoyed watching him from a distance, when he didn’t notice me existing behind a set of iron bars.

“Confessions are easy,” he would say to me as he walked next to my cell, almost taunting me.

Why-W-Why the fuck are you around near me? Isn’t there some protocol with you pigs-you pigs? I wanted to kill him, but then I thought of Henry. Even as le policier would stalk my cell like an animal, my foster father’s words had reminded me: Never kill mortals who do nothing but talk; one might need a living witness. That was all this one was capable of. He would talk, try to rile me into a rage, get me to say something that could give him a chance to take out whatever frustrations he had pent up over the years. I don't believe any of his other comrades even knew of our little past together. If they did, they would keep him away from me.

Not that there weren’t any others who had suffered from my atrocities. It just so happened that this person who threatened me, I had worries about him. Something about his demeanor told me that his threats were real.

Luckily for me, humans were very gullible for the whole “damsel in distress” scenario. With this man, this officer's crazed ramblings and temperament, many of his fellow cops thought I was simply a helpless Amarian girl, afraid and shocked about the fire—while this officer was a dick, taking his vengeance out on an innocent just because “she resembles the Raven!” You could hear the mishaps and arguments between the officers all the way down the cell block, the halls echoed the rising anger and vicious opinions being hashed out like knives!

It was wonderful. His partner and others called him crazy, saying “She's already scrawny enough, and you're going to starve her?” “She isn't Raven, you're crazy.” “Raven's dead! Why can't you get that through your thick head?!” This poor, crazed-by-revenge cop held his own, however, countering the fact that I was considered a Half-breed. Half-breeds were to be held until the Crusade arrived for me, and that was the only reason for my detention, or until further notice. His comrades could not argue against this point. Unfortunately, Mr. Everson continued to say very crazy, paranoid things, which did not help him in any way.

“The Raven will pay for what she's done to all of us!” I could hear him say one day while arguing about the suspension of the other officer I happened to maim. He acted like I tried to kill the idiot, even though I hadn't wanted to fuck him up that badly, but beggers can't beg when they're dead. It was nice, however, to hear that old, careful name echo through the cells and listen to the gasps and awes of those stuck in there with me as well.

“Forty-eight hours remaining. Please update system or shutdown will be initiated.”

“Raven” as the code name of the project that created me, and I used it easily as a name so that those whom I threatened could identify me with and bow to my graces. Or they could simply rot and die by my hands, the decision was theirs, and none of my concern in the end. It made all the more of my actions feel right, to be something that gives me power. Ravens, in some mythology, as with the Morrigan, were the messengers of death, of war, of bloodshed. The stories of ravens were something I could live with under the guise of the proudest of nobility, but the actual creatures are something of disgust.  

Of course, I didn't like ravens, because birds... scare me.

Yes, I know, it's a ridiculous fear, but I don't like birds. Their shit is poisonous, and they make strange sounds and do nothing but eat bread and seeds and peck people. They're fucking disgusting!

My creators once said that the Boxeto was afraid of birds as well, but she would use them to her advantage when it came to controlling the masses and instilling fear into her enemies. I never bothered asking how she did that, and I really thought they were full of shit. Whether or not she used birds wasn't something I was interested it. Using a slingshot on one, that was something I favored. Even if my paradoxical mother used the ravens, or whatever disgusting creature, that didn't mean that I could do the same. Not like I would try it anyway, though my curiosity was known to get the better of me, but the idea of utilizing a filthy bird to do my bidding didn't sound as interesting as it could've been.

But I did favor crows more than any other birds. There were legends of the Crow Father, my grandfather if correct. He carried knowledge at the price of life. I’ve always wanted to meet him. I can assume that crows are sentimental in that fashion. Ravens, no, not at all.

Mr. Everson, though appearing to look about my age, was actually in his late 40's. The actual math could've been off, but I killed his wife when I was barely in my 8th cycle (early 20's for the Mortals reading), making him twice my age. He was the son of a teacher and the man who fathered him was unknown to me at the time, but the significance of the information would have been excellent. By the age of 30, he began working in the facilities, where I surmise that he and his wife met. I remember attacking her with a weapon, a scythe to be more specific. She had done something anger me. I

It turned out that he was about to get promoted in the next few days, as I learned while I  , but he didn't look that excited. His days were filled with a loathing for me that quite simply shook me greater than what I would expect. He held a violence like no mortal I had ever come close to. He knew me well enough to hate me, but the hate that he carried was stronger than what I must have done to him. The rage that boiled over inside of him would be directed at me, but there were times where that anger would subside. He could forget about me almost as easily as he could let all that anger take him over.

He would oft look at a photo that was on his desk, possibly of his happier days with his late wife. Sometimes, he would start to sniffle, other times he would wipe his face. He would do this as if it were a ritual, every time he was left on duty. The photo wouldn't sit on the table, where his coworkers would see, but in a drawer. It seemed he carried two-two-t-t-two of the same photo. When his coworkers would show themselves, he hid the frame inside of the left drawer of his desk, but he would pulled out another from him right pocket, sneaking peeks while his partners' backs were turned, or in between shift changes. It-I-I-I-I-I-It stayed in his pocket m-most of the time, and when he would hear someone approach, it was gone again. However, when uninterrupted, he would stare for minutes, for hours.

Not only was he a dick, but he was also an emotional kind of guy. Good times.

He'd stare at it until he realized I was watching him, then he'd leave in a huff out the door. Sometimes, he would curse and yell to get me riled up enough to do something, but that would never work. This would happen I'd say 3, 4, maybe even 5 times a day. With this happening, he would become more and more deranged on his quest to prove that I was The Raven. Once, he threw a chair to the wall. I believe that was the second day, when he decided to ask me a stupid question, though it turned out to be not very stupid at all.

“Do you even know what it's like to be human, you fucking machine?”

I hadn't been that amused in a long time.

“Thirty-six hours remaining. Please update system, or shutdown will be initiated.”

“You’re not worth looking at.” “What are you, then?” “Looking at you.” “Why, if I’m not worth looking at?” “Because you already belong to me, so everyone else needs to look away.” “That was kind of weak.” “It still got you to smile.”

It wasn't until the fourth night stay—the day before his promotion—that I started to get irritated with the whole ordeal. I didn't mind having a place to stay, but this was getting ridiculous. I had an idea what food tasted like, but the shit they finally gave me was something that made my stomach turn. The bed was like a wall, though that shouldn't bother me, but I had a cat who happened to be picky. So, with that, I was forced to sit on the floor at night to stop her yowling and she slept in my lap. In my lap. In my lap. Lap. Lap. Lap.

Argh! Fucking lag! I need that serum. I knew I wasn't going to get it in this place. My track was becoming unstable, and I was starting to lose touch with what I was thinking, I was losing control of myself—of my own control. If this shit kept up, I wasn't going to be able to function properly, if at all, and that would ultimately cause a complete shutdown. No reboot, no hibernation. It would end with complete corruption of my files and I, a device, would no longer function any longer.

“You really believe that you'll just stop functioning, just like that?” the voice in my head, so familiar and so very, very much unwanted, entered. I could only grind my teeth at those words. “Silly girl, death is for mortals, and also immortals... What makes you think you would be so lucky?”

“Fucking whore,” I said this loud enough for the cop to hear. He promptly told me to “shut my noise box” and then went back to his work of staring at his stupid photo. I growled quietly, smacking my head against the concrete and my ass to the floor. Dinah, the opportunist as she was, ran through the bars and hopped into my lap like an adult hiding inside of the warmth of their bed. She curled up quickly and was purring in no time.

I was almost half tempted to just pet her, but she looked at me as if to say “Don't fucking touch me. I'm having my moment” as she often would act. She hated to be touched unless it was when she wanted to be touched. I can't tell you how many times Henry has thrown her from one room to another because she left a permanent scar somewhere on his body. The last time she scratched him, he threw her down the stairs and she landed in the laundry bin Lorina just happened to be carrying in the right place at the right time.

I broke his-his-his arm. Arm. Arm. I broke h-h-h-h-h-h-h-hhhhhis arm for that. It was a fair trade, I would think. Maybe I was similar to the Alice of stories, or even the real Alice Liddell from XX4000 years previous. I didn't really “love” my cat, but I would kill anyone who tried to hurt her. Henry was only lucky that he was the breadwinner-- “Congratulations!” said the host, “You are the grand prize winner of—and a constant companion that Lorina couldn't have been. That was possibly the only reason his arm was the victim instead of his neck. This cat was important to me in some fashion. She was just as particular and near-feral when it came to what attention she received, at what time in her schedule she would be open to receive said affection, and who was permitted to give the attention that day. I suppose she was just like me, but more of a spoilt brat. The wont of this cat seems to have created an attachment in me. That attachment was challenged when she decided to bite my hand because I wasn't petting her. “Fucking brat,” I said looking down at her. Her-her-her-her-herrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-her- I looked down at her.

Fuck! This is getting worse! I thought to myself.  Wait. What was getting worse? Was something worse than what it was before? My eyes looked around the room—no, this is a cell. This isn't a room, I realized. Why was I in a cell? Why was I here? Fire...  Fire. My home was on fire. Lorina and Henry are...  

“Look who is talking to themselves again!” She was already getting on my nerves, and she hadn't even showed herself to me yet. Why was she taking so long... ?

“Twenty minutes to shutdown.” The voice of the motherboard reminded me of how long I would have before I was going to be gone.

It wasn't long after he started his shift, Mr. Everson had fallen asleep. I can't exactly remember when, but I was following the sound of his snoring with a rhythm in my head, to the point where I was counting, trying to keep some of my sanity. Going insane in the mind of a computer isn't as the same as the mortals, I would suspect. Much like a télévision, static would envelope my memories and my processors, leaving me nothing but a snow-like static to reference back to. I would be-e-be-eeee-eee-be brain damaged—brain-brain dam-am-damaged. Most mortals don't know they're crazy, but I-I-iiiii-I would know, and there-t-t-t-ttt-there was nothing to stop it.

“Ahh!” A sharp spike hit my neck, like a needle.

“No, no no... .” her voice carried into my ear, outside of my own head. Was she here? “you're not allowed to sleep. I still need you.” Something spread through my neck and produced a burning sensation. A fire was rushing into my skin, a sensation that defeated my house's demise as easily as a demon to a mortal. I tried to move, but I couldn't. “It's time to wake up.”

“Update complete. Restoration activated. Memory is 99.9998%  on backup. Generator cells are at 99.999% efficacy. Motion sensors are at 99% efficacy. Cooling reactor core stabilized. Restorations cells are active. Gene regeneration is active. Dragonskin chromosome isolation cells are active. Aleister GLYPH is active. AVALON Chimera at 27% and rising. System is up to date and operational.”

“Why did you release her?” “Because.” “Because? Because why? Do you understand what this will do?” “She will wake up with her own reality.” “She will kill us! Do you understand this?”

“I understand that the Palindrome must be completed, whether you want this or not. Accept your fate, as I already have.”

My eyes shot open, finding myself still in the cell, and the malfunctions no longer acting out. Was I asleep? “Did..? How did she do that?” I looked around myself and found that I was alone in the cell. The cop was sound asleep, and Dinah was still in my lap purring. Was that all a dream? Mother couldn’t have done that. She has to be summoned first, doesn’t she?

I thought my kitten was sound asleep, but her eyes shot open, and suddenly looked to the window that was high above our head and mewed strangely, like a mixture between a groan and a growl. It was loud and deep and guttural, and it was enough to wake Everson up from his sleep. At first he was just groggy, trying to shake the sound from his ears, or maybe incorporate the mews into his dreams. After about five minutes of this, the officer jump up from the desk, looking around as if he were scared shitless for a moment. After all was still, he disregarded the noise and told me to start controlling my animal or she would be confiscated. And then I smelled it again...

The sulfur had come back. I only noticed the smell when she was close to arrival. She was waiting for me.

Surprisingly, the blood wasn't old enough to not allow her to come here. I was mistaken in thinking that. The blood, the few droplets they were, started to seep up like a reverse stream, concentrating into a black ball made of tar. It dripped into the places of where her feet would be, where her arms and shoulders would be, where her hair fell in globs of the black substance. Her skeleton formed with a dark substance, tissue and blood forming and scorching the cell, heating it like the fire from my home.

The tar-covered skull cried out silently as the skin began to melt from the eye sockets, followed by eyeballs that shot blue and overpowered my own shining eyes. Her face formed in the falling tar, while the blood finished itself off from the floor; her body ripped from the cement, boney hands reaching out to slam against the wall, leaving claw marks in the concrete as she climbed from the floor. By the time the last of the tar had been dropped on the sludge-like form, the coloring of hair, the paling of her skin, the glow of crimson in her eyes had formed and shaped nicely, until she was before me. The Boxeto had finally shown herself. If there were anyone to witness the two of us together, they would say we were twins.

No. Let me clarify this better. The Boxeto, if you were not already aware, was one of the first Wraiths to turn to the Dunpire without completely losing her mind. The Wraiths would turn if they were to drink the dead blood of the Mergcan, a poison punishment back in the Parliament days. The Parliament, for those of you whom have been living under a rock, was the former ruling members of Amara before the Massacre of Rhomada, long before the current royal family ended up taking over. Boxeto had been the queen and lead Cousilman of the Parliament for over 300 generations. Her wisdom had been known as legendary, and her beauty predated cognition. She was a force to be feared. Then, her husband murdered her, or so it’s been theorized.

On the night of her annual ball for the people she ruled, the Boxeto had been given her “wine,” or “prisoners blood,” if you wanted to be technical. Traditionally, this would call for the blood of a Mortal dedicated to wrongdoings, and the queen would drink the blood as fuel to bring prosperity to her people. Instead, it was the blood of a dead Mergcan. She didn’t smell the salt water, for she had drank so much beforehand.

Her glass had fallen to the floor and her body had changed. Her long hair, once white like mine, turned black, reflecting a dark red back with light, and her eyes went from gold to the blue it is today. She ended up slaughtering many of her former members, subjects, family members, and anyone whom happened to be living at that time. The only ones to survive that night were the King and his sister. After that, the Boxeto and the King disappeared together, never to be heard from for many more years.

She came back recently, with the intentions to kill the current White Lady, whom was a child back then, along with the rest of the members of the empires. She managed to resurrect herself in another body, and then revealed herself later, only to fail in murdering anyone other than a very few civilians.  Sending me to finish her job show our differences, for where she enjoyed to terrorize only her targets, everyone was my target, especially if they were in my way. People oblivious to me: Gone. People running in fear of me: Distracting and gone. Anyone who challenged me: Fucking dead, or waiting to be dead. I didn’t like the fact that there were people whom were still alive. Especially Axeron.

The one thing the Boxeto and I did have in common was our mirror image of one another. It was like looking into a mirror, but the reflection was wrong. She was me, and I was not her. Yet, we were almost the same. We hated each other, but that caused us to work very well together. I did not know when nor why I started to call this thing “Mother,” but it never bothered me until this moment in the cell. I didn’t like her face at all before, but now, it was irritating to look at.

“Mother....” I had addressed her as such since the first time I'd “met” her. Before she was just a voice, a thing that move objects around when no one was looking. Sometimes I would get blamed for things, other times, I wouldn’t and everyone else would just be confused. When I did finally see her for the first time, her face didn’t bother me at all. As I got older, it was weird. When I figured out that she needed a new body, it became unsettling.

“Now, is that anyway to talk to me? It's been nearly 6 years Raven... Oh! That's right... your name is Alice, now isn't it?” Her eyes told me she didn’t like the name, as if it were my problem.

It’s always been Alice… “I like 'Alice'.” I said simply. I actually did like the name Alice, but that was the only thing I liked. The Boxeto smiled wider, as if amused.

<><><><><>

I was still a child when she began whispering secrets into my ears. I would hear her from time to time, knowing that words were coming from the walls, from the lights, from the floors, from people who weren't even aware of my presences. She would whisper things to drive me insane, and she was good at it. There was once a man who stood in the hallways, working the security cameras. She had frightened me into believing that he was going to install thousands of cameras all over my chamber walls, so he could watch me at all times. He was found with two screwdrivers in his eyes in an elevator. He was scheduled to be on my floor that day. After that, her whispers never went away.

Her voice wasn't like mine at all. We didn't sound the same. Her desires were in contrast to mine, though we shared the same distaste for the Mortals. Our only real connection was that we were both mad. We bonded well in that connection.

Like mother, like daughter, oui?

We would continue this way until the royal families decided to end my campaign of madness and her reign over my mind. She hadn't spoken to me since that day 6 years ago. Why she decided to show herself now, when I actually wanted her here (not really wanting her, but I wasn't going to say no), was beyond my understanding. It was almost mother-like for her to finally arrive, to give me the update I needed, to save me from my own psychological demise.

She must've wanted something from me if she was here. Right?

“Why are you here?” I asked after thinking about it. I'd forgotten that I hated her until I saw her again. She pissed me off, just looking at me with those eyes. I saw Dinah in the Boxeto's lap, purring as the goddess was petting her in the exact same manner I had. Her long black nails scratched up and down my cat's neck in a soft, slow motion, beckoning Dinah to stretch out her neck and accept more. My cat loved Mother. The Boxeto was her favorite person; she loved this ghost more than me. Traitor...

“You and I are too much alike...” She said that sadly, and I raised a brow.

“That bothers you now?”

“...No, just some nostalgia playing in my mind. When you're older, you'll understand...”

She’s lost her mind was the first thought that came to mind for me. She tilted her head to the side and started making a “tsk” sound two or three times.

“That's not very nice, now is it?” I forgot she could hear my thoughts.

“You haven't answered my question, Mother.” my hands weren't formed into fists as of yet, but they were close. I found her games annoying at best. It was hard enough dealing with a woman I was created from staring me in the face with her stupid smile, petting my cat right in front of me, but it was worse when she started talking out loud.

“Oh, is someone jealous?” She started petting Dinah more lovingly, something I wouldn't do, and the cat liked it. “You should already know the answer to that, my dear Raven.” She lifted Dinah up in the air and smiled up at her, the cat still purring happily. “Aww! You’re such a pretty kitty!” Dinah meowed and was brought back down into the ghost’s lap.

“No, I don't,” I said crudely. Maybe I was too rude, but it's not like either of us knew what manners were.

“Well, isn’t someone being rude!”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“You can’t say ‘Hi Mom, how are you?’ How hard is that?”

“You tried to swallow my soul and take my body, what do you expect me to do about that?”

“So? That’s not a reason to hold a grudge. You nitpick just like your father.”

“I don’t have a father!”

“Oh, yes, you do, and it is like listening to a remastered broken record every time I talk to you.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” the cop was calling from the desk, and the two of us fell silent.

“I’m talking to myself.”

“Well, keep it down! Some of us need sleep.”

“Okay, thank you.” He was still asleep, but more cooperative. The inmates in the other cells hadn’t said a word. They were silent, for whatever reason.

“Oh. So, you can be polite to a cop because he’s cute, but when it comes to your mother—"

“You’re not my real mom.” I whispered.

“—there’s no love lost in hurting her feelings.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” my whispering was starting to get louder.

I could only wonder if I was being as irritating to her as she was to me, purposely taunting another in front of you before losing yourself in the thought of tearing their heart from their chest. It would explain why others wanted to kill me so badly, if I had been just as cryptic as she was acting. No, I don't like puzzles, and I'm very blunt when it comes to ordering someone to do as I desired, and I was especially creative in describing the way I would torture a person. I'm sure the Boxeto just liked to fuck with me for the sake of humor, and she was good at it.

“Do you ever have dreams of when you were a child?” She asked me. She was genuinely curious, which was unusual for her. In fact, she had never asked me a question like that. It was so personal that I was thrown off mentally.

“You mean, do I remember my childhood. Somewhat; I’ve never really paid any mind to it. Why?”

“Do you remember your real name, before the Liddells took you in?”

“Does it really matter if I did or not?”

“No, but I’m curious.”

“Why do you care if I know or not?”

“Oh, I don’t care if you know at all. I’m more concerned with whether or not you care.”

“Are you here to help me out of this fucking cell, or are we just playing head games? Why are you here?”

“Ha! You see! I told you that you’re just like your father. You can’t even keep calm in a discussion without throwing out some vulgar language.”

“I’ve always talked like this!”

“So did your father.”

“Whatever. What do you want from me?”

“The Trials of the Royal family is about to begin. They are to murder all of their enemies of their persons and estates, and if they do not complete this, they lose their charge. Guess who’s still a living enemy of the Royal family?”

“Why do they bother to do that?”

“So they won’t have to deal with rivalry later, or better yet, assassinations. They can be quite dangerous, honestly.”

“So, why does that have to do with me?”

“They need to try to kill you.”

“Okay, but I’m not going to that.” She was smiling. “I’m not going to that. Why would I go to something where I’m supposed to be killed? That makes no sense.” She was still smiling. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“You’re going. You don’t have a choice.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Well, I have a daughter to talks to me like she’s a sailor…”

“You’re so childish.”

“How you have forget the laws of Amara...” She spoke so slowly, her own eyes turning from blue to red, as mine was now. She was up to something, and I didn't like it. “You have to return for the trials.”

“Fuck you, I'm not going...” I wasn't sure exactly what the trials were, but I had heard of them. It was a game of the royal families, to prove their worth to the thrones by systematically killing off all of their enemies in a hunting fashion. Anyone else who could kill the enemy before the family toke the place of whatever region they desired. “Do you just want me to die? Would it be easier to have other people kill me so you can have a body again?”

“You don't have a choice. You must also realize, it’s easier to take a soul when the subject is living. A corpse is like going in dry without a soul to keep it alive.”

“That was a gross example.”

“The point is, I’d rather have that body of yours without taking ten years to revitalize it to my liking. A body like yours lasts best when the own still lives inside of it. Taking it when you’re dead would prove uncomfortable.”

“Lucky me. So, if that’s the case, why do you want me to go?”

“Because you don’t have a choice.”

“Fuck you, how's that for a choice?” Her crimson stare flared for a second as she shifted her eyes to me, her smile left her face, and it was the first time I could truly see a resemblance between us. I looked just like her when she didn't smile. Since I never smiled once in my life (Except with Dinah on occasion) that was the only thing I could go with. The way she sat with that look on her face, the way she held her head, the way she stared in anger...  

For a moment, we were exactly alike, but then she smiled and her eyes went back to blue, and I immediately lost all traces of myself in that moment.

“And your mortals? You know that's why they were taken?” The smugness in her voice shocked me. My mortals?...

“What?” Now she was laughing, great... “Why would they take them? Lorina and Henry have nothing to do with any of this.”

“See, now you know... Why else are you still just sitting here? I just happened to be watching and wondering why you haven't made a move, so I thought a, how do you say... heads up, was in order.”

“That’s ridiculous! They shouldn’t have taken them in the first place. I haven’t been a threat to that family for years.” I didn’t entirely believe what she was saying, that the Royal families took my family just to get me back to their world. I didn’t want to believe they were that stupid, and I wouldn’t want to say that the Boxeto has never lied to me. In this circumstance, she had no reason to lie.

“Yes, well, if they cared about time, it would be an issue.” she said with words picked ever so delicately to piss me off.

“Is this the only reason why you stopped my shutdown? You want me to take another swing at the empires?”

“You know how to do the job, though not as efficiently as I would hope.”

“So, what, now I'm in debt to fulfill your obligations?” I was irritated. She only saved my mind so I could become her tool again. I thought this, but she reacted differently than what I expected.

She shook her head and said, “Not at all! You’re simply doing what you should have gotten done in the first place. If you can’t do that, then you’ll be dead. Simple.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Hey, what are you yelling? I thought I told you to keep it down!” The cop was awake again. I could hear his footsteps coming closer

One of her black nails of her fingers shot out a good three inches, and then she stuck it into my cat's neck. “I'll be nice, though, just for this once.” She ignored what I said, continuing on with whatever thought she had going on in her mind, “I don't want to spoil you that much, you know.” Dinah's eyes shone from yellow to green and finally to crimson, the same as mine. “You're going to need an ally for this, and one other whom you can trust. Unfortunately, it's not going to be me.”

“...How overjoyed I am for that. Why don’t you answer my question? What if I refuse?” Dinah jumped from the Boxeto and walked over to me, and her tiny, cute cat features twisted into the smile of a Cheshire cat. When I looked back up, the Boxeto was gone.

“I could answer that question, but I have for you, several times actually. However...” I heard the voice in my head and looked down. Dinah, who was still smiling like the Cheshire, hopped through the bars and stared right at Everson. He couldn't see me from where I was sitting, but I knew he could see Dinah. She howled, but not like a cat. She was howling the Dirge of Cerberus, the Boxeto's pet. Oh, fuck me.

“Hey! Why don't you learn to control that cat of yours?” He shouted from down the hall. Dinah's eyes flared with flames and her mouth open to form a fireball. Part of the floor that had been stained by my blood fell started to break apart like an earthquake. The cells that surrounded us fell into the ground, with prisoners shouting for mercy from whatever death awaited them. Everson managed to fall to his hands and knees instead of in the hole, somehow finding a place that wasn't infected.

“If you aren't going to move on your own, I'll just have to motivate you a little, my dear sweet Little one.”

“Fuck!” I rushed to the bar, grasping the metal tightly with my hands, and looked to try and find Everson. “Get the fuck out of the way, Human!” He could only stare at me, amazed.

“It is you! I fucking knew!” He drew his weapon, still on one hand and knees and acting as if that was going to do anything to me “You’re doing this!”

“That's not what--”

“Shut up! You're doing it! You fucking cu--” It was about then that he noticed Dinah growing a giant flame. I've learned over time that emotions don't make humans the most rational beings, and I suppose that when you're facing the murderer of your mate, you don't tend to notice a house cat building a fireball to shoot at your face. The officer started to stagger a bit, actually taking a step back.

Dinah let out a banshee's howl and shot the fireball at Everson. Fuck, was all I could gather in my mind. I don't know why I did it, but I did it, though I regret it now more than anything else I've done since my creation: somehow, I slowed down time. The effect, however, took place without the use of a Looking glass.

I had sped up fast enough for time to appear slower. I passed through the bars without issue, turning my body into a rushing mist of sand and blood, forming back again when I was past the metal, and I moved forward past the fireball. I watched it drag from my cat's throat towards the officer. With my right hand I grabbed the man from it's path and pulled him to the side, throwing him against the wall to my left. As soon as his back hit the wall, time had resumed its tick-tock method and everything was back to normal, except my cat was promoted into a demi-god that obeyed the Boxeto's every whim and I just saved a human. I saved a human, of all things, by throwing him out of the path of danger and taking the damage myself..

He'd been knocked out from the throw, so there was no worries about him trying to shoot me. I was on the ground, with burnt clothing and singed hair. It didn’t hurt too badly, not as much as I thought it would. I decided that if my kitten were to be a demi-god, she would have to be stronger than that. Then, after I thought the worse was over, the floor collapsed. Dinah, the cop, and I were all falling down into the darkness and beyond. The hole seemed empty for a foundation, and I knew, as well fell into a place of impossibility, that we were going to Amara.

I could only wonder if this is how the real Alice fell when she went down the rabbit hole...

History Lesson #15: Record of Dr. Crowley on the process of selecting staff for the RAVEN project.

30th of March, XX325; Log #1175-D: Lorina Whelpner Liddell and Henry Liddell.

Lorina Whelpner was the top developer in hormonal cloning and development of algorithm reconstruction, while Henry Liddell was the VIP Head Scientist of the Artificial Intelligence and Development of Biorobotics and Android Statistics and Reproduction. Ms. Whelpner was hand selected by myself, and approved by Professor Joulie, for her expertise in the development in turning organic materials into streaming and adaptable data. The process was created many years ago, but it was considered a dead end project when it was found that the data transferred from the organic materials were quick to corrupt in a non-organic computer. Ms. Whelpner had found an adaptable method to create the organic data and shift it's properties into the same DNA of copper, tricking inorganic machinery to read and accept the data without crashing or corruption. This will come as of some use with the Avalon treating.

Mr. Liddell was selected because of his studies in creating emotional and rational responses/reactions in A.I., creating the desire and dream of machines gaining  identity and consciousness. Works with the A.I. is a delicate procedure and malfunctions were often, but Mr. Liddell had managed to find a way to avoid this interference with this issue by creating a fail-safe glyph to disrupt an “manual over-rush shutdown”, a method of a machine's protection programming that prevents the wires from frying themselves from an emotional overload. Mr. Liddell was able to work around this overload by distributing the glyph like a nervous system. This glyph would protect the A.I. From destroying itself out of an emotional read over 10 32j by initiating a temporary hibernation state.

The talents of both of these renowned scientists were especially essential to my work of creating the Raven. If I could convince Professor Joulie to allow them into the Facilities and work, we might be able start the project immediately. It will take some convincing to entice the Liddells to join in the project, regardless of their ideas.

15th of July, XX325

I was surprised that the professor would agree with my decision to allow the couple to join in the works. I've known them since I was a child; the fact that my advisement of personnel with such a close connection to myself is, as the English would say, intriguing. Here, I believed the professor would decide against such a close relationship.

Since both of the Liddells were in the higher stages of Security, they were part of the select group called to start the project to create a living, organic bioroid—An android that is able to grow and develop just as a human, with organic material that can process foods and drinks equivalent to a living organism. It took 14 years to work on this secret organization, and during this time Lorina and Henry had found that they had a similar interest. This went against the organizaions interest in work and violated the policies of relations with other employees. Even though they had a relationship outside of the facility's reach, it was to be cut off at the door as soon as they entered. Even saying “Hello” while walking down the halls of the building was a danger of compromise.

18th of August, XX325

Professor Joulie has stated that the RAVEN project would begin with experiments within the next year, with the suggestion by the Liddells that the droid should be activated on 4th of March. Their obsession with that stupid tale is interfering with the project, I’m supposed to interject the idea that this thing would be their “new daughter,” without any resignation about it. I have spoken to both of them, over a night of dinner and wine, but convincing them that their idea was a mistake was near impossible.

I can only assume that the professor knows best about what we should do in this situation. I’ll speak with him tomorrow.

19th of December, XX328 (fractured log)

Professor Joulie is disappointed with the failure of the RAVEN droid.  He decided that an organic archetype is necessary to control and create the Droid. “A bioroid will only be approachable if we find a suitable body.”

The idea was unnerving. Heritage was a disadvantage for this, however. The professor would have to find a victim for such a thing, and yet it's existence is right under his nose. How sad this shall end, if Professor Joulie found out that I had the answer all along.

--End of Log--

1Looking Glass, the: A sacred ritualistic artifact of the Veilios, often used for tearing the “Veil”