#wheelchair because he has like the breathing tubes right and its like connected to an air canister i dont know i havent researched

[impostorsshow]

Cries I'm binging Scars episodes of secret life, on episode 8 right now and the way he's so distrustful of everyone and keeps saying "no-dont- no more hurting,every time someone says [I'll help you] that they hurt me" I always see those posts about how the traffic light series is giving trauma to the characters but I NEVER WATCH THE LATER EPISODES I GET IT NOW I NEED TO GO BACK AND READ ALL OF THE TRAFFIC LIGHT FICS can someone tell me what tag its under for ao3 because ts gone through like 4 name changes

[garbageismydomain]

A Legend Examined

Hello there @huxloween peeps. I was considering trying to do so Goatman nonsense because Maryland, but I ended up going with something similar to the first story I wrote for this Huxloween. I think it’s more interesting than a goat demon thing.

“So you’re telling me,” the blonde girl began as she slipped through the rusted iron door behind her friend. “ That this is where the war criminals Kylo Ren and General Hux spent their final days after the First Order fell.”

“That’s what my family said.” The other girl replied in a hushed tone, swinging her flashlight from side to side in the old ruin.

“That’s bantha shit Hasina,” the blonde girl replied in a equally hushed tone. “Why in Chao’s name would they have settled on a core world when they were the most wanted men in the galaxy?”

Hasina shrugged in reply.

“That’s just what my family said. My family has been here almost since the destruction of the Hosnian system. The planet was mostly uninhabited then.” She gently grasped the crumbling knob of a closet and turned the handle. There was a grinding of rusted metal and then a click. It swung outwards.

“I don’t believe a bit of it,” the blonde replied, waving her hand in front of her face to chase away the dust motes that opening the closet had unleashed. Hasina swung around and shined the flashlight in her face.

“Then way did you come Ilian?” she asked, matter of factly. Ilian shaded her eyes from the light and thought for a moment.

“I didn’t want you to fall down and break something in this old ruin and die alone.” Ilian answered. Hasina knew she was lying.

“Okay,” she responded, turning back to the closet to begin sifting through it.

“That’s the truth.” Ilian insisted.

“I believe you,” Hasina answered, running a hand over the moth eaten jackets hanging in front of her. Few of them were in any shape to tell what gender was meant to wear them, let alone if they belonged to ancient war criminals. Hasina stepped back and closed the door. She turned and pushed further into the house, Ilian following silently.

Swinging her flashlight, Hasina caught a glint of glass. Somehow not as dusty as the rest of the furniture around them. She reached forward and picked it up. It was a photo.

“What does your family say they did here?” Ilian asked, standing on her toes to look over Hasina’s shoulder as she wiped off the little dust from the glass of the frame.

“Assumed fake names, kept to themselves.” Hasina answered, studying the ancient flimsy photo. The colors had faded over the generations it had sat here. In the photo were two men in coveralls hugging each other. From the little she could make out, it appeared that one had curly hair and glasses, and the other long hair. They were smiling.

“And no one called the New Republic?” Ilian wondered, stepping back and looking at the various art reproductions on the walls.

“Oh, no,” Hasina said, placing the frame back on the table and turning to Ilian. “The Republic was called, they investigated, and determined that it wasn’t them.”

Ilian narrowed her eyes and scowled.

“Then why are we here getting covered in dust and probably spiders?” Ilian hissed.

“Because it was definitely them. Kylo Ren was a powerful Force user and the New Republic didn’t have anyone that could handle that type of interrogation.” Hasina concluded, shining her flashlight around and moving from the hallway into what looked like a sitting room. If not for the dust and the moths eating the fabric, the place would be immaculate. It was rare that houses once abandoned weren’t ransacked, but people avoided this place.

“What about the new Jedi order?”Ilian countered, moving to a side table and examining the various knick-knacks sitting there.

“No one could find them.” Hasina offered, moving to examine a painting. It had no dust on it at all, as if someone had just been here cleaning it. “After the war and the death of Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker took his Jedi into the unknown regions and no one ever heard from them again. Ilian, come here.” She called.

Ilian set the crystal she had been examining back in its cradle and joined Hasina.

“Whoa,” she said. “I thought you said people didn’t come here.” She accused.

“They don’t,” she stammered in response. The hackles on the back of her neck stood up as she continued. “You saw the door, the rust on the hinges. No one had opened it in ages.” Her heart was pounding in her chest now.

“No.” Ilian whispered, voice sounding small.

“This painting,” Hasina said, moving the beam of her flashlight up. She hadn’t recognized it due to the darkness but she knew what it was now. She had just seen the red pillar, but now the bending evergreens and waves of snow. This was an original painting of the Starkiller being fired, from the perspective of the man who had fired it. “Oh gods,” she choked, feeling the tears well in her eyes. There was creaking from somewhere behind them and before they could catch sight of the hunched figure that had stalked up behind them everything went black.

Hasina came to on a cot in a small holding cell. Everything around her smelled of moss and mold. She was in a cellar. She looked up. She saw Ilian stirring on a table outside of the cage she was in. Ilian began to struggle, she was strapped down.

“Hasina?!” she cried, struggling harder. “Hasina!?”

“I’m right here,” Hasina croaked out, still groggy.

“Where are we?” Ilian wept.

“You’re in the cellar of the house you foolishly chose to break into, child.” A clipped core accent came from somewhere in the dark corners. Slowly a wheelchair rolled into the light. It was a hunched over old man in a black robe. As he pulled back the hood Hasina could see that his eyes were milky white from age and his hair was white as snow. But with the high cheekbones and the painting in the sitting room, immaculately kept . . .

“Starkiller.” She gasped. The man laughed.

“Clever girl. But not so clever as to not come wandering into an old house and disturbing the old bones that reside here.”He said, rolling over to Ilian’s side.

“And how nice of you to come in a pair. And so young. Perfect for our needs.”

“Our?” Hasina hissed, anger overtaking her fear. “So you’re using the royal ‘we’ like you actually conquered the galaxy?”

The Starkiller clicked his tongue.

“So brash. No girl, my Knight is here too.”

There was a shifting again from the dark. With a low grinding sound of metal being dragged across stone a hulking mass shuffled into the light. The man was hunched with age just as the Starkiller but was still muscular. He dropped the bag of tools next to the table. Leaning over Ilian. Ilian began to scream but the hand of the figure curled by his side and she began to choke.

“No too much darling,” the Starkiller cooed to the Knight. “They need to be alive for the transfer.” The figure’s hand relaxed and Ilian began to cough, gasping in breath after breath. The Knight looked at the man in the wheelchair and leaned in to kiss him.

The Knight moved away and began pulling tubes and needles from the bag he’d dragged in, slowly attaching them to Ilain’s crying form. Here and there she shrieked but would receive a slap every time. Hasina was sobbing hard enough she thought she might be sick, but she couldn’t stop. This was her fault.

“It’s time,” came a deep voice that she hadn’t heard before. It reminded her of the sound of a stone door being rolled open.

The Knight moved away from the table where Ilian was shaking, throat sore enough that she could make no sound as she sobbed. He hefted the old Starkiller into his arms and then set him gently down in a pod that was connected to the tubing hanging out of her friend. With a kiss the Knight sealed the pod’s chamber and moved to the control system the was on the opposite side of the room.

Hasina was hypnotized while she watched the man flip switches and adjust dials. There was a humming coming from the room around them. And then Ilian began to scream. Hasina’s eyes snapped to her friend. On the table she was writhing and screaming as Hasina had never heard her scream. It was pure agony beyond anything she’d ever known. Slowly, as the humming grew louder Iliana seemed to shrink. It was like watching a fruit dry in the sun in time lapse. One moment she was springy and young, in the next she looked like a husk.

The humming died down and eventually stopped. The Knight moved from the machine and to the pod, unlocking the chamber and offering a hand to the man inside. A pale hand gripped the Knight’s gloved one and in a roll of steam out stepped the Starkiller, just as he had looked the day he had destroyed the Hosnian system. Hair blazing red, eyes clear and green. He took a deep breath and shivered. Momentarily he was wrapped in a black silk robe.

“Now for you my love,” he whispered into his Knight’s shoulder. The figure nodded, turning to Hasina.

The last thing she’d think of as the agony over took her was the burning yellow of the Knight’s eyes.

[sweetbtsboys]

BTS Hospital AU - Smile Again so My Heart Won’t Stop (Chpt.1)

It was rain. It was rain that slid down the car windows as Park Jimin's broken heart was taken to the hospital, but his heart wasn't broken metaphorically, no, it was broken literally. Since birth, Jimin has suffered from Cardiac Arrhythmia. To put it simply; Jimin's heart can beat irregularly, too fast, or too slow, at any given time, and honestly; he's scared. Terrified in fact, because he's about to move into a hospital he's never been too, with people he's never met, and all because he can't make it up a flight of stairs without being incredibly out of breath. A striped, oversized sweater hugs his small form as his leg nervously bounces in his ripped skinny jeans. There's a blue duffle bag at his side, filled to the brim with the essentials, and before another worry can pop into his head the car stops: he has arrived.

Surely the hospital looks better in sunlight, but right now it looks like a haunted asylum. Clouds hung over the grey building like ghosts as rain stained the structures sides. Jimin jumps at the sudden hand on his shoulder before turning around to see a sad smile adorning his mom’s face.

"Come on, sweetie. Let's get you checked in."

-

His room could be worse, he admits, much worse. There were two beds, both of them empty, but one having tousled sheets and various things thrown around the bed. A pair of expensive looking headphones were tangled within the blankets as well as a sleek laptop poking out from under the pillow. A drawn curtain besides the currently vacant bed revealed a much neater looking one; presumably Jimin's. Picking up his heavy belongings he plopped his bag, along with himself, down onto his bed. A smile forced its way onto his face as he looked out the large window by his side in wonder. A green forest, dripping with dew, was shielding the horizon from his gaze. Birds flew over treetops, and flowers peeked up through the tall grass. The back of the hospital was completely overthrown by nature, and Jimin loved it.

Within an hour he was left panting on his bed; the sheets changed to his light blue ones, his soft blankets smelling of home underneath him, his laptop and phone charging on the windowsill, and a small plant (lovingly given to him by his mom) on his bedside table. It was sad that he was so void of breath just from these simple things, really it was, but before he could pity himself any longer the door opened behind him. Turning around he was met with ghostly white skin, and eyes dark as night. Pale and pouty lips opened, and soon the strangers raspy voice could be heard from him as he sat in his wheelchair.

“Hey… are you Jimin?” The boy asked.

“Yea, I’m Jimin. I just got here, are you my roommate?” Jimin answered nervously, situating himself so that he was seated on his bed but facing the other.

“That’d be me. I’m Yoongi. Um, you’re not sensitive to vomit are you?” He asked as he wheeled himself closer to Jimin.

“Not particularly, why?” Jimin studied the boy’s face in awe at his angelic beauty, his sugar white skin.

“I’ve been diagnosed with Peritonitis, basically my insides are inflamed and I throw up sometimes. I just wanted to make sure you’re not too squeamish before you move in.”

“No that’s okay - I mean it’s not okay, but I don’t mind - not that I don’t mind you being in pain - God I’m sorry…” Jimin rambled as he placed his hands over his reddening face. He was so nervous, so very nervous, and before he could panic anymore Yoongi spoke with a surprisingly soft voice.

“Hey… it’s okay, kid. I know it’s scary coming here for the first time, but it’s not too bad. There’s a whole group of us boys on this hall. We go to a “support group” together. You’ll probably join us soon.” Yoongi said, and then he smiled, he actually smiled, and by god Jimin thought his heart stopped then and there.

“Okay, cool. I’m okay now. Sorry about that.” Jimin spoke as he smiled at the stranger.

Before the conversation could deepen a small, old looking nurse came in, and made her way over to Jimin. She introduced herself as his nurse from now on, saying that each day she’ll come and check on his vitals; that sort of thing. Once she left, the door clicking as it closed, Yoongi continued the conversation.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what brought you here?” The other said as he heaved himself onto his bed, wincing in pain occasionally. Opting to just answer instead of asking if he was okay or if he needed help, Jimin responded, “I have Cardiac Arrhythmia. My heart’s all messed up.”

Yoongi hummed in response, situating himself up against the headboard of his bed, and placing his laptop on his skinny legs. Not wanting to disturb him in whatever he was doing, Jimin pulled out his current favorite book, and let the words take him away, far away.

-

At some point the small boy must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew Yoongi was gently shaking him awake. Jimin groaned tiredly and sat up slowly, taking some panicked moments to realise where he was, and then turned to look at Yoongi sitting in his wheelchair.

“Sorry to wake you up, but that group of guys I mentioned earlier are meeting now. I called it a support group but we really just hang out for a while. You should come.” Yoongi asked, secretly hoping that his new adorable roommate would say yes.

“Um, sure!” Jimin chirped with a sleepy smile. Yoongi didn’t know how much of that smile he could take.

The two only made it about ten feet down the bland hall before a nurse stopped Jimin, saying, “Jimin! You should use an oxygen cannula whenever walk somewhere okay?”

Before Jimin could ask what the Hell a cannula was the nurse stuck two little tubes up his nose that were connected to a longer tube tucked behind his ears. She connected the whole thing to an oxygen tank that he could easily pull around with him.

“There!” The woman said with a smile as she clapped her hands. After Jimin thanked her the pair continued down the hall, Jimin dragging the oxygen tank behind him, until they reached a small room to the left. Stepping inside this room was like stepping into another universe. The atmosphere was completely different, filled with laughter and warmth, with the smell of fresh cotton. There was one large window that spanned the length of the room, and books scattered across the floor. The room was already nearly filled to its bursting point, with five boys already seated in a circle on the floor. Jimin realised that he’d be okay here.

One boy had an oxygen cannula as well, and another boy with dirty blonde hair and a box smile (and a somewhat deep voice for his child-like features) announced, “Hey it’s Yoongi hyung! Hyung, who’s that?” The boy questioned as he smiled at Jimin.

“This is Jimin, my new roommate.”

“Hey Jimin!” The other exclaimed as he bounced over to Jimin and shook his hand. Jimin giggled, trying to push away his nerves, and replied with a sweet, “Hello, what’s your name?”

“I’m Tae!” He said with glee, returning the happy smile. Jimin looked down and noticed Tae’s shoes, slippers to be exact, Gucci slippers.

“Hey Jimin!” A boy with a heart shaped smile and orange hair said from the floor, which prompted a chorus of greetings to Jimin. He sat down as carefully as he could without getting tangled in oxygen chords, and smiled around at everybody, taking in their faces. Every one of them was surprisingly good looking, each having their own charm.

“Here I’ll introduce you to everybody.” The orange haired boy said.

“I’m Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi. I’m here cause I have Hemophilia, meaning that my blood doesn’t clot normally. That’s Jin hyung, he’s got Leukemia. That’s Jungkook, he has severe asthma. That’s Tae, he has Epilepsy. That’s Namjoon hyung, he’s recovering from depression. And you know Yoongi hyung!” Hobi finished, clearly having to introduce everyone before. Jimin just nodded and smiled as he tried his best to take in all that information.

“Our rooms are scattered all around this hall so if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask.” A brunette who Jimin assumed to be Jin spoke with a warm smile. Thinking it only fair to introduce himself too Jimin took a deep breath and replied, “Thank you! As you know I’m Jimin. I have Cardiac Arrhythmia. Um, let’s see, I’m nineteen-”

“Oh you’re a youngin’!” Jin exclaimed with adoration. With a smile Jimin nodded, charming everyone with his cuteness.

-

After about two hours Jimin didn’t ever want to leave this room of safety and comfort. The seven boys had ordered pizza and were all chatting amongst each other. A burnt and solemn orange light from the setting sun cast itself across the room, and once again Jimin found himself smiling for a reason unknown. Taehyung had stuck to his side like glue for the majority of the time, showing him his Gucci slippers and talking about anime. Jimin felt comfortable with Tae almost immediately; like the two were long lost brothers. He had talked to the others two, Hobi had asked Jimin about his family, making him feel cared for and warm. While Yoongi and Namjoon talked about music, or at least that’s what Jimin thinks he heard over all the other cheerful voices, Jin shared some of his (amazing) puns.

“Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl go to the bathroom? Because the “P” is silent.” Before anyone could laugh at his joke Jin was already cackling, face turning red. Jimin covered his mouth as he laughed and fell into Yoongi’s side. Yoongi let out a breathy laugh and asked, “You actually find that funny?”

Jimin nodded, still covering his face with his hands.

“Woah! Your hands are so small and cute!” Hobi chimed. Jimin balled them into fists and shoved them into his lap, but to-no-avail, Tae grabbed his tiny fists and compared them to his own ginormous hands.

“Put your pinky next to mine!” Tae said with a deep laugh resonating through his body. Jimin reluctantly obliged and soon the room erupted with laughters and, “So cute!”

Jimin didn’t mind the embarrassment, didn’t mind the homesickness, because this was his home. And God did he love it.

“Jimin let’s head back to our room. It’s getting a little late and you look pretty tired.” Yoongi commented, his hand on the younger’s shoulder. He was right, Jimin was tired, exhausted actually. After agreeing and bidding everyone goodbye and a good night's sleep, Jimin waited for Yoongi to get situated in his wheelchair, grabbed his oxygen tank, and made his way down the hall. Outside of that small room, that beautiful universe, it was cold. The halls were quiet and dimly lit, the only sound the beeping of various machines to sustain life, but soon the hall was filled with laughter, and giggles, and snorts, as the other boys exited their shelter. he sudden panic melted away, and Jimin thought; as long as he has the boys he’ll be alright.

Their room was freezing and dark as night, the rain drumming off the windows. Jimin flicked the light on after letting Yoongi pass in his wheelchair and visibly shivered.

“You cold?” Yoongi questioned as he tried to maneuver himself into his bed, but before Jimin could even think to answer the older winced and let out a pained groan. Jimin made his way over as quickly as he could without tripping himself in the tangle of tubes helping him breathe, and asked with worry, “Are you okay, hyung? Do you need help?”

Yoongi nodded and breathed harshly, his face still etched with pain. Jimin lifted his arms under Yoongi’s and heaved him up onto the bed, moving the wheelchair out of the way, and sitting next to him to catch his breath. He placed his small hand over his pounding heart, closing his eyes. Regret hit Yoongi as soon as he saw the poor boy, and he said sheepishly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have made you do that. Are you alright?”

Jimin opened his eyes and stared at the other’s pale face, skin nearly glistening with blue veins, barely visible in flesh, dark eyes clouded in evident worry.

“Yeah, I’m alright. It doesn’t take much to make me out of breath does it?” Jimin replied with a smile as he tried to hide his fear of his worsening condition. The other merely nodded before saying, “Our bathroom’s right over there,” he pointed to the bathroom at the foot of Jimin’s bed, “you can just shove my stuff aside. I’m already in what I sleep so I’m gonna go to bed surprisingly.”

Jimin replied with a simple, “Okay.” deciding to take note on his hyung’s use of the word “surprisingly.” Ruffling around in his bag he found his grey sweatpants and his oversized hoodie, and after finishing what he needed to do before bed, he shuffled to the other side of the room. Jimin turned around at the other, all tucked in under his blankets, and said, “Goodnight, hyung.”

He flicked the light out, and all was black.

[driftwork]

a station where life ended (beta and final)

1.Every walker, wrapped up in himself, perhaps walking through meadows, across a common, standing on the flat roofs of a building, is alone even when they are standing with others, the daylight effectively  binds them together, connects them in the network of an enormous web. Consider how as they walk across the common for the very last time, the three men are screaming in fury into their smart phones (whoever thought given them phones was a good idea?) they are disconnected from everything, from themselves and from one another.  Passing the bystanders that they terrify, disconnected from the bushes, grass, trees and tarmac, as they walk the last 100 metres along the pavement to the station, enjoying the fear and terror they cause. Let us introduce the soon to be dead and the one who is to be hospitalized. Stuart Hall, Apple and Seb Brown walked along the platform, cropped hair, shaved heads, exercise pants, jeans, Doc Martens, big muscular strides -  Hall's jacket said "White", Apple and Brown's advertised the latest fascist party. Brown was the shorter of the three, six convictions for assault, two cases of rape that failed in the court. His first conviction was at fifteen for beating a young man into a coma. It only got increasingly violent from there. His arms, like his friends covered in swastikas and other symbols of fascism. Hall and Apple had another five convictions between them. Hall had a shiny metal baseball bat. Apple,  well the less said about Apples love of inflicting pain and suffering the better. Their social imaginaries are full of thoughts of being the descendants of fascist warriors, worshippers of Mars. You might want to ask what constructed these three violent walkers who are about to meet their end, what kind of society made them, in actuality little can be said that you will not have heard before.  There is (a) CCTV video of the three of them walking across the station forecourt, onto the platform and everything that followed. They started by damaging the notice boards in the ticketing hall. They tormented a middle aged woman who became frightened and ran off out of the station. They walked southwards along the platform hitting vacant seats and the metal uprights of the canopy. At the far end of the platform there were some more benches. And then they discovered her sitting on the bench. A Japanese or Chinese woman , She was in her 30s. Black shiny hair tied back, black leather jacket zipped closed, dark grey leggings with shiny black ankle boots, a brown leather bag with strap work across her body. A housewife or an office worker they thought, a husband at home with the children. Easily scared. The three of them approached her in a line,  "Hey girl had a fuck today ?" She ignored them.  The warrior waited she hoped they would simply go away. It had been a long day.  She was tired, Eyes half closed, half asleep. looking out onto the railway tracks. Brown prodded her.  She ignored him, not moving. They thought she was scared hoping for a train or rescue. Brown and Hall were both increasingly incensed, angry at being ignored. Apple slower to anger enjoying the build of Adrenalin. So Brown took his butterfly knife out of his jacket pocket, Hall swung the baseball bat to one side.  She still  didn't move. She didn't react. Brown waved the knife across her chest,  a fraction of a centimetre from her chest, closer each time,  the third time cutting a slice into the surface her leather jacket. It could not penetrate the kelver protection in the lining of the jacket. He screamed "........ abuse abuse blah blah etc etc... " An accountant standing on the other platform on his way home, coincidentally from some meetings at the police station, was on the phone to the police, he told the police later that it all happened so fast that he could scarcely believe it.  The station CCTV cameras recorded the three men's abusive behavior, showing their demise in glorious technicolor. Brown swung the knife again and Hall and Apple cheered.  She grabbed his hand with her right hand and hit Browns arm with such force that she fractured his elbow joint, pushing the hand holding the knife along the swing towards Browns body, the blade went straight through his ribs  and buried itself in his lung. She rose pivoting and punching him in the throat. It was a perfect dance move, liquid, modern, precise. Brown fell to the ground and died almost immediately.  She continued the fluid movement and stepped to the left away from Brown's body. What is the destiny of the warrior? The warrior turned facing Hall and watched the third man who was slightly further away by the platform edge. Neither Hall nor Apple knew whether to fight or flee. Hall simply made the wrong decision, because she still looked like a Japanese or Chinese housewife to him. He attacked with the baseball bat, it never made contact,  she stepped forward and punched him twice in the throat. He fell down gasping for breath and when his heart stopped in the ambulance he had to be resuscitated. Apple should have run at this point but instead attacked, she pirouetted on one foot, slightly overbalanced and her arms spread out to stabilize and attacked him with elegant ferocity, fracturing his ribs and  punching him multiple times in the face and throat. Apple fell back onto the rail tracks the back of his head hitting the steel rail with a horrible wet thud and lay staring at the sky.  She surveyed the damage she had inflicted on her attackers.  Visibly sighed and sat down on the bench and waited for the police. When the police arrived they found  a man with a knife in his chest, another dying on the railway tracks and the third gasping for breath. She was  on the phone speaking to someone.

2.The police took her to Mugeyeong police station which  is the main office of the serious crime and homicide division in the area. It is a pretty standard regional police station, two and a half floors, concrete steps and a wheelchair ramp going up to the ground floor main entrance. It is a forty year old systems building, last refurbished ten years ago. It is about 80 metres across and 20 meters high. The roof is flat with a concrete balustrade, behind which solar panels can be seen facing southwards. The building has a concrete frame within which the prefabricated components of the window sections are slotted between the grey concrete uprights. The lower half of each section containing pale blue panels that are fading from the sun and weather, the upper half being made up of sealed triple glazed window units with Venetian style blinds hanging inside the inner unit. Some of the offices have roller blinds on the inside of the windows. There are fire exits at both ends of the building and a rear entrance.  There are floodlights pointing forward at the car park in front of the building. It is still light when they arrive and she makes them pause  so she can survey the building. The  woman police tries to pull her forward but cannot make her move. They take her to the front desk and try to book her in. She refuses to say a word. Her face expressionless under the led and tube lighting. They book her in under nameless, identity unknown and take her upstairs to the offices for interviewing and further investigation.

3.[Defense lawyers]: Not long after the police arrive at the police station we received a call  - A client has just called and asked for a lawyer to take a case, please go to Mugeyeong police station. What is the case ? we asked,  I don't know the details,  an important client has been arrested and is at the police station.  It involved some people dying, that was all they knew. She is very important.   The inside of the police station is mostly painted in municipal grey and with the pale blue that the police seem to prefer. The section of the floor she was being held in is an open plan office with three sets of desks arranged in groups of 7,  the dividers are a soft grey colour with white boards strategically arranged. each desk having one or two monitors, with tough laptops or low profile desktop computers. Photons flood the room from led lights set into the ceiling, some of the desks have additional desk lamps, strip lighting or angle-poise lamps. There is the low humming from the air heat exchange unit.  The detectives on the floor are dressed in various styles of business casual clothing, shirts, tee shirts, jeans, trousers, trainers or boots. Its 2/3rds men and 1/3rd women. There are a few officers dressed in the local police uniforms.  She is escorted onto the floor and passed over to the duty inspector who in turn hands her over to Detective Inspector Ross. It's sometime after nine when we arrive, when its an important client we always travel in pairs, in this case myself and my assistant. Detective Inspector Ross was waiting for us at his desk, situated at the end of the third row of desks.  Ross had interrogated  thousands of people over the years and was  extremely effective  at interviewing suspects and extracting confessions from them. He was meeting a wall of patient silence. He was just back from holiday and was already wishing he'd taken a few extra days off to avoid this case.  There is a tendency for interrogators to shout and browbeat  suspects/witnesses who are too silent, in this case Ross had taken one look at the CCTV footage and knew there was no advantage in using aggression. He judged that it might even be dangerous. It took about fifteen minutes for us to get through to the room where they were keeping her.  She had not said a word, hadn’t even looked interested. They tried various european languages, then mandarin, korean, and finally  japanese, she had smiled at their bad pronunciation. They had taken photographs,  fingerprints, checked her wallet and bag. She had refused to take off or unzip her jacket. They were trying to find her details so that they could log the crime, identifying her as either a victim or an aggressor. In the outer office there had been a steady stream of police viewing the CCTV recordings: "Christ, look at that, how did she do that ?" was the immediate response. The video was copied onto PC’s and IPADs and eventually uploaded where it stayed for half a week before vanishing. The accountant and a few other witnesses were interviewed which established that the three men had threatened and attacked her after verbally threatening and abusing the woman further down the platform [...] DI Ross was unusually pleased to see us,  the police normally prefer to interrogate people without our presence, but to our surprise, he said “We are getting  absolutely nowhere, she is simply refusing to cooperate. Perhaps she will speak now you are here"  We went into the dark green painted interrogation room and tried to speak with her,  she thanked us for attending but said nothing except for....  "I haven't eaten since lunch, is it possible, for me to have something to eat, perhaps some tea and water ?". My assistant went down to the canteen on the ground floor and came back with a couple of sandwiches, chicken and bacon and a cheese sandwich, a cup of tea and a bottle of water. She scraped the mayo off the chicken and bacon sandwich. She wolfed the sandwiches down in a predatory fashion. "I was starving" she said sipping her tea as  Ross returned with his Sergeant and tried to question her again, whilst we sat beside her. This continued throughout the night.  A trace of a smile appeared on her face at around 5 AM. She asked for water when the Sergeant went out for drinks. We went and sat in Ross's office drinking coffee from the star buck's next door that had opened at 6AM.  We watched the video a few more times. She asked for a breakfast sandwich. 

4.I said, we said, to Ross that it was a classic case of self defense. "True, but something about her is wrong. She is obviously waiting for something but what ?" I agree, I said, but you have no possibility of holding her. If she starts speaking about it, it may get even worse. "We have two dead men and a man in a coma, I would like to charge with manslaughter."  But it was clearly self-defense, we have witnesses and video to prove it. Nobody would charge her and expect a conviction. This was the core of our discussion about the event and continued all night. At seven AM Ross phoned his Detective Chief Superintendent, who begrudgingly came to the station on the way to his office. We all sat down in the glass walled meeting room around the table at around eight AM. He read the testimony of the witnesses three of four times. Then watched the video from where the three men entered the station to when the police arrived. He watched the fight sequence half a dozen times. "That is one dangerous woman." He told the technical sergeant to turn it off and looked at us expectantly."I'd like to hold her with a view to arresting her for manslaughter, failing that,  failing that excessive violent defense. The excess being the knife in the man's chest and the two punches in his throat and the kicks..."  Ross said."Go ahead" he said looking at me and my assistant. "That is insane,  she was assaulted by a man with a knife, another with a baseball bat and... so of course she is allowed to defend herself. DI Ross knows that he cannot possibly believe that with this evidence he could take this case to a jury.""Ross, Have you been able to establish her name ?""Not yet,  she won't speak""And I cannot tell you who she is, as I have been asked not to. I can supply details of the client through the office which contacted us. It's ten, eleven hours since she was brought here. There is no chance of any successful prosecution."(I had no idea who she was and only found out later) "...Nor is the accused obliged to identify herself, she after all has done nothing illegal or wrong. Nor has she been cautioned. So she is allowed, encouraged to remain silent.""Is there any known relationship between the victims and the woman ?""We don't have any information about that" Ross said."Do we  have anything about her from our files ? fingerprints, dna etc. Is there evidence of any crimes ?"”Nothing at all. There are no records. If we arrest her, then we may find other things ...”“A charge that there is no chance of successfully prosecuting...” I Interjected.Ross groaned. To the DCS's visible amusement. "The complete autopsy reports have not been delivered...."The DCS looked cynically at him - "Well the two dead men certainly did not die of heart attacks or old age." The DCS grunted as he looked at the paperwork again, he told the Duty Sergeant to go and fetch her.  She came in carrying a bottle of water that she collected on the way from the interview room. I could see her scanning the open plan office as she walked towards the meeting room.  We talked and exchanged a few more views, more or less repeating what we had said  when she wasn't there. We repeated the conversation just so that she knew what we were talking and thinking about. She sat facing the door and looking out of the room into the station towards the exit. She was looking pale and tired. Sergeant Taylor came into the room carrying a breakfast roll, a drinking yogurt and an orange juice. She handed it to the woman. She nodded her thanks and started to eat the roll. It was now after 9am, the morning shift was arriving,  people looked with interest at the room, understandably curious at what was going on. She was looking with interest at us speaking. She looked as if she wanted to join in the discussion but wisely kept silent. The DCS asked her a few questions which she did not reply to. He told her that he thought she was very irritating. She looked like she wanted to smile at him."O.K. In fact I think your grasping at straws, Ross. I have heard enough." He stretched back into his chair. " The issue of self-defense is pretty clear, if someone is attacked with a knife  and a baseball bat, a person is allowed to defend themselves so that the attack is ended. There is no way the prosecution people could win this case."He looked between the four of us before facing her.  "Ross is right it is an unusual case. I think the calmness with which which you faced the attackers/and/victims alarming. But I do not think that excessive violence was used. Which is also demonstrated that the third man will be prosecuted when we can do so..." He paused and looked at Ross who shrugged." Your request for an arrest warrant is refused. The witness/accused is to be released." The sergeant began to prepare the discharge paperwork.  Ross was about to answer when she suddenly smiled. Beamed, the tiredness flickering away. She was looking past him across the room, what she was waiting for arriving. "They have come for me..."The DCS turned and looked at the man who he recognized and his Sergeant who were walking across the room."Is that who you mean ?" "yes, and that's his DI/Sergeant..." The five of us watched them walk across the room, the duty Inspector intercepts them to say good morning. 

5. Leaving...He phoned at around 6AM apologizing to her, asking if she could come and look after their child. He explained  why and where he was going, she arrived around 8 AM limping up the path her left leg in a support, he couldn’t manage to ask how she was. She looked at the control he was struggling to maintain and immediately took over dressing the child ready for the morning. He packed a change of clothes for his wife in the traveling bag. His sergeant,  actually she was a DI, but he always referred to her as his sergeant arrived around 8.15. You came ? he said to her as he made more coffee. Yes, I came to make sure we walk her out of the station, I'm better for this than anyone else. The babysitter was feeding breakfast and chatting to his daughter as they left. At the station She parked the deep blue colored Porsche Cayanne in front of the station. She had taken the keys from his hands before they left, I'll drive, you might crash. She parked in a disabled spot, put the police badge on the dashboard. They walked to the front desk hanging identification lanyards around their necks. We've come to see a witness you have upstairs, you don't have a name for her. My name however is, waving the Id pass at them.  They signed into the computer system. She refused to give a name - the desk sergeant said.  Good, that is what I told her to do. He told him.  The sergeant looked disconcerted and  told a constable to take them upstairs. They arrived with the constable who directed them to the meeting room, he was walking them along the passageway between the desks when the duty inspector intercepted them, offering his hand, taking a slightly obsequious stance.  Asking if there was anything he could help them with. He gestured at the meeting room, saying something. The defense lawyers reviewed and then signed the discharge papers for her. She was about to be discharged from the meeting room, she was given  her bag, it's contents and the other objects. She was looking better, happy, the tiredness flickering away. She was looking across the room as she took her copy of the paperwork.  She took a few of the defense lawyers business cards. She suddenly smiled, and spoke for the third or fourth time "They have come for me..." Ross was about to answer. She was beaming, the tiredness flickering away. She was looking past him across the office. The DCS turned and looked at the man who he recognized and his Sergeant who were walking across the room.   "Thank you. I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble.  Do you want a witness statement from me, later? "  The DCS took Ross to greet them, they left the door open.  The man said something shook the DCS's hand, said hello to Ross. Followed them into the meeting room. "I brought a change of clothing, you should change before I take you home."  The constable escorted them to the disabled toilet. She stepped in, he offered the bag to her and she grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the room with her. The constable leaned against the partition wall and listened to her moving, them talking, telling him what had happened, as she changed, water ran, washed, sat on the toilet, washed again, dressed, tied her her back with a clean hairband.  She emerged wearing clean black leggings, a cream silk shirt that ended at her waist with half sleeves, tattoos emerging from her sleeves, her slightly round stomach more obviously sticking out carrying her damaged jacket over her arm. The constable looked at her obviously pregnant body. "Congratulations. How many weeks ?" "Three or four months, I've lost track..." He was carrying the bag with the clothes.  His DI/Sergeant watched the CCTV, read the witness statements. Looked around the meeting room with a rueful and wintry smile. "So no charges. A sensible result.  A pregnant woman kills a man who is attacking her with a knife, imagine taking that to court, never going to work. If you need her as a witness for their prosecution you can contact her through our office."  Ross and the Defense lawyers watched them drive off in the Porsche.

6.Later after having a shower she came downstairs and put her cool hands on his face, the babysitter and the DI/sergeant both looked at her stroking his face.  He lent back into her body as she hugged him.  “Thanks for rescuing me...” The DI looked at them both, “I have to go and be shouted at by our, your boss. She may call you to harangue you later. Expect no sympathy from me...” “I will have to get my jacket repaired...” she said...