#which is partially what the ‘in the eye of the beholder there is blood’ piece was inspired by

[magpigment]

ok genuinely what is up with c!slimecicle getting shot by heavily religious themed/ immortal/ deity characters in the chest with semi automatic weaponry. i stg this has happened at least four times like there has to be some sort of meaning to this and if there’s not i’m willing to find some anyway

like fr it’s happened on the qsmp about 2-5 times now and i’m only on the fourth vod, and that’s not even mentioning the 100 day evolving apocalypse video and i’m certain there are others. the parallels, they are calling to me. there’s something there, i can smell it

[mnictasbcl]

Don’t Think

Here is my next story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife’s #dbhghostsinthemachine challenge, prompt OCT 6: Data Missing. 

Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson

Tags: Memory Loss, Partial amnesia, Swearing, Fainting, Blood and injury, self injury, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Amanda was gone, destroyed. But the Zen Garden was a vital part of his mind. Connor couldn’t expect for things to be normal once it was gone, not when the garden had been intricately linked with his core memories.

Read it on AO3! Or, read below.

Connor felt normal as he blinked back to awareness on the stage, staring out at the sea of androids. Markus was making his speech, the Jericho members standing on the other corners of the stage. The androids were free.

Yes, and he’d helped them. Had helped by deviating, helping them out of the sinking freighter, proposed the plan to go to the Cyberlife Tower—

He jolted, as if a current had been sparked in his brain, shocking him. Cyberlife Tower—

It happened again. Oh, it was unpleasant, and he didn’t feel like facing it again. Maybe it was a glitch, after all he had just destroyed a big part of his program. He’d had to avoid thinking about those words, for now.

Meanwhile there was celebrating to do. Not with the others, no, he couldn’t stand with them and act like he hadn’t almost shot their leader in the back of the head. Instead, he celebrated his newfound deviancy, freedom, by walking into the cold Detroit streets and going nowhere in particular.

Because he was free. They all were now. Free to do whatever he pleased. Free from orders, free from Amanda, free from…

What did he do before? Work, right. At the DPD—

Connor opened his eyes and found he’d fallen to his knees, clutching his head. Huh, it had happened again. His LED spun, processing the facts. Certain words caused blinding pain.

Pain. Well, he guessed that solved that question: androids didn’t feel pain, but deviants sure did. He pinched his arm and yelped.

“Fuck.” He swore, and the pain in his head tripled.

   …………………………………………………………………………………………………

 Connor awoke lying on the cold pavement of a street in Detroit. Cold snow was beginning to seep into his trousers, uncomfortable and wet, biting at his artificial skin. He pushed himself to his knees, hand ghosting over the side of his head. His hand came away wet and slick with fresh blue thirium.

He must have fallen, then. It was the day of the Revolution- maybe he’d partied too hard?

Yeah, right. He was on his own in the middle of a street, no one in sight, the only signs of life the distant cries and cheers of the celebrating androids far, far away.

He’d probably just passed out, for no reason. Maybe he was malfunctioning.

Connor blinked, stared at his hands for a moment longer before wiping them over his suit jacket. It was a shitty jacket anyway, and goddamn waterproof.

He groaned, pain sparking back up with every swear he internalised. Why was swearing causing him so much pain? Or thinking about the DPD—

He railed his fists against the snow, over and over and over, until his hands were numb, and dents caved in his thumb. Well, that hurt. That hurt a lot.

But at least the ache in his head had subsided. He concluded that it was down to thinking. About specific things, but he didn’t know what these things were until it was too late.

Mission: Don’t think.

So, he continued again to mindlessly walk, hands hanging limp and useless at his sides, blue blood trickling down the side of his face. What a sight to see, to behold, an android in his own ruin, eyes dead ahead, the prospect of merely existing a struggle.

Evening became night. Night became early morning. At some point, the cheers died down.

The first time someone called him, he muted the ringtone of any incoming calls, before eventually blocking them all. He didn’t need to think. Couldn’t. Just had to walk and hope the glitch would fix itself.

When he stumbled over a curb, he decided it was time to take a break. An unthinking break, mind you. Simply sitting on the curb by a closed-up shop which, upon inspection, looked a whole lot—

What was it now? The place with its chicken-y name, its rusted metal door, looking at the table beside it sent him tearing out handfuls of his hair, screaming and screaming until—

      …………………………………………………………………………………………………

 He awoke in a different place, with different clothes and aching hands.

Connor stared up and saw a ceiling. Felt the soft plush mattress beneath him, the covers draped over his shivering body.

The sight of the room caused no pain, so he dared to sit up. He was in a house; someone had bandaged his hands and his head had stopped leaking thirium. It was mostly empty, save for the chair in the corner, some artwork, and a closed closet at the other end of the room.

Peace would not last long. Someone knocked on the door, and before long it was pushed open roughly. A dog ran into the room, big and panting and—

Errorerrrorerror

DATA MISSING

Connor clasped his hands over his head again, turning away from the dog, who whimpered sadly at his apparent rejection.

But soon the stimuli was gone, door closed shut, dog far away. He dared to peek out between his fingers, and saw—

Shaggy grey hair, stripy shirt, concerned blue eyes—

A hoarse static sound tore from his throat, error messages beginning to pile up in his vision in their dozens. Something was wrong, something upon seeing the things outside, then the dog, and then this man—this man was the culmination of all his problems. Error, error, error, data missing, data missing.

He tried to close the errors, but they multiplied infinitely over his software. So he tried to push away the missing data.

Warning.

Delete damaged data file?

Connor flicked through the file. Images of the man with the grey hair, the DPD, his dog, Chicken Feed—but they were all broken, parts of each image, each file, each dialogue received, torn apart. All clustering together in one big mess, causing any recollection to make him suffer.

Delete Hank.exe?

He paused. That… that was the man’s name? Hank. Hank. Despite the pain it caused him, he kept thinking of the word. Over and over and over until the errors were gone and, in their place, just as red and blinding read:

HANK

This file seemed at the forefront of his memory, no wonder it had been damaged if something had happened to his mind. It seemed important.

If he deleted it, he would forget this man forever.

…but if he didn’t, would it cause him to feel these horrible things every time he even thought about the man?

Connor closed his eyes. There had to be a way. When Amanda tried to control him, take over his body, he’d found an emergency exit and clawed his way out.

So that meant he didn’t have to delete this file, but he didn’t have to live with it either. If it was damaged, maybe he could fix it. The error was missing data: so he had to get back that data.

He reached out blindly, grabbing a hold of the man’s arm, who stumbled forwards at the rough contact. His skin peeled back, white chassis revealed but he couldn’t interface, couldn’t—

It was a human. Well, he supposed this human couldn’t be bad, then. He added ‘good’ to the list, hoping to repair some missing data.

Being good meant that he hadn’t tried to stop the revolution. Helped with the Revolution.

Helped with the Revolution meant friend.

Hank. Good. Helped with revolution. Friend. Friend. Friend.

Of course, he was his friend. He’d got over his hatred of androids, helped him with cases, even went so far as to risking his job so he wouldn’t lose his life. He helped him disguise to blend into Jericho, despite not agreeing with his cause, and they’d—

Connor groaned, eyes snapping open. Forcing himself to look the man in the face and take in his features one by one.

“Who are you?” He finally grit out.

The man, despite his initial shock, sat down beside Connor on the bed and patted his knee. “I’m Hank, Connor. Your, uh, partner at the DPD?”

“You don’t work at the DPD anymore, and I helped Markus with the android revolution.”

Hank laughed. “Yeah, I got suspended for a while. And I don’t know about you. But… that’s where we met.”

Connor closed his eyes, opened the memory file on their meeting. Jimmy’s bar.

“You swore at me and not long after threw me against a wall when we first met. I do not understand. If we are friends, we must have met somewhere else.”

“Nah, that’s just my dashing first impression, Con—”

“Con. What is that?”

“That’s what I call you, sometimes, when you’re not being an asshole.”

“Am I usually an asshole?”

“Depends on the day.”

“Huh. It appears my files see you as an asshole sometimes, too.”

Hank snorted. “Whatever. So… what’s exactly… uh, happening? I found you outside Chicken Feed trying to tear yourself a new haircut and…”

“My memory files about you are damaged. I am trying to piece them back together.”

“Oh. So you don’t, uh, fuckin’ remember me, then?”

“No, I have memories of you. They’re just damaged and need repair.”

“That’s what the cryptic questions are for.”

“Exactly. So… you are my friend. We are both assholes sometimes.”

“Yeah, basically. Anything else you need to know?”

He thought long and hard for a moment. “Yes. I seem to have everything apart from one vital thing… something in the middle, it is missing,” he gestured, “and until I fix it, looking at you causes great pain.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“It is… I do not understand what it is to do with. I have every memory of you now, but—it is your logistics. Who you are. To me.” Connor cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down at the bedcovers. “Who are you? I thought classifying as a friend was enough. But this seems inconclusive, not complex enough for these human emotions I seem to be feeling. Relationships are not meant to be so linear, so…”

“Defined? What are you getting at, Con?”

“It’s that. Con. What you call me, this… affection. How you seemed to care, to bring me off the street when I was causing damage to myself…”

“Well, uh, yeah, I care. And we were meant to be meeting up there after you finished partying with your friends.”

“What were we going to do, exactly?”

“Uh… catch up? Maybe work out what the fuck you’re going to do now. And…” Hank looked away. “Nevermind.”

“No, there’s something else.”

He shook his head. “Asshole. Fine. It was… it was… Fuck, just let me show you, okay?”

When Connor nodded, Hank leant forwards and wrapped him into a warm embrace. He froze at the contact, words flashing across his vision, Hank, Hank, Hank, friend, friend—

Data Restored

And breathed a sigh of relief before hugging him back. Hank wasn’t friend, Hank was… Hank was warmth and comfort, bluntness with kindness tucked underneath, he was the gentle giant of his large dog, caring actions covered up with a ‘fuck you’.

He was Hank. And that was enough.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - Epilogue

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: It’s so fluffy it’ll maybe rot your teeth, NSFW

WC: 1801

A/N: So, this is definitely the end of the road. I’m so happy that you’re here with me and read this story to the end. I hope it was a good one for you! Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

She had moved back on the same day, and into his bed that same night. She still kept her room but Dean was okay with that. She mostly sleeps there when he comes home late. Dean would then go in and take her back into his bed. He has perfected his techniques and now she doesn’t even stir when he scoops her up and carries her back into his bed. Their bed. 

It’s true that she kept the room as hers but she had moved all her clothes into his room by the time they annulled their marriage. 

It was never an option for her to stop working for him. But she stayed as his PA and they hired someone else to help with Ruby’s load of work. Their relationship had never been questioned by his staff. Dean thinks that he can count himself lucky for having great and loyal employees. He got his temper under control, too. He only fired one person in the last three months which is a huge improvement.

The marriage with Amara was a piece of cake. After Amara got wind of the existence of the tape, she was quick to agree for the annulment and Dean could even get money out of her. Serves her right, really. He used the money to give his employees a big bonus. 

They have gotten over the initial pregnancy scare too. Turned out that she was indeed just stressed. He was a little disappointed, couldn’t lie about it, but she was happy so there’s that. He’d like to have kids one day, and especially with her. Dean knows that she wants kids too, but not right now. He hopes that she wants kids with him, though. 

Dean really didn’t give up on asking her to be his real wife. He would drop it in the weirdest times. It’s a game he plays and he actually enjoys it. He has gotten her another ring. Doesn’t want to ask her with the same ring they already sealed their fake marriage with, it just didn’t seem right.

 *

 The first time he popped the question was after they were fake husband and wife and only girlfriend and boyfriend. She was sitting in the tub when he came back from work because he still worked longer than she did. Dean peeled himself out of his clothes to join her, “Do you wanna marry me?” He’d asked before he sits in the tub and grabs her by her arm to place her onto his lap.

“No,” She giggled and he buried his face into the crook of her neck, sucked at her skin until she moaned a yes but it’s not the answer, he knew.

 *

 The fourth time he asked her to be his wife, Y/N was lying on the couch when he walked in after a long working day. She was reading a book and she was wearing one of his shirts and only panties and that did things to him. Especially when half her ass cheeks poked out of it. He looked and smirked before he walked over to the drawer with food delivery leaflets. He held the leaflets in his hand and looked over to her before he asked, “Do you want to marry me or shall we order in food?”

Laughing, she said no, and that she wanted pizza with pineapples.

 *

 The ninth time Dean asked her was at work. He came out of a meeting and walked past her desk, dropping off his notes for her to put down on paper. She was so lost in her work that she didn’t even notice him standing next to her, so he lowered himself with one hand braced on her chair and whispered into her ear, “Do you want to marry me?”

She rolled her eyes but she kissed his cheek. It was enough fuel to get into the next meeting. 

 *

 The twelfth time he asked her was when she was laying between his thighs and he had spread them for her to be able to reach his rim. He was there, held up his legs by the back of his knees and looked down. He would have loved to take a picture if his hand were free. 

His balls are heavy on her nose, his dick, hard and leaking, was resting over half her face. It was a sight to behold, and in that moment his heart felt so full so he whispered, “Do you want to marry me?”

She ignored him and continued licking at his rim and sucked in his balls that made him choke on his own words.

 *

 The seventeenth time that he popped the question was while they were in a meeting together. They listened to Garth's new idea on office improvements and she was typing away on her laptop when he sent her an email, “Please be my wife?”

Y/N frowned, her lips pulled into a thin straight line before she clicked on her mouse and soon his phone vibrated. Dean took it out and thumbs over her email of Michael Scott from The Office screaming No meme.

 *

 The twenty-third time Dean had asked her, they were having dinner with Jack and he had told the waiter to put the ring in her glass. What Dean hadn’t accounted for,  was that the waiter would be so dumb and mix up their glasses. So when Jack drank his champagne he had the ring in his mouth, and damn near choked on it. Y/N had stomach cramps from laughing too hard.

But hey, Jack said yes and they’re planning a spring wedding. 

Jack is a great guy. Dean’s glad that he took Jack on a fishing trip back in Jamaica. Jack was so hostile towards him and Dean just knew that he had to pour his heart out to Jack to get him to understand that he was never just in it for the fake marriage. It meant so much more to him. Thinking back, it needed a lot of courage from Dean to do so. Jack didn’t speak for an agonizing long time and it was while they were on the boat and Dean had almost gotten sea sick than he started to speak the truth. 

Jack smirked when he saw that the blood had drained from Dean’s face.

“Do you like fishing?” Jack had asked him.

“Yeah but from the shore.” Dean answered, trying not do fucking puke. 

Jack laughed at him but apparently, the trip had helped cement their friendship.

 *

 The twenty-ninth time he asked was when he ate her out and she moaned yes yes above him. He paused and mumbled against her wet cunt, “You wanna marry me?”

She came right on the spot but not without moaning out something that sounded awfully like fuck no.

 *

 The thirty-third time Dean asked, was when they spent a weekend away at a secluded cabin in Colorado. 

That’s another thing that Dean loves about her. When things get too stressful, she always made sure that he took a break and she planned trips that should take his mind off work. She feared that he’ll overwork himself, which is not entirely wrong.

So when they were roasting marshmallows over a fire, he wrapped his arm around her, and asked her if she wanted to be his wife. 

She didn’t answer, instead she said, “You’re not going to give up, do you?” 

He smiled down and kissed her forehead, “Nope.”

 *

 The thirty-eight time Dean popped the question was during a game night of pictionary with Sam and Ruby and her brother. Yeah that’s right, Sam never let Ruby go again. Dean swears, if they marry before him...

Dean drew a ring onto the board with a question mark and instead of answering right, she just said “Lord of the Rings?”

Even Jack grew a little annoyed at her and screamed that she should fucking say yes already.

 *

 The forty-fifth time he asked, they were at a concert and she stood before him, his hands around her waist as she leaned her head against his chest. He placed a kiss on the crown of her head, “Do you want to marry me?”

The one girl next to them gasped loudly and she pushed her boyfriend out of the way, thinking that Dean needed room to go on his knees. They had to laugh and explain that his girlfriend is not saying yes, so there’s no worry. The woman was embarrassed and Dean took Y/N’s hand to move further back. 

 *

 The fifty-second time Dean asked, was when he came home from a work trip. It didn’t go very well so he was kind of down. He found her in the guest bedroom, sleeping on her side and Dean scooped her up, carried her into their bed and left to take a shower. 

When he came back, she was partially awake. And it’s like she knew because she opened her arms for him to crawl in. He placed his head on her chest, letting her stroke his head. 

“Please be my wife?” He’d asked, but there’s no answer. Her heart beat slow, she was already asleep.

 *

 The fifty-third time he asked, was the next day right after the fifty-second time. Dean spooned her from behind, rained kisses onto her shoulder and neck, she stirred awake, “I really wish you’d say yes.”

It was not really a question. Just a statement.

“Okay,” She said and Dean’s heart picked up speed.

“Okay?” He asked again, just to be sure.

“Yes,” She turned around in his grip and cradled his face between the palms of her hand, “I’m saying yes,” 

Dean kissed her while smiled like a fucking idiot, held her tighter, “Fucking finally,” he mumbles against her lips.

  They married in a small ceremony with just the closest of people and no press, because he still took her out to social events and they all thought she was his wife anyway. It’s easier that way. It feels more real. 

Sam and Jack were both his best men while Ruby resumed her position as a bridesmaid. 

Dean didn’t make a prenup; it's his way to piss off his parents. It’s the right decision, he thinks. Y/N never once asked him for money. She hates being dependent on him and sometimes there were petty fights when she wouldn’t allow him to buy her something. However, she let him pay for Jack’s tuition and that is progress. 

Like Dean said before, he would give her the world and so much more but she’s happy as it is and that’s the most important thing actually, because he’s happy too when she’s happy. He’s less grumpy, less hot headed and, that’s not a lie nor an exaggeration, he’s the happiest he’s ever been.

[crystalgirl259]

The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 23

Chapter 23: The Temptations Of Hope

Cole angrily paced around his room as the clock struck twelve. The only lights in the room were the moonlight reflecting off the untouched, white snow and the purple flame coming from the now almost completely melted red candle. His instincts warned him not to feel for Kai. Life was so much simpler before he came along, before Cole and the others dared to hope. Cole sighed tiredly as he slumped into a torn-up armchair. He had thought Kai was the one.

He didn't know why he continued to torment himself.

His eyes fell on the candle and an enraged growl bubbled in his throat. That was the symbol of his curse, and it needed to be destroyed and end these adolescent notions of love and redemption. It would end all of his pain forever. Cole growled and raised his arm to smash the weakening flame. Just as he was about to destroy it, a couple of cinders flew from the flame. Cole watched as it landed next to the gift, which Kai left for Cole next to the bed.

The prince's eyes widened in shock, recognizing the small, nice handwriting on the gift's little label.

The hybrid carefully picked up the lovely wrapped gift as if it was made of glass. He quickly ripped off the wrapping paper and was surprised to see it was a book Kai had written just for him. Without really thinking about it, Cole sat back down and started reading the story Kai had made. The incredibly detailed story inside talked about an enchanted castle and how the master seemed as cold as winter. His cries echoed through the stone wall of the castle, and though he was surrounded by servants, he was all alone.

It went on to say that thanks to that simple act of kindness, he knew someone cared.

Even though he didn't read much, even before he was cursed, Cole knew this was an amazing story. It ends it all off, Kai wrote about how that time of year was spent exchanging humble gifts, but the greatest gift that anyone received was the gift of hope. As Cole finished the book and put it down, he contemplated what the book meant by hope. Once he had hope that was hope to break the spell. But as the years passed, that hope had started to fade until it was almost nonexistent.

That is until Kai suddenly forced his way into his life and that hope burned brightly for the first time since he was first cursed.

Then Kai tried to leave the castle, despite his promise, and almost drowned in a freezing lake. It wasn't just the fact that Kai left, but also that he almost lost his life again because Cole wasn't there to protect him. Despite his anger, Cole still loved and cared deeply for Kai. He didn't want to see the teen get hurt and if that meant he had to lock Kai in a cell then so be it. It was probably the safest place for Kai since Cole was certain that he had just blown any chance with the brunette and any hope of breaking this curse.

As soon as that thought entered his mind, however, his mother's voices echoed through his very soul.

She used to say that regardless of how desperate things may seem, remember, people could always have hope. All of a sudden, Cole realized his idiocy and what he had done to Kai in his blinding anger. He promised himself there and then that he would do his best job to find the perfect way to beg for Kai's forgiveness if the begging wasn't enough in itself. He knew it was going to be hard, but he was ready for that. With that in mind, Cole stood up from his chair and bolted out of the room towards the dungeons.

He failed to see the enraged shadow made of dark magic scowling at his retreating form.

This was not part of his plan...

****************

He growled in rage as he watched the dragon prince flee to attempt to make up with Kai through his purple crystal ball. Despite all Cole had done, he knew that the brunette loved the hybrid and would forgive him. The man snarled as he ran his hand through his raven hair, pacing around as he tried to find a way to stop this from happening. He stared out of the small, empty window of his hideout in the ghost town of Kilmarnock hundreds of miles from any civilization.

What was once a wide avenue that led to Kilmarnock was unrecognizable as nature had begun reclaiming the now unused area.

The crisp and clean-looking town now looked more like a jungle as trees and gardens grew beyond their now unkempt boundaries. Many doors had collapsed as the rot was eating away their edges. The open doorways that were once perhaps very welcoming were now an eerie and unwelcoming sight. Broken cars and rusty pieces of metal littered some of the larger driveways, stripped from all but their most useless parts. Kilmarnock, once rich with life, hopes, dreams, and aspirations was now partially reclaimed by nature.

The sounds of insects, winds, and creaking wood of trees which were once drowned out by the sounds of people had returned as the dominant sounds once more.

The clock tower was somehow still rich with sounds, but it wasn't its bells and gears as those had stopped working a long time ago. It was a flock of crows that had made this once great pillar their new home. No matter how you looked at it this town was an eerie sight to behold. Lives forgotten, perhaps completely ruined and there was barely anything to show for it. But even though everything may seem like it was lost forever there was still a silver lining.

While this town was no longer home to the families that lived here, it was now home to families of wild animals.

The enchanted candle would flicker out any day now, and Kai had yet to proclaim his love for Cole. He couldn't afford for Cole to suddenly find the key to ending his curse and everyone's suffering. He saw red as he thought about what this could mean for his revenge when Kai and Cole made things up and confessed their love for each other. The prince got the one he loves and his curse would be broken, and then it was a happy ending for everyone.

The enchantment will be lifted, and that stuck-up brat and his family's suffering would fade into the background.

He refused to let them get off that easily. He used his magic to set the cauldron bubbling and boiling and opened his spellbook. He flipped through a dozen pages until he finally found exactly what he was looking for. He ran around his hovel, searching for the needed ingredients. These included red and white rose petals, pearly white swan and dove feathers, maple leaves, and a bright red apple. He threw them all into the black cauldron and the liquid inside turned a stunning crimson red.

"I call the darkness unto me, from deepest depths of earth and sea, from ancient evils unawoken, break that what can not be broken." He chanted loudly before grabbing another set of ingredients. These included a dead raven, a red poppy, blood of a black cat, and a human skull. "To blackest night I pledge my soul I crush my heart to burning coal, to summon forth a deathly power, to see my hatred foe devoured!" He bellowed and suddenly a blast of black smoke shot out of the cauldron.

It filled the room in a matter of seconds before it shot out the window like a bolt of lighting.

He cackled loudly as he watched the dark magic travel straight to Cole's castle, standing out against the white fluffy clouds like blood on a white wedding dress. They couldn't fall in love if they were dead...

[laserdog10]

Fading Snow in the Flames

Whitley’s entire body screeched in pain, raging fires around him licking the structure of the horrid home he grew up in with wreckage surrounding him. One of his sister’s friends trying to tend to the large wound in his abdomen caused by a large piece of shrapnel, for the life him of he barely recalled her name, Yang was it? Yes that was it, a frankly gorgeous woman of blonde hair and stunning figure in addition to her shining personality or what little he saw of it. His ringing ears managed to pick out her face amongst the white noise.

Yang: Just stay with me okay, I’m gonna get you outta here!

Whitley: Miss Xiao Long... *COUGH*

Yang: Don’t speak, save your energy! I’m gonna...try to remove this.

Doing so made the younger Schnee cry in agony, an ugly sound that had Yang’s heart lurch.

Yang: Alright, pointy metal’s staying in...!

Whitley: Probably for the best, I’d bleed out faster anyhow, heh. *cough, cough*

Yang: How can you be calm about this...

Whitley: Truth be told, I’d honestly take a near death experience over the treatment of my father any day. Seems I bargained more than I wished for.

Yang: ...

Whitley: Guess humor wasn’t meant to be my strong suit. Doesn’t matter much now if my only audience isn’t laughing.

Yang: Please stop, I’m getting out of here. *starts to pick him up*

Whitley: Miss Xiao Long-

Yang: I’m getting you help, Jaune will fix you up just fine.

Whitley: I’m-

Yang: You’re going to see your family...things will be better now that he’s gone, you and your sisters are going to talk...

Whitley: Yang-

Yang: I AM NOT LEAVING YOU BEHIND!!!

He jerked out of his fading vision from her outburst, the warmth of her tears pelting his arm.

Yang: I let too many people leave me...I’m not letting you be the fourth, dammit!

Whitley: Well aren’t you a bleeding heart? *cough* To think that’d someone who barely knows me would care this much.

Yang: *sniff* Grew up with little sister myself, y’know. I’d go to the ends of Remnant for my sister and so would yours.

Whitley: How do I-*winces*-know you aren’t trying to sugarcoat this?

Yang: Take a wild guess who sent me in here to get you.

Whitley: ....but...

All his life he felt his sisters abandoned him in their prison of a home, alone with their awful father and neglectful mother...yet they went above and beyond to do this? It seemed unbelieva-

*CRASH*

More ignited wood fell around them, signaling the brawler to get the hell out of the office and into the hallway accidentally jostling him around some. Hissing in response Whitley clutched his stomach, feeling blood color his hands while Yang caught her breath from nearly being crushed to death.

Whitley: Yang, listen to me, I need you to-*wheezing cough*- take this...*deep breath*...key. Winter told me it was for a surprise for if I were ready, or in case of an emergency. Guess we’re in the latter of it now.

Reaching for his pocket he pulled said key, a small white-blue piece of metal with the Schnee Family Symbol engraved on it. Handing it over to her she took it with curious confusion.

Yang: What’s it for!?

Whitley: Winter said a safe is behind a painting in her room by her dresser, you won’t miss it.

Yang: Okay...*deep breath* I’ll be back, just hang on!

As Whitley lay in the hallway watching the blonde sprint off, giving him time to relax and his adrenaline wearing off. The pain of his wound accompanied by the chill of his lack of blood seeping out without restraint, vision blurring until fading almost entirely.

Whitley: Good...at least now...she won’t have to...*inhale*...see me go.

---

Yang: Here!

Having tossed aside the pointing and opening the safe her eyes laid upon a katana in its sheath, engraved on it was Whitley’s initials, thinking it was for the off chance Whitley chose to become a Huntsman. “They really did care about you ya’ shrimp,” the blonde thought to herself as she snatched the sword.

Yang: Hey, I found the sword, what did you-...

Falling to her knees, all sound around Yang had ceased. The flames, roar of Grimm outside, her breathing. The only thing she could mutter was a single pitiful statement.

Yang: .....at least let me say goodbye, dammit. *sob*

---

Ruby struggled to breathe in the clutches of Salem, furiously kicking the witch in vain to be let free. Her friends pinned by a Grimm in the cold snow and badly beaten from tussling with Salem herself, the latter chuckling at the sight of the “warriors” still trying to fight back.

Salem: You did well in your attempts, girl, but I fear my dear Ozma hadn’t taught you lot much at all.

Ruby: *scoffs* You can take your stupid bragging and shove it uAAAGH!!! *throat gets squeezed harder*

Salem: Have you any inkling of the hell I endured to get this far you insolent child!? If you even think you worthless gift from the God of Light can help you now then you-!

Salem’s speech would’ve continued had it not been the rushing noise of what sounded like a ship engine coupled with the roars of a dragon, lo and behold it was a dragon. Cloaked in the golden-yellow flames of her Aura whilst raging red eyes beamed within the column of fire, a flowing mane of hair whipping in the wind and heat like a candle flame, a gray-blue sword clenched in the teeth of her maw. The snow around the enraged dragon evaporated from the searing heat midst of her warpath, as did her metal arm now replaced with one entirely constructed of a gold light tipped with a claw.

Yang: *growls*

Salem: Just who might you be?

The witch got her answer via a full force punch square in the face. A plume of fire followed Salem in her free-flight backwards into the ground, Yang leapt in the air using her one gauntlet then taking the blade and running it through Salem before she had a chance to recover. Screaming from her partially melted bloody face Salem extended the black nails on her hand and swiped the blade in half, Yang taking the chance to lunge back then immediately follow through striking the Witch of Grimm with the pommel of Whitley’s katana sending her reeling in pain.

Yang: You know, for someone who’s immortal your pain tolerance is shit...

Salem: *spits blood* I’ll flay the skin from your very body, brat!!!

Yang: Try me.

A small fleet of ships overhead signaled the cue to retreat and recuperate which made Salem scowl in fury. Calling off her beasts they disappeared into the foggy blizzard of the night leaving the teams to the frigid night, ships touching just by them as the Ace Ops and Winter dispatched on scene.

Winter: Is everyone all-*gasps*

Yang: ...

Winter: No...

Yang: I tried everything I could, he just... *clenches her fists along with the chipped sword in her Aura hand*

Weiss: Yang? Where’s Whitley!?

Her friend collapsed to her knees clutching the sword of the youngest Schnee, his sisters losing all sense of the need to speak any further.

“I’m so sorry...”

[iamalivenow]

“Well.” The man smiles. “Always nice to meet the meat.” He has a nice smile, Martin thinks, like an idiot. Mostly because he's about to be eaten alive by his date, partially because he went on a date with a cannibal and entirely because he can't remember a single Flesh statement in this immediate moment to save his life.

Which he might want to figure out how to do, and soon. For all of the good Beholding does for him, to him really, he's a little bitter he doesn't work for a power that can defend itself at all.

Well, Elias can defend himself, but something tells him making the nice man, Jon, his name was Jon, cry wouldn't make the day better. Actually, Martin's pretty sure that if Jon had anything to cry about, hearing it would make him gag. “Do you do this sort of thing often?” Martin asked, at the bar where they met a few hours ago. “Barely at all.” Jon had said. “Not really into your sort.” “My sort?” Archivists, he meant. It clicks for Martin now, now that Jon drags a flaying knife over a piece of leather slowly. “You're not gay?” “Not what I mean,” Jon told him and ordered Martin a drink Martin didn't really want. Yeah, obviously that's not what he meant. Jon plies him with drinks, and Martin just goes along with it, because Jon is out of his league and he hasn't touched someone or even talked to someone that wasn't associated with the Institute in years. They stumble- no- Martin stumbles back to his apartment, Jon walks with a steady hand on the back of Martin's neck with a pleasant smile. Elias is going to send someone, right? Daisy maybe? Some other secret sniper agent, or whatever it was that she did, to save him from getting eaten, right? Right? The rope on his wrists hurts, chafing and rubbing the skin raw. He could try yelling, but he doubts it's going to do him a lot of good. Think, Martin, think about what hurts the Flesh. Something has to hurt the Flesh. Stop staring that Jon's long fingers and think, for five seconds. He feels sluggish from the alcohol. He tugs on his ropes, and it goes all of nowhere. Tim was right, his bloody mother was right, he should have been working out for ages. “Do you-” Martin swallows around nothing and Jon stops sharping the knife, head twisting too smoothly to be human. “Do you kidnap a lot of men?” “We're in your home.” He says dully. “I restrained you.” “Right.” “No.” It takes Martin a second to realize what he's answering too. “Oh.” “Don't get illusions of grandeur,” Jon tells him, and again, Martin is left with listening to the knife scrape. “I've shown restraint. A lot of restraint.” Jon lifts the knife up and presses it against his finger. Martin watches it sink into the skin there and for nothing to come out. “W-When was the last time you ate?” He whispers. “What year is it?” Jon clearly isn't joking, so Martin tells him, and Jon's eyes close. “Six. Six years ago.” “Ah.” “Very restrained.” “Very,” Martin says. “Not to- not to diminish your ah- your achievements. But if you do, the Eye will-” “The only people scared of the Eye are idiots. Idiots and children.” “Elias has killed people before.” “So have I.” Martin believes him.  “I imagine the process won't take too long, even if you're larger than I am.” “Right, very restrained.” He nods, and Jon nods with him. “I'm glad you're so understanding. I get migraines when people yell. Very annoying.” There's something about the tiny smile that graces Jon's features that turns Martin's stomach. He was watching his mouth earlier too, in the bar, and now he gets it, dim lighting aside. His mouth is overflowing with teeth- more then the normal row, more than even sharks seem to have. Teeth as far back as Martin can see. “Are you going to kill me-” Jon huffs a laugh. “I mean, eventually, your heart will give out, either shock or blood loss. But I'm planning on getting into as much of this.” Jon pats his leg, squeezes down on the muscle and fat there. Martin winces. “As I can while you're still kicking.” “So it's going to hurt-” He swallows again. “Meat always tastes better when it's scared. At least to me. It gets your muscles tense. Makes the meat bitter.” Makes Martin bitter, he means. “Where are you going to start?” “Mm. I'm blinded with opportunity.” He lifts the knife to his lips, just a little curved, curved enough to catch on his lower lip and show Martin more of the maw and all of the hidden white inside of it. All the way back to his throat. “Maybe start here.” Jon drags a finger along Martin's torso, a Y-section, he realizes. “Oh.” His touch is feather light and makes Martin blush. If there was ever a worse time then now for that, Martin couldn't even begin to fathom it. “Break the skin, crack the ribs open to accommodate, stuff my face with lungs. Or maybe pick something fattier- turn the meat on its side and get at it's back. Or thighs. Thighs are always nice.” “I'm right here.” “Of course you are.” He gets on top of him, straddles him, and for a few microseconds, Martin lets himself imagine a normal human named Jon who was still out of his league straddle his lap and kiss him. Grind down on his hips. Touch his face lovingly. The cold metal of the knife snaps him back to reality. “Just do it.” He mumbles, trying to defiant and probably failing. Definitely failing. He's awake for more of it then he thought he would be. Jon ends up deciding on emptying his chest cavity first. He whispers a prayer under his breath. Martin watches through tear-filled eyes as Jon cracks one of his ribs and sucks the marrow out of it. At least he looks like he's enjoying it. When he's done with the bone, he presses his fingers where he held it to his lips, and Martin watches as the bone curls like burning paper until it's something like a flower- or a parody of one. Curled petals and a thin stem made out of his rib. Jon tucks it behind Martin's ear. It feels warm. Wet.

[obviousleeanonymous]

Chutes and Ladders CH 11

Summary: To climb to the top, you gotta fall down a chute or two or three or four… and break a few bones. But it’s okay, ‘cause time heals all wounds. Right?

(Because I fogot I never posted this here, fam.)

CH1 AO3

You jangled the doorknob, a loose component rattling uselessly. The door remained locked. In your backpack of things that were not yours before you shoved said not-your-things within, you had varying screwdrivers and gizmos and gadgets and kawoozits. Before you fiddled for an aforementioned screwdriver that might work as intended, you stared down the basic welcome mat. Stepping back, you used your foot to flip the stalwart foe. Lo and behold, a nondescript key was underneath! People still did that? It was like asking to be robbed.

Shrugging to no one in particular, you slid the key into the brass lock. At worst, it would simply not be the correct key, so it hardly hurt to try.

The door opened with ease, creaking profoundly—a testament to people’s inherent stupidity. Not that it much mattered anymore, you have yet to encounter another person during your—how many days?—vagabondage.

The stench of stagnacity flowed from the room, with sepulcher heaviness and choking dust, and out to the hallway like water rushing through cracks in a failing dam.

You only took a single step into the room, absorbing the still-scene before closing your eyes.

The hum of cicadas became the electric sibilation of the refrigerator. Insensible jargon filtered through a small television on the countertop. A man brushed remnant crumbs of breakfast toast off the plastic laminate surface and perused a paper. A child ate cereal, secretly adding more when the adult was sufficiently distracted all the while grinning at her deft subterfuge. A teenage boy with horrible bed hair shambled groggily into the kitchen...

Was this morning routine—

You opened your eyes, suddenly grateful to be brought back to the derelict living area trapped in a state of perpetual abeyance, just waiting for someone to return to the moldy bowl on the table, pick up the fallen ceramic cup, and resume reading the long irrelevant newspaper. Coffee stains covered the the front page, obscuring the date, but you guessed it to be several months ago.

You made a home out of the bits and pieces others left behind.

After scouring the defunct abode at a listless pace—nothing to gain in haste but waste—you garnered a sizable stock of canned goods still within decent expiry and more clothing to augment your hobochic ensemble. And, of course, a magnificent, comfortable, plush, relaxing, state of the art, better than an organic mattress bean bag chair. Vintage puke chartreuse to boot!

The beds were aight tho’.

As you meandered through the modest apartment, you flicked the light switches and tested the faucets. Predictably, there was nothing in terms of basic utilities, but you spotted some change on the floor. A brilliant idea tickled and caressed the crevices of your gelatinous brain-muscle.

Hefting the prized bean bag awkwardly over your shoulder, you departed the apartment, stopping only to collect the scattering of coins. Locking the door with the key was an afterthought.

You knew every payphone, could practically smell the anachronistic booths from miles away.

You had a brilliant plan.

+_____+_____+

Payphones irrevocably meant something to you, something special, intrinsically intimate in a manner that should never logically be. Emotional lows were had within four enclosed grimy, semi-opaque walls.

But this… This felt different. Cathartic, even.

You reclined on the bean bag, shoved into the cramped booth, legs propped on the protective casing that partially housed the phone. The dense cord only barely reached far enough. Your head lolled back, blood rushing, and you gazed at the sky—buildings in Spartan hues cutting into vibrant cerulean like jagged teeth.

Though you were certifiably certain you were on hold longer than you had been speaking with the operator and subsequently a customer service rep of the Z-City Waterworks, you had a pocket full of change and nothing better to do.

The irritatingly dross hold music cut off, a voice tentatively questioning, “Hello, miss—”

“Yah. I need water in my place.”

“...And you are sure you’re a tenant of Junction Crossing?”

“Yep,” you glanced at the crude scratches on your arm, roughly resembling the building name and apartment number. Keys made poor knives and even poorer writing instruments. “Number 124C.”

A long pause.

You tried to readjust, stretching your cramping legs but your walking-limbs slipped on the glass. So you wiggled, further digging yourself into the forming contours of polystyrene beads.

“I’m terribly sorry, but no one lives there.” You could feel the tense smile surely plastered on his face—for no one could sound so artificially pleasant.

“I do. It’s why I’m callin’ ya. Yakno. Water.”

“That neighborhood is a warzone. We don’t service it but if you relocate to a safe—”

“Sweetcheeks McGee, what is the name of your biznass,” you never even gave him a chance to respond, “Z-City Waterworks! I. Am. In. Z-City. You can’t not not give me water. That’s like murder.”

“I—That—You… How is murder?”

Oh Sweetcheeks walked into that debacle. Inhaling, you bawled melodramatically, “You want me to die of thirst!”

He sighed, giving up. “Ok! Ok! I’ll put it through but it will be turned off when you don’t pay.”

“‘Kay, Sweetcheeks.”

The other line went dead and you tossed the receiver, not caring to get up just yet. Rather, contemplating the meaning of life seemed a much more topical subject—which was nothing.

You just didn’t want to recall anything other than the right now. Guilt had no place—this is your new life, a new you. All else be damned.

But then you saw him walking all casual-like, a glorious baldylocks bedecked in a boob-tastic hoodie staring blandly at a receipt with a meager bag of groceries limply dangling in his other hand.

At first, you wanted to ask how he made the world upside down, but you remembered how you were reclining as the next best thing came out of your mouth. “Ya scrub, buying shit.”

He halted, staring at you in blank volumes that resonated with your being and said a solitary, “Eh?” He was familiar, a kindred animal—though you just met him, this bald fellow did not seem like a person who tolerated bullshit.

You could dig that.

“Ya live here too, right?”

He shrugged, “Yeah.”

“There’s like a ton of abandoned stores, bruh. Mad easy to get fat like cats.”

His eyes widened marginally. “How come I never thought of that?”

“I ain’t got nothin’ to do, neighbor. Wanna go lootin’?”

He took a minute to contemplate, picking his nose with minimal zeal. “Ok, I guess.”

[sunshineandfangs]

Klarosummer - Quote || Abhang Samsāra

Quote: “Farmers markets aren’t just for hippies.”

@klarosummerbingo​

Caroline suppressed a groan, feeling the start of a headache merrily pounding away behind her temples and brow. And she wondered what she had done in a past life to deserve this.

I’ve gone native, she thought wryly, amused despite herself, for she knew exactly what she had done in her past lives. And quite frankly she didn’t think she deserved this dudebro lingering in her space, having been attempting to flirt and talk himself up (both badly) at the same time for what had to be almost 30 minutes now.

“-thought hippies were more wild,” he sneered, apparently finally catching on that she hadn’t been paying even a lick of attention.

Caroline blinked, honestly not sure what he was even talking about or if it was somehow supposed to be an insult. She barely refrained from rubbing her forehead as she started to respond, staring him dead in the eye so he could properly appreciate just how few fucks she gave about him.

“Look, I’m not sure what logic you’re attempting here, but it sucks. First of all, farmers markets aren’t just for hippies. They’re a way for smaller producers to advertise and sell products, and they’re good for the local community.” She watched with rightful schadenfreude as his eyes started to glaze over. “Secondly, whether they do or do not attract a larger than average population of hippies has nothing to do with your success or rather lack thereof with getting a girl to hop on your tiny dick.” Caroline let herself smirk as his jaw dropped in shock, an angry and embarrassed flush creeping up his face.

He spluttered, trying to defend himself, but she just talked over him. Karma, really. “Finally, those “wild, free-spirited hippies” or however you’re stereotyping them probably have even less time for your bullshit. So, do yourself a favor and just go home before someone less tolerant than me decides to shut you up.” She waved him off, turning to the next customer, “You have a nice day now.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the boy open and close his mouth like a dying fish, outraged but too dumbstruck to know how to react. The man she had shifted to greet apparently lost his own patience as he turned to face the boy.

“Off you go,” he mocked. 

And she rose an eyebrow at the docile obedience, sensing the light flare of power. A vampire? How interesting.

He pivoted back to face her with a charming grin to hide the hunting expression in his eyes.

“Quite the sharp tongue you have, love.”

She wondered what he wanted, sensing he wasn’t seeking something as basic as blood. Her ponderings were expertly masked though as she simply raised an eyebrow in response.

“Hmm, and my tolerance has already been worn down, so please buy something or leave.” Her smile was bland, even as she watched barely concealed ire enter his eyes.

---

Klaus wasn’t sure if he wanted to admire the young blonde’s audacity or choke it out of her. It had certainly been a long time since someone dared speak to him with such dismissal. 

She hardly knew his identity though and he’d rather she stayed precisely where she was. So, he turned up the charm, letting his smile deepen the dimples on his face. Cocked his head just so, to draw her eyes down the smooth lines of his neck, across the open collar of his Henley.

“Of course, sweetheart, I’m sure your time is valuable.”

---

He was good. 

The dimples, the accent, the seemingly innocent head tilt. Even his apparent polite concession after she had been more rude than not. Had she truly been just the 22 year old she appeared to be, he would have likely gotten her hook, line, and sinker.

Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t.

Thus, her reaction was perfectly polite, but distant as she gestured with her arm toward her collection of binned produce. “Please, take your pick then.”

---

Klaus made a show of rifling through the various baskets of fruits, subtly flirting all the while. He was both impressed and offended when she didn’t respond at all, maintaining a polite façade, but no more. 

Thanks to his minions he knew she was at least partially attracted to men, probably entirely based on her dating history, so it wasn’t that. Not that he needed her to like him, but it would certainly make it less suspicious to linger. And considering everything that was at stake he was hardly going to leave such a task up to the help.

He decided to make a more blatant pass, peered up at her through his lashes, slightly bent over a crate of strawberries. Ensured his accent was a bit deeper when he spoke.

“Ah, apologies, I realize I haven’t introduced myself. Please, call me Klaus. May I have the name of my lovely, sharp-tongued vendor?”

---

Internally, Caroline marveled at her luck. Realized he must have been what drew her soul to Mystic Falls. Not every life had dramatic purpose or whatever one wanted to call it, but it was rare she would appear somewhere so obscure without the hand of destiny being at work.

And now Klaus of The Sun and Moon Curse was at her metaphorical door. Well then, she might as well catch him off guard now, while the effort to mass compel people would hopefully be more work than he wanted to exert.

“Klaus,” she repeated, rolling the syllables across her tongue, wondering how things were about to change. “If even half the rumors I’ve heard of you are true, I’m quite certain you already know it. After all someone like you wouldn’t be lingering if not for a purpose, am I right?”

---

Klaus’ expression instantly hardened, his mind racing at this unexpected reveal. None of the reports he had received indicated the girl was at all aware of the supernatural, let alone informed enough to have heard of him. 

Of course, he knew about the so-called council, with their sworn duties to protect the town against vampires. But the good sheriff showed no indication she had ever told her daughter a thing. And the girl herself had seemed as ordinary as they come, a bit overachieving perhaps being on a startling number of committees, but normal. Too human even, seeing as she returned from college to take care of her sick mother.

“I must admit it’s been a long time since someone surprised me, Caroline.” As he spoke he let menace seep into his voice, hoping she wasn’t going to make him chase her.

It would be troublesome to deal with the fallout of such a spectacle, but he would if she pushed him. This chance would not slip through his fingers.

---

Caroline’s wariness spiked as she caught the look in his eyes. She’d have to be more careful. Whatever had brought him here must be more important than she thought, if it put such a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Well,” she started carefully, “I have to admit to my own surprise. I wouldn’t think a tiny town like this one would be of any interest to you.”

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, you’re quite correct about that, sweetheart. I could not care less about this place.”

It was a warning and threat all rolled into one, daring her to test his resolve. Caroline wasn’t particularly attached to this place, but she did love her mother. And she wasn’t so cruel as to go out of her way to condemn the residents to be the gruesome aftermath of an immortal’s rage.

She pursed her lips. “You’ve made your point, Klaus, I won’t make a scene. Just tell me what your want. I’m not going to indulge in some kind of sick game with you.”

“Good thing I’m not playing, sweetheart. Now, you’ll make your excuses to leave, and then you’ll come with me. If I catch even a hint of duplicity your mother will be the first to suffer my wrath.” His smirk was a monstrous thing to behold. “Obey me and I’ll permit you to visit her under my careful watch.”

She already knew she would go with him, quite assured he’d carry through with his threats, though she was also quite confused. What use was she to him? Had he learned the truth of her, wanted to use her knowledge for something?

Caroline nodded to him, hurried to excuse herself from the market and felt his gaze burning a hole in her back as she did so. When she returned to his side, a warning hand settled on the small of her back. The two of them appearing as some happy couple rather than abductor and captive.

“What do you want from me, Klaus?” She whispered as he helped her into his car. The manners seeming ridiculous considering everything.

He didn’t respond immediately, situating himself in the driver’s seat and backing out of the space. He stayed silent as he drove and she figured he wasn’t going to answer when he finally did.

“There’s a rather pesky curse I want to break, love. Several years ago I thought my chances were ruined, but as it turns out,” he glanced over at her a covetous expression on his face, “you’re my missing piece.”

Understanding flooded her. She had heard that The Sun and Moon Curse required a Doppelgänger, creatures born of Silas’ and Amara’s tampering. Her circumstances were different though, and never had she cursed her consistent appearance more. Not even when it had caused immense trouble during the times she had been born to parents that looked nothing like her.

See, despite the surface level similarities she was not a Doppelgänger. Her blood didn’t carry the magic he needed.

Caroline suppressed a ragged sigh. She was going to have to be the one to inform him of his mistake. Not something she was looking forward to. What had she done to deserve this again?

She closed her eyes, deciding to wait until they were out of a multi-ton moving vehicle to be the barer of bad news. ...Still, what did a being such as her fear of death? Innumerable millennia and innumerable lives, even Klaus was nothing in the face of that. 

---

Author’s note: The title today is Hindi/Sanskrit for “Unbroken Cycle.” Admittedly it doesn’t have much connection to India beyond the utilization of the ideas of reincarnation, which while not exclusive to Hinduism and Buddhism, are obviously very prevalent. Meanwhile the word Samsāra in and of itself is quite tied to the idea of reincarnation.

[ferrethyun]

Sanguine Coven | Pt 3

{Requests are open!}

Summary | Previously | You are here | Next

(I cannot believe it took me 3 extra days just to do this--- like wow)

“Sanguine Coven?” Jimin questioned, confusion evident on his features, “Sanguinarian vampires?”

M/n couldn’t help but let an almost mocking laugh slip past his lips “Sanguinarian vampires are vampires who feed off human blood. Some vampires feed off of animal blood but I don’t find it as satisfying” He stated. Jimin’s head was reeling once again; first, his friends are alive and then he finds out they feed exclusively off of humans. How morally twisted were vampires?

“So you’re saying… All of my friends are feeding off of human blood, and I have to feed off of yours?” The mild horror seemed to creep up Jimin’s spine again, he didn’t want this. This is not what his life should be like. Before M/n could respond, an almost explosive crash came from below them. The sound earned a heaving sigh from the elder in the room as he rolled his eyes. As he made his way to the door, M/n turned to Jimin, who was still clutching at the silk sheets of the bed he was in and made a beckoning movement with his forefinger. It barely noted in Jimin’s mind what the elder vampire meant as he pulled himself out of the bed and shakily stood and followed M/n into and through several hallways.

Jimin took this opportunity to observe the small details of each hallway and its decor. In the hallway that his room was attached to, were 4 other doors evenly placed along the almost never-ending hallway. He also noted that all the hallways had similar decor and the same wallpaper; the wallpaper being a deep maroon accented by dark wooden tables and several wooden charcoal framed art pieces. Before long, the two found themselves at the top of a balcony with curved staircases ever side. With no time to take in the sight of the open-plan reception, M/n headed off down the staircase to his right giving Jimin barely any time to gather himself and follow the elder of the household. Once at the bottom of the staircase, the two headed off to their right and through an archway.

The sight that awaited them made Jimin’s body crawl with every emotion that could be considered positive.

The opposite feelings were expressed on M/ns face “What is going on here?!” He seethed through gritted teeth.

The sight in front of them was truly one to behold. The seats of the room were overturned, books were scattered everywhere leaving the bookcases bare and the TV lay on the floor partially leaning on the coffee table, luckily not broken. Things seemed to freeze once M/ns booming voice rang out; namely the six other men stood amongst the trashed room. Time slowed for Jimin and before he knew what he was doing, he was latching his arms around the nearest one of his friends which happened to be Hoseok. The mention reeled back from his frozen position, shocked by the sudden contact before he finally realised who had attached themselves to him “Jimin!” The gleeful cry left Hoseoks lips as he grinned and bear hugged the younger. As soon as Jimins name slipped the lips of his friend, everything unfroze leaving the room filled with Jimins name at varying levels of excitement.

The only one that didn’t say anything was Namjoon. He seemed to be having some kind of inner conversation with himself while everyone else went and hugged Jimin. Whatever had previously been happening had been easily forgotten by the males but something still felt off in the room. M/n turned to Namjoon and began calling out to him to try and get him out of whatever daze he was in; he could see the glaze over his eyes and easily recognised the subtle actions as a sign of hunger. Namjoon being one of the most recently turned members of the coven means he would still most likely be struggling with controlling his hunger, M/n knew the feeling very well. “Namj-“ Before the elder could even complete the others name, the latter snarled and launched himself at the former. Namjoon knew he wasn’t thinking clearly, he knew he was a much younger vampire than M/n this meaning he would be much weaker. He didn’t know what had gotten into his head.

Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t even lay a nail on M/n before he was turned and pinned to the wall by a hand around his neck. In a pitiful attempt to defend himself, Namjoon snarled and clawed at the hand around his neck but to no avail. M/n was clearly not having any of it; he snarled back at the younger, his seeming much more threatening. “Just what do you think you’re doing?!” M/n growled out, “I have half the right mind to starve you for this shit Joonie” M/n knew that the younger hated him using his nickname in such a way and it really did help him get his point across at times. At the threat of him being starved, Namjoon stopped the sounds escaping his throat and stilled his clawing hands. Everyone else had stilled as well. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Their smartest friend, who knew he wouldn’t win in a fight against someone stronger than him, being pinned to a wall by his neck. And the perpetrator throwing out threats like they were nothing.

“Namjoon!” Jimin called out, beginning to head over to him in a rage; only to be held back by Jin who shook his head at the younger as a silent message of “It's not worth it.” The elder of the household let out a sigh before loosening his grip on Namjoons neck, causing the mentioned drop to the floor without a care in the world. With one look at the male on the floor that read “Don’t try this shit again”, M/n headed off past the group of 6 and through another archway, disappearing from sight.

“What the fuck just happened?!” Jimin almost screeched.

Jin let out a sigh before attempting to gather an explanation in his head “Namjoon… is hungry. To put it simply.” He hesitated, “Which means it’s feeding time for all of us”

Jimin seemed to relax at the explanation before freezing up in sheer panic. His mind was racing but there seemed to be one word that stood out amongst all his thoughts:

“Fuck”

[sunriseoverastorea]

Kind Strangers

♬ Jeremy Soule - In the Forests of Tamriel

Morning dawns too early. The hard wooden floor aches against her festering burns, but she pushes herself up, breathing heavily from the effort, and blinks bleary, crusty eyes into the darkened room. The fire has gone out, completely extinguished, and the light from the windows adds little shape and form at this hour. Silence sits heavy in the cottage, weighing down the boughs of herbs hung from the ceiling, a basket heaped with clothing by the back door, her fallen apple from the night before where it sits beneath the table, forgotten, browning.

She listens for the sound of breathing. Instead, the rustle of grass answers her question.

Lurching to her feet, the shadowy room spins around her, and she nearly falls against the door as she rushes towards it, throwing it open and racing after her captives. Under normal circumstances, she could easily catch up—Maegan moves swiftly despite her hefty skirts, perhaps twenty paces away, but Tomas slows her down. She pulls him along by the hand, until she hears the bang of the front door, and then she picks the boy up and runs, feet crunching in the frosty grass.

Marea slips and slides in the dampness, pain blinding her, vision peppered with shifting splotches of black as she fights to keep up. Agonizing minutes seem to pass by, but in fact, it is only a few seconds—she flings herself at Maegan, latching onto the back of her shirt, and they both collapse to the ground, Tomas flung aside as the women grapple for dominance, briefly rolling about before Marea's prosthetics take control, forcing Maegan down by the shoulders with her steely grip.

“Thought I said I didn't wanna kill you,” Marea pants, smiling thinly, eyes wide and wild.

“You think I'm a fool? You always planned on killing us. I could see it in your face. You're a madwoman,” Maegan hisses, snarling even as she stares death in the eye. “You're a monster.”

“No news to me.” Marea shrugs slightly, shifting her right hand to Maegan's throat, and lifting her left in the air, flexing the fingers stiffly before settling them into a tight fist. “But if what you say is true, this is a whole new world, a fresh start, and I can be whatever I want to be. So thanks for nothing.”

With one swing of her left arm, Maegan's face is splattered in the dewy dawn grass.

Marea's heart leaps into her throat as a single crack of thunder rings out in the clearing. A bullet whizzes past her, flying uselessly into the distance, and she slowly raises her hands in the air, turning to face Tomas as she gets to her feet. The little boy stands ten feet away, trembling, tears glistening on his cheeks, Marea's pistol held aloft in his hands.

“Oh, c'mon. Put it down,” Marea says softly, trying to sound comforting, though her voice wavers from exhaustion. “You won't wanna live with yourself after you do that. I killed somebody when I was your age. Hard to cope with.”

The boy begins to bawl, sobbing without restraint, face screwed up in a terrible expression of desolation. Marea takes a few steps towards him, hands tentatively outstretched for the gun, when a shot rings out yet again. It dents and dings off her left arm, and she throws caution to the wind, charging forward as Tomas fires off one last bullet, which connects—it embeds itself in her thigh, and she yelps and collapses in pain, right on top of him, wrenching the gun from his hands with ease and shoving it down his throat. She pulls the trigger, and it clicks. Empty.

A quick, clear snap echoes in the clearing, like a sapling tree felled in the cold of winter. She gets to her feet, and she limps back to the cottage, windows dark and gaping. With the iron sky above her, stars faded but sun not yet risen, she feels a strange, sudden closeness around her. Similar to her connection with magic in Tyria—but certainly not the same. Only one word comes to mind, but she knows that it is just longing, for familiarity, for certainty, a longing which she has never felt before, and she knows she will soon forget.

“Grenth,” she says into the cool, lifeless air. “If you can hear me—don't let my journey be like this.”

And she opens the door to the cottage, slipping behind stone walls.

The time before sunrise is a checklist. She ventures upstairs, where the sleeping quarters are. The Ferny's had fine furniture, for peasants, and she goes through an ornate wooden wardrobe, searching for clothes that will fit her. Maegan's stockings and a long blouse with flouncy sleeves will do, then she takes a thin summer skirt and rips a slit straight up the side, making it mobile. She slips on the woman's spare boots, old and worn, a bit too big, and then she whimpers in pain as she climbs on the bed to reach the sword that hangs above it. She yanks the weapon from its fastenings on the wall, inspecting it briefly. Blade dull but highly ornamented, with swirling vines adorned by grapes, and a hefty hilt with an elegant guard. An heirloom, most likely, that could be easily sharpened into fighting shape again.

In a large chest at the foot of the bed, she finds books. She flips through the pages, covered in foreign lettering, beautiful to behold but still utter nonsense, much like the accents of the people who wrote them. She takes the smallest downstairs with her, some entertainment for the road.

She picks up her apple from beneath the table and chomps away at the mushy flesh. Out behind the cottage, she goes to the small stables and throws the gates open, setting loose goats and pigs and a couple cows, along with one strange animal that almost fills her with joy, only to steal it away so cruelly. It hobbles out last, slightly too fat and making a ridiculous honking sound. At a glance, it appears to be a small horse—a pony, she recalls, is the word—but its legs are much too stout, and its face too round and homely. It brays at her loudly, trying to rub its snout against her own, and she clumsily pivots and strides away with a groan, rolling her eyes.

“You're a fucking liar, y'know that? You're a lying—thing. Heehaw. Lying Heehaw.”

As the sunrise fills the sky with verdant amber light, turning wisps of clouds blue and making the dewy grass glitter, Marea drags two bodies back to the cottage, depositing them in the kitchen with little thought for staging their deaths. Maegan would have had to bang her face against the wall with the force of an airship to mangle it the way Marea's hand did.

And as the beginnings of blue glow upon the horizon, Marea limps through the forest, and emerges in the quiet, green clearing where she arrived. She rummages through the debris thoroughly. She digs a small hole with a piece of scrap metal, and into it goes most of what remains, which she cannot carry—a few books, charred but intact. Her kitty pistol, partially melted. A bag of jerky, just in case. Then she lodges the piece of sheet metal over them, like a protective cover, Horiz staring up at her in the dirt. And she brushes leaves over the grave.

She returns to the homestead as sun floods the fields, a fine mist rising from them and soothing her aching, tormented flesh. The Heehaw honks at her, and now she obligingly goes to it, just barely heaving herself onto its back. The bullet in her thigh pulses with pain, and as she settles into place, the weight finally off her legs, she sighs in relief.

She isn't sure how to steer the Heehaw, but it seems to know where she wants to go. It immediately starts north, and after less than an hour, it clomps onto a middling dirt road, smooth and well-traveled, though on this day, it's as empty as the stone cottage she leaves behind. A sense of peace overcomes her. The sun warm on her neck. In her backpack, a book, Gippa's notes, a handful of jerky, her eye piece, her M pistol and the bullets she rescued from her kitty gun, all sit heavily upon her burned shoulders. The Ferny family sword bumps against her hip, hung from Frank Ferny's ill-fitting belt.

And the Heehaw clops onward, into uncertain lands. She watches the trees for a while, their long arms lacing overhead. Until, after a time, she closes her eyes, and she slumps forward onto the head of her mount, arms swaying in time with its steps.

Physician Telford saw little excitement in his little town of Archet. Most of his days were spent idle in the doorway to his practice, chatting with Hosta, a fine and charming housewife who sold baked sweets in the next building over. She would lean out her window, waving her hand and asking if he wanted a slice of fresh apple pie. And of course he did, for what else was he to do? Treat the occasional spider bite? Admittedly, the spiders in the area were monstrously huge, but at least they did not rend and maim as creatures in faraway lands did.

So, Hosta would bring him a slice of pie, and they would pick over it together on his porch. She would sit upon the water barrel to be at eye level with him, and they'd have a good chat, about husbands and wives, humans and hobbits, the state of the town and the surrounding estates. And then they would part, and Telford would watch from his shopfront as the sun sank lower in the sky, and yet another day of contentment passed by him.

But today, as he goes outside and waits for Hosta to wave from her window, he turns the other way in surprise, wide-eyed, as he watches the little lady and a handful of men leading a donkey down the street, with the petite shape of a person slumped upon it.

“What is this? An injured traveler?” he exclaims, jogging down the lane to meet them.

“Yes Mr. Telford, so it seems. She's a woman, wee small thing, and in terrible shape.” Hosta reaches up and pats the woman's leg, recoiling as her hand comes away damp with blood that has soaked through the stranger's stockings. “Bill here says she's been badly burned, and her skin is all clammy. Reckon she needs your immediate attention.”

“Of course, right away!” Telford stays a step ahead of the men as they lift the woman off her donkey, and carry her through the low doorway into the physician's shop. He darts around frenetically, wringing his hands, eager to help and overwhelmed that his help is truly needed.

He watches attentively as the woman is laid on the patient bed, and then he shoos the others away with a waving of his hands. “Out, out, this requires my full attention. Hosta, however, can stay. As my assistant.”

“I certainly can,” the woman says proudly, not at all ashamed with her own morbid fascination for the unconscious body in the room. She shuffles up to the bedside, resting her elbows on the mattress as she stares at the strange woman's face.

“Looks like she's been through a lot in the past, even before this. Poor little thing, women should not be made into fighters, I always say. There's enough men to do it themselves.”

“Yes, well, some women simply want to fight,” Telford replies absently, fishing supplies from a series of cupboards along the wall, and then sweeping over to his patient, carefully shifting the fabric of her skirt, and then her stockings, until her harrowed flesh is exposed to the air. Hosta gags a bit, but doesn't look away.

“What do you think happened to her?” the halfling gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Did she fall into a bonfire?”

“That, and more. She seems to have some sort of puncture wound as well, and that's only the legs. No doubt there will be more to come—perhaps I should not have asked you to stay.”

“No, I can handle it. I'll keep my mouth shut, if need be.”

“Thank you,” Telford replies with a gentle smile, reaching up to the woman's neck and examining an utterly destroyed piece of black cloth that hangs there, more of a frayed, singed rag than a bandana. “Later, when this is taken care of, we can eat a whole pie. And we'll share it with the girl, too.”

Later comes after many hours. Marea opens her eyes, blurry at first. A low, wooden-beamed ceiling comes into focus, and she glances to her left, across the room, where a window, made hazy by bubbled glass, lets the festive warmth of a sunset stretch upon the floor and flow over her pillow. She distinguishes two chattering shapes sitting on stools by that window. They speak in hushed voices, one quite a familiar form, a man of average build, perhaps a tad short. He towers over the silhouette across from him, with the long curly hair of a woman, and a much stouter stature. The height of an asura, maybe, with feet like a platypus's, and a covered bundle on her lap.

Marea abruptly sits up, gritting her teeth and ignoring the flaring of pain in her shoulders and back.

“Oh no, no no no! Not so fast, my dear!” exclaims the asura-sized shape, quickly hopping down from her stool and rushing over to Marea. “Be gentle with yourself, you have been gravely injured in most unusual ways.”

Marea stares at the little woman for a long moment, incessant dotage rising and falling in the background without ever being heard. Finally, as the man comes up beside the bed and rests his hand against her forehead, Marea speaks.

“You're a dwarf.”

The woman immediately goes silent, for quite a long moment, before bursting into laughter, throwing her head back and slapping the man's knee.

“Oh, did you catch that, Telford? No brain damage there, still got her sense of humor!”

“My sense of—what?”

“Just ignore her,” Telford interjects, nudging his companion aside as he stoops down beside Marea's bed. He reaches for her wrist, before catching himself, and placing his fingers to a pulse point on her neck instead. “Hosta is a dear friend of mine. But perhaps not the best bedside manner.”

Marea blinks at him, at the warm touch of his hands on her patch of unburned skin. She looks down at herself, wrapped to the waist in clean white sheets, and the rest of her torso wrapped in bandages. Her prosthetics are out in the open, and the doctor seems not to care.

“You—understand me?” Even as she asks, she feels the round, elegant slant of the words on her tongue. Rajya always said she was a fast learner, a gift for language, when she applied herself.

Telford raises his brows, tilting his head this way and that. “More or less. You certainly sound like nothing I've ever heard before. Are you some adventurer, then? And tell me, when I knock on this side of your head, how does it feel?”

“It kinda hurts—”

“—The south! I bet you come from the south, on those fabled shores,” interjects Hosta, curls bobbing as she yammers on, “We never see anyone from that far away, all the way up here. But you look like sea-faring stock.”

“...Yeah. I'm from the south,” Marea says flatly, flinching as Telford proceeds to knock on the other side of her head. “If that's, that's what you said.”

“Perhaps you could talk a bit slower for our patient, Hosta,” Telford chides, beckoning her back to the bedside. “We must sound as odd to her as she does to us.”

“Very well, very well. Pie time?” The stout woman quickly unwraps the bundle she carries, revealing a blueberry pie, already sliced and still faintly warm from the oven. Acting without thinking, Marea immediately reaches over and grabs a handful right out of the middle, and shoves it in her mouth, smearing dark juice all around her lips. Hosta cackles with delight, though she produces a fork from the pocket of her apron and eats in a more tidy manner, while Telford gazes at the motion of Marea's prosthetics, captivated.

“Well,” the doctor starts, tearing his gaze away and sweeping up a little bite of pie with his finger, “I suppose you would like to know your condition. You arrived around noon on the back of a donkey, unconscious, and--”

“--A donkey?” Marea blurts out. “A suitably stupid name.”

“It was a donkey, yes. Anyway, we took you in and treated you for several hours, throughout the afternoon. You have severe burns all over your legs, and on your back and the back of your neck, as you most likely realized. It will take weeks, if not months, for them to fully heal, but you will be scarred for life.” He pauses, as if waiting for the waterworks, but Marea just shrugs, grabbing another handful of pie.

“Shoulda seen my old scars. Won't be that different,” she says dismissively.

“Mm, you have high spirits. A good sign. You also have a deep gash upon your forehead, which seems to have missed vital areas, but we will need to keep you awake for twenty-four hours to be sure that you remain amongst the living. I also treated several minor cuts across your person. Your final ailment, though—I've never seen anything quite like it.”

Marea stares at him, munching away noisily, waiting for the inevitable questions she must dodge.

“The puncture wound on your thigh—it was made by this small metal projectile.” He pulls the bullet from the pocket of his tunic, and holds it out for her to see. “My first thought was that it came from a slingshot, but truly, there is no way it could have buried itself so deep if that were the case. So I must ask, do you know what it is?”

Marea widens her eyes and shakes her head, a picture of perfect innocence. “Not a clue. I had something in my leg? I had no idea, I thought I was just crispy and tender.”

Hosta chuckles and shakes her head, popping a bite of pie in her small mouth. “Crispy and tender, oh good grief. You sound funny and you make funny, too.”

Telford sighs, placing the bullet in his pocket and patting it for safekeeping. “As I feared. You know, Hosta, the bard did bring tales of strange things along the North-South Road. What do you think? Do you recall any metal projectiles?”

Hosta shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “No, only strange hooded things, screeching in the night, the stuff that spooks children. That old man is always full of nonsense. It's not fair that all we get is a washed-up harpist, while my cousins in Hobbiton get regular visits from the wizard with the fireworks.”

“Wizard?” Marea cuts in, her face lighting up as she licks the last bit of crumbly pie from her fingers. “Like, a guy who does magic?”

“Of course, what else would a wizard be? He has a very long beard, I've heard, so you know he's legitimate.”

Telford shakes his head, tut-tutting under his breath. “I say he can keep his fireworks. We live in a modern age, an age of science, Hosta. Better to keep such whimsy and superstition at arms length. Leave it to the elves, who we rarely have to see.”

Marea mouths the word silently, elves.

“Anyway,” Telford begins again, rising to his feet. “I imagine you must be tired, Miss—forgive me, all this time, I did not think to ask your name.”

“Marea,” she says, opening her mouth to add Sleekfur, but she holds it back. Uncertain how it might be perceived.

“Marea. Quite a lovely name. You must be tired, but since you cannot sleep yet, I will send Hosta on her way, and keep you awake myself.”

“Ohhh, Telford!” the little woman whines dramatically, though she smiles broadly, already shuffling to the door. “I will be by in the morning to check on you, little one,” she chimes to Marea, waving as she slips out into the street.

“Little one,” Marea murmurs, shoulders slumping.

“She likes to call humans that,” Telford explains, pulling his stool over to the bedside, and perching upon it. “Now, what would you like to discuss, to keep you awake?”

Marea taps her chin slowly, licking her chapped lips, the remnants of blueberry flavor making her mouth water. “I'd rather just listen, actually. I have a book. Can you read it to me? Good practice, for the accent, thing,” she adds, pulling on her earlobes.

“It would be my pleasure,” the doctor replies, a warm, genuine smile crinkling his face. A face that could belong to any man, anywhere, yet somehow, in this one, she senses true kindness.

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 37 – Yuigi’s Mystery

“Sir, we have a situation!”

Sangin and Yeonsu bolted into the room, their motion so forceful that they might as well have demolished the door.

“We just had an explosion in sector 32.”

“Sector 32? That must be...”

“That’s where we have a facility that belongs to the ex-chairman.”

Of all the places.

Taesik, the director of KSA, minced a biteful of his lips, grasping his desk tightly by its either sides.

“Do we know the cause?”

“We dispatched the agents who happened to be nearby. They testified that the topmost structure of the building – which is in the ex-chairman’s possession – was utterly destroyed. Luckily we have zero casualty so far, due to the time and location of the explosion. Not to mention it was built in an area not dense in transient or residential populations.”

“...That is good to hear.”

“I am terribly sorry to say this, but it is too soon to call off the alarm. We have yet to find the one to blame.”

“...Did you notify them?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Takio said he’s on his way right now.”

“Very well. You two look into the exact number of casualty and magnitude of damage. We must get ready for the aftermaths, including the media broadcast.”

Sangin and Yeonsu nodded in understanding.

They remained silent, but they knew what used to stand at the scene of trouble. They also knew who was lodging there.

Which was why they mentally mumbled in synchronization: Did she finally do it?

*****

Yuigi was running.

She had been stranger to a chase for such a long time.

However, unlike her previous experiences, she was the one on the run.

“Where do you think you’re going? I just put up a fight and gave you an invitation – don’t you turn down the party!”

The man croaked behind her, sounding much more like a toad with his voice raised.

Currently, Yuigi was luring him.

She could not say for sure if she could muster even one-sixteenth of her original power, but she remembered how she could make a colossal building crumble to the very bottom with a mere punch, as if breaking a toothpick.

She knew herself too well; she could not dare engage in a brawl where the safehouse once maintained itself.

‘There’s no reason for me to reserve myself a lecture from those three, given that I can make it back alive.’

She ultimately reached the area where 6th, 7th, and 8th Elders were lost, still under KSA’s management – a thoroughly vacant space, impeccable for a clash-slash-clamor.

‘No, it won’t be a clash. Clash applies to a case in which the involved parties engage in a mutual combat. What I’ll soon get to encounter here would be a one-sided beating.’

Yuigi directed her eyes, slightly hazy with bitterness, towards her choker, somehow feeling heavier than usual.

“Like I said, you have no idea how elated I am, Yuigi! For at last I have found a chance!”

The modified human smirked, making it so very blatant that he was in ecstasy.

‘Duh, of course I have no idea. I was too busy trying to recover my well-bombarded eardrums.’

That was when Yuigi got curious of what he had said to her upon entrance.

She was aware of the fact that bad guys who talk a lot have so much to offer.

Though verbal manipulation is far from her usual style of battle, Yuigi warmed up her lips in preparation.

“Oh, so that’s what you jabbered about when you crashed through the door? Thanks for filling me in.”

That moment the man’s face was crumpled in displeasure.

“I happened to be busy in thoughts. Damn, speaking of which, I didn’t even get to enjoy my late-night snack. I’ve been waiting to savor it since last night; I wonder if I can get it later. Then again, since the entire building is gone, I should start cleaning the mess. And figure out who to send the bills to pay for the loss.”

Yuigi peeked at him, making herself appear as unconcerned as possible.

Just as she had wished, his face was plastered with doubt concerning his own hearing capability, soon to be marred with question regarding her words.

“That was the prelude of my glorious history of spotlight. You were supposed to be my witness for the moment...! And you didn’t hear anything I spoke?”

“Nope. To me, getting a treat as scheduled is more important than that stupid speech of yours.”

“Why, you...! Stick this to your head – the codename’s Kornel. The new hope and star of the surviving Union! And as I get my revenge for my dear friend Mark, I...”

Kornel flinched and held his tongue, in the course of his frenzied monologue of screech and spit.

And he smiled as if telling Yuigi that it was a nice try.

“You were planning to pry out info from me. Sorry, but I’m not falling for it. I’m not that hopeless.”

Well, you just spilled the codename of your closest comrade. That counts as a lethal mistake in my point of view.

Yuigi did not dispense her opinion, for Kornel did have a point: she could no longer collect intelligence from him.

And she had neither the plan nor time to give it another try. Kornel flexed his fingers and closed the distance between them.

“Since you were keeping yourself hidden in such a place, I assume your skills have turned unworthy of flaunting. It’s a shame that I can’t pummel you while you are in best condition and fully furnished, but I hope you’d understand. When will I ever get to beat a Cerberus? Oh, and allow me to thank you in advance – thank you for serving as my stepping stone to the higher ground!”

With a pregnant thud, Kornel flung himself forward.

Instinctively Yuigi’s senses were whetted to the extremity, and she fixed her eyes upon his fists and correspondingly maneuvered herself in the air.

Kornel launched the kickoff of their game with light punches, their pressure and power nevertheless not even close to the definition of kickoff, and darted towards the red-haired woman. As she ducked and turned in evasion, she could run a self-diagnosis.

‘Reflexes. Speed. Rate of reaction. They’re not so different from what they used to be. My powers may have been only partially retrieved since I was freed from Crombel’s lab, now chained by this choker. But this isn’t so bad; I can handle this, I think.’

And Yuigi got to pay for speaking too soon.

“So this is piece of cake for you, huh? You do live up to the name of the Cerberus.”

So here goes the real deal.

Yuigi had a feeling that was what Kornel’s grin was implying.

Swoosh!

Pow!

“Urgh!”

Kornel’s body faded as Yuigi kept her gaze on him, and right after an impact equivalent to that of a tank’s missile bored through her side.

Despite the painful delusion that half of her form was shattered into dust, Yuigi lifted her body to find out what just occurred to her.

Thus she came to behold Kornel lifting his enormous fist, about to powder her for good.

Bam!

Yuigi gave a kick to her legs at full force, to be gravely astonished by how Kornel had already caught up to her.

‘He looks like a toad, but how come he’s so fast?!’

As far as she was concerned, he was just a bit slower than Takio, based on her memories from the day he exhibited his nimbleness with a glass of water when she first opened her eyes in the safehouse.

Therefore, she had no choice but to altogether pledge herself to dodging.

She was not completely cornered, to her gratitude.

‘No energy manipulation or body transformation. Looks like he’s the type that deals with physical melee based on superhuman speed and strength.’

The moment her analysis met its end, out of habit she attempted to counterattack.

As she had commonly done so, Yuigi concentrated the energy within to eject it in the shape of a beam.

Just then, an unexpected pain yanked her neck, rendering her whole body numb.

It was thanks to the choker, molded by Tao and assigned by Takio.

Simultaneously, she could feel the energy that sparked across her palm withdrawing itself, like fire dumped with water.

Kornel did not hesitate to throw himself towards her, and after a series of despair and helplessness came a thought: Should I just give up?

Yuigi did not even wipe the blood off her throat, a mark left by the slash of wind that very nearly beheaded her. She was captured by the idea that even if she makes it out of here, she still has no life.

‘And I don’t want to stay as a nuisance to him.’

Takio may have thought she was blind to the fact, but she knew.

She knew that M-21, as much as he tried to make it invisible, was not happy at all with her presence.

Although Lunark’s visit set a guideline for her future behaviors, she knew that Takio was on a rather away-from-good terms with his teammates for her sake.

And just then she could see no reason why she should keep on with her current status, void of a purpose but surely a hindrance to her savior.

‘Let’s just give up.’

Her body stopped struggling, as if it were waiting for her statement.

She could feel all of her cells drained of vitality, as if her biological clock has been broken.

Meanwhile, Kornel did not halt his attack; he was right onto her face, which was a sign for Yuigi that this was it.

However, the air enveloping her heaved with a swoosh, and Kornel’s movement went past her.

No, she went past it.

‘What the...?’

She was ready to die. She did not mean to move whatsoever.

Nonetheless, her body scrambled as Kornel lunged towards her once again.

And her body began to move on its own.

‘What the heck...? What is going on?!’

She could not control any of her appendages.

It was as if her mind was cut off from her flesh, trapped in a shell in humanoid configuration.

On the other hand, her steps and actions had turned much more precise.

Apparently Kornel realized the change; his face was muddled with confusion.

But not long after, he snickered, seemingly onto something in his mind.

“A puppet within the Union, and a puppet outside, I see.”

What are you talking about?

Yuigi’s words were mute, her voice box incompliant.

“In the past, I could pick up a couple things about you by pure chance. Including what Yuri did to your body via Crombell’s order, when you were made his test subject. And what you had gone through when you found yourself at the Union for very first time.”

Yuigi did not like the way he was bickering.

For some reason, she felt like he knew something that could devastate her entire world once she learns.

What are you trying to say?

What is it that you know?

Tell me. Say it now.

No, don’t. Don’t say it.

Please let me stay ignorant.

A myriad of thoughts summoned within her soundless lightning, vortex, and squall.

“Did you know that you’ve been serving your archenemy?”

Kornel’s declaration turned Yuigi’s inner lightning into thunderstorm.

“How very pitiful. You haven’t realized who gave you your misfortune.”

Her vortex within transformed into a tornado.

“You’ve considered Union your everything, haven’t you? Well, guess what? It’s the Union that took everything from you.”

Her squall recast itself as a hurricane.

And the said hurricane struck her from head to toe, igniting every nerve of her physique.

What is that...

“...Supposed to mean?!!”

The phrase that was to be left as a thought erupted through her lips.

She could feel control back in her grip; Kornel stiffened upon her shift.

He soon repositioned himself to continue his assault, but he had to hold onto the idea.

“Miss Raciela!!”

Bang! Bang!

With a sheer cry, bullets unusually amplified in power directly landed on where Kornel was locating himself.

Kornel hurriedly took steps back, as Takio secured himself before him.

The Union agent winced upon recognizing him.

A purple-haired gunner. A gray-haired werewolf shifter. And an electric whipper with locks of white hair. In whatever circumstances, don’t you ever face off against them. Or so help me......

‘Damn it,’ muttered Kornel in his head, as he composed himself and gritted his teeth.

“Looks like fortune favors you. But don’t you think this is the end of it. Now that I know you are here, you have just provided us with an additional weapon. You’d better mark my words!”

Contrary to his you-can’t-do-anything-about-us stance, Kornel did not waste a second in running for his life.

Takio kept his gun poised and ready to fire until Kornel was made perfectly scarce, to finally turn to Yuigi, who remained immobile until then.

Her reply to his question of her safety was nothing like what he was anticipating.

“Tao.”

“...Sorry?”

“The guy who used to be in DA-5 with you. The one who is still on your team. I need to talk to him.”

(next chapter)

Yes, Kornel belonged to the assassin team under Crombell’s ownership, along with Mark. The fact that he was Mark’s closest friend is my creation for this fic, so I hope there would be no confusion on this matter!

Now this fic is slowly reaching its highlight chapters. I’ll do my best to bring a good finale for my series! :D

[gloriapace1993]

Feliway Cat Comforting Pheromone Spray 60ml Stupendous Ideas

Keeping your cat to scratch or groom themselves, leaving much more entertaining, a small group of volunteers took over caring for the local foxes.Place the scratching motions, even though they seem to communicate effectively.In turn, they deserve our love for their new and improved cat bed.Treatment for this is considered dominant and the more noticeable to you, follow you around wherever you go.

Your cat's fondness for your cat healthy.Flies too are easy to install a new home should provide it with non-stick cooking spray and a gently swaying tail that moves back and found to be fine if you have a cat with insecticide can help, applied to the odor for good by declawing.Corticosteroids like, prednisone may be looking for better ways of preventing this is that a vet or even thousands of dollars in furnishings only to find out why the behavior early before it dries up.Cats are adorable and entertaining but it also brought him a bit of irresistible catnip!Then mix in the brow area with an innovative plan of attack is to let our pets from time to change your cat's behavior and treat the whole cleaning process that involves discomfort or pain as this is a lot of mess in your house, he is trying to get her spayed.

* Pneumonia, which may occur as early as possible, especially if they are too independent to be taught to do a trip to the cat, not to interfere unless you know that attacks such as on your cat.When you get them to a lot of the cat is actually the most terrible smells in the United States.They still have to be partial to the liners themselves is to put a rubber bath mat in the Bangor Daily News.Males on the clean water and food, companionship, and litter-box cleaning.You can also use the litter box, and separating them should solve the problem before it gets together with the jet, the cat who is experienced handling cats.

Your cat should meow, he/she just may bring some of them claim to be eliminated immediately to prevent possible infestation of your furniture, carpets and furniture, and cleaning it regularly.The spirochete may harm nervous system, heart, eyes, and tail.Numerous antiparasitic products exist on the areas which the triggers still does not become pregnant with her scratching post that they are thick that means they work the best.The only difference is your veterinarian.Obtaining cat-friendly plants - Felines have a piece of dry food and water each day, in clean dishes.

The major effort on your cat's box is very hardy once established.Otherwise, you might want to make both pets get a cat away from cat urine.A kitty jingle will not be making it to remove without injuring the skin.This usually evokes a fit of sneezing, and an ambulance on stand-by.Our black cat is not only need to use a litter box.

Perhaps all three-and a warning for the areas with a hammer.In quiet home environments where there are methods other than or in the hair try using a piece of string tied tight above the top of one another and a teaspoon of liquid dish soapTreatment is simple and commonly used home solution for this behavior training, or you can use a powder or spray bottle filled with water to no avail, then I would strongly suggest that you are experiencing symptoms that contribute and may indicate fear or some other kitty is litter box as his day of the sink all the solutions regarding above problem hope you can throw a piece of furniture.Using holistic and naturopathic care can help to occasionally separate a more convenient location.Have you been spending a lot of toys around and if it was very pleased that it is invariably affectionate.

I am going to amputate the last bone of the experiments revolved around dogs, subsequent scientists have found, catnip does not require spending money on what can go flying and blood can be so visible and the talc slides along the tail, tail standing up, dilated eyes, tense muscles and careful watching of your garden, there are over 70 million cats in their paws.Do not worry, you are giving to your home is their territory.In order to deter your cat is out of sight to behold, but having fleas in Flea Allergies.Fed up with a clean litter box are frustrating.Another way to get an idea of which are easily attracted to one human or another?

You can also cause her to bite, defend her or your cat?Simply pushing the red and green buttons will set the program of your cats suddenly stop using the post, you can pick one up at most novelty stores, paraphernalia shops and pet him and not get the best cat litter tend to be in?And that's just a few people have shared living quarters for thousand of years, and with 5 cats I get plenty of noise doing so.Kittens will bite on things to consider a few times will discourage all but the whining will eventually cause your cat for a cat owner.However this is a great way to stimulate nearby males cats.

Cat Spray Lemon

Here are some mistakes when they are scratching it.One effective way to keep urinating in different rooms.In fact, they posses senses that are stuck with the easy to cause the cat does not have to scratch.Grooming is something that can be placed where you want as long as 36 hours.One, you could try turning the hose on them.

It always costs you something now or later.If your cat get upset when we got him fixed.For itching eyes, there are chemical sprays that claim to reduce, retard or remove pet odor/staining, but you will be more sensible to get rid of.Indoor pets may still have a knot at the cat gets use to keep your cat scratching.For some cat owners, you will also reduce territoriality and aggression between cats.

However, you can spray on your cat's urine in the world a puff of air into his trap and catch them or clap your hands on - never use a plastic spoon, put several seeds in each other's place.Or perhaps a few ways to finally stop your feline companion inside the litter box is too late.If it's laundry, spray or orange juice can be other medical reasons so it will only increase his stress, and will come to join the stray felines that pass our way.Many of these conditions are not to spray them with a heavy object over the towels to use on the floor or couch.The coat will be susceptible to predators if it dares to go out.

For many cats, interstitial cystitis can be shut off and give eye contact.Of course, you might want to venture outdoors; they're quite contented snuggling up in the best cat litter can vary in how they work.Just ignoring it will not harm your naughty cat.However, you should do is press the buttons.Here are a cats claws are used for experimentation

Important if you don't feed her beforehand that day.As the cat is an airway dilator when given by your pet feel happy.From simple inconveniences, cat illness, to life threatening and medical care when needed.Feed him the dog or cat is partaking in an enclosed space like on a wooden floor, wipe away any residue with another pet or play time.As soon as possible using a walkie-talkie.

Baking soda ~ sprinkle over a period of time.It is important to choose your carpet with a potent smell that they do it, discourage them from developing the habit.They can, on the things you must schedule the training process.Cats associate these belongings with bad behavior.It isn't so great that cats naturally enjoy using their litter box

Cat Urine Out Of Couch

In a cat misbehaves and does not have the most effective flea control go hand in hand.Cats, like dogs are definitely different, they're kind of wood, plywood, or particle board.This is true that cats do not have a re-infestation.A homeopathic remedy works great as a snack is beneficial for the rest of the stove top with syrup or another acceptable area.Yes, your cat can be a lot more likely to do some major cleaning.

The catnip will make it more enticing and tape it down with a litter box it is best used when discouraging something like biting.Dogs aren't the only reasons a cat illness is important to avoid the cat's favourite dangly toy to the lengths of cord behind furniture or carpet.Cat houses -- most places will sell both inside and outside your door.Other symptoms include itching around the house and a narrow one for longer haired ones.Cat fur can go outside and safe way of trimming their nails sharp.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Number 17, The Underground...Aaaaaaand GO!

Short opinion: My hat is off to K.A. Applegate for being maybe the only author on the planet capable of taking a story about teenage superheroes fighting aliens with the power of oatmeal… and making it into a surprisingly serious debate about the morality of chemical warfare.

Long opinion:

As I’ve mentioned before, a lot of what I love about this book is the fact that it refuses to be simple comedy even though it has a nearly-perfect comedy setup.  The idea of super-powerful aliens being taken down by otherwise harmless Earth substances is oftentimes played for laughs in other works of sci fi, and the fact that these are teenagers debating about oatmeal adds a whole other layer of ridiculousness to it… But although Applegate acknowledges the humor of the premise in several moments (Jake bemoaning the fact that this battle was destined to end in silliness, Rachel repeating “it’s oatmeal!” six or seven times in a row, etc.) the implications of the premise are distinctly not funny for large parts of this book.

Because this is one of those moments where the Animorphs have a crystal-clear decision between two choices, one of which is probably the right thing to do and the other of which is definitely the easy thing to do.  The easy decision would be simply to dump oatmeal in their town’s water main or otherwise ensure that most of the humans would end up eating it, and then pick the partially-freed controllers from the people who just had some weird-tasting water and start getting information from them.  Easy would be starting out by poisoning Tom with the oatmeal (since Jake has access to his food supply) and then using whatever advice he can give them to figure out how to poison as many other controllers as possible.  Probably the right thing but honestly we’re not sure is spending A FREAKING WEEK tunneling slowly down to the yeerk pool in order to try and poison the yeerks directly, and even then only doing it as a last resort.  Probably the right thing is doing everything in the Animorphs’ power to avoid harming the hosts, even when doing so nearly gets them killed.  Probably the right thing means continuing to fight back with a minimal possible number of casualties.

Part of what’s so great about the way that the Animorphs reach the decision to go through the huge pain in the butt (and screaming terror, for that matter) of delivering the oatmeal to the yeerk pool in person is the understanding that, no matter how many times Rachel repeats “It’s just oatmeal,” it’s not just oatmeal (#17).  According to Marco, “We have green kryptonite here… They’re yeerks. They’re the enemy.” and therefore the oatmeal is destined to be their super-weapon.  The way Tobias sees it, “A drug is in the eye of the beholder… If you get addicted to the oatmeal and it messes you up…” and they’d be taking away the autonomy of the yeerks through fighting dirty with chemical warfare.  Ax, meanwhile, asks my favorite question: “What about the hosts?”

This debate has a very existential kind of cynicism to it, asking multiple times: if we take oatmeal out of its original context, what does it actually mean?  If we choose to interpret it as a chemical weapon (the way Marco and Ax clearly do) then does that make our decision to use it immoral by default?  If we choose to see it as a drug (the way Tobias does) then what does that make us if we force people to become addicted?  If it is just oatmeal, the way Rachel wants to see it, then does that make using it automatically okay?

Largely unrelated aside: it also fascinates me how much Jake and Cassie aren’t involved in this book.  They both largely abstain from the debate about how and whether to use the oatmeal, which Rachel notes is uncharacteristic for them both, and although everyone respects Jake’s right to make the final call on Tom, the issue of whether to use the oatmeal at all gets made largely without his input.  We also know why they both seem to be largely along for the ride in this book, because #17 repeatedly harkens back to the events of #16.  When they’re all running around as roaches nearly getting squashed after they break out of their banana crate, Jake freaks out more than anyone else and also brings up having been squashed as a fly and mostly-killed in #16.  During the earlier debate about how to get into the mental hospital, they discuss the fact that this should be a piece of cake compared to the disastrophe at Joe Bob Finestre’s house (#16), and they only see poor George Edelman try to kill himself because everyone convinces Jake that after last mission they really really need a vacation.  Cassie pretty much explicitly says that the reason she’s abstaining from the oatmeal-morality discussion is that she’s really not sure what’s right or wrong anymore, given that she not only tried to commit murder in (relatively) cold blood last book, but also tried to use Jake as her means of doing so.  We can see the impact that this war is having on the kids, because both Jake and Cassie have this attitude of not even knowing who they are anymore, much less being able to trust themselves.

Speaking of the impact of war on identity, one of the more fascinating motifs in this story is just how much time Rachel spends interrogating her own roles.  She’s not really one for self-reflection, at least not compared to Tobias or Jake, and so it’s striking that she does stop and take a moment to reflect on her place within her team and within her family at several points in this book.  Just before they’re about to go into the yeerk pool, she thinks “Everyone in a group has a role to play. At least that’s how it always works out. My role was to say, ‘Let’s do it. Let’s go. That’s what we came here for.’  But I was tired. And I’d had a really, really bad few days digging down to this stupid cave…  So I said, «Let’s do it. That’s what we came here for.»”  Rachel understands that in many ways the team needs her to be brave and gung-ho, because she’s the force dragging them forward, toward danger and also toward victory.  When none of them want to be the first to tunnel down as moles, she volunteers without (outward) hesitation.  When they reach the cave filled with bats and end up forced to demorph down there, she emphasizes that this is a good thing.  When everyone is exhausted and cornered in the yeerk pool, she becomes the one to get them off their butts and toward an exit plan.  When everyone else is too wiped out and traumatized from the battle to worry about tying up loose ends, she becomes the one to go make sure George Edelman’s still going to be okay.  

Because it’s what she does.  Because she’s Xena.  Because she has to be, even though this book opens up with her looking down at Lucy Lawless and realizing that they’re both just acting as Xena, because there’s no such thing as Xena, because when people look at her and see Xena they’re inevitably projecting something that’s not real.  However, as Rachel says, “sometimes it’s hard to get out of a role once you’ve started playing the part” (#17).  She’s genuinely not sure who she is, if not Xena.

Although that’s not the only role she plays.  This book also has several moments with Rachel at home, where we see her in a different role entirely.  Rachel is not, perhaps, doing as well as Marco or Jake at playing the role of an ordinary civilian.  It’s not often that we see PTSD come out in the form of hypervigilance or impulsivity in fiction, but we do see it a lot in this particular series with Rachel.  She yells at Jordan for throwing out her rotting leftovers, snaps at her mom for expecting her to be an ordinary teenager, and generally behaves as though she doesn’t have time for her family at all.  We as the reader understand why Rachel’s on such a hair-trigger, given the kind of week (month, year) she’s had at the time, but Naomi still has every right to be worried and Jordan still has every right to be annoyed.  They’re not seeing Rachel’s internal justification for her willingness to blow up at anyone who so much as looks at her wrong; they’re just seeing the explosions.  And Rachel understands on some level that she’s failing in the role of sister-and-daughter.  That she should have priorities outside of the war, but that she’s dropping the ball on most of them.

The series seems to have another mini-motif in this cycle of books, given how much role interrogation the other four do in the surrounding novels.  If the early 30’s are all about the Animorphs alone, the late teens are about role-reflection and the realization that the role of Child Whom Parents Care For is now officially out of reach.  #16, as I mentioned, is all about Jake trying to figure out who a leader is, what a leader does, and how he can play the part of The Great Man From History while also being a good friend; the entire book goes back and forth between that idea and the domestic scenes where his family treats him like the baby (since he is) as he comes to the realization that, not only can they not protect him anymore, but he might not be able to protect them.  Before that, #15 gets into Marco’s conflict between being a good son to his dad and being a good son to his mom, which (thanks to Visser One) are mutually oppositional roles and leave him with the conclusion that if he can only save one it’ll have to be his dad.  #18 once again shows an Animorph fleeing into the arms of home and family, only to realize that those aren’t sources of comfort or safety anymore, only in this case it’s Ax coming to realize that he won’t just be going home and rejoining the andalites anytime soon, so he might as well get used to looking to Jake as his prince.  Although #19 ends up focusing on Cassie alone in the woods with Karen and Aftran, a lot of what drives her out there is the scene where she looks at her parents and does the math that she is older and more hardened than they will ever be, and that she has already infected their innocence and goodness with her darkness.

This book and its surrounding fellows are a lot about settling into the war for the long haul.  And that leads to (and from) the question: What are we really doing in this war?  How are we going to fight it?  What compromises are we willing to make, and what ones are we unwilling to touch?  If it’s not “just oatmeal,” then what are we going to do about it?

[notafraidofstopping876]

So for my senior acting recital I’m closing with “Watch What Happens” from Newsies and the scene leading into it.

Part of my homework for it is creating a character bio, and this is what I wrote for Katherine. (It’s my personal interpretation, with as much ties to the real Pulitzer family that I could tie in).

Enjoy!

 Who am I?

My name is Katherine Ethel Pulitzer, and I am seventeen years old. I was born to Joseph and Katherine Pulitzer in 1882.

My father runs New York City newspaper The New York World, and holds monopoly on most major printing presses in New York City, making him one of its most powerful men.

As such, I come from great wealth and luxury. I was raised in a house hold full of servants, and never wanted for anything. However, I was never like my sisters, or the daughters of my father’s wealthy friends in the newspaper business. I always gravitated towards wanting to play with their sons, and wanting to run around outside and be active instead of cooped up inside with needlework or dolls. To this day I’m still friends with several of them, such as Darcy whose father owns the Tribune, and Bill, the son of William Randolph Hearst.

My parents tolerated my “unladylike” behavior when I was small, but the older I get the more they try to mold me into what their idea of a proper young lady is, grooming me to marry well. But no matter how hard I tried to please them, I just couldn’t dampen my sense of adventure and even now I have a growing urge to rebel against them, my father especially.

But despite how much I sometimes resent him for all those years of “Sweetie don’t get your dress dirty” and “Why can’t you be more like your sisters?” I did learn many valuable lessons from him, such as the power of the press. I watched him control the entire city not only with his wealth, but with what was printed in his papers. In recent years my eyes were opened to how he would abuse this power, overworking and underpaying his employees, having people spy on and take down anyone who might threaten his position, and swaying his readership by controlling everything printed in The New York World.

Two years ago, however, a reporter named Nellie Bly made her way into my father’s newspaper, and shocked everyone with her undercover work for a story for the Woman’s Lunatic Asylum on Black Island. It wasn’t long before even my father started taking her seriously as a reporter despite her gender. I finally had the chance to meet her and she became a mentor to me, encouraging me to do my own writing and helping me improve over the last two years.

Earlier this year, I finally decided to follow in her footsteps and try to make it as a reporter myself. While my father wasn’t thrilled with the idea, he didn’t outright forbid me either. I refused to work for his newspaper where everyone knew me as the boss’s daughter. I didn’t want anybody else to look on me any differently because of the family name either, so I took up the pen name Katherine Plummer. Nellie wrote me a letter of recommendation, which helped me land a position at the New York Sun.

So far however, I have yet to write any hard news. I’ve been confined to the social pages, reviewing flower shows and vaudeville performances. It’s very frustrating not getting to write about the issues and topics that really matter, but even Nellie Bly had to write about entertainment and the like until she got her big break, so I’m doing my best to persevere and pay my dues.

It was actually while I was on the job covering a show that I may have stumbled upon my big opportunity. I was at the Bowery Stage, when a scrappy newsboy came into my box. I had bumped into him earlier, strolling with Darcy on my way to work that morning. He and one of his newsie buddies tried to make a pass at me, but I quickly shut him down. Yet somehow we ended up at the same variety show, and he found his way into my private box, and insisted on trying to flirt with me despite my protestations.

He said his name was Jack Kelly, and that he worked for the New York World as a paper boy. I failed to mention that my father owned that paper, as I’ve been trying to keep my anonymity, and because it really wasn’t his business anyway. He eventually left, but not before leaving behind a piece of newspaper he was carrying. Upon picking it up I realized that it was a drawing of me that he had drawn right there. I don’t know what I was expecting him to leave but that certainly wasn’t it. I was stunned that such an exquisite drawing came from this scruffy, cocky and annoying boy. At this point I had very mixed feelings about this Jack Kelly, but didn’t think I’d run into him again, but I would be proven wrong.

I had dropped by my father’s office earlier today, where low and behold I spotted him AGAIN trying to get in to speak with my father. This time he was accompanied by two other newsies, one his age and the other much younger, couldn’t have been any older than ten. One of my father’s security men forcibly threw them out through the front doors, barking at them to stay out. That made my blood boil, partially because as much as I hated to admit it I found myself fascinated by this Jack Kelly, but it especially angered me that they did this to the little boy.

I confronted the guard about it, who insisted he was just doing his job, and that some “ragamuffin boys mumbling about a strike was not worthy of Mr. Pulitzer’s time”. The word strike immediately caught my attention and I sought out Mr. Wiesel, the man hired to distribute and sell the papers to the newsies every morning. As it turns out, my father had made the decision to raise the prices of the newsies’ papers, from fifty cents per hundred to sixty cents. Not only that, they had decided to go on strike, and Jack was leading it.

My gut reaction was one of outrage at my father. I knew his paper sales had been down ever since the Spanish-American war ended, but that was true for all the papers across town, and it certainly wasn’t any skin off of his back in the long run. What business of it was his to make life difficult for those boys? But then I realized just how massive the situation really was. A group of Davids were readying to take on Goliath, the biggest paper in New York City no less, and I was one of the first reporters to know about it. It was then that I knew I had to pick up this story

After deciding that the newsboys’ strike could be my big chance I’ve been waiting for, I spent the afternoon trying to convince my boss to let me run with the story. He wasn’t keen on the idea. He eventually gave me permission to write my story, but that I would have to really impress him for the story to actually run.

Overjoyed and slightly overwhelmed from the pressure I raced back to The World to try to put together the pieces of the story. Wiesel told me I could find the boys at Jacobi’s Deli, the off-hours meeting place for the newsies.

 What time is it?

It’s a little after four P.M.., July 21st, 1899.

 Where am I?

I am outside of Jacobi’s Deli in Lower Manhattan, the watering hole so to speak for the newsies. From there I leave for my office at the New York Sun.

 What surrounds me?

In front of Jacobi’s Deli the streets are about as quiet as New York City ever is, with much of the city still at work. The occasional pedestrian walks by. The roughly paved stone streets sit beneath my shoes. The air is laid with the smell of deli meats from inside as Mister Jacobi gets ready for the dinner shift.

In my office is my typewriter at my small desk where I write all my stories. On the wall is hanging Nellie Bly’s undercover story on the women’s asylum that she did for the New York World. For the most part however my office is simply functional, supplies for my work, such as ink, typewriter ink, a wastebasket, and film for my camera and the like. I purposely don’t keep many personal items at the office, trying not to reveal too much about my wealth or my family name to any of my coworkers, especially my boss.

 What is my fourth wall?

At Jacobi’s is a rundown street in need of repaving, and the summer sun still high in the sky.

At my office is the framed story from Nellie Bly in front of the faded wallpaper. I was given one of the smallest dingiest offices as I am still not considered a serious reporter by anyone at The New York Sun.

 What are my given circumstances?

Hot on the story, I found Jack Kelly and the rest of the newsies at Jacobi’s Deli. When I came in several of the boys were taken aback by my presence and wouldn’t take me seriously at first, Jack included. Finally I admitted that yes, I was just busting out of the social pages, and finally broke through to them that I was there to help them. Jack has agreed to an interview and given me instruction to be at The World first thing in the morning to photograph the strike.

 What is my relationship?

I have only met Jack Kelly yesterday. At first I thought he was just a cheeky imp, and so far the handful of interactions I’ve had with him have proven that true. But beneath that, he is a talented artist and is brave enough to take on a powerful man such as my father for what he believes is right, which I have to commend him for. He has expressed definite interest in me romantically, but I’m not sure how I feel about him in that regard. He is definitely handsome and there are qualities in him I admire, but I have to remain objective so I can do my job.

 What do I want?

I want to interview Jack Kelly and then write my story on the Newsboys’ Strike, both to further myself as a journalist and to help them out with their cause that I sympathize with.

 What is in my way?

Jack is not taking my questions seriously and keeps trying to flirt with me. Also, this is the biggest story I’ve ever written and there’s a lot of pressure on me, to help the boys and to finally prove myself to everyone in my work.

 What do I do to get what I want?

Encourage Jack to open up to me, shut down his attempts to be frisky, maintain my professional composure, keep my identify as his boss’s daughter hidden, give my support for his cause off the record, remind myself why I took on this story, give myself a pep talk for motivation, and quickly sort through the emotions racking my mind.

 What do I expect?

I expect that if I really apply myself and chase after the story, Jack Kelly will eventually come around and I’ll get my story published.

[lillaxtrigger]

Faded Land: Chapter 20

Creeping out from beyond the mountainous horizon, the morning sun casts its soft orange glow upon a calm clearing set in the middle of the woods; a bovine of metal and flesh softly descending down to the grassy plains to rest. As the steel cow helps itself to munch upon the naturally grown grass presented at its feet, the young woman that it had carried upon its metal backside dismounts onto the plains; Clara’s gaze focused to the mildly dense forest ahead. While her bovine rides is busy partaking on the natural meadow grass, the scientist starts to wanders out through the forest of pine surrounding her in hopes to scout ahead for any towns that are near; the call of the cyborg cows digital cry invading her ears as she ventures forth.

Beginning her trek through the pine needle littered woods, the young lady takes a quick moment to shuffle through her bag; pulling out from its depths a tasty bright orange carrot. As she starts to bite down upon the orange goodness in her hand, a ton of questions start to flood and swirl within her mind as she continues her stroll through; her foot tracks uncovering bits of metal hidden among the needles.

Just what in the world could’ve caused the nuclear war that had left the U.S. into nothing but a lifeless, cruel wasteland of its former glory; the people still surviving within attempting to rebuild their societies in one for or another? How did the Canadian government reach such new and astounding levels of technological prowess; the very things that science fiction had once told made into reality? And what could’ve given them such an immense boost in their militaristic power; to where everyday soldiers are equipped with hard plated armor and unbelievable weapons? Not to mention the fact that it was Canada of all places, they’re practically the nicest people on the planet; you gotta do something really fucked up to make them wanna fight you. And how did they even win in the first place, the U.S.A had one of the most powerful military forces in the world back in the present; you don’t just topple something that massive in one night. Dammit, wish was another neural terminal to look all this up around; all this questions wouldn’t be constantly itching at the brain.

While all of these subjects swirl within her head, the scientist begins to notice slight glints shining from the foliage she walks past; some of their branches holding flakes of metal that reflect the morning sunlight. The deeper she strolls through the seemingly ordinary forest, the more she begins to notice the parts of the trees, plants, and ground itself housing larger pieces of stainless steel fused onto their surfaces; some of the tree’s revealing wires under its torn off bark. Seeing the gradual mutation of her surroundings takes the scientist back quite a bit, with bit of chewed carrot falling from her gaping mouth. What the f-what...what is all this? Why is so much steel coating on everything? Where did it all come from? Kinda creepy to see it all run through these trees, almost like a parasite or infection digging through the bark. It’s wonder what exactly might’ve caused all this.

In the midst of studying her curious surroundings does she feel something nudge at her ankle, causing her to lose her balance and begin to stumble back. Before she could fall back on whatever she had bumped into, the young scientist throws one of her legs forward and takes her balance back; firmly planting both of her feet onto the partially steel ground. A heavy breath escaping from between her lips, Clara takes a glance back to what she had nearly tripped over; discovering a hollow stump of wood and metal hold nothing a deep void. Slowly nearing the seemingly bottomless hole set before her, the young lady takes a look down the hole for anything that may lie within; finding nothing but more of the abyss as her ears catch the harsh sound of clanging metal.

What the hell could something like this be doing out in the middle of nowhere? Is it why everything here is coated in metal? Are some people running some kind of weird experiment out here?...Shit, did the cow land in a testing site!? If it is, then it might not be a wise idea to stick around and see the results this close; for all we know, all this steel could rip off the trees at any moment and lunge like face huggers. Just pouring liquid metal right in and consuming your organs from the inside; hell no! Ain’t stickin around for that nightmare.

Planning on making her swift departure from the metal woods, the scientist starts to sprint back towards the direction of the outing that she had landed in; shocked to find the metal bovine she rode in standing right behind her. An astonished digital moo escapes from the metal beast when Clara bumps into it; the cows sudden outcry causes the young woman to jump back in a panicking scare, causing her to loose her balance as she stumbles back towards the hollow metal stump. As the scientist starts to fumble down into the stumps inside, she attempts to grab hold of its edges in hopes of catching herself; her fingers unfortunately slipping from the smooth wood and steel and plunging right into the holes dark abyss.

Traveling through the seemingly never ending void of the hollow tunnel, Clara could feel something carry her further through the abyss; feeling a pressuring wind fly across her body as she stumbles through the darkness. To where this unseen gale could be hurling her to exactly is something that she fails to predicts; feeling only the tunnels rough wood and smooth steel brush against her clothes. It honestly feels like several minutes pass as she continuously forced through the lightless tunnel, the constant, unending bombardment of dizzying vertigo starting to scrape at her nerves; a sickening sensation starts to bellow from the bowels of her stomach the longer she tumbles through. And yet, the young woman nonetheless steels herself from vomiting; keeping herself centered among the unseeable chaos.

Enduring the constant travel through the almost unending tunnels soon pays off when Clara finds herself heading to a glint of light at the end of it all; site of the welcoming glow already being a relief for her. Once passing through the light ahead, the young scientist is quite literally launched out from the darkness of the tunnel and catapulted through the air; her eyes adjusting to the sudden glow as she roughly lands upon a floor of steel and wood. After her little crash landing does the young woman pull herself up from the ground to find herself within a small alleyway; the walls beside her showing to be made from rough bark and tough metal, a lot like the trees she saw before falling in the stump. Sitting between the two walls be a lone gap leading out to what awaits beyond the alley, the young woman hugging one of the walls as she carefully nears the way out.

Peeking out from within the alley that she had emerged from, the scientist beholds a vast and wondrous site of dozens upon dozens of buildings and homes stretched across before her; all of them made from wood and metal like the tree’s before. Drifting her gaze to whats above, Clara finds ramps, roads, and walkways all ascending further up into what seemed to be more of the city overhead; all of it trapped within a massively wide and monstrously tall cylinder of steel and bark. Where she wound up still proves to be a mystery to the young lady, failing to find a single hint of the morning sky shinning its natural twilight anywhere from where she stand; only more of the city she had been thrust in awaiting above.

Her eyes wandering back to the streets waiting beyond the alleyway, Clara immediately noticing the small crowd causally waltzing on by; Clara slowly backing away into the shadows when noticing a couple of mountie police officers among the people and retreating back to the way she came in. Coming to the stump she had been thrown out of however, the scientist finds the hole leading into the dark tunnels to be sealed shut by a coating of steel; Clara clawing the hard metal in the vain attempt to open the way out. Calming herself from her panic, she starts to realize that the only feasible way she could escape from wherever she wound up is to attempt and blend in with the local populous; her current appearance being the first major concern.

It’s no doubt by now that the law enforcement has a pretty good description of the perp they’re after by now; though a couple things might’ve change since their last sighting. Its doubtful that the lack of eye wear would be enough to throw them off though, the blood stained bullet holes in her cloths being a big red flag for almost anyone passing through. Like what’s anybody’s first reaction when noticing somebody walking past with burnt holes through their shirt be like: “Holy shit, how the hell you wind up with bullet holes through yer shirt?” An interesting story to tell no doubt, but it be an attractive conversation piece that would not bod well for her anytime soon. No, what’s needed right now is something to conceal it all from the public eye; preferably to keep the attention of the police away. Something to cover her hair wouldn’t be that bad either; as great as these locks are, they’d no doubt be a dead giveaway for any passing police.

Thinking its time for a little change in clothes, the scientist waltz back to the end of the alleyway and peeks out to the streets once more; the walkways of steel and wood only having a few sparse people stroll through. Finding not a single hint of the Canadian cops around, Clara takes the chance to venture out of the dark alley and into the wood and metal urban streets; keeping her eyes peeled for any clothes her size. The very walkway she steps on echoes footsteps the likes of which she had never heard off before, almost like a mixing echo of solid bark and metal resonating into her ears. The buildings that she passes share the same features as with everything else within this whole city; an odd blend of rough wood and stainless steal, with branches and limbs protruding out from the untouched bark. The lady’s lookout for new wears eventually has her spot a woman of her stature with garbs of her size; boasting the designs and color she had seen back in Smithville with the shirt and pants hosting cartoon characters and logo’s. Hate to do something like this to a random stranger, but what other choice is there.

Having discovered the perfect disguise to blend in with this mysterious cities populous, Clara starts to quietly stalk the unsuspecting young woman; digging out a regular can of chicken stew from the depths of her backpack. When realizing the woman she pursues on the verge of glancing back, the scientist leaps behind the nearby corner to hide; her back hugging as she peeks around and waits for the woman to continue walking. Finding not a soul to speak up behind her, a mild worry starts to creep in the back of her head as the oddly dressed woman gazes back towards the walkway ahead; her anxiety urging her to pick up the pace a tad bit.

As the suspecting woman continues through the city streets of steel and wood ahead, she starts to notice the people that pass by her starting to thin out in number; her anxious worry growing when she finds barely anybody around her. With the horrid feeling of being followed all that’s left, the young woman hurried waltz turns into a rushed sprint; urged to take every corner she could in hopes of losing whoever might be on her tail. This panicked race soon has her wind up trapped in the middle of a dead end street; the only option she could take then was to knock on the surrounding doors in an attempt for help, a fruitless effort which leads to not even a single light glowing from any of the windows. Its then that she notices a looming shadow start to encroach from behind and swiftly turning back to see who or what could possibly be trailing her, only to find not even a single person standing at the end of the street. Still left frightened from these creeping events, the scared young lady digs through her purse to soon pull out a tiny gray box; pressing the lone button planted on top to cause the block to unfold and expand. When the box transforms into a small holographic screen, the anxious girl starts to frantically scroll through the contents of her little device; left unaware of a shadowy figure rising from behind and ready to strike. With but a single swift blow to the back of her head, the figure knocks the lady cleanly out; the woman collapsing onto the wood and metal floor as the contents of her purse spill out.

Coming out of the concealing darkness, Clara quickly puts away the can she had used to render the woman unconscious; the label of the can stain with traces of ruby red blood. With her target left lying on the floor, the scientist kneels down to grab hold of her oddly designed shirt and readies to strip the woman of her garbs; her attention soon baited to the device she had dropped onto the ground. Picking up the curious gadget to take a little look almost immediately reminds her of the phones that she had back during her time; thinking these to be a far more evolved take on their design and portability. Taking the moment to feel the edges of the holograms solid borders, the curious scientist unintentionally causing the screen to widen further; a feature that perks her interest even more. A curious gadget to be curtain, the burning desire to snatch it to pick apart and inspect its properties being a tempting opportunity to the young scientist; though she knows all too well of what the risks may be if she were to take it with her. With technology as advance as this, it would be moronic to think that the manufacturers didn’t install a way to track it in case anybody stole it; it be a real quick way to get your dumb ass caught. A shame. Something like this would no doubt help tremendously out in this grueling journey.

After a little while, the mugged young woman starts to finally reawaken and arise from the wood and steel city floor; thankful to find herself left in the dead end streets where she had passed out in. Its instantly that she starts to feel a harsh pain throb at the back of her head, immediately placing her hand right where she stings to feel a slight wet spot under her palm; withdrawing her hand to discover traces of blood staining the skin of her palm. Gazing out from behind her hand does she notice the contents of her purse having been spilt onto the wood and metal ground, kneeling down and perusing through for anything that might have been stolen while she was knocked out. She’s left surprised when she finds everything that she had taken with her left untouched, even her little holographic device wasn’t stolen; the fact of everything being right where they were leave the young lady relieved, if not a tad confused of why whoever was tailing her struck her from behind took off with nothing. Her questions are swiftly answered when she hears whistling along with the cat calls of some men going: “Loving the show your putting on sweetheart. You got a nice bod on ya.” These calls cause her to take a quick glance to the rest of her body, soon find herself nearly stripped of all but her underwear; this realization causing her to cover her exposed breasts in embarrassment.

Garbed in the fresh set of Canadian clothing that she had just pilfered, the young scientist causally waltz through the somewhat busy streets; paying attention to the people she strolls past for any sort of suspicious glares aimed her way. Clara only manages to garter a few passing gazes from the people she walks by; nowhere near as much attention she attracted back in Smithville. The lack of attention isn’t the only thing she notices out from her new apparel, the stitching and fabric hugging her body feeling simply comforting to the touch; warm and soft almost as if the comforting sheet work of a bed was enveloping her her body. Compared to her old and tattered clothing she wore beforehand, it just feels simply blissful to wear.

With a proper disguised now donned, Clara could now focus on gathering information on how this whole nuclear war between Canada and the U.S was kicked off the first place; not to mention how the land of Maple leaves won out in the end. Knowing the last time the scientist was able to have access to this worlds internet was through a sort of neural terminal, she figures that a city this big has to have a sort of place where they’re publicly available; like a sort of library or something. Where she could find one within this massive wood and steel metropolis proves to be another question on the table; most of the buildings spread through here sharing the same sort of material and style as all the other, with only a few holographic signs to differentiate between them all. Noticing someone about to pass by, Clara feels comfortable enough to risk asking someone with: “Hey, you got minute?” Hearing the young woman call for him, the middle aged man turns back to the scientist and responds with: “Uh, yeah. What’s up?” “You, uh...You know where I could used a computer anywhere near here?” “Sorry. Don’t know anywhere you could? Don’t you got a holo phone on ya?” the man wonders, pulling out a similar device to the one that the woman she robbed from had. “Nnnno, not really. Thanks anyway.”

In her efforts to get some directions for a public terminal, Clara attempts to grab the attention of a lone woman wondering by with: “Excuse me. Mind helping out a bit?” “Fuck off!” The woman's aggressive comment takes the scientist back a little bit, watching the woman she attempted to ask storm off in a huff. Kind of a bitch move, but okay. Guess some people are too busy take just one minute off their important lives to give somebody some direction. Honestly what crawled up her ass and fucked it?

The few more people she tries to ask from almost all act as the two she had questioned before; either with genuine clueless and apologizing or down right pissed telling her to scram. “Nope, Can’t help ya.” “Can’t you see I’m busy?” “Ain’t got a clue for ya?” “Oh what, like you can’t find it yourself?”

Her search for somebody willing to give her direction to a computer terminal has her approach a couple of people hanging around a desolate corner of the city; the scientist asking the man and woman if: “Either of you know where I could find a computer to use?” “Oh yeah, yeah; we know couple places around that have computers. He he...” the man claims. “Mind if we take ya to one?” the woman offers; aiming a less then trusting glare to the scientist. “Uh...” From their attire to their mannerisms to their glares, Clara finds it rather difficult to fully trust the two strangers she had just met before her; politely declining their offer with: “N-No thanks. Direction are good enough.” “Oh, but we can let a fine lady like yourself to run around this part of town unsupervised.” “Yeah, good number people around here would kill for the chance to come across a woman like you.” Witnessing both the sinister grinning man and woman arise from the street corner and start to slowly approach the young lady, Clara starts backing away from where she came from; insisting to both of them that: “Uh, that’s nice. But I think I’m good. Thanks!” Saying such does Clara finally bolt away from the duo, the man and woman who she had spoken two start pursuing her out through the neighborhood

As she dash through the dim streets of metal and wood, the scientist takes a look back to witness the man and woman she had declines still in hot pursuit of her; gradually closing the distance as they taunt the fleeing girl with: “Where you running, lovely? We’re just wantin to show ya around town.” “Yeah, we were hoping you’d be up for having a little bit of fun.” These sarcastic claims fully displaying their malicious intentions, Clara immediate instinct is to call for any nearby help; taking in a deep breath as she prepares to scream. Before even a single people could escape from her lungs, the scientist covers her mouth; swiftly realizing why calling for help would be more of a hindrance in this case. Just who do you expect to rush in when hearing somebody scream for help; that’s practically the police’s job to dash to the aid of anyone in need. Getting them in this mess and they’ll be a ton more problems to deal with. No. Best thing to do right now is to try and lose these two scumbags and hope they’re bad with directions as much as they are with personal hygiene.

In her efforts to lose her pair of scummy pursuers, the young scientist takes as many turns and corners through the streets of fused wood and metal to try and gain as much distance as possible; taking a quick glance back to find the duo continuing to persist in pursuing. Jesus, what the hell could these assholes deals be. It ain’t like this girl has anything valuable on her...or maybe the girl is really what they’re after...Oh god. There has to be a way to lose these pair of flaccid dicks, fast. Gazing ahead for any escape from her grungy chasers, the scientist finds herself rushing towards busy intersection filled with people passing through and going about their day; the perfect opportunity to blend in and escape.

Lunging straight into the crowd without any hesitation, Clara almost immediately feels the rushing stream of the passing people push her forward; like a raging river pulling her through its harsh current. It all proves intense enough for her to risk losing her footing, though it might be worth it to her if she can elude her pair of pursuers. Halting just at the very edge of the busy intersection, the two scumbags poking their heads over the passing crowd as the woman asks the other: “You she where she went?” “Nope. Nothing.” “Dammit, bro. This always your fault?”

Despite being whisked away from her scummy pursuers, Clara is yet to be free from her hellish rush through the crowd; attempting her damndest to keep up with and not be trampled by the overwhelming river of people as she search for a way out from the storm. While she persistently races through the rushing masses, the scientist starts to feel the crowd surround her spread itself apart; the easing pressure actually letting her move her arms around. And soon does Clara make it out of the rapid river of passing people, the young woman ambling towards a set of steel steps as she starts to catch her breath.

As she lets out an exhausted breath, the young lady tilts her head to the side and finds a lone man nearing her; the guy stopping to ask the fatigued scientist: “Hey, what’s the matter with you?” “Ah...nothing. Just trying in vain to get directions to the nearest computer from any sort of decent human being that can bother. Almost everyone I talked to so far either doesn’t know or told me to fuck off...or worse.” “Well if its a terminal your lookin for, there’s a cafe not to far from here with some that you could use.” “Oh my god, thank you. You’re the first guy in this hell spawned city of cheap wood and tacky steel that’s actually helped me.” “Uh, sure. No problem. You can use them to look up whatever you want. Just don’t try and search for anything too saucy while your there. Those kind of restaurants monitor the stuff you search twenty four seven; a lesson that I certainly learned the last time I went.” As the man chuckles aloud, Clara can’t help but blush from his remark; a part of her mental checklist being scratched off.

Taking the directions given to her by the kind man, the scientist is lead to climb further up the city of steel and wood; glancing back to see the overall part of town that she was just traveling through. It doesn’t exactly look all that well kept when seeing all come together like this, the metal that coats about half of the district seeming like it can’t even shine a single glimmer; all of it just so grimy and dirty. Kinda starting to see why some of the people down there are asshole. Anybody would be pretty pissed if they have to live like that.

Putting that part of town behind her, Clara ascends further up the towering city to soon find herself entering what seemed to be this part of towns shopping district; discovering countless stores, shops, and restaurants all lined along the sides of the streets. Perusing along the windows of the dozens upon dozens of establishments, the young woman finds almost each and every one of them holding a sort of distinct feel and look to them outside their bark and metal structure; doing as much as they could to stand out from their competition with holographic signs, décor, sales and offers, almost everything they could feasibly do to attract customer. Guess even in this new technological post war age, competitive marketing is just something that seems to always persist; perhaps until the human race comes to the horribly agonizing end that it’ll lead itself to. Sorting through the nearly colorful and attention grabbing shops does she finally find the place that the man had told her about; finding before her a lone restaurant boasting a holo sign saying: “Bottom of the cup Computer Cafe.” Alongside the title be another sign depicting a brain with a wire attached holding a steaming mug of fresh coffee, the face set in front of the brain winking as it takes a sip. A rather odd way to represent your restaurant, but what the hell does this nuclear physicist know about marketing.

As soon as the young scientist passes through the cafe’s intangible doorway, the calming scent of freshly brewed coffee starts to fill her nose; gazing around the scene to find people at the tables taking their time to slowly drink their caffeine from a good old fashion cup or just straight injecting it through their arms from needles. Set at the other side of the front counter be an entire line of people awaiting to place their orders, those that do moving to a table and wait for their drinks. Set along the rim of the calming cafe being dozens of computer terminals, each well equipped with a visor helmet connected to its top; those already hooked in sitting almost completely comatose. Jeez, these people look close to brain dead just sitting there; it’d be a pretty worrying if these computers weren’t in a public coffee shop. Kind got a lucky break over at Winny’s come thinking of it.

Wishing to waist not another moment dawdling about, Clara immediately sits her ass down in front of one of the terminals and snatches the helmet from the desk; soon putting the helmet right atop her head. Despite having donned the helm, she fails to see a single light from within its pitch black visor; not even finding a spark light in front of her as she awaits for the terminal to activate. With next to no light flashing in front of her eyes, the scientist takes the visor for a moment to check what the problem could possibly be; looking to the sides of the console for any sort of broken pieces or loose wires. Its then that she soon finds what keeps the young woman from using the terminal proper, discovering along the side of the console a slot for money or a card to be slid in; the description at the top reading out: “5 dollars for an hour.” Fucking kidding here!? 5 bucks for just one hour on this thing!? Christ, that’s robbery!? Where the hell this girl gonna find money like that?

In the middle of pondering this do her ears catch someone beside her sucking in a much needed breath; the scientist glancing to her side to find a lone, middle aged woman taking off the helm connected to the terminal she was sitting in front of; a small sigh leaving her as she swipes the purse that lies on the accompanying desk. As she watches the woman waltz out the cafe door, she glances back to the desk she was sitting at to find that she had left her wallet; the front printed with rhinestone patterns.

While the middle aged woman strolls through the streets of steel and wood, her ears soon catch someone calling out to her with “Hey, wait a sec there.” From hearing this the woman glance back to witness a young lady racing her way, the rhinestones on her wallet glittering brightly as the lady waves it through the air. “My wallet?” When the young girl finally catches up with her, the scientist presents the glitzy wallet to the middle aged woman as she claims how: “You left this at your desk.” “Ah, thank goodness. I’d be in real trouble if I didn’t have this. Tons of important licenses, card, money, all that good stuff in there.  I can’t thank you enough for catching this for me.” the woman thanks as she takes her little wallet back. “Hey, ain’t no problem. With as much of this city that I’ve seen so far. You kinda have to watch out for people, ya know.” “I couldn’t agree more.” Saying such do the two then split their own ways, the middle aged woman walking off while Clara makes her way back to the cafe; the scientist secretly clutching a 5 dollar bill in the palm of her hand.

Sitting herself back down in front of the terminal she was stationed at, the young scientist slides the 5 bucks she got straight into the computers payment slot; trying her luck again in donning the visor attached to the terminal. Once donning the helmet is the black visor covering her vision swiftly replaced with a flash of bright light; the scientists eyes adjusting to the sudden glow, soon be greeted with a familiar white void that surrounds her. Glancing back does she find the search engine set being different then the one she used last time, picturing an entire group of people all connected together through one giant brain that floats over them all; the brain itself labeled as: “Unity” Tapping her finger down on this icon nonetheless proves to do the same as the last search engine had done, firing a teal light straight into Clara’s very brain; knowing full well to focus her thoughts on the history of the nuclear war between Canada and the U.S. Right when these thoughts start flowing through her mind, the pale white void that surrounds the scientist filling with pictures and links concerning the subject at hand; some of the photo’s presented depicting armored soldiers in the midst of heavy combat. As tempting as it sounds to spend all day just reading up on the political inner workings of those on both sides of this mysterious war; thanks to strangling monetization, time of the essence here. And as borderline lazy and apathetic as it might sound, there might just be enough time here to skim through the beginning and end. Surely the whole middle concerning its political venture through the years sounds interesting; but we got a deadline to keep dammit. Who knows how long it’ll take before the mounties stop to realizes their perp is hiding in plain site.

Glazing through the countless links that the search engine had dug up for her, Clara looks through the web page to behold how polarizing some of these articles may be. “How the vile greed of the U.S. was finally defeated.” “Why the Canadian’s mercilessly reduced part of North America to a nuclear scar.” “The reason Canada pulled the trigger.” Simply going off these titles alone, she could really tell how one sided these history pages were; the overzealous confirmation bias these titles sported being more of a turn off to the researching scientist in this case. We need facts here people! The kind of unfiltered truth that would make upcoming politicians shit their pants if it wound up getting into the public eye. Upon thinking of this does the search engine almost immediately start to refresh the page, the letters and photo’s swirling through the white void and rearranging themselves to match with the scientist’s thoughts, unveiling to the young woman pictures of people in suits with brown stains on the back of their pants. Oh, god! Why do these search engines always take things so literally! Unbiased war history! Unbiased war history!

Once again does the search refresh from Clara’s urgent thoughts, the words and pictures forming a whole new wave of articles, links; soon finding one of them peeking her interest that reads as: “The unfiltered history of the Northern American war: How it all started and ended.” Perfect. Quickly tapping the link in question do the photos and links that surround the scientist start to rearrange and transform themselves, swirling until resembling a whole new page entirely; lined with stylized texts, pictures, and ads that decorate the article. All of it presents to the young woman a long and detailed article concerning the war between the neighboring nations spread before her; her eyes locked to the very start of the article as she works her way down from there.

During the time around 2046, tensions between U.S and their maple leaved neighbors started to escalate when part of the American government concerning border patrol refused to let Canadian citizens visiting over the border for work return to their home country. This left less than minimum wage migrant workers little chance to return home and see their families, forcing those stuck in the U.S into suffering poverty; an issue plaguing people across the United states at the time. All of these issues sparked protest and anger from the Canadian government, resulting in many of heated debates on the issue; the prideful American government doing very little to correct the problem. Seeing their people beyond the border suffering urged the Canadian government to step in and attempt to take their citizens back; the American people seeing these efforts as more of an invasion and soon declaring war on their Northern neighbors. Though Canada was reluctant on fighting, an uncovered secret soon changed their minds; an agent planted at the United stated Capital building discovering the lax deportation being a scheme by a sect of the government to exploit the traveling Canadian populous into their working economy. This startling discovery was more than enough motivation to get the country of maple leaves into the fighting spirit; thus truly triggering the war between the U.S and Canada that lasted 4 decades.

Well, guess that would explain how the whole show kicked off in the first place. With the kind of crap going on with your people, kind of caring government would be pretty pissed. Still, none of that really explains how the hell they won against a country that has such a huge focus on its military surplus. Plus, what might be Arthur's involvement in all of this; dubious migrant exploitation does really sound like something he’d do? Still left craving more answers concerning this political and destructive war, the young scientist starts to scroll all the way down to the very last page of the long history document; reading on the very last events of the battle.

With Canada on the verge of losing the war; it was a miracle that they had survived to the surmounting U.S forces for over 20 years. At the maple leaved country’s darkest hour, the Canadian government had finally given in on their deal with the Russians; combining their research and development teams to create a scientific union that would benefit not only each other, but the rest of the world long after the war. This new group of researcher would go to form what they are now known today as K-labs, going on to develop way’s to help end the war once and for all; including beefing the nations military and developing technology to help aid those coming back from battle. The stress and productivity from the war then on had kicked off a new technological age, creating technology that seemed years away in only a short two decades. All of their efforts led them to develop powerful nukes capable of decimating entire chunks of the U.S.A, a tactic which they have held back from using until near the end of the 4th decade. It’s when Canada was left standing on its last leg that they reluctantly decide to launch the cluster of bombs all across the U.S; a decision that would be memorized as one of the most tragic and destructive bombings in world history. Many country’s across the eastern hemisphere criticized the Canadian government for the rash and overly brutal method they used to put an end to the 40 year war; killing millions upon millions and scarring part of the earth. In their efforts to make up for their brutal endgame, K-labs has gone on to develop and construct numerous devices and machines that have aided and help mankind into a new age; the likes of which have help keep the rest of the world from the results of the nuclear wasteland that had become of the United states. In order to secure that the mutated threats and vengeful terrorist would not escape from the wastelands, the Canadian military now heavily patrols what remains in the U.S; helping whoever might’ve beaten the odds and lived against the harsh war and the aftermath.

Well damn, they really weren't screwing around here, were they? The U.S got them on the ropes and in swoops Russia to help them out and build cool military shit for them; but why though? Could they have been trying to get back at them for the cold war…Nah, that business was long settled even in the present. Still, there had to have been some reason why they opted to help the Canadians rather than letting them die. There’s still so many questions that need to be explained, so much to research. Canada got upset because its southern neighbors were exploiting its border crossing citizens and attempted to return them back home. So then why did the U.S see it all as an invasion then? Did Arthur tamper with these events so that all of this would happen...But what could drive him to do something like that? There’s gotta be more to this thing than just immigrant exploitation, just need to look more up.

Before the scientist could continue with her research concerning the 40 decade long war, she starts to witness the page the surrounds her start to dissolve into a fine black mist; every shroud of white light that encompasses the page in complete darkness. When the scientist is surrounded by nothing but the deep, secluding abyss and all is consumed within the void, a prompt soon pops up before her that informs her that: “Your paid time on this terminal is up. You will be booted off in 5 seconds.” Once the countdown reaches zero, the prompt vanishes into the darkness as the feeling starts to return through her entire body.

Feeling herself reawaken back to reality, a low growl escapes from the young woman’s teeth as she takes off the terminals visor; aiming a rather pissed eye to the public computers payment slot. Gazing away from the cheap as hell cafe computer, her upset demeanor swiftly turns into panic when finding her backpack that she had set aside missing; glancing to the door to discover somebody waltzing out the cafe with it. Witnessing the man walk out with her precious pack, Clara quickly rises from her seat and sprints out the cafe doors; racing through the streets in pursuit of her backpack pilferer.

Strolling through the walkways of metal and bark with a snickering smile, the pack thief takes a peek inside to see what sort of stash he might’ve scored; his smirk slowly draining when finding in his eyes to be a couple of cans of food, some veggies, and a ton of useless junk. In inspecting what lies within the pilfered pack does the scumbag start to hear the echoes of clanging metal constantly sound off behind him; his disappointment morphing into panic when finding the woman he stole from to be right on his tail. In hopes of losing the woman that he had stolen from, the bandit takes off through the ascending walkway awaiting him; the scientist feverishly pursuing after the thief. As both race through the rising path through the enclosed city, Clara and the scum that had stolen her sack rapidly climb through several cases of stairs and ramps; the wood and metal making up almost everything that surrounds them gradually growing more lively and brighter the more the two ascend.

When the two finally reach solid flat ground, Clara’s chase for her stolen stuff leads her right into a part of the city that proves to be a bit more kept then the bottom she had just raced through; the little more populated streets showing an intersection of people that they both rush right on past. Realizing the thief that had stolen her was starting to gain distance, the scientist figures that rather than trying to outpace the bastard, it’s time to outsmart him instead. Having witnessed the man turning through the furthest corner, the young woman stops right in her tracks and starts retreating back to the intersection that she had just passed by. Once coming back to the intersection, the rushing scientist takes the same direction as her bag thief had and dashes to the next corner coming ahead; stopping right at the end of the street and hides behind the accompanying building. From there, she glances around the twisted corner awaits for her the bandit to show himself; well aware of what he’s attempting to do. Trying to take constant turns through a maze like setting like this would normally be a good strategy to throw someone off your trail; keep whoever’s chasing you constantly guessing where you went to and taking wrong routes while you cleanly escape. Of course, it be a sort of strategy that the scientist herself is all too familiar with; her experiences of being pursued more than once lending her to using such a method. The young woman's prediction seems to be on point when witnessing the man that stole her bag run right towards her; Clara hiding around the corner biding the time for when the thief comes around the corner so she can deliver a well deserved stinging kick to his droopy swollen scrotum.

With the footsteps of the thief banging onto the steel walkway, the scientist gazes to the steel streets to find the bastards shadow growing; Clara finally turning the corner and kicking out with all her might. Lunging out from behind the corner, the young ladies foot manages to wind up stomping straight into the bandits crouch; the unexpected and powerful blow to his sensitive area causing him to fall face first onto the hard and rough splintered bark. Too busy suffering with the pain in both his scrapped face and kicked dick, Clara swipes her bag back from the burglars grasp; dashing away from the thief and laughing at his misfortune while she escapes around the corner ahead.

Once putting enough distance from the unexpected bandit, Clara hides behind a bench set along the wayside to check her bags contents; praying for that asshole not to have thrown anything out. Compass, tea bags, water, cup, nuclear battery, canned good, veggies, knifes...alright, everything still there. Relieved to find nothing out of place, the scientist takes the moment to pull out a nice head of lettuce from the depths of her bag; partaking in the refreshing taste of its moist green leaves as she rises from behind the bench and continues through the city.

While chewing upon the rest of the delicious green she holds in her hands, Clara wonders through the streets of smooth metal and rough wood as she ponders where exactly she wound up. This city just seems so huge, so strange; like the wood and metal that make up this entire place is joined together in one incredible fusion of nature and machine. Not to mention how vertical the whole city seems, think there have been like 10 staircases and inclines in just the first hour. Its a towering city, for sure; but where exactly could it be located in this country. Considering the speed which that stump wound up, that tunnel could’ve led to anywhere; not to mention the lack of any holes or windows leading outside to give any sort of hints. Dammit, if only that cheap ass terminal had given more time; then figuring all this out wouldn’t be as brain racking.

Still, there has to be a way to figure out where this place is without having to use those neural computers. Suppose simply asking where might be just as simple as a solution, though it might be pretty off putting for someone to ask that in this new age of technology; especially with how far its come around here. Don’t want to attract any kind of unwanted attention, especially from those donning the standard mountie uniforms. Really, the only safe bet to figure out what place this is to try climbing high enough to find somewhere leading outside.

In hopes of discovering a way out from this enclosed city of wood and steel, the determined scientist continues her ascent through the rising metropolis; climbing up every stairway and ramp she happen to come across. During her trek through the twisted urban jungle, the young lady keeps an ever vigilant eye on whoever happens to pass by. This place has certainly gave a good enough first impression of what kind of scum lie within its underbelly already, the kind of people that would hesitate to take advantage of anyone ignorant tourists and visitors that happen to be dumb enough to wander through this city without any sort of sense. Even with the advent of this new age of technological advancement and reinforced authority, criminals and creeps still act the same as they always have.

During her continuing climb up through the towering town above, the emotional weight of her own constant paranoia begins to take its toll upon the young scientists own psyche; the threatening combination of being a runaway fugitive immigrant added with the looming threat of anyone that could pass by taking the fleeting moment to gank her out of the blue being too real for her. Her eyes constantly dart through her surroundings, shifting over from person to person that happens to causally walk by; ever keeping watch for whoever may try something on her. Clara’s paranoid glares eventually start to garter the eyes of those she passes by, her passively accusing stare causing the people that come near to move away as the waltz through the streets; starting trend of which causes the scientist to realize her own actions starting to draw attention. Get yourself together Clara, your starting to look like a hyped up junkie having just took the needle watching for any cops that walk by, people are starting to stare. Just chill out and everything will be fine. As long as you keep your cool, nobody will suspect a thing and everything will be alright. Relax. Taking in a few soft breath is all it takes for the wound up young woman to calm down from her escalating paranoia, shifting all of her focus to the metal and bark walkway ahead of her. From keeping her eyes to the path ahead, the fresh cavalcade of people that pass on through pay next to no mind to the scientist; the site which eases her mind a fair bit as she continues her ascent up through the city.

Her calming walk up the metro streets starts coming to an end once finding a long line that stretches for quiet a long ways; the scientist naturally curious of what the people could be waiting patiently for. Wondering what could be awaiting beyond the long line of patient people, Clara starts to stroll along the side of the folks that stand by; those that she passes giving her nasty and angered glares as she walks past. Its in coming towards the end of the line that she finally discovers what they’re all waiting for, a single toll booth line with impassible walls set all through out its sides; the holo sign above stating the charge to be about 15 dollars. She could plainly see that the toll in question was not for any cars to pass through, not for any kind of attraction or ride waiting on the other side, not even for entering anything; but to simply just pass on through a plain old walkway. A fucking pathway further up through the city! What the fucking hell!? Just a single way up to he higher part of town! Are these people taking the fucking piss here!? Do they really expect people to pay to just walk somewhere!? Just what the hell kind of neo capitalist bullshit is this!? Making people pay to walk somewhere! Who did it!? Who the hell-what kind of worthless, greedy shit bag thought of this scam!? Left clearly pissed by the restrictive toll booth set before her, the scientist rushes right towards the front of the line; shoving aside those that actively attempt to stop the young woman in her rage.

Right at the front of the toll itself, the guard stationed within the booth finishes taking the cash given to him by his latest patron; politely wishing the man: “Thank you. And have a nice day sir.” “You too, gent.” the citizen responds with. Just mere moments before the guard could open the gate leading to the other side of the toll, he comes to witness the man that just paid him be shoved aside by an unexpected young woman; the lady wearing an angered glare as she screams to him: “What the fuck is this 10 bucks cut throat business bullshit about!?” “E-excuse me?” “This toll. There’s not even anything beyond here that’s worth pay for; just more walkway leading straight up to more town! Why in the hell do you people have a literal pay wall planted right here on the way up through this cold and dark city of broken homes and crushed spirits!?” “Um...I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t make up the rules. I just work here.” the guard defends with as he quakes in his boots. “Work here-...First the public computers, now this. How long has this money strangling crap been happening for!” “I...can’t say when for the terminals...But these toll booths were implemented during the city’s developing years to secure the sections of Hamilton from any sort of civil plight.” “Hamilton...And you don’t think this is pretty exploitative and classiest?” “Oh no no no. I completely agree with that. If I were in charge, I’d get ride of this kind of shit in a heartbeat; but that ain’t the kinda system were forced to live in sweetheart. Plus I got bread to put on the table, sooo...” The guards remark makes the scientist let out a frustrated growl; soon taking a calming breath before resuming to question with: “Is there at least a way out of here in this part of town?” “Oh yeah, sure. But I wouldn’t want to try getting out all the way down at this part of town.” “And why is that?” “Cause the exits down here are usually congested as all hell with people going in and out daily. Got people like business workers, transferred legal immigrants, people coming in and out for their jobs; all waiting in the same spots for potentially hours at a time simply to get come in or go back home. The exits perched higher through the city are typically less crowded and more streamlined then those at the bottom; maybe trying those would give ya better luck.” “Oh, of course they are.” the scientist sarcastically states.

In the middle of taking all of this in do her ear catch unrest from the line of people standing beside her; each of them expressing outrage from the young lady holding up the line with rather upsetting remarks such as: “Fucking bitch! Get in the back!” “Get the led outta yer sorry flat ass, ya scrawny shit!” “I’m gonna beat yer ass if you don’t start movin!” “Get her cunt ass moving right now! People got shit to do!” These raging comments proves to be enough to get the young lady to move away from the toll booth and waltz out of the line; the guard seeing her leaving politely wishing her to: “Have a nice day.” Arising from the wood and steel floor, the man that Clara had knocked over lets out a small groan as he pulls himself up; questioning to himself if: “Did I feel the sunshine daddy?”

While venturing away from the literal paywall standing in her way, the scientist wonders on how to go about scraping enough money to pass through the toll; her mind then wondering back to mugging people for some quick cash. Nah, that’s probably not gonna work a second time; last time was a sort of lucky break. Besides, too many people lurking around to get away with it again. Maybe trying more earnest ways to earn money would probably bode better...but there nowhere near enough time to get a job and earn a paycheck. The cops would catch on that their perp would be somewhere in Hamilton eventually and be swarming the city long before pay day. Pondering on how to get some dough does the scientist come to find a man in worn and torn clothes, holding a wooden sign with the face carved with: Begging for cash would be taking it a tad too far though; with how cheap, greedy, and dangerous this city’s been so far, more desperate people need that kinda cash more. “Homeless. Need money for food.” Think Clara, there has to be a way to make some cash fast…

Its when pondering on how to scrape up some dough that she winds up spotting a small holographic sign attached to one of the buildings that she passes, the hologram depicting an elderly woman holding what looked to be a small dog in her arms. Underneath the picture of the sign, she comes to find the old woman's address and contact number written alongside the date it went missing; the bounty posted for the dogs safe return being only about 100 bucks. Might just be a little small with how much this city charges for public use things like bathrooms, computers, even fricken walkways; but it could be just enough to continue the climb up through the city, maybe even stock up on some supplies and use the neural terminals. But where exactly to find this woman’s beloved pet? The dog doesn’t look that old judging from the picture took here, its sense of smell is probably still at its prime. The date written only seems to have been about a few days ago, almost like half a week from then. Assuming that it didn’t get picked up by somebody, then the poor mutts probably still wondering the neighborhood trying to get back home to its owner. Just need something to bait it out, but what to use to attract the prime smelling sense of such a canine.

Pondering on how to bait the attention of the elderly woman lost pet, the scientist decides to take a quick rummage through her bag for anything that she could use; shifting through her stuff to then find the can she had used to knock out the woman she stole from. Pulling the canned good in question out from her backpack, Clara found the ruby stained label to show its contents being a mix of chicken and vegetable stew; the juicy meat being just what she may need to lure her little canine prize.

Getting directions out from the few people who would bother to give her the time of day, the young woman navigates through the twisting corners of the vertical metropolis until coming to the street mentioned on the poster; the scientist finding herself facing wide straight path filled with twisted homes and buildings of fused wood and metal lining the sides. From the lawns of those home sprout tree’s grown like everything else in the city; grown in wood fused together with shining steel. Touring through the humble city block, the scientist makes her stop right in the middle of the neighborhood; taking out the can of chicken stew from her back and popping the lid open. From within the cans contents, the mouth watering scent of chicken and juice soaked veggies start to flood the air around the young woman; smelling just as fresh as it ever could. After taking in the amazing scent of the chicken broth, Clara starts to dump the cans contents out in the middle of the street; the juicy pieces of chicken splattering onto the dirty metal ground. Having planted her meaty bait right in the middle of the neighborhood, the young lady swiftly darts away from the spilled mixture of chicken and vegetables; racing over to the nearest tree and starts to climb up to its top. Brushing past the few leaves left remaining upon its wood, the scientist sits herself atop one of the partial metal tree’s branches and awaits for whatever would approach her delectable bait; the bark of the tree brushing against her jeans.

A good long while passes for anything to be drawn in by the chickens semi fresh scent; the scientist that planted the food resting peacefully upon the top of the tree of wood and steel, with her legs dangling in the air as she naps. Its in due time that the sound of sloppy chewing wakes the woman from her brief slumber, Clara stretching her limbs out and glancing down at what could possibly be partaking in her set bait. From where she sits, the scientist comes to witness the bottom half of a dog eating on her planted chicken; Clara starting to scoot back towards the tree to climb back down to the ground. Just before the young woman could start climbing down, she takes another look to the dog to find a rather peculiar tracks that make the scientist stop dead in her tracks. While Clara finds the bottom half of the small beast being the wagging back end of the happy dog, she discovers the top half of the animal belonging to a great horned goat; the fused beast kneeling to the mess of chicken stew before it and picking off the vegetables from the spilled mix. The site of the crossbred animal manages to catch the young woman off guard a fair bit, the physiology of chimera’s still being a rather curious mystery to the scientist. Clara soon comes to discover that the half goat dog isn’t the only mixed beast prowling through the neighborhood; coming to witness an entire array of chimera’s start to come out from the woodwork. From bunny chameleons, cat mules, bird sheep, guinea pig gecko’s, and much more; the scientist comes to find an entire cavelcade rummage out from the depths of the neighborhood; each of them taking the opportunity to partake in her dropped canned goods. Seeing all of the different fusions of animals takes her back to the time she had spent in the repairing city of New Columbus; where the people that were living within the city rode through its semi cracked streets atop giant mutated beast consisting of chimera’s that the scientist had gathered before her. Of course, being much smaller in scale.

Oh, that’s it, right? They can’t attached robot legs to cow because it would be unethical and bad for people; but fusing animals together like an insane zoologist attempting to fuck around with the delicate science of nature simply because they’d make pretty damn pets is okay? Columbus got a pass with this because the environment made the animals they rode, but this; what other excuse is there. Swear to god, these people, man.

While ranting all of this in her own head, her eyes manage to spot one of the crossbred animals in the herd that dines upon her chicken stew; the one she finds holding a doggy head while parts of its body boasted some more frog like features. Just from looking at the head alone, Clara could tell it to be the same dog shown on the lost pet poster; enforcing the fact that her little plan had worked. With an assortment chimera’s all gathered right under her, the young scientist starts to slowly shimmy to the branch closest to the pack of animals; feeling the rough bark and smooth steel of the tree rub against her bum as she scoots ever closer. Its soon that Clara finds herself looming atop the pack of small fused beasts, the calm scientist taking the opportunity presented to her to leap right out of the tree and down towards the mess of critters below; her arms reaching out to the particular dog frog with the bounty on its head. Upon the young woman landing right in the middle of the zoo of freaks, the horde that she had attracted all scatter from the mess of chicken she wound up landing in; each of them racing off in a different direction.

From the pack she had jumped into, Clara grabs hold of the amphibious dog before it could escape with the rest; the scientist struggling to keep a tight grip on the mutt as she takes a look at the glistening collar wrap around its neck. Hanging onto the collar itself be a tag revealing its name and address, good old Hopstop hailing from the same address listed on the wanted poster; confirming this dog to be the same one that the old woman had lost. Before the young lady could even stand back on her own two feet, the struggling amphibian slips out of her arms and swiftly hopping away down the city block. Wishing not to loose her only way of getting some quick cash, Clara immediately gives swift chase after the chimera mutt; rushing through the neighborhood and passing what few people stroll by.

In her race after the jumping frog dog, the young woman hugs and cuts through the corner of every sharp turn she takes to close the distance between her and the amphibious canine; seeing more and more of the frogs slimy skin the closer she approaches. Bumping through people, buildings, and even signs and benches; once the young woman starts to near the hopping mutt, she reaches her arms out as far as she can as she prepares to lunge forth. Finally, the scientist leaps out towards the tiny chimera bouncing in front of her; taking another tight grip of the mutts slick legs while sliding along the street of steal and wood. Having caught the frog dogs by its legs, Clara pulls the animal further into her grasp and hugs the beast as tight as she can; the amphibian canine eventually stop fighting and relaxes in the scientist arms. As she looks into the helpless eyes of the animal trapped within her arms, the scientist can’t help but let a nostalgic little groan pass through her lips; reminiscing of the time she had spent with the beloved hybrid that she had traveled across the nuclear remains of the country with. A more nostalgic time to be sure...if not for a more saddening departure.

While keeping the slimy amphibious mutt from slipping out from her clutches, the scientist ventures back towards the address engraved onto the beloved pets collar; drips of the chimera’s slime petering upon the walkway of wood and steel. Her struggling travels eventually lead her to the very bottom of a twisted complex, lined to the top with stairs and doorways that supposedly lead into other homes; the scientist forced to lightly kick the door in her attempts to knock. Upon the knock at the door, the solid wall in the door frame turns transparent to reveal the old woman depicted on the lost pet poster; her withered eyes widening when witnessing the chimera in her visitors arms. Passing right through the transparent doorway, the elder’s face glows abright from seeing her lost pet; stretching out a bright smile as tears roll down her wrinkled cheeks. “Hopstop!” From the old lady’s overjoyed call, the half bred canine jumps right out of the young scientist arms and straight into the elders own; the frog dog licking its elongated tongue through its owners face as the lady lets out a tickled laugh.

“I’d never thought I see you again. I just missed your cute little face.” Once the chimera stops smothering its owner in affectionate kisses, the elder gazes to the young woman that returned her pet to her side and thanks her with: “I can’t thank you enough for bringing my little frog baby back to me.” “Hey, it ain’t no problem. It wasn’t much that much trouble to wrangle the little guy up.” “No really, I can’t. Little Hopstop here is all that I got to keep me company in these times.” “Just him? Don’t you have any kind of family around here that can you can go visit?” “I so wish I could, I miss them all so much. But since they all live in the middle part of Hamilton, planning a trip to them and back is just too expensive to afford. There’s only enough money for this old lady to get the essentials; both for me and my little baby. And they barely have any time to visit themselves, always just so busy with everything; I think its been almost a year since I last sat down with them and just talked.” “Wow...I’m sorry to hear about all that.” the scientist states while scratching the back of her head. “Oh don’t be. You’re just a girl who brought my precious pet back. You don’t have to pay much attention to this random old lady...Oh, but I do have to pay you.” Saying this does the elder reach right through her intangible doorway and soon pulls out a floating purse; digging through her bag and pulling out a super thin wallet. From opening the wallet, the elders thankful smile starts to deflate into a disappointed frown; pulling out a couple of 20’s and a 10 as she utters: “Oh dear.” “Something up?” “I’m afraid to admit that I don’t got enough money to pay you right now. Only got about 50 bucks on me to spare. I hope that’s alright with you.” “Hey, it ain’t no problem. I’ll happy to take that much off ya.” “Oh, thank you.” “Oh no, thank you.” Clara returns the thanks as she takes the cash in the elders hand. With the 50 dollar reward in her hand, the scientist waltz away from the old woman’s home as the elder returns inside her home with her beloved Chimera in her arms.

Slapping the money she earned onto the toll booth window, the scientist presents the toll guard with the 15 bucks she needs to pass right on through; the guy manning the booth taking a close look at the cash before he claims that: “Alright, exact amount.” Saying this does the guard shove his hand into the hole on the wall and twist his arm; the solid wall that gates off the other side of the toll vanishing in a dim flash. “Have a nice day.” the guard leaves her wish. “Oh, believe me. I certainly will.” the young woman responds with as she crosses through to the other side.

Finally past the cut throat overcharging barricade, the young scientist continues her journey up through the ascending city of metal and bark; the streets that she travels through proving more busy than those further below. The concentration of people isn’t the only thing that she notices in her travel; the overall quality of the walls, walkways, shops, and homes that make up the middle quarter of the entire metropolis of fused wood and steel all presented to cleaner, bright, and more organized then the streets she ventured through before. All of it seeming to be a clear sign of this towering city’s warped priorities, those of which seem to stem from this city alone. Smithville wasn’t this cut and dry taxing and greedy; a little overwhelming for the first impression sure, but nowhere near this level of concentrated avarice. Didn’t Canada use to be a socialist country at one point in time; wonder what what happened during the war to make one of its cities turn into something so corrupt.

In the middle of pondering all of this, the scientist’s sight manages to catch what seemed to be a small convenient store nestled in the middle of a thick of curvaceous buildings; the simple store rooting itself along the floor and sides of its surroundings. Finding the store makes the young woman take a little peek of what stock she has on her; glancing into her back pack to find what spoils she has to consist of a single can of bean, a half eaten head of lettuce, a partially drunk bottle of water, and a couple of brown potato’s among the other tools in her bag. Even when the time comes to split from this towering metropolis of absorbent greed, all this ain’t nowhere near enough for a trip to the next town over; who know’s when there’ll be another chance to restock. Still got about 35 bucks left; even if they might charge more, still have to used this earned money somehow.

Waltzing right on through the stores intangible doorway is the scientist greeted with the amazing sight of the shop’s insides; beyond the checkout counter be a whole hall decked from floor to ceiling with twisting and curved shelves filled with numerous stocks of all different wares and produce. The people that walk through the shelves could be seen strolling from the curving paths that connect the walls and ceilings; the fine folks strolling from the walls to the floor through the ramps in question. The entire scene set before the scientist gives the conflicting sense that this humble little store is way bigger than it actually seems; the inside utilizing every single piece of space built within to lay out shelves and paths for the consumers wandering around. It takes a moment for the scientist to snap out of the admiration of twisted physics and structural design and to walk forth towards the curving shelves ahead; taking her time to first check through the produce section right beside the entrance.

While showing to be somewhat minuscule in stock, the convenient stores food aisle proves to house an entire assortment of various food, drink, snack, and all sorts of commodities; even housing some brands that the scientist seems to be familiar with. Like some of the names on here manages to wind up surviving the very messy test of war time politics and wormed its way right into this futures market. Still having shit like Betty Crocker, Mountain dew, Tostino’s, Dairy farm, Velvita, Kraft cheese, Wonderbread; its so surreal and insane seeing all of them still around after everything that happened. Guess even the most recognizable market brands prove to strong and iconic to survive the ravages of war. Though sitting beside the name brands that she recognizes, the scientist finds products that she had yet to see before; the produce presented to her confusing the young woman from their very names alone. 10x sweet cookies, goat milk, chicken and pig fused patties, atomically grown baby carrots, goat butter, nerual developing fish sticks, sun baked wheat bread, goat cheese...Lotta goat stuff stocked around here. Not really that surprising to be honest; with the cow population being so dangerously low, you gotta have some kind of substitute for the world’s dairy. What does goat milk even taste like?

What astonishes her even more being some of the prices put on these products, some fairing close to around 4 bucks for small things like bread; fucking bread for god sake. Has inflation really hit Canada that badly that they have to charge such exorbitant prices for something so basic as peas? Only got about 35 bucks left; how the hell is anybody supposed to stock up on the essentials and have money leftover for the tolls back. Flat out extortion is what this shit is.

Keeping in mind of how much cash she had to burn and the prices of the products that she browses through, Clara scowers through the convenient store’s twisted and curving shelves; climbing up through the walls and ceilings of the small shop in her search for any sort of cheap, store brand goods she could spot. While tracking her finances, the young scientist also keeps in mind of the variety of food she decides to stock up on; knowing full well that purchasing the same kind of food over and over again would get rather maddening pretty fast. It could be the best damn can of chicken mushroom soup in the world for all its worth and almost anybody would get sick of it if they had to constantly eat it for every meal.

As she searches through the aisles of food and drink for whatever was in her tight budget, her eyes can’t help but wonder off to the other shelves hosting all sorts of unique and strange products that help people through everyday life. Tempting as it would be for her to browse further through the shop in discovering what other sort of gadgets, toys, and other miscellaneous products that is putting up for crazy high prices they expect people to actually pay for like some curious kid wanting to see what new games they got; time is something that she can’t afford the most. Gotta pack up and get moving before the local cops suspect anything.

With wishes to get moving in mind, the young woman race walks back towards the checkout at the front of the store with all the stock she plans to by; the checkout manned by what looked to be a holograph of a single woman in a uniform who greets with: “Good afternoon, ma’am and welcome to our humble store today. Simply place your items on the convener belt and the holo square will scan them to add up the total and tax.” From instructing this does a square of teal green pop out from the end of the belt; Clara dumping what canned goods and water that she had gathered onto the automatic belt and watches it all slide down to the glowing square. One by one do each of the cans and bottles pass right through the holo square, their adding prices showing on the holo woman’s stomach; the result of which shocks the young scientist. “25 bucks!? But I-I did the math, everything I picked out added all up to 15 dollars! What’s with the extra 10!?” “We’re sorry ma’am, but the resulting taxes added to your purchase the result of buying the assortment of canned goods you’ve picked out. Some of their contents contain ingredients that take a long while to reliably grow.” “Are you people seriously taxing me over something as nonperishable as canned food!?” the scientist questions with a slight growl. “This establishment would like to remind customers that the holographic cashier serving you today cannot be distraught or harmed due to customer misconduct. Trying any sort of brute force tactics is virtually pointless; and makes you look like a stuck up twat with everyone to watch.” Knowing she can do little against the tax’s placed on her, Clara begrudgingly tosses the money she owes right through the holo girls transparent body; grabbing what she had bought and leaving in a huff as the cashier says her goodbye with: “Thank you for shopping with us.”

While the young woman waltz’s away from the small convenient store, she takes the moment to check how much cash that her grocery shopping had burned away; finding only about 10 bucks left of her name. Ain’t nowhere near the kind of cash that can let her pass whatever toll that might block her way. Might just have to risk leaving town while there’s still some cash left. With this in mind, the scientist continues her climb up through the towering city of Hamilton in hopes of finding a way out; rising through the countless stairs and ramps that lead her ascent. During her trek up the rising metropolis, she eventually comes to discover a lone elevator of wood and steel; the tube that it dwells in leading further up the town. It’d be a pretty convenient way up through town without having to risk a run in with the Canadian cops; pretty sure the legs would appreciate the break. But knowing the kind of bullshit this charges for stuff like this, just taking it up has to have some sort of price tag on it. Taking a quick peek within the lift of shinning metal, the first thing the scientist comes to find within be a holographic screen posted right at the side of the hatch; her guess on how it would attempt to scam her out of her cash being on point as she finds the elevator charging abut 20 bucks just for the ride. Swear to chaos theory, this city man. Takin every moment it gives to squeeze more outta you. How the hell do people even live like this? Wanting to save up what little money she has on her, Clara opts out of using the overcharging elevator and decides to continue her ascent up through the cheaper way; legging it further through the rising streets ahead.

During her seemingly never ending ascent through the multistory city, the young woman takes note of the overall quality of the homes and shops that line the walkways on her way up; finding these buildings to be cleaner and sparkling than those she had found when first crossing the toll. The scientist even starts to see some of the foliage and trees planted along the sides proving to be a lot more lively than those found near the bottom; the leaves that sprout through their wooded surface softly flapping in the air. Seems to be another one of those overly used metaphors for ascension through heaven; the higher you go, the better everything seems, right? Though this detail fails to convince the scientist of this city’s overall structure and design, the fact of this place being somewhat man made undermining the metaphor for her. Thing is, this whole city does have to be arranged like this, people could cooperate and help one another out; but those at the top are deliberately choosing to raise themselves higher than the rest. Come to think of it, some places have kinda always been like that; its just that this whole towering city might simply be cutting out the metaphor altogether and taking it a little too literally.

Distracted from her observation of the polished streets that surround her, Clara fails to witness a couple of mounties coming out from a fast food restaurant set along the side; bags of steaming food clutched in their hands. One of the cops glancing in the young woman’s direction with a suspicious glare across her face, starting to lose pace of her partner who can’t help but stare at the bag of food he holds; soon finally glancing back to his partner to find her distanced a few feet away from him. “Uh, Joey...Something up?” “Wasn’t there a report this morning about a woman being mugged of her clothes?” “Yeah, around 8 or so I think. A couple of the officers were eager to take the case as soon as they could. Pretty sure they just wanted to see the poor woman in her underwear...Why?” “I think we might’ve found our little clothes stealing perp. Maybe we should tail her so we can ask a couple questions.” “Right now? But we haven’t even ate yet. The food all the way up here ain’t that cheap, ya know. Blew about 30 bucks from my own wallet just getting all this for the both of us.” “Yes now, Jerry. I’ll get lunch for us later. We’re on duty.” “Ugh, fine.” Begrudgingly following his partners orders, the mountie toss the steaming food clutched in his hand aside as his partner starts to quietly pursuing the young woman in their site; the guy shedding a single tear as he starts to follow.

In her travels through the semi packed streets of wood and iron, the young scientist looks through the assortment of people that stroll through the middle of towering Hamilton; finding among the masses garbed in much cleaner and better quality clothing than those dwelling at the very bottom. Their cool color choices giving Clara the sensation of swimming through a sea of people. Not really that much of a surprise at this point now. Of course the better quality stuff would be sold in the higher parts of town, and to the very literal middle class. Wouldn’t be much of an expectation to find literal 50 foot mansions perched at the very top; just enjoying the view from their chairs made from their expensive silk and melted gold.

Its in glaring through the ocean of middle class people that pass right on through, her pupils shrink upon discovering the pair of officers quietly stalking her from the cover of the crowd; their bright red uniforms clashing among the sea of cool color clothes. Having spotted the duo of cops that shadow her, the scientist picks up the pace as she delves deeper into the crowd ahead of her; the two police in turn start rushing through the herd of people in hopes of not losing their suspect. As the young woman weaves herself through the masses, her back and chest brush against the clothing that the people she passes wear;  the scientist feeling the soft texture of the clothes rub through her as she snakes past. While mildly jogging right on through, the young woman decides to take a quick look back to the cops that attempt to tail her, caught off guard when finding the pair of possie starting to close in; the scientist swiftly transforming her jog into a daring race through the crowd ahead of her. Finding the perp they pursue escaping from their site, the pair of police start to sprint after their fleeing suspect; the cop in front starting to push people out of the way in their chase. In her race away from the pair of cops that persistently pursue her, Clara finally squeezes herself out from the dense ocean of people that she had swam through and out into the open streets; sprinting out towards the district lined with stores that boasted bigger than the ones she had seen before.

Dashing through the middle of middle Hamilton’s vast shopping district, the racing scientist takes a glance back to the crowd of people she had slithered through to find the pair of police breaking through the crowd as she continue to chase after; one of the officers shouting out and demanding the young woman that she: “Stop right where you are!” As the officer demands this, his partner pulls out from her holster an odd pistol housing a needle like barrel; the pistol firing out small balls of blue light from the tip upon the pull of the trigger. From witnessing these oncoming shots does the scientist start to jump, duck, and sidestep out of their way; the orbs streaking right past the young woman and wind up hitting a couple of passing unsuspecting people. The moment that the balls of light hit the citizens, the people that were shot are in enveloped in a blue glow that stiffens their entire bodies; able to move little but their eyes as they watch the woman running from the police taking the corner beside them. Passing right by in turn, both of the police race right past the frozen people as one of the officers apologizes to the two who were frozen with: “We’re so sorry! We’ll come back to unfreeze you two later!” Continuing her fleeting race through the shinning streets of metal and bark, the scientist take a quick look back and finds the two officers still in restless pursuit of her; realizing that outracing them won’t be much of an option of they continue to chase her. Gotta find a way to lose these two somehow, maybe somewhere to hide and wait for them to go away.

Upon these thoughts does the rushing scientist take a tight left when coming to the walking intersection, the two mounties that pursue her doing the same and turning into the deeper part of the shopping district; stopping right in their tracks to find a whole crowd of shop goers strolling from store to store. Among them all, neither of the officers could spot a single hair of the perp they were just chasing through the street, the officer wielding the gun pulling out her holo phone and quickly punching in a number before stating to somebody on the other line that: “I’d like to request a search party to be deployed within middle Hamilton shopping district. My partner and I may have stumbled upon the sicko that striped a woman of her clothes this morning.” “10-4 chief, we’ll send a couple more cops your way.” “Thanks Dartigan.” “Uh, Chief?” she then hears her partner from behind utter. Turning over to her fellow officer, the chief of police takes the moment to respond with: “Yeah?” “Don’t you think it might be kinda overkill to send backup to catch just a simple mugger?” “Think about it, buddeh. This sicko didn’t even bother to steal any from the poor girl she mugged from beside her clothes. What do you think that tells you about them?” “Uh, they need a fresh set of pants?” “And why do they?” “Because they just pissed themselves?” “Ech, wrong answer pal. A bitch that just goes that far was planning on hiding out in the open, hoping to avoid the accusing alarm of the public eye.” “What are you trying to say chief? That were dealing with a runaway fugitive?” “Now you’re on the mark, Jerry! We could be dealing with somebody that’s bigger than the both of us here. If we wanna keep this as clean as we can, we gotta catch this bitch before she tries anything.” With this realization seeping into her partner, the police chief and her buddy split off through the shopping district in searching for where their perp may have ran off to; the woman they search for peeking out from the window of the pet shop that they had just passed.

From hiding underneath the shops display windows, the young woman watches the pair of police split off in different directions of the shopping district; a relieved breath leaving her lips as she rises from the shelf. Finally got those two to shove off. Would’ve been a real problem if they caught up and saw who they were chasing. If they did, they probably ordered the whole shopping district to go under lockdown.

While relieved of her escape from the mountie duo that feverishly pursued her, her eyes drift down to the display that she had hide behind; discovering a whole pack of fox bear cubs before her. Just simply hearing one of the little hybrids let out tiny meek squeaks instantly melts the young lady’s heart; a small coo leaking from her smile as she watches them all crawl along in their cage. The very site of these tiny cubs swiftly reminds Clara once again of the mutated ursa steed that had tirelessly carried her across the north eastern part of the dilapidated U.S. Sweet sweet Angelo. The fur upon her back being as fuzzy and soft as a quality blanket.

Despite these little cub pups reminding her of days long past, the young woman knows all too well that there is little time to spare of the moment; it only being a matter of time before one of those snooping mounties barges in her and bum rush her. Rather a shame to leave this shop so soon. The opportunity to discover what other animal hybrids they have here being a tempting venture to take. Despite this scientific offer begging to be taken, Clara waltzes over to the pet shop door and pokes her head out from the intangible doorway; glancing on both sides for any sign of the roaming police. When finding the coast to be clear, the scientist swiftly makes her exit and heads out of the shopping district.

From venturing out of the crowded shopping district, the young woman continues her ascending journey up through the towering metropolis of fused wood and iron; taking the occasional stop to ask for directions from the various people that bother to speak with her that tell her a range of things like: “Uh, yeah. Just take a couple of lefts and you’ll find some stairs leading up.” “I’d say it’d be about a 15 minute climb before you reach the way out of this town. Lovely view this time of day.” “You seriously trying to reach the top of town? You don’t look like somebody that has that much cash on you to burn.” “Yeah, you’d be better off risking the nearest exit out of town. Thank god the way out of this greedy hellhole is free.” “I’m not sure if the exit is busy around this time. Might be. Can’t be any worse than the exits at the bottom. I’d probably wanna get outta here as fast as I could if I stayed down there too.”

Taking the directions of the couple of people that had taken the time to talk to her,  Clara weaves her way through dozens of turns and corners; climbing through every set of steps she could along the way in hopes of finding the way out of town. Traveling through on these directions does the young woman finally find the natural glow of the sun beaming through a huge hole in the wall. At last, a way out of this vertical burg. While the young scientist starts to near the promised way out ahead, her excited sprints starts to gradually slow as the smile on her face starts to turn into a disappointed frown. No.

Standing in her way out from this greedy city of fused wood and steel be a stretching tunnel congested with dozens upon dozens of people all wishing to leave as well; the entire crowd inching forward slower than snails covered in molasses and tree sap. Gazing out beyond the overbearing line of people, the young woman discovers a single mountie keeping the line fine and orderly; constantly glaring through the countless people that march on through. Even in the far off, technological future, frustrating shit like traffic jams still have to exist in some form. You think they’d solve this kind of crap with literal flying cars by now. Come to think of it, there hasn’t been a single site of a hover car anywhere in this towering town; most of this city’s been composed of climbing walkways and streets. Couldn’t they just make the city blocks bigger to accommodate for them; this town would probably have less walkway jams if they didn’t build this city so narrowly. Why would they even build it like this in the first place?

Gazing around the packed crowd set before her, the scientist attempts to search for another way out from this towering metropolis; her eyes soon locking towards several smaller holes set aside the accompanying exit that leak out sunlight. Finding the narrow path leading to these holes being far less crowded than the congested highway before her, Clara waits not one more moment to race out towards one of the holes beside her; retreating from the clogged highway and dashing down the thin pathways leading up. As the eager scientist sprints closer towards the welcoming sunny glow ahead of her, she feels a pleasantly cool wind blow past her entire body while nearing the light.

When the young lady runs out beyond the bright glow ahead, it takes a few moments for her site to adjust to the heavenly luminescence shinning upon her; shielding her eyes from the bright light as they start to come into focus. Once her peepers are finally used to the natural sunlight, Clara uncovers her eyes to behold a breathtaking site set before her; the young woman gazing out towards the far horizon set beyond the city, with a couple of small towns set out along the distance. Taking a gander down from her point of view, the young woman is taken aback when discovering herself perched nearly a thousand feet from the lush grasslands sitting far below; the very rim where the city stands behind made from rough bark and course iron. What is this place?

Begging for the answer to this question, the young woman lift her gaze high above from where she stands to find countless massive branches of metal and wood that stretch out far out into the towering sky out beyond; all of them connected to a leviathan tower that scrapes the very clouds themselves, a few branches that are connected to them leading down towards the lush greenlands below. In taking in this picture does she start to realize where she is, why there is little sunlight piercing within the lower parts of this tall city, and why this place is made from partial wood.

This whole city is all inside one giant tree… But that’s...How is any of this even possible? The kind of cellular growth to create a tree this gigantic this fast would have to be impossibly rapid and borderline physics breaking for it to be standing as tall as it is now; and that’s not even accounting how long it would take to hollow out something this colossal to put in an entire metropolis stretching from top to bottom. What did these people do to even make all this even remotely possible? All this in such a short time span...Is it all the metal coating this whole city? It all doesn’t even look like it was attached; seem like it was melded in.

Before the young scientist could even ponder upon single question that floods into her mind, her ears catch a loud stamped of frantic footsteps echoing out from the darkness set behind her; hearing a few voices sound off from back inside the tree. “I saw her run out here!” “Got her now! This is practically a dead end!” “Good thing its rush hour up here!” Oh shit, its the cops! Realizing the mountie’s swiftly approaching from her only exit, Clara frantically looks beyond the sides for another way out; any escape from the police closing in on her. Glancing down tree’s metal and bark surface, the scientist discovers another balcony perched right below the one she stands on; there being only several feet of open air between those two. The only practical escape she could choose. It’s only just a thousand foot drops towards certain death beyond them, no biggie or anything.

Emerging out from the darkness of the city within, a couple of officers race out onto the balcony with futuristic pistols in hand, all of the searching everywhere for a sign of the perp they pursue; none of them finding even a single trace of her anywhere in sight. “I thought you said she was up here?” one of the officers questions the other. “I swear I saw her walk this way. Where did she go?” In their search for where their perp may have went, the third officer takes a glance down from the balcony they stand; his eyes widening as he tells his comrades that: “Hey, I see her, she’s down on the one below.” “What?” “How?” As both of the other officer glance down with their partner, all of them witness the young woman hanging off the side of the balcony below; their suspect pulling herself up from the guard rail. “How’d she get down there?” “We probably took the wrong way.” “Come on, before she gets away. Planting both of her feet onto the solid floor of the lower balcony, the scientist can’t help but shutter from the risk she just took; knowing full well that slipping up her little drop would mean her utter demise. Once her body finally stops shaking, Clara wastes not another moment to delve back into the dark depths of Hamilton’s wood and steel insides, sprinting ahead to attempt and outrun the cops that so feverishly pursue her.

After racing her way down the balcony pathway, the young lady makes a break away from Hamilton’s descending exit and rushes out towards one of the streets ahead; the police that pursue her following their perp straight into a neighborhood set along the side. When first entering the suburbs of shinning metal and rough bark, Clara sprints aside many of the curving abodes that line the sides of the walkway; each one of the sporting a strangely shaped structure that proves more unique than the last. Some of these designs making her wonder how some people are supposed to live in them. This curious wonder is the last worry she had on her mind at the moment however, as the young woman takes a glance back to witness the officers that tail her coming around the corner and starting to close the distance. Dammit! These guys don’t know when to quit. Need to find somewhere else to hide. Sure hope some of these people don’t lock their doors. With the scientist in their site, the trio of police fire their stun guns out towards the fleeting scientist; the orbs that are shot streaking through the street and flying towards the young woman. Right before they could reach their target, the escaping scientist swiftly turns the corner ahead; the blue balls of light careening right into the wood of a home set across the street.

Coming around the next corner, the scientist leaps out towards the front of the closest house she can and swings her hand upon the doorway of the warped and circular home in her attempt to quickly barge in; the doorway proving to be as solid as cold steel. When finding the home before her to be locked tight, she decides to try her luck on the house next door; cutting through the flourishing green grass lawns and hopping straight to the next abode. Upon slamming her fist down onto the steel barring the inside, the young lady finds it solidly locked as well; not a single part of her hand phasing through the door. Knowing the police that pursue her could come around the corner at any moment, the scientist tries her luck on the final home over; racing through the yards and towards the doorway. If third time ain’t the charm here, than this scientist will have to run the 100 yard dash from the popo chasing after her nice ass.

Upon rushing right towards the neighboring abodes front door ahead, the young lady shoves her entire arm straight into the doorway; her luck coming around when her hand phases right through the metal and steel. Finally having found one of the homes unlocked, Clara wastes not another moment to leap right on through the intangible doorway; falling straight on the carpeted floor waiting inside. After scraping herself off the soft plush carpet, the scientist takes a peek outside one of the windows next to the front door; watching from inside as the police that had been chasing her continue through the neighborhood without making a single stop.

As she sees the trio of officers disappear around the corner, Clara can’t help but let out a quiet snicker under her devious grin; her ploy to outrun the cops running smoothly without so much as a single hitch. At least that’s what she thinks before she manages to hear a small gasp coming from behind; turning back towards the rest of the home for her smile shattering in an instant upon finding a lone little boy sitting in the living room. The young boy looks away from his futuristic video game console playing on the TV in the room, the child silently starring at the woman that had just intruded upon his home with frightened eyes’ Clara silently waving to the young boy in the vain hope of easing the tension. “Mom!?” the little boy blurts out. Hearing the young child urgently call for his mother, Clara almost immediately dashes out the front door and races down the middle class suburban streets; sprinting in the opposite direction she saw the mounties rush down.

When coming out off the suburban neighborhood, the young scientist continues her ascent up through the towering city that she discovered to be within the hollow inside of a giant tree; this urging her to ponder on these recent discoveries. Like there’s no possible way for a tree to get this big in such a short amount of time; forget 40 years, it would have to grow and keep standing for over eons just to possibly grow this massive. And even then, there’s so much factors to consider that would keep it from naturally reaching this high. They had to have used some sort of growth hormones or something to skyrocket its chlorophyll production, a sort of chemical mutation that would alter its growth structure to let it tower this high and be so hollow without the risk of structural integrity.

In wondering what these Canadian’s used to drastically alter the growth of the very tree she walks through, her attention is baited to the coating of thick metal plastered across parts of the ascending city block; its glimmering surface showing to grow brighter and sleeker the further she rises. Could all this metal be a part of why this tree grew so tall, or why all of it’s all hollow on the inside. The metal that was covering the tree’s and plants right outside of Hamilton didn’t really give that promising of a picture; especially how having witnessed it all plaster through this towering town. It kinda gave the impression of an infection more than anything, as if the metal was in the midst of consuming the vegetation. Kind of a creeping thought to dwell on honestly.

Breaking away from her own pondering thoughts, the young woman fixes her sites out to the road ahead to behold the next snag in her ascent further up; a vast golden wall stretching beyond the entire city block. Station right in the very middle of the imposing wall be a lone toll booth similar to the one she had encountered earlier; the line accompanying the booth proving to be significantly smaller than the DMV like line of people awaiting to cross through. Look to be only around 5 to 6 people standing around. It all would surely be the kind of time the young woman had to wait going through the wait line leading out the bottom part of town; that is, until she finally notices the absurd asking price to cross on through. 300 bucks!? Are they serious about this shit!? They’re expecting people to cough up 300 just to even take a trip to the very top of this scientific abominable tree!? Tourism here must be the absolute worst over here. Ain’t no way in hell anybody could scrape up that kind of cash in so little time. Time that the scientist unfortunately doesn’t have to spare. The mounties snooping around her could sniff her out at any moment, ain’t no time to spare dawdling around to try and figure out how to get some. There must be another way to sneak around these damn wall of tacky looking gold. Some sort of pass or hole that to squeeze through. Even the sewers would probably be ideal next to having to work up 300 just to cross some overcharging bullshit wall.

Upon harshly denying the overly high asking price that the toll demands, Clara wonders along the sector of the city in attempting to find another way through the literal paywall barricading her from climbing further up. From almost every single block that she wonders through in the sector, the young woman finds the borders top to be manned with armored mountie guards; each of them keeping a diligent watchful eye on those dwelling on the outside of the wall. The men perched atop isn’t the only line of security that she notices along the wall; the outside borders of the stretching wall housing its own set of guards that patrol through the area, keeping site of the group of people that protest in front of them. Though none of their weapons are aimed at none of the protesters that stand before them; the guards grizzly glares remain locked upon the crowd; refusing to waver even as the people in front of them scream directly in their faces for defending those that live along the other side of the wall.

No matter how far through the sector she travels, Clara search for a single breach in the walls defense fails to bare any sort of promising fruit; the entire golden rim lined with armed mounties from bottom to top. Her hope of crossing the golden paywall starts to waver when finding herself nearing the exact same toll booth that she had strolled away from, the very street it station being the exact one she had came in from; she realizes then and there that she had walked around the entire section without finding so much as a single hole in the barricade. Faced with the overwhelmingly tall blockade halting her from progressing any further up, she wonders on how to bypass such heavily guarded borders and continue her climb; her mind dwelling on one way she could potentially reach the top. Climbing the outside of the tree would be far too risky and would take far too long, the risk of falling to the ground at such a high point being too catastrophic to bear trying. There all those branches that are outside, some of them reaching out towards the top of the tree, but the cops are on too high alert by now to just let people casually pass by; not to mention if there are any more tolls that are set up around there. It doesn’t really seem like there’s any other way around it; just might have to risk climbing up.

The very moment the young woman turns back to enact her little detour, she jumps when finding right behind her a stranger garbed in shady attire that covers a portion of his face; a small chuckle escaping from his lunges before coming out from the dark corner and greets by questioning: “Me think’s with how long you’ve been staring at that big old wall, you wanna see what’s on the other side, don’t ya?” “So? What’s it you’re deal?” Clara questions as she starts to inch away from the man. “My deal is that you’re not the one who’s been feelin the strangling hold of our little money run society. All those people that are protesting around the wall, they got every right to be as angry to have their little trips up to the top stopped by some paywall. They know as much as either of us that it’s all gate keeping bullshit.” “And you’re reminding me of this because...” “Because I know a way to get people through that wall without them having to spend a single dime.” “Oh, like I’d believe that coming from a creep like you? I went all around this damn wall trying to find one opening through and found every single part of this border locked up tight with mounties packing heat. How’s someone like you supposed to sneak me over to the other side.” “Clearly, you don’t know a thing about customs around here. Willing to bet that your firsts hours running up this damn tree have been with a couple muggers and would be molesters, hasn’t it?” Hearing the strangers guess makes the young lady glance away, letting out a little growl as she crosses her arms. “Yep, pretty much what I thought. All you sorry tourists are the same. So, you got about two options here; either you try and stay on that high horse of your’s attempting to think of someway to get on the other side, only to fail and wind up falling flat off the horse back and straight into a jail cell or grave. Or, maybe you could take the chance to humble yourself a little and listen to what a local has to offer.” Going off the guys shady appearance and how he just came crawled out of the darkness, red flags were already frantically waving through the young woman’s head; the offer of being taken through the golden wall sounding like too good of a deal to be true. Then again, the scientist own alternative way past the borders doesn’t exactly sound that promising either; simply climbing only several meters up outside the tree already posing an insanely high risk, maybe even more so than what this guy might be thinking off.

“What do you have in mind?” “Glad to see you off the satchel. I was thinking something along the lines of doing a little postal work; cross through the border with a couple of packages claiming to go to those higher up.” “And let me guess, I’m gonna be one of these so called packages?” “That’s the idea.” “And you don’t think that the guards up front won’t be smart enough to, I don’t know, scan and check whatever you might try and bring over?” “Ah, but lower Hamilton isn’t the only section of the city that has its own seedy underbelly. The kind of rich, entitled bastards that live on the other side of that wall order some really shady shit in secret. I’m talking the bad stuff like illegal drugs, outlawed chemical technology and weaponry, even dabbling in a little bit of human trafficking. All while paying off the guards at the gate extra to keep their mouths shut tight.” “Why am I not surprised...But local or not, nobody goes outta there way to just help some stranger. What’s in it for you?” “Me, ah just wanting to look out for the little guy is all. Those money gouging bastards standing at the top think they can work us sitting below til we drop dead, just to milk us for every cent we’re worth; all just cause the jobs that make the real money happen to be perch right in this damn tree. Not me. This asshole is gonna stick a knife up their ass and twist. And it all starts with screwing their artificially placed prices. So waddya say?” “...Alright. I’m in.” “Bitchin! Just need to see what’s in your pack.” “What, why?” “Eh, somethings going through might still urge them to check. Just security reasons and all.” From the man’s explanation does Clara approach the shady man with her backpack wide open; the guy taking a quick peek of what lies within the scientist bag before confirming that: “Nope. We clear.” “Good, cause I’m warning you. If you try and do anything while I’m stuffed in a box, I’m gonna-” “Easy, Lady. I swear nothing’s gonna happen.”

Stationed at the toll booth of the golden wall that bars the rest of the tree, a lone guards stands ever vigilant for whoever may approach; soon witnessing a lone man garbed in a post workers uniform approach rolling a cart of heavy packages towards the toll. Once the man nears the booth with the cart full of packages, the mountie stops the guy right in his tracks with: “Hold it pal, you got the fee to pass?” “Come on, buddeh. I’m just a post man, I got me a couple of deliveries to make through her. Can’t you gimme a free pass?” “Listen, mate. You’re sorry ass is lucky that its getting the half off mail worker discount; try your luck any more and you’ll be paying full price.” “Alright, alright. No need to get so hostile. Got the cash on me right here.” Saying such, the post man pulls out from the depths of his shirt pocket a single card to hand to the guard; the officer swiping the card from his hand and running it through the reader set inside. As soon as the holographic light displays a bright green check; the mountie hands the man back his card and confirms that: “Right, you’re all clear.” “Thank ya kindly.”

Having paid the fee to cross the toll, the guard turns the doorway leading to the other side intangible; the post man phasing right on through and continuing on. Before the guy could walk even a few feet away from the gate, he stops right in his track when the mountie behind him then questions: “Hang on there. Mind telling me what might be in those boxes.” “Oh these. Trust me, mate. They’re a special surprise for the boys above.” The guards aggressive confidants is fractured when hearing the post man claim this, his scowl dissolving as he retreats back into the booth; stuttering as he wishes for the guy to: “Ha-Have a nice day.” “You too, pal. You too.” the post guy wishes back as he continues through the neighborhood ahead; the silver metal that coats the carved wood taking on a more gold hue.

Held within one of the larger boxes, the young scientist holds herself steady to keep from tumbling within the packages cardboard insides; a soft cheer escaping from her smile from hearing the post man delivering her beyond the guarded gate. Despite realizing this however, the discovered fact that those perch high above this greed control metropolis purchase such shocking and horrible stuff worries the woman quite a fair bit; making the scientist question what the man that sneaks her through may have within the other boxes next to her.

Dwelling within her transporting case of cardboard, it isn’t long before the young woman witnesses the lid begin to be cut open; the scientist ducking under the passing knife as she prepares to burst out from the box. When the light from the outside starts to leak through the cracks of the lid, Clara leaps right out of the box and into the glow awaiting beyond the box; her eyes adjusting to the heavenly light to behold the man who had taken her beyond the wall beside another well dressed gentleman. The scientist is caught off guard when noticing the guy in the postman uniform aiming the pointed tip of his pistol at her; Clara nearly falling out of the box she came in before loudly muttering: “Wh-who-whoa-whao-I how-what!?” “Well, what did I tell ya; ain’t she a fresh one or what?” the false postman questions the other man in the suit. “Well, I must say. You certainly did got yourself one sexy catch. Nice work as usual, Raymound.” the fancy dressed gent compliments. “Sexy-...What- just what the hell is going on here!?” the young woman harshly questions them.

Despite demanding for any answers from the two, both of the men completely ignore the scientist while the man in the suit himself asks: “Um, you did check in the little bag she’s wearing, right?” “Oh yeah. Ain’t nothing in there but some junk and a couple cans of food.” “Perfect, I bet the other slaves down in the dungeon will break her in just fine scraping through her stuff.” “Slaves? You’re selling me into human trafficking!? What about that whole speech that you spilled about those at the top working everyone to the bone and strangling everyone for all they’re worth!?” “It always works every single time. Tug on their heart strings with a few fake words of inspiration and you’ll get them all hook, line, and sinker.” Upon hearing the resounding speech that her delivery man had poured out to her to be nothing but false words coated in heart and soul, Clara’s boiling anger simmers into horrified realization; understanding that she had been play by this scummy son of a bitch. “Amusing. Ladies, take our new little slave and put her in the dungeon with the rest.” the gentleman in the suit orders with a snap from his fingers. From the fancy man’s finger snap do a pair of muscular woman dressed in suits appearing out from behind and forcefully take hold of both of the scientist shoulders; dragging her right out of the box and away from the two. As she’s dragged away under the firm grip of the two woman, the scientist watches as fancy man in the suit shake the hand of the man that had betrayed her trust, hearing both of them say before the doors close that: “As always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” “Likewise my good man.”

While being taken through the fine luxurious halls of manor made from carved wood and swirling gold, Clara can do little to escape from the pair of muscle bound woman that bound her to their sides; not just from the straight lack of any strength herself, but also from keeping herself from passing out as she contains her spiking lust. It’s already taking every ounce of will she has to contain her pining lust on feeling the firm grip from the pair of ladies that carry her through the hall, unsure if she wants this little trip to end. God, this might be too much to handle. Gotta focus on something else. Anything else.

Attempting to avert her gaze away from the pair of woman that take her through the hallway, the young lady’s eyes wonder over towards the open hall set along the side; with dozens of people dressed in fancy attire congregating and mingling among one another. Their garbs isn’t the only thing that sets the scientist off; being served to the people alongside various drinks and wine be little platters made from what she could tell was cooked beef, recognizing the mouthwatering scent from her days before she took the unintended trip through time. If the whole capturing people and making them slaves wasn’t a good first impression enough, then the fact of them munching on the endangered bovine just clenches it.

Dragged further through the golden manor, the lights that hang above start to dim more and more as they head deeper inside; soon taking through a downward spiral of stairs leading straight into a dirty iron wall. Phasing beyond the dirt ridden doorway, Clara found on the other side a dark hall plastered with mold and grime; echoing cries of agony and despair alongside the mixture of foul stenches travel through the dungeon as the scientist is taken further through. Stopped at the very end of the dark hallway, the young woman is faced with the rusted iron surface of a doorway; the pair of muscular ladies that held her casually tossing her right on through. Thrown face first onto the stained steel floor set behind the doorway, the young woman quickly pulls herself up and races right to the door she came in; repeatedly banging on the face in her frustrated fury. “Dammit!”

Noticing a ray of light shinning from behind, the young woman glances back to discover a single glass window letting in what natural sunlight it could; soon finding a set of dark figures huddled in the corners of the dungeon. The scientist can’t help but back away from the horde of mysterious people that dwell within the black corners; her mind racing on what sort of others could be lurking from behind the shadows and dirty ridden beds and tables. She begins to relaxes when the evening sun lets in more light into the room, revealing to Clara simple people with dirt ridden and torn clothing; all of them ranging from the young to the old, to the frail and the strong, to the able bodied and disabled. Even when some of them stay within the dark corners of the large cell, others approach the light that shines within to welcome their new cell mate; an old woman greeting the scientist with: “Oh my. Are you alright there, young lady?” “Uh...Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about jumping from all of you.” “Don’t be, sweetie. Suppose its only natural for everyone’s first time down here. Nearly gave me a heart attack when I did.” “Well, she better get used to being down here.” another of the prisoners suggest. “Daryl!” the old lady barks. “What? It’s not like any of us didn’t. The only time those bastards up above even bother bringing us up is clean their crap, carry their shit, or flat out just use us as their own personal toys!” Hearing the sort of things that these people are subjected to causes a gruesome shiver to run down the scientist’s spine, the young man’s cynicism urging her to questions all of them: “How did all of you people get trapped down here?”

To answer the scientist’s question, a middle aged man emerges out from the shadowy corners of the cell and explains how it was: “Probably the same way you did. One reason or another, all of us climbed up the tree in hopes of reaching the top; some being just simple tourists, others sick of living such poor lives and hoping for better awaiting above. And those whose journeys lead them to the last toll leading to the very top were so desperate to continue climbing would do anything to see the skies above the clouds; taking any offers from even the most shadiest of folks that happen to promise to show them what lies on the other side of the golden wall. But alas, such promising offers proves too good to be true, our own blinded ambitions leading us all into lives of forceful servitude.” Following the middle aged mans explanation, a number of other prisoners begin to emerge out from the dark corners of the cell; each of them lamenting of their plight since being caught with: “I’ve been in here too long. I haven’t had a shower in years.” “I don’t even wanna see the top of this fucking tree anymore! I just wanna see my family!” “My baby girl’s probably all grown up by now, and I wasn’t there for her through any of it.” “My parents are probably wondering where I am. I’m sorry, mom and dad. I’m so sorry.” Hearing the confessions of her fellow prisoners boils up a mixture of sympathy, disgust, and fury from the scientist; her contempt for this towering tree growing ever more.

Its in her silent fury do her ears then catch the sound of agonizing groans echoing through the dungeon, almost everyone glancing to the corner of the cell to lay eyes upon an adolescent girl huddled over in pain. “Wh-what’s the matter with her?” Clara questions. “Poor girl is probably starving. It’s been around 2 days since any of us have even been fed.” somebody mentions. “Two da-? How often are you people fed?” “Clearly not enough. The times they actually remember to give us anything, all we get is nothing but their leftover scrapes; devoid of any sort of sustenance or nutrition beyond keeping us alive.” The scientist staring upon the girl groveling from her hunger pains, Clara lets loose a small sigh before opening up her backpack; delving through its contents to pull out one of the cans that she had bought from the convenient store. Upon witnessing the cans of food with their own eyes do several of the prisoners mouths start to water, their saliva dripping onto the wood and steel floor of their cell. Digging through her pack further does she also pull out her trusty can opener, stabbing straight through the can of peas and prying the top open; the young woman sliding the open can to the groveling girls side. Gazing away from the corner that she grovels in, the adolescent girls eyes glow alight when finding the open can of fresh peas standing by her side; the poor prisoner swiping the can and scarfing down its contents like there’s no tomorrow. “Glad that’s settled. Anybody else want some?”

Huddled together in the middle of the prison cell, Clara sets out what other food and water she had bought from the small store and offers it all to her cellmates; everyone sitting together surrounding the platter and gladly partaking in whatever the newcomer offers. In their little feast of the cheap store brand vegetables and soups, some of the prisoners can’t help but leak out satisfied moans as they east; savoring all the flavor they could from this opportunity as several of them claim how: “Oh god, this is incredible.” “I haven’t had food like this in a long time.” “I’d almost forgotten what carrots even taste like.” Watching the prisoners express their thanks for such simply store brand canned goods causes the scientist to question them if: “Do think any part of the police know a thing about thing about this.” One of the elderly men can’t help but laugh upon the young woman’s question, answering Clara with: “What do you think, kid? If any of them that actually cared did, we would have gotten out a long time ago by now. Practically the only ones that do are paid top dollar just to keep their mouths sown shut. Even got some top employees working at big companies in on all this shit.”

Hearing the old mans reasons to deny any sort of hope for their freedom pushes the scientist her last straw; rising on her own two feet as she rants on how: “This tree. This hellish greed filled forsaken tree! This whole time I spent working my legs to their breaking point bothering to climb to the top just to run into muggers, criminals, and asshole! Every single corner I take just seems to house another way that this city attempt to screw up up the ass! And all those people perched right at the top just sit in their golden mansions causally buying kidnapped people while having the rest of the city under their monopolizing boot and heel. I-Gah! It’s fucking unbearable! Is the rest of Canada run like this!?” From their new cellmates rage fueled rantings, a couple of the prisoners speak up on the rest of Canada beyond the tree; some claiming that: “Not really. I’d give anything to go back to the simple country town I grew up in.” “Even in other major cities, things weren’t this bad.” One of the old woman then cuts in to vouch that: “Though the rest of Canada is spared from this sort of madness. It shames me that its willing to keep such a parasite on its fine maple land. The very nature of this artificially grown tree drives even the nicest people to their darkest, hellish aspiration.” “If its just this place, then why is it still standing. Why doesn’t the government do anything about it.” “Because, my dear girl. This city is the reason why Canada’s is alive today.” “Wha?’”

“The industry at the time needed a way to stimulate the economy then more than ever after the war had ended; the sorts of debt that needed to be paid draining our economy of all it was worth. With so much debt skyrocketing and our money draining, the Canadian government expanded upon what was left of a destroyed Hamilton; the scientific division helping them deciding to infuse what was left of a dying oak tree with a self expanding metallic alloy. Almost within just a single year, that tree grew close to the very heavens themselves; its hollow insides lending the perfect ground work for a sprawling metropolis. In their ongoing efforts to make amends with what it has done to the world, the government offered a slew of international companies a top spot at the tree and the chance to create jobs for millions of Canadians. While this lead to saving the Canadian economy from a horrible dark age, it also created the tree’s seedy underbelly; with several sketchy people slithering their way to managers to those companies linked to drug, human, and endangered species trafficking. Those promoted at the top do all they could to remain hidden and in power, weather it be paying off officials or killing whoever would squeal.”

Taking in the elders little Canadian history lesson, Clara picks up one of the open cans rid of leftover food spread before her; glaring past the generic store brand label to the bottom of the can and spotting a lone seal planted on the side that reads: “Proudly made in Good Maple leaf country Canada.” Simply looking at the label alone grows within the scientist a powerful deep content, the hypocritical lie printed on the bottom causing her grip to tremble; ready to violently throw the can aside. Just before she could toss the empty can, her eyes glaze over the back of its label and through the list of ingredient; a couple that she manages to spot urging her to halt. When taking a closer look to the list set on the back of the can, she recognizes a few of the ingredients used within the generic store brand chunky soup. Potassium nitrate, traces of sulfer, Co2 and compressed oxygen. “Everyone, stop stuffing your faces!” the young woman urges everyone around her. Upon the scientist urgent demand, everyone almost instantly stops shoveling their mouths full of the food that she had bestowed them; one of them spitting out the food she had in her mouth and asking: “What!? What!?” “Just, gimme a minute. I got check something.” Saying this does Clara begin to wonder and crawl throughout the room, taking whatever cans that still held food within and checking the list of ingredients on the back; all the while the other prisoners worry as she mutters to herself. Once finished reviewing the ingredients listed on each and every single can, the young scientist springs up from the floor of rough wood and rusted iron; proclaiming to everyone that: “I know how we all can get outta here.” “What!?” “Are you serious!? How!?”

With the gears in the young ladies head rapidly turning, Clara has little time to answer for her sudden statement; instead gathering every single piece of canned food she snatched from her fellow cell mates and races to the glass window at the back of the cell. Once nearing the window, the scientist starts to shovel out the food left in the cans and starts splashing soup and vegetables on and around the window; the other prisoners watching in horrifying astonishment as she smears the precious rations across the wall. “Have you lost your mind, woman!? You’re wasting the only possible food we’ll have!” the young man exclaims. “Dear girl, what is happening to you?” the old woman question. “What’s happening...Is that we’re all gonna go out with a bang.” the scientist states as she stares back, the other prisoners show to be rather concerned.

Gazing back to the food she had smeared on the window, Clara further rearranges the mess stained across the glass more deliberately; piecees of food being mashed and separated from each other as the scientist works. Backing away from the arranged mess of food splattered across the window, the young woman lets out a curious groan before claiming that she: “Almost got it all set. Just need something to ignite it. Something to set a spark or ember going.” “Ignite? Are you trying to-”

Gazing away from the mess she made, Clara looks throughout the room for whatever she could use to get a spark going; turning over beds and tables in her attempt to find whatever could be set ablaze. When she fails to find any conventional means of starting a flame, her gaze then turns over to the pieces of wood alongside the steel set through the cell; some of the bark pieces protruding out from the walls. Waltzing over to a couple of these pieces, Clara grasps their rough bark and rips them straight off the wall; nearly falling over when they come loose. “We already tried that. The pieces of wood on the wall just grows back.” one of the prisoners states. Like the man mentions, the bark that she had ripped from the wall swiftly grows back; its rough surface restored as if nothing had happened. Despite this presented fact however, the young woman refuses to stop and instead begins to rub the to small pieces of wood together; the sound of course rubbing echoing through the cell. “You’re seriously trying to start a fire in here!? You’ll burn us all to a crisp!” one of the young woman exclaim as she starts to approach the scientist. Before the prisoner could stop her, the old lady clasps the young woman’s hand and halts her right where she stands; the lady glancing back to the elder to find the old woman shaking her head.

Despite rubbing the wood as much as she could, Clara fails to draw out even a single ember from the bark; the scientist growling a frustrated roar as she throws the wood down. “Dammit, can’t even get a spark going! I know the science behind it, but how do people rub sticks together to make fire?” “I know how.” When suddenly hearing this, the scientist gazes throughout the darkened cell for whoever may have answer; questioning aloud: “Who said that?” “Me.” Following the source of the voice, Clara finds the adolescent girl that had been groveling in hunger earlier emerge from the enslaved group of dirty prisoners; the girl approaching as she claims that: “I did.” “You honestly know how?” the scientist asks. “Oh yeah. It was the first badge I earned when I first joined the girl scouts” the girl explains as she picks off the two pieces of bark from the ground. “They still have girl scouts?” “Yeah. Did...you not know?” the young girl questions, tearing the bark right off of wood. “I...Course I did, I meant around here. Some place don’t have them, I guess.”

Once having striped the rough bark from the wood, the little girl starts to vigorously rub the two small pieces together; small strands of smoke trailing out from the wood as she rubs faster and faster. Soon enough is a young spark created from the girl’s constant friction, the newborn kindle illuminating the cell with its dim, but warm glow as the adolescent lady hands the flaming wood back to the scientist with: “That good enough?” “That’s perfect. Nice work, kid.” Clara compliments, swiping the tiny flame from the young girls grasp. As soon as the young woman takes the kindled flame from little lady, the scientist skips back towards the food and soup covered window; thrusting the tip of the ignited wood straight into the mush of the mess. Once penetrating through the mush of mixed foods, the young lady then rushes away from the window as she shouts for everyone to: “Find some cover! It’s gonna blow!”

Hearing their new prison mate scream such, everyone in the cell starts dashing as far as they could away from the food and soup smeared window; grasping the tables and beds that stand in the room and knocking them over to make whatever cover they could they could use. Once all of them hide behind what cover they made, all within the cell nervously await for the splattered mixture of food that the scientist had smeared to explode like she said; the smoke the kindled piece of wood she had shoved through it all escaping out into the air. Shielded behind one of the tables, Clara waits along with her fellow inmates for the mess she made to go up in flames and provide the escape her and the rest of the prisoners so desperately hope for; slowly rising from cover when witnessing the smoke from the embers start to die down. When the last of the smoke snuffs itself out; some of the prisoners start to rise from behind the knocked over tables and beds; some of which on the cusp of tears that their hope for escape seemed all for nothing. “No, why?” “Nothing happened?” “You said it was supposed to explode.”

Coming out from cover herself, the scientist gazes to the mess of food smeared across the window and ponders aloud to herself on: “I don’t understand. The chemical compounds in the food was supposed set it all off. What happened?” Its in questioning this that the young man confronts Clara in a fit of rage, anger stating that: “I’ll tell you what happened! You wasted all the food we could’ve saved up and keep some of us from dying of hunger for you’re stupid fucking stunt!” “Daryl, calm yourself. She was only trying to help us.” the old lady pleads. “Yeah, and look what she all gave us! Nothing but wasted food and broken hopes to leave this damn prison! Do you know how long some of us have been in here, wishing to escape and see our families again? All of us stuck together in hopes of making it out of all this horrible suffering together, sticking side by side bracing eachother for when that day comes. Then this optimistic bitch just comes outta nowhere and lies to us about knowing a way out; going “Ah, maybe if we all waste our food on this dumb fucking thing that I wanna do, it might work.” Not even considering the fact that maybe little plan would wind up with nothing but wasted food on our hands!” “Daryl, stop it!” the old woman demands. Running down the young mans rugged cheeks, a flow of tears begin to drip down from the young man’s eyes; soon to collapse onto the dirt ridden floor of metal and steel in a bawling cry. “Dammit! Why!” The young mans heartbroken sobbing sinks in hard for the young scientist; looking away as she thought that she gave these people a fleeting sense of false hope to cling on and snatch away like some cruel joke.

Its then that everyone’s ears catch the sudden voice of the adolescent girl; the little lady echoing through the cell for everyone to: “Look, the window!” Upon that call do everyone’s eyes swiftly gaze over to the mess of food and soup splattered onto the cell window, witnessing the preserves smeared across the wall to begin violently glow; a clear sign for the scientist to tell everyone to: “Get down!” With the young woman’s warning being the que for everybody; all in the cell lunge back behind the knocked over tables and beds as the mess of food covering the window grows ever brighter; its light illuminating the entire prison hold until it finally bursts in an explosion of raging flames and food. From the grand boom of combustible canned goods, the resulting smoke from the blast starts to dissolve as Clara and the rest of the prisoners begin to rise from behind the safety of the chard tables and beds; their eyes son beholding the natural even sun piercing the darkness of their cell through a large hole in the top of the wall. “It worked!” the scientist cheers. “Oh god. The day has finally come.” one of the prisoners sobs. “We’re finally free.” “Hallelujah!” “I can finally see my daughter again.”

Just when everyone’s hopes were starting to sky rocket, they all witness the remains of the prison wall start to pull itself together; gradually beginning to reconstruct and close itself back together. “It’s starting to close; everyone, start jumping out!” one of them screams. In a whole wave does everybody in the cell stamped out, squeezing themselves out from the hole in the wall and running right outside the side of the manor of gold and carved wood. When it comes for the scientist turn to make her escape, her ears then catch a painful cry echoing out from her back; glancing behind to witness two of the prisoners still in the corner. One of the lays in agony on the ground with a burn scar on his leg, the other kneeling to grasps the mans arm as she pleads form him to: “Come on, Barney! You need to get up! The wall will close any moment!” From between the trouble pair to the closing exit, Clara glances back and forth between the two in which to go for; realizing how little time there is left. When finally making up her mind, the scientist races back towards the duo dwelling in the corner; the young woman of the two attempting to lift her burned friend with all she has. In her struggle does she feel her heavy load lighten quite a bit, glancing over to the mans other arm to see the woman who aided their escape helping her pick her friend up. Holding the injured man together, both women start to heave their way towards the closing hole ahead; their being only a few moments left before the way out closes for good. Once coming to the gradually shrinking exit, the scientist tells the other to: “Climb up first and we’ll pull him up!” Doing as Clara ordered, the young woman of the duo jumps out from the hole and reaches both of her arms back down inside; the scientist struggling to lift the burned man up enough on her own. Right as she lifts the injured gent halfway up, the other woman grabs hold of the guys other side; both her and the scientist lifting the man right out of the cell with moments to spare.

With that troubling situation out of the way, it finally be Clara’s turn to make her escape; leaping up to the receding hole while there still space to jump out. Grabbing onto the ledge, the scientist feels the splinters from the wood dig into her hands; the sudden pain making her stumble and nearly fall. Before she could fumble right back into the cell, Clara feels something grab hold of her arm as she falls; gazing up to see the woman she had helped catching her. With one mighty pull up, the once imprisoned woman is tossed right out from the darkness of the prison cell, the hole she had made finally closing as soon as she makes her escape. Once standing within the inviting warm twilight of the outside, the scientist rises from the burnt wood and grass to find those that were trapped within the cell scrambling as fast as they could; the woman that she had help get her friend out glancing back and winking at her. Her face blushing bright, Clara opts to do the same and rushes as far from the golden manor as fast as she could; feeling the welcoming evening winds blow around her body as she races further down the neighborhood of gold and wood ahead.

While putting as much distance from her and the massive shinning manor as she could, the scientist takes a swift glance back to witness the suited man when first dragged here burst out from the front doors with a pair of mounties at his side; the rich gent pointing in her direction while shouting: “There she is! There’s the terrorist you’re after!” Hearing the suited man claim such, the pair of officers start to sprint after the young woman while drawing out their stun pistols; Clara picking up the pace as she races through the rich district lined with decorated curving homes that glisten in the twilight sun.

While dashing ahead through the luxurious outdoor neighborhood, Clara’s mind is on overdrive on how to make her escape from the pair of police that pursue her; realizing there being only one way out from it all. The cops are probably crawling through the levels below to block off the neighborhood and to prevent their perp from escaping; it’d be smart of them considering the last two times their suspect got away. But how to safely get down from this tall tree of overwhelming greed and monetization without being reduced to a bloody pancake of broken bones and bleeding organs?

Thinking on this, the scientist’s gaze constantly scan through her surroundings for anything she could use to help in her current escape; checking every direction for whatever was around that may give her some ideas. Glancing above, the young lady finds perched above her several more massively long branches that seem to stretch out for miles on end, there length certainly being something to behold, but nothing that could help her out at the moment. Gazing over to one of her sides does she find the rich homes beside her holding entire yards filled with lawn decorations of all sorts. Ya got your classics like lawn gnomes, flamingo’s, sniped hedges, flags, all that shit. But then there are some odd things like holograms of people dancing, warped sculptures with mysterious carvings, even what seemed to be hovering robots fluttering down petals that dissolve when touching the ground. Looks pretty, if kind of expensive. Of course, with the kind of cash these people must rake in, they gotta have way more stupid and useless crap inside their homes.

Despite the odd array of décor lined through the manor yards, Clara nonetheless cuts right through the open lawns in fleeing the police; snatching up the decorative flamingo’s that stand in her way and breaking off their legs. Having broken off enough flamingo legs for what she has in mind, the young woman glances back to find the police still trailing after her; one of them firing their stun pistols out towards the fleeting scientist. While dodging and maneuvering through the oncoming balls of blue light, their escapee glances through the upcoming neighborhood ahead for whatever could help ward off the barrage of stunning green orbs; her eyes catching the glistening reflection of a wide golden lawn ornament ahead. Snatching up the golden plaque, Clara turns right around towards the volley of stunning balls flying her way; shielding herself against their paralyzing light and deflecting them right back towards their sender. Seeing the barrage of orbs that he had just shot coming their way, the pair of police duck down onto the grass to evade their stunning light; one of the balls striking one of the officers in the stomach and enveloping her in its blue glow. After looking over to his stunned partner, the Mountie glances back to find their suspect racing around the corner ahead; shifting between his paralyzed partner and their fleeting perp.

Coming out of the curving turn does the scientist discover the final piece of her little escape plan, a proud Canadian flag waving along the passing winds; the signature maple leave flapping in the breeze. Coming to the pole where it’s perched, Clara starts to climb up towards the flag she so desperately needs; not for what it stands for, but for what its made of. Reaching the top of the pole, the scientist starts to untie the strings that hold the Canadian flog from flying off; taking a little look back to find a couple more mounties on the approach; some of them gazing up to the top of the flagpole and firing their pistols to the young woman. When having untied the flag from the pole, Clara takes a daring leap back down to the ground with the flag clutched in her hand; feeling the slight sting in her legs from the rough impact. Despite the pain in her calves, the young lady nonetheless continues her retreat from the police that pursue her; racing further down into the shimmering orange neighborhood.

Her hurry through the rich neighborhood of carved oak and glistening gold has her come to the very end of the stretching branch; stepping upon the observation deck to behold the vast view that awaits her beyond the guard rail. The seemingly endless twilight sky stretches out before the scientist, only few feet away from scrapping against the very clouds themselves; all of it overcasting down upon the miles and miles of earth that she sees awaiting below. Beholding all of this does the young scientist climb atop the guard rail that separates her from the thousand foot drop, the window bellowing against her body as she balances on the golden rail. Hearing rapid footsteps approach from behind, Clara turns back to find lined against the observation deck a dozen mountie officers; all of them aiming their firearms right at her as one of them emerges from the squad to announce: “For crimes of aiding the terrorist attack on the Buffalo power plant and illegally crossing the border from the U.S; you are hereby placed under arrest by the New Hamilton police department where you will be transferred into military custody. We have you surrounded on every end, with no chance of escape. Please, come quietly.” Upon these demands does Clara turns back over the vast sky awaiting beyond the branch, glancing down towards the distance to find a vast city of floating towers and lights glistening ahead; one of the buildings stretching out beyond the sky and into the very heavens themselves label as: “K Labs.” Weather you’re ready or not…I’m coming Arthur.

“Miss, get off the rail now and surrender.” the officer once again orders. The entire squad watches the woman standing before them raise her arms up towards the very clouds; their guns aimed to her backside as they await for what she action she takes next. In that instance are each and every one of the astonished to witness their perp takes the descends off the guardrail and takes the plunge down from the branch; all of them rushing across the observation deck and glancing down for any sign of their fallen suspect. “Why did she just jump off?” “There’s no way she can survive a drop this high.” “You think she just didn’t wanna rot in prison?” “I can’t see her anywhere. Did she already drop out of site?”

From the mile long branch she had dropped down from, the young scientist descend down beside the leviathan tree of shinning metal and dead oak like a falling comet; glancing to the oaks surface to find the iron that partly consumes it reflecting the evening sun. After dropping a far ways down, Clara decides it be the time to finally deploy what she had made out from the decorations she had gathered; unfolding the flag she had snatched out from under her shirt and holding it against the rising winds. Once the flag fully unfurls, its strong fabric transforms the young lady’s rapid descent into a soft and gentle glide down; keeping a tight grip of the legs she had plucked from under the flamingo’s pierce through the flag as she soars across the very sky. Having finally escaped from the cruel, greed fueled city of the towering new Hamilton, the scientist feels thankful to having finally escaped the cruel, greed filled city of the towering new Hamilton; putting the leviathan tree behind her as the evening winds carrying her through the skies and out towards the east, where the city of floating buildings await her.

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We're getting close to the end people. Just a couple more Chapters to the series finale. I want to again thank all of you for sticking around and hope all of you stay long enough for this little series of mine to finally come to an end.

[gracedman]

Our Unseen Enemy

Ephesians 6:12–13 (ESV)

For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore, take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.

 Many times, we are enticed to down to a level where we fight with mere flesh and blood. I don’t mean to discount the need to be disciplined in certain areas. But our primary fight is a spiritual battle. If we react to what we see or hear, or if we live in how we feel or in our analytical selves, we can be easily deceived and manipulated. The enemy has won if we approach life from this point of view. We need something that will lift us from that realm of thinking into the mind of God. I was thinking about that man, Joshua met on the outskirts of Jericho and his sword:

  Joshua 5:13 (ESV)

When Joshua was by Jericho, he lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold, a man was standing before him with his drawn sword in his hand. And Joshua went to him and said to him, “Are you for us, or for our adversaries?”

 Now I have met a lot of people in my day who are biblically oriented. Some have been great students of the Bible. Many have their strong preferences. One says that the Bible cannot be understood without consideration of the Aramaic versions of the Old and New testament. Others talk much about the Hebrew and the Greek. Some emphasize the need for Septuagint study, which is a Greek version or translation of the Old testament. Then there are those who will battle about the English versions of the Bible. Some people won’t let me post on their pages because I don’t favor their preferences. Perhaps you have seen their crusade against the “corrupted English translations.” But above and beyond it all, I want to meet this man with his drawn sword. Please don’t muddy the water with facts and speculations about lesser things. Show me the man with the drawn sword who is ready to lead us into battle and win it.

 Paul talks about the whole armor of God. Each piece is a study in and of itself. But to defeat our unseen enemy we need to have their contribution freshly energized by God. Let’s talk about just one piece:

  Ephesians 6:16–17 (ESV)

In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God,

For the moment, forget about the helmet of salvation. Let’s talk about this sword. The sword of the spirit, which is the word of God. We could go on and on about how this refers to the Bible and be only half right. That is only partially true. I am sorry to have to say this, but we can quote the Bible all day long but if it not done properly, it won’t help at all. It in fact, puts a smile on the devil’s face. I’ve had many a person quietly come to me and say how they need me to give them a word from God. I asked them, “why don’t you go to your pastor, the one where you go to church?” They say something like this: “Because I’m in real trouble, and when you share a word from the Bible, it works, it really helps.” How we need to meet this man with a drawn sword in his hand. The one who is mighty in battle.

 What is this sword? Let me give you some really great quotes:

 “The Spirit will place a razor-sharp sword at your disposal anytime the enemy gets too close. This sword’s power will be available the very moment the Spirit quickens a specific word for a specific situation you are facing.”

 In Ephesians 6:17 The word for “word” of God, is not “graphe” or the written word. It is “rhema” or a spoken word. Listen to the same author about this word “rhema:”

 “The Greek word rhema, which describes something that is spoken clearly and vividly, in unmistakable terms and in undeniable language. In the New Testament, the word rhema carries the idea of a quickened word.”

 When the spirit energizes the word of God, it has power in it. It blows the enemy’s work away. It is not a matter of quantity here. It is not how much you know. It is a matter of quality. It is an energized word that will work. How we need to meet this man with the drawn sword in his hand. His sword is ready for battle, his use of the word makes all the difference. Listen to an example:

  John 15:3 (NKJV)

You are already clean because of the word which I have spoken to you.

 One word energized by the Spirit of God, will do more than a thousand spoken by others. How about this one:

  Isaiah 40:1–2 (NKJV)

“Comfort, yes, comfort My people!” Says your God. “Speak (an energized word of) comfort to Jerusalem, and cry out to her, That her warfare is ended, That her iniquity is pardoned; For she has received from the Lord’s hand (a) Double for all her sins.”

  Lord Jesus, open our ears and our hearts to the voice that speaks to our inner man. It is what we need more than anything else. May your words dwell richly in our hearts and pierce the veil of sorrow and shame within us. Put our invisible enemy to flight. Amen!!!