#why pit two baddies against each other when they can help each other heal from their trauma

[badgrishaverseaus]

FINALS!

Kaz Brekker VS Inej Ghafa

Propaganda under the cut:

Kaz:

(with Inej) "Both characters are literally reinvented literature. With such horrifying backstories and lovable and admirable personalities. Kaz stands as inspiration for so many disabled people and motivates them to never feel shame about them...Their love story is also really emotional, unique, and beautiful."

"Literally the moodiest bitch ever and i love it"

"[his] character is so interesting"

Inej:

"She's so positive and sees the best in people despite the world being shitty"

"She’s so lovely."

(with Kaz) "Both characters are literally reinvented literature. With such horrifying backstories and lovable and admirable personalities...Inej is so realistic and strong and inspires people of color."

"KNIFE WIFE KNIFE WIFE"

"You can't not love Inej, she is truly an iconic and important character."

"she's inej. Enough said."

[znationfanfiction]

Z-Nation Fanfic

Yet another Z-Nation fanfic I wrote! Feel free to let me know what you think, or even make a request. As always, please no stealing this! Thank you guys and enjoy :)

—————-

I watched them take the group, yanking sacks over their heads and binding their hands before dragging them to the caravan of trucks. A couple of them thrashed, throwing wild kicks in any direction they thought their assailants may be. These fighters got a stiff knee in the gut. I flinched, remembering how I was often on the receiving end of those knees. The movement loosened a part of my bangs from my braid, and I quickly tucked them back, shifting my weight back to my heels. I was ducked behind a small stretch of brush in the trendline, watching through a cheap pair of binoculars.

It wasn’t my first time sneaking out after the men from our compound. I hated that place so much it put a fire in the pit of my stomach to stay for too long, so naturally, I would sneak out as often as I was able. I wasn’t always allied with the men and women at the compound. I was by myself since the zombpocalypse all started that first year, after some thieves shot my mom over our car and a few rusty cans of food. I managed to get away, and learned to take care of myself at just thirteen years old. It was just easier that way, anyway, without a group. I could move more freely, scavenge enough food for only myself easily.

I didn’t go with this particular group willingly…they took me when I had my guard down. Tortured me until they thought my will had broken. I lost count of the bones they snapped, and I had scars striping my body and a nasty one on my right cheek from when they got especially bored. This happened for months, the torture. That was how they got the unwilling to join their little group…power in numbers, and all that.

The group they captured had numbers, skill, and supplies, so they were more valuable than half the compound put together. I followed them the couple miles back to the camp on foot, sticking to the treeline, before slipping under the fence behind what served as the chow hall. I had burrowed a little hole underneath the fence, just big enough for my small frame to fit through, after I healed up and they deemed me safe enough to roam freely around the area. I wasn’t stupid enough to stay gone for too long from the encampment…they had taken a particular liking to my “spunk”, as one man called it, and planted a chip deep in the muscle of my forearm that alerted them if I went out of their range. That was one of the times I hadn’t had the privilege of passing out, so I got to watch the whole thing, helpless to stop it.

I wasn’t allowed to have any weapons, even after being stuck with these monsters for almost two years…they still didn’t trust me with even a butter knife. I guess that’s the price to be paid for trying to gain loyalty through pain and fear. The occasional attempts I made on the leader’s life may also have kept them from giving me access to weapons, but I digress. I still managed keep a decent machete under the loose floorboards of the cabin I shared with two guards.

Dahlia, the leader of our compound, sent groups out often for ammo, food, and other supplies. On the rare occasion, they found a few victims to bring back and force into our ranks. When they didn’t buy into the peaceful way of life that was pitched to them, they were beaten and tortured into submission. My cabin was always close enough that I could hear their screams. Sometimes, I managed to sabotage their missions of capture just enough that the people escaped. They never knew it was me, somehow. They weren’t the brightest baddies in the evil crayon box. Still, I hated every last one of them with every cell in my starved body.

In spite of the monsters that ran that place and the aspirations of murder I had toward Dahlia, I never saw a real reason to leave. I had water, enough food to keep from starvation, and safety, so I didn’t mind being miserable for a little while so much. Something changed, though, when I saw them take that particular group. I wasn’t sure if it was the fact that I saw my mother in their leader’s eyes, or how I saw them communicate and act like a family ,or even the strange attraction I felt toward the lanky, dark-haired boy, but I knew they were different, and I had to help them.

That night, I snuck out through the cabin door, my machete tucked into the waistband of my ratty jeans and obscured by an oversized flannel. My windows had long since been boarded, so the door was the easiest way without a power tool. They always kept their new prisoners in what used to be a miniscule police station, since it had a few cells that were presumably used for the town drunks before the apocalypse.

I managed to creep around the perimeter of the fence without running into anyone. When I reached my target, though, the scuffing of oversized boots made my ears prick. I hid around the corner of the station to let a guard patrol past, pressing my back to the rough brick and holding my breath. When they passed, whistling some sort of cheerful number, I stuck to the shadows thrown across the lawn and ducked through the entrance. What I did not factor into my plan was the small bell hung in the doorway that alerted the guard to my presence.

The guard was on me like flies on shit, grasping my forearm and planting a foot into my chest that knocked me to the wooden floor before I had the chance to react.

“If it isn’t darling little Bo,” he grinned, showing a row of black, rotting teeth. “Now, what could you be doing here so late?” He stepped around and pressed his foot to my aching chest.

“Well, that’s none of your damn business, Robert, but I’ll have you know I was just going for a walk. Now, if you don’t mind, get your fat ass foot off me,” I spat, squirming to get out from under the pressure.

He tsked, crossing his massive arms. “You know you’re not supposed to be out this late. It’s past your curfew. Now tell me the real reason you’re here.”

I pulled the machete out of my waistband, leaving a shallow slice along my side, and stabbed it deep into the muscle of his calf. It twitched and spasmed, and I ripped my weapon back out. Robert fell backward, his foot leaving my chest.

“You little bitch!,” he roared.

The muscles across his chest rippled through his shirt as he reached for me, but my small size gave me the advantage. I skipped backward, spinning to his side and lashing out with the machete again, hissing as my side burned. This time, it bit through his ribcage and into his chest cavity. Blood frothed from his lips as he convulsed, and my weapon found his eye socket. Nobody needed a Z running around and infecting everyone…that would have just tipped off every guard to my whereabouts.

I wiped both sides of my machete off on his t-shirt and rose, snatching the key from his pocket. I had to hurry. Surely the sounds had alerted someone. I rushed to the back of the station and slammed through the doorway to the cells. There, the some of the group from earlier was bound tightly to chairs, and the rest occupied the few cells. I went to the cells first and jammed the key into a lock. The boy from earlier was in the cell, and I especially wanted to make sure he went free. I yanked the bars and opened the door, and then was promptly slammed against it, my face pressed tightly against the bars by a large hand on my neck and my arms pinned to my back by another. The boy had both disarmed me and had me pinned in seconds. The gash on my side screamed as it opened further.

I was astounded, my breaths coming in pained and panicked gasps. “Whoa, whoa, I’m just trying to help you guys.” My voice came out distorted through the bars. “Here, take the key and get your friends. I promise I won’t do anything. I’ll stay right here.” I opened my hand to reveal the key.

He grabbed the item from my hand and released me, pushing me away. I stumbled a step and then planted my feet, my hands in the air as I watched him unlock the other cell and then pick up my machete to cut the others free. Once everyone was loose, he stepped up to me.

“Why are you helping us?” His clear eyes searched my face, and his expression remained guarded.

I put my hands down cautiously and removed the flannel, revealing the jagged scars along my torso and arms. “Because I was a prisoner too. I hate it here, and I hate all of them. I couldn’t let them hurt anyone else…”

The tips of his ears turned red as he took in my exposed flesh. There was an ominous ring as someone else entered the station. I pulled the shirt back on and looked to the other group members. “You guys need to get moving if you’re going to get out. They know something is up. Let’s go.”

They hesitated for a beat before following after me to the back storage room, where they kept all their gear. They had just loaded up when the first guard saw us. He had started to yell to the others before another machete sunk into his skull. The leader ripped it back out and rolled her shoulders. The man collapsed, his dead weight bringing him down hard. I led the group out of the building and through more shadows. The guards raced around now, wielding large guns and flashlights and communicating in short shouts. We had reached my small hole in the fence when shouting erupted from the police station.

“They know you’re gone! Go, go, go!” I waved them through frantically and then slipped through myself.

We disappeared into the woods, running for about a mile and a half before stopping to check on everyone. We all panted as we took each other in.

“Thank you…for helping us. I’m Roberta Warren. This is 10k, Addy, Murphy, Doc, and Vasquez.” Their leader extended her hand to me, and I grasped it.

“Call me Bo.” I smiled lightly and looked at the boy again to find him staring intensely back at me. A small thought dawned, sending my heart hammering unsteadily in my chest. “Shit…anyone have a little knife I could borrow?”

The boy nodded and handed me a small knife, which I promptly dug into my forearm, cutting through my muscle to the chip. There was a chorus of nervous “whoas” and gasps over my grunt of pain as the blood streamed down my arm. I reached in at last with a shaking hand and plucked the chip out, then snapped it in half.

“They…chipped me. Didn’t want me going too far unless they knew about it.”

“What, were you like a little pet or something? Are we seriously going to trust this girl?”, a man who appeared…blue….grumbled, irritated.

Doc handed me a handkerchief for my arm and helped me wrap a ripped up piece of shirt around my side.

“She saved us, Murphy. If she wanted us dead, she’d have left us there.” Addy, the redhead, smiled at me warmly. “Thank you,” she turned to me.

“I just couldn’t watch them hurt anyone else.”

“Well…why don’t you come with us for a little while, to California?” Doc patted my hand, a gentle look in his eyes.

Warren hesitated, working me over with a guarded expression. “I…suppose that we could use someone else. Sure. But,” she stepped forward, lowering her voice, “ if you try anything, I will put you down myself.”

I gulped, nodding. “Of course.”

“Okay, great. Now that we’re done with the touchy-feely stuff, can we get going?” Murphy, of course. I was already learning his particular brand of snark.

With that, we headed toward whatever was ahead for us in California.