#i would perish in the process ofc but not without trying

[deadly-fruit-punch]

a friend just told me that i have the vibes of someone who would attempt to kill god and honestly

they get it 😭

[deathonyourtongue]

Sanguine Nocturnus | 6

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2.2K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Blasphemy. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : If you’re a Catholic, you may want to skip this chapter.

The apartments of the Elder in Situ had several access points, not only for housekeeping purposes, but security as well. As the sun fell behind the hills of Rome, Henry found himself using one of these less conventional ways to enter Gregory’s sitting room, preparing himself for a bit of a wait, since younger vampires tended to sleep more than their older counterparts. The door that led off one of the coven’s many claustrophobic staircases opened directly behind the Elder’s headboard, and gave anyone coming in a full view of the spacious room; it had come in handy many times throughout history, when a quick scan of the space meant the difference between life and death for their kind. Getting an elder out of danger quickly was a forgotten necessity these days, but back when most Romans still wore togas, it was a skill that earned a vampire a place of honor among those who were under an Elder’s rule.

Instead of a sleeping fledgling however, Henry was met with an eyeful. Facing the door, Gregory’s form bounced furiously against Fares’ thighs, the two entwined like the vines that covered some of Rome’s older buildings. There was no mistaking just how enjoyable the moment was for their young Elder, as his cock flopped lewdly up and down, his seed spraying over the fine sheets, reminding Henry of a hose under high pressure. 

Though he immediately looked away, Henry knew there was no hiding his tall frame from the two men who would notice his presence at any moment. Clearing his throat to speed up the process, he pinched the bridge of his nose, already irritated. Though the night had only just begun, Henry had woken with ruffled feathers, a dream having brought back memories he would sooner rather forget about. His mind had taken him to a time when he was, despite his cursed eternity, happy. A quick visit to Lucrezia hadn’t helped, as she and Vinicius were curled up like two house cats, having just finished their breakfasts. Though he counted the two as family, there were times when opening up to the pair was too daunting a task; instead, he’d talked about nonsense and his plans for the night before making a hasty exit.

“Hey! Don’t you knock?!?” Gregory cried out when he finally opened his eyes, quickly getting off Fare and leaving the older vampire only half-satisfied, his orgasm ending on the sheets and not in his lover. 

“Actually, as your teacher, I have no such requirement, nor any compunction in exercising that freedom. Get dressed, we don’t have time to waste.”

“I don’t appreciate you addressing me so cavalierly,” Gregory hissed as he threw on his suit jacket, following Henry out onto the wet cobbles. Balmy from the rain, the light glistened off all the drops that still clung to statues and facades, making the city seem dotted with stars that had fallen from the heavens. It would have been a wonder to behold with a slow, ambling pace, were it not for the task at hand.

“I don’t appreciate you not being ready for your lessons. You have all day to enjoy Fares’ company. You knew full well you had a schedule to keep and yet, you made me not only wait downstairs, but also come find you. Addressing you with the level of respect you currently deserve should be the least of your worries.”

Gregory stopped in his tracks, an impish grin crossing his face. “And what if I choose not to attend my lessons at all? What then, hmm? As Elder, I could very well do away with the requirement, could I not?” 

“You could, but then someone would wake one of the others, and your head would be on a pike in the back garden before morning. The rules are in place for a reason, Gregory. They’ve kept us alive for millenia, and you trying to exercise what little power you have in the grand scheme of things, will only be crushed like a dead leaf underfoot. This position isn’t about you being special, or having privilege. It’s about keeping a villa full of demons in line until you get to rest six feet under for a while. Is that clear? Now let’s go.” 

They walked in silence for a moment, before having to stop for an ambulance going full speed, its lights and sirens cutting harshly across the otherwise-quiet night. Henry’s eyes closed as he immediately took in the scent of death emanating from the vehicle. To his left, he could hear Gregory taking deep pulls at the air, smelling the same acrid scent. 

"You should not fear death, for it can no longer touch you." Henry explained to Gregory as the road once more became clear, their steps echoing softly off alleyways as they passed. 

"What can harm us, then?" The fledgling inquired, his eyes fixed on Henry. A group of young ladies passed them with wanting eyes, their smiles and near-silent chatter serving to make Gregory blush and Henry smirk.

"Holy water is a fallacy; as are crosses, crucifixes and stakes through the heart. Here, I'll show you." He smiled, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt and buttoning the top button so as to look more conformed as he led Gregory towards one of the older and smaller churches in Rome.

Henry could feel Gregory’s anxiety rise as they stepped across the threshold. The younger vampire’s mind raced as he watched Henry dip his fingers into the holy water and hold them there until Gregory’s gaze could look nowhere else; no sizzling, no burn, no melting of flesh could be seen as Henry removed his digits and swiped them across his forehead, an impish smile on his face.

Moving down the center aisle, Henry nodded at one of the three priests that occupied the place of worship, the man nodding back as he swayed a thurible across the expanse of his path. Henry could barely contain his lecherous smile as he knelt beside the first row of pews, crossed himself and slid into his seat. Gregory followed his actions, mimicking the old Catholic rituals, having had no personal experience with the church when he was alive. Shortly after they took their seats, the mass started and in the Pre-Tridentine tradition, the priest stood with his back to the pious, speaking solely in Latin.

"What fools they are. Following like sheep lead to slaughter. If they only knew that their salvation could be found in their own blood, this place would be desolate." The last word was spit from Henry’s lips as though it were a smoldering ember, teeth clenched in defiance of the group behind them.

“If you hate them so much, why bother coming here?” Gregory spoke, forgetting his volume and quickly being shushed by one of the parishioners. 

“Because you need to learn not to fear the church when it comes calling, as it likes to do every century or so. Some overzealous monk will get it into his head that the old stories are not merely fables, and with or without the church’s blessing will make his way through the histories of old to try and end us once again. When that happens, if you are lucky enough to be in your current position, you will need to know that their tools cannot touch a hair on your head. God himself would have to send Michael’s sword, to even try to singe us.”

“So why wait until they come to us? Why not bring the fight to them and end this once and for all?” Gregory continued, intrigued by the thought of vampires fighting priests with each side of the theological pendulum watching from their respective sides. 

“Simple. Priests taste like unwashed nethers and, to put it plainly, we don’t start fights; we finish them.”

The two waited until it was time to receive the Eucharist, both vampires following the other worshipers as they made their way up to the altar. When they reached the priest, Henry crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head, allowing the man to utter a blessing onto him before moving aside to kiss the foot of the Virgin Mary. 

“Liar,” he whispered under his breath, the word directed at the matriarch of the religion, Henry keeping his eyes closed so as to not give his true nature away to those who might be looking. Standing to his full height, he continued his procession. 

Confusion was written clearly on Gregory’s face as he watched Henry heading past their pew and towards the door, walking faster as he came closer to the massive wooden doors.

"Why are we leaving?" He hissed quietly when he caught up to the older vampire, the two moving through the doors despite the silent protests from the two ushers who stood guard on either side.

"Because this place is filthy and I need a bath. Also, there is more for you to learn tonight besides the fact that you are more powerful than this god they worship." Henry nearly snarled, spitting on the stone steps of the church purposely as he jogged down the shallow stairs.

Gregory dared not read his thoughts, afraid to see just what turn of events had caused such hate for the clergy and the religion as whole. Being an atheist, he was indifferent to religion, the practices of others having no effect on his daily life. But he could tell that something must have happened in order to make Henry as abhorrent as he was about the subject.

“I’m hungry. What else are we learning today, that’s so important it can’t wait for a meal?” Henry did his best to keep his face neutral as he checked his watch, knowing full well it had been less than two hours since Gregory’s last feeding. Like the monarchs of old, the Elder’s every move was carefully recorded, and save for times of extreme privacy, or the odd moment when an Elder managed to sneak away from his appointed handlers, those who needed to know were always privy to the Roman head’s every move. 

“Will you perish before we make it back to the house?” Henry asked, one eyebrow arched witheringly, his original instinct on bringing a fledgling to the helm growing stronger the more he spent time with Gregory.  Gregory, still under the delusion that he was the most powerful vampire in Rome now that he’d been put in the seat of power, merely glared and scoffed, following the older vampire’s lead nonetheless. 

“You will respect me. I am your elder.” 

“You’re my elder in the same way the Queen of England rules over Canada.” 

Henry ignored the stares of the other coven members as they made their way back into the coven’s luxurious surroundings, wanting nothing more than the cleansing of steaming-hot water and perhaps a glass of ‘92 O negative to bring down his irritation. In truth, he wanted to go back to his place, to familiar surroundings and none of the constraints that being under the coven roof required. 

“You have an hour to feed. Don’t dally,” Henry said in warning as he and Gregory split off in the upper hallway, his words intentionally quiet, lest someone’s prying ears pick up on how he was speaking to the Elder.

The shower in his chambers was nowhere near as pressurized as the one in his own home, and while the heat felt good, the rain-like trickle did little to bring Henry’s shoulders down from his ears. The blood--pulled from the source instead of one of the machines--did relax him, but the comfort of ritual was short-lived, as Henry finished, healed the young woman, and once more put on his suit to go fetch Gregory. 

Were his blood still able to pump through his veins, Henry knew his would be boiling. Much as before, Gregory was in a state of disarray, his pants gone, white shirt stained with a mix of banked blood and Fares own recently-refreshed supply. Not saying a word, Henry merely went back the way he came, knowing it would be futile to continue the rest of the night’s lessons, when it was clear his pupil would pay no attention. 

Irritated beyond reason, he left his feet guide him blindly, the cooler air of midnight doing little to ease the fire inside him. In his younger days, he’d have taken out his fury on the soft body of someone he’d fed from, someone already at death’s door. With age came wisdom and better murder investigations, so ending his life sources was no longer an option, and becoming a progenitor was out of the question. So, Henry did the next best thing; he walked. 

After nearly an hour, he found his steps stopping in front of the carved doors of Romulus and strangely, the scent of Carla’s perfume eased his anger quicker than any other measure he normally employed. Careful not to use his full strength, Henry opened the door and stepped in, finding the main room as empty as it usually was near closing time. 

“What can I...Hey!” Carla greeted, her smile warm and genuine, and without thinking, Henry finally dropped his shoulders, taking a seat and returning her smile with one of his own; his first all day.

[vincent-frankenstein]

Ghost Hunter AU

“yea boy im doing one of these bullet point outline things bc i dont have time to ever write this but im not letting this idea go to waste //dabs

sorta inspired by bfu bc i just started watching that yea boyyyy

this is such a mess im sorry

so lets set the context 

virgil and logan are both youtubers. virgil runs a paranormal channel, talking about different conspiracies and ghost stories and whatever; logan specializes in educational videos, specifcally history

and they watch each other’s channels and dont have a crush on each other what no

but then one day, their topics coincide

logan’s doing a video talking about the gruesome history of some old prison, and virgil’s doing a video on the ghostly legends that surround the place

they collab, and their viewers love it. they work really well together too; virgil’s spooky humor and logan’s skepticism mesh together and the fans adore them. it’s educational, it’s terrifying, and it’s fun. 

“hey, maybe we could collab more often?” Virgil asks when they go out for coffee after filming. “If... if you want.”

Logan does want

they make a joint channel not a week later

and thus begins their ghost hunting career

break here bc damn this got long shdfklhsdfk

virgil provides the terrifying ghost stories. logan provides the history. together, armed with their knowledge and their trust in each other, they conquer some of the most haunted spots in the world

including goatman’s bridge ofc

the video of logan yelling “FUCK YOU GOATMAN” goes viral within a few hours

“i cant believe you achieved meme status before i did,” virgil remarks, scrolling through their tag. “unfair.”

logan hastily pulls out his vocab cards. “uh — ah — then perish?” he says, and virgil laughs himself breathless

but then, they decide to investigate the legend of an old, abandoned house

it’s said that the house is haunted by an evil demon, who lures people inside and kills them in horrible, cruel ways. no one who sets foot in the house ever returns

so, naturaly, Logan and Virgil are going to spent the night.

they set up in the living room with sleeping bags and an ouija board and a spirit box and set to work

“Are there any demons in this house?” Virgil asks, ignoring Logan’s skeptical laughter. “Hello?”

The spirit box crackles and shrieks

and then

“L̪͈EÁ͂̌̾͐̃V̼͂È̲̱̟̔̑”

the clearest voice they’ve ever heard. even logan is shaken, eyes wide as he glances around the room. 

but the voice didnt sound angry, or evil, or cruel

it sounds scared

“GE̙͚̩͉T̺̯͔̲̟̍̈́̈ͤ͐ ̓ͤ̓̋O͖̳͔͕̺͚̯ͯ̃́̏ͬͩ̑UṬ̹̬͇͔̆̔ͨ͛̓” it screams. “GE̙͚̩͉T̺̯͔̲̟̍̈́̈ͤ͐ ̓ͤ̓̋O͖̳͔͕̺͚̯ͯ̃́̏ͬͩ̑UṬ̹̬͇͔̆̔ͨ͛̓ P͖̪̭͉̘̄͒͆ͮͬLE͚͎A̤͚̙͚̯̻͕ͯ̾ͦ̃ͯͮ̐SE”

virgil nearly drops the spirit box, his hands are shaking so badly. the room has grown so cold that their breath fogs in front of their faces. even logan has nothing to say.

they barely have time to share a glance before two men appear

one stands in the shadows, dressed all in black, his cloak billowing around him, one eye seeming to glow bright, poisonous yellow

the other has ashen skin and furiously beaming red eyes, hidden behind shattered glasses. his clawed fingers are curled into fists; his pastel-blue outfit stained with rusted red. one horn curls into a sharp point; the other is cracked off at the stump.

“i̻̘̽̂̏ͅ ̻͎̟̖t̞̞̅̍r̫̬̝̈́̂̏ȋ̥͎̰̟̲̠̯̉̋͆́̍ͥe̫͈̘͈̭͉ͩ͑̆̈́̐̾d ̣̥tô͚͓̤̥͐͌͛ ̄ͩͯ̑waṛ͑n̐̍͂ͦ ̞̹̣yͨ̔ͪͥͯou̟̻” he whispers, garbled

and in the split second before he lunges, Virgil spots tears in his eyes

they just barely escape with their lives. their gear is gone, left back in the house, and their lives are changed forever.

“well,” virgil says, breathless and terrifed. “you can’t be skeptical anymore.”

“shut up,” logan says. 

the logical thing would be to stay away from the house. logan says as much, at least three times. but virgil can’t stop thinking about the way the demon had tried to warn them, had pleaded with them to leave

there’s more to this story, he knows it. he wont let this one stay unsolved

so they dig through the town’s history, find records of the house’s owners, search and search and search until finally

Dolos Morel. the last known owner of the house. though he lived hundreds of years ago, there are no records of his death. he was imprisoned young, sentenced to death, but he vanished the day before he was set to die. 

he’s yet another unsolved mystery. virgil’s so used to those, he almost passes it by

but one thing stands out, one thing that makes virgil sure he’s the guy

he was born with one yellow eye

“this is him,” he says, slamming the records down on logan’s makeshift desk in their hotel room. logan scans the papers and nods, eyebrows furrowed

“why do you care so much?” logan asked, though he has to admit, he’s become invested in this as well

virgil doesnt answer

tears pooling in crimson eyes flash through his mind

finally, he meets logan’s eyes. “too many people have gotten hurt because of him,” he says. “i mean — shit, logan, we’ve got a real demon and some sort of immortal asshole on our hands. we should at least try to get to the bottom of it. isn’t that what we do?”

virgil doesn’t know where this heroic streak has come from. logan isnt sure what to think of it

hes not blushing shut up

but he and virgil have been partners for years. he’d follow him anywhere.

and so, armed with as much knowledge on exorcism and demonic protection as possible, and as many lucky charms and bottles of holy water as virgil can carry, the two set off to solve the mystery

they sit in the dusty living room, side by side on the floor. virgil turns on the spirit box and takes logan’s hand instinctively, and logan’s too busy watching the box to notice

“Why are you here, demon?” Virgil asks, getting straight (gay) to the point. “Are you Dolos Morel?”

“n̟̮̆ͦ,̯̫̖̦̼͚ͫ͐̋̊ͧ̄ ̝no̙” the box whispers through a cacophany of static

“Is Dolos Morel in this house?” Logan asks, more serious than Virgil has ever seen him on a hunt before. 

the voice hesitates

then: “yes̰“

virgil and logan share a look. virgil opens his mouth to ask more questions, but then

“ÿ͍͈ͣou͎̱͔͎̫̥̻ͤ͐̈́͐̔͂̚ ͖̭͙͙ͅh̤̠͔̜̲̙ͬ́ͧ̒̍̚aͨ̔̊͌ve̜̮͖͔̅͊ͭ̽ ̞͎̼͖̬̼̅ͦͦͨ̑ͪͮͅto ́̑̈ͫ̆͑le̳̹͛̈a̞̥͕͈̪̙̞v͖̇e̳͈͔ ͍͇̝̯̟̌̓̊̋̂y̜̍ou̺̱̪̼̟ ͉͇̹̼̗̭͕h͚a͐V̥̮̤͇̫̤E͓̹̥ͯ̓̈́̚ͅ ̟̔T̫̻̃͛O͖̫̞̰ ̂ͩ͆ͥ̈́L̬̳̞͔͇̪̲̊̔̎̽̄́̔E̲̩AVE͍̩̦̜͎ͩ̓͋̍̈́͐ͅ ̞̘̫N̿̋̉ͤ̽͋̆O̺͊W”

he wants to leave, his legs are about to give out, but the fear in the demons voice roots him to his spot.

“No!” he yells. “We’re not leaving.”

the spirit box goes silent. no crackling, no static; it’s like they turned it off

the air grows deathly still

“very well,” says a new voice, clear as day through the spirit box. “enjoy your stay.”

the world shifts and hisses and crackles and then goes dark.

when virgil wakes up, he’s in a dark room. his hands have been bound. he struggles and yells and screams for logan, and his stomach drops in terror when there’s no response. 

“you can’t get out,” says the first voice they’d heard in the spirit box. it’s more subdued, a whisper. “there’s no escape.”

“fuck that,” virgil growls, never once stopping straining against his bonds. “tell me what the hell is going on. where is logan?”

he doesn’t know where this bravery is coming from, red-hot and acidic as he snaps at the demon he knows is waiting just outside. maybe he knows he’ll die anyway, whether he’s polite or rude as all hell

“i-i can’t, kiddo,” the demon says. 

virgil hears remorse in his tone, maybe, and clings to it as his only hope.

“we came to help you,” he says. “but i need to know what’s going on. are you working with dolos?”

the demon falls silent. for a moment, virgil grows disappointed

but then the door opens and the demon stumbles in, his own clawed hands pressed tightly over his mouth

he meets virgil’s eyes, and shakes his head. no.

virgil remembers another unsolved legend he studied a while back: a man who would summon demons to trap them in agreements, getting himself eternal life, eternal power, and eternal fame in the process

“you’re trapped with him,” he guesses, and the demon jerks his head in a shaky nod. 

he cant feel good about being right for long

a loud yell pierces the air and virgil’s lungs forget how to work. “let me out,” he hisses, as his mind screams logan’s name. “you have to let me out now.”

“I-I can’t!” the demon cries, tearing his hands away from his mouth. “Dolos forbade it, I can only attack —”

“Then attack,” virgil says without hesitation. he plants his feet firmly on the ground and says it again, tensing beneath his bonds

the demon lunges — virgil spins — and the demon’s claws slice right through the thick fabric tying him to the chair. they sliced through his shirt, too, and his back aches, but he doesnt have time to dwell on that. 

he’s gotta save the man he loves

Logan stands across the room from Dolos Morel, among a minefield of broken chair bits. his face stings where dolos slapped him, and theres no chance of escape

but he’s smart. he’s cunning. he’s already gotten some of Dolos’ backstory and only confirmed what he already suspected

he hears a crash in a room down the hall and knows

he is not going to die here

virgil bursts down the door, brandishing a water gun like a deadly weapon, and soaks Dolos with a loud warcry

“Eat holy water, you shit!”

Dolos splutters. “I’m human, you fool. Holy water cannot harm me.”

“no,” logan says. “but this can.”

and he grabs Dolos and punches him directly in the face

logan shakes out his hand with a wince as dolos collapses to the floor and virgil becomes Too Gay To Function

and the demon steps forward and kneels beside his master, placing his hand on the weird symbol on the man’s left wrist. 

Dolos wakes with a start as the demon grabs his hand. logan and virgil stand watch as red light fills the space between them

“s̺̱̆͑ͨͅa͍̣͌̾y i̒ͧ͌t̜͕ͧ̓” the demon whispers

dolos’ fight drains and he slumps against the wall, his glowing eye fading to dull brown

“I release you” he whispers, and crumbles to dust.

the demon stumbles away from the pile of dust. he sobs once, then twice, and then doubles over, trembling, his eyes overflowing with tears

logan laces his fingers through virgil’s as he straightens up

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely. “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“my name is patton,” he says when he’s stopped sobbing, “and i owe you my life.”

BONUS:

so now virge n lo have a Demon Friend and theyve p much proved the existence of the supernatural, but they dont want to stop making videos

still, it’s a few weeks before either of them brings up the notion of finding another haunted place to investigate

but virgil cant stay away from the supernatural for long

“I found our next stop,” he says, shoving his phone into logan’s hands. “A theater mysteriously burned down there like, 60 years ago. they say the spot is haunted by the spirit of the man who died in the fire.”

logan scrolls through the article, and nods. “it looks interesting,” he says, and returns virgil’s smile.

“let’s go find this Roman Kingsley.”

i might make a second post abt roman if yall are interested owo

[deathonyourtongue]

Resurrection | 12

Summary: A ragtag team of Spec-Ops operators are brought out of retirement for all the wrong reasons. When the dust settles, only the best will be left standing. Pairing: Pablo Schreiber x OFC, Henry Cavill x OFC (listen, she gets with the whole team, okay? Don’t lie, you would too.) Word Count: 2K Warnings: Nothing much really. A/N: Sorry this took so long. February really is the worst month.

By the flight manifest, we’re half an hour behind Wallace, and I feel every minute of it on the plane ride from London to Benghazi. Prior to joining the team, I’d only been assigned to Libya once and it was from the comfort of the Whitney parked off the coast of Italy. This will be my first time with boots on the ground, and the history of spec ops in the country isn’t lost to me; it’s just one more reason why I’m glad I no longer have to wear a uniform.

“Ten minutes out,” the pilot calls over the comms, everyone prepping their go bags, ready to make up for any head start Wallace has. 

Benina International Airport barely registers in my mind as we pick up two vehicles that were prepped for us courtesy of Uncle Sam, my mind’s sole focus being on saving the hostage and capturing Wallace. All of us want our pound of flesh, none more so than those he’s directly injured over the course of the last few weeks. 

“I need everyone on their A game. We can’t afford to let him slip through our fingers again. His behavior is escalating and since he’s so well-connected to the who’s-who, it stands to reason, he’s going to throw everything he has at us. Above all else though, we leave no one behind. Understood?” Rick’s voice is firm but warm over our comms, making it clear that despite the gravity of the situation, he cares about our well-being first and foremost. 

“Do you think he’s trying to do a shot-for-shot remake?” Jake asks as we roll into Benghazi proper, grateful for the tinted windows on the late model G wagons no doubt left over from Gaddafi’s rule. 

“If you mean do I think he’s going to go to the same village we were patrolling? No. I don’t think he’s that sentimental about things. I think he’s going to pick a spot that’s overlooked by the country and blow it to high hell after he finishes reenacting his sick fantasies. Remember, had we not stopped him that night--”

“I know, he’d have committed war crimes,” Jake cuts Dom off, his sickened expression making it clear that he doesn’t need to be reminded. 

“Has intel found him yet?” I ask, hoping we don’t have to waste any more time in tracking him down. 

“They don’t have a lock yet, but they are tracking a BMW that came out of Benina half an hour ago. Reports of a blond woman without a hijab and a red-haired man poured in the second they landed.” Rick explains, all of us shaking our head. 

“Muslim majority country and she already sticks out like a sore thumb by being blond, but he didn’t bother to make her wear a hijab? If we don’t get to him, the Libyan police will,” I snort, finding little humor in the recklessness with which Wallace treats the lives of others. Like any good narcissist, he cares only for himself and if others get hurt in the process of him getting what he wants, so be it. 

“They’re going to attract attention no matter what. All of us are. Keep as low a profile as possible, and with any luck, we’ll be out of here by this time tomorrow,” Rick adds, all of us hoping for the outcome that’s eluded us since we reunited. 

Our hideout in Benghazi is simple, yet beautiful. Like most places, it’s heavily fortified, a solid metal gate closing behind us and men standing watch on all four corners as we make our way towards something that resembles a Roman villa of old. Outside, the heat hits me and for a second, I’m brought back to the op that nearly took my life, hoping that this time, things will end differently, at least for our team. Max’s cologne brings me back to the present, and I fall in step with him as we make our way into the blissfully cool war room. 

“Oh fuck yeah. Don’t mind if I do!” Jake enthuses as he takes note of the tea and finger foods laid out on the table. Shaking my head, but nonetheless pleased, I take a seat and let out a breath I don’t realize I’ve been holding. Max’s hand smooths over my hair as he sits next to me, his gaze still eyeing my bruise with concern. It’s endearing to say the least, and not the kind of treatment I’m used to in any part of my life. 

“Okay, fuel up, but pay attention. Intel has an eye in the sky and they’ve found the BMW. We’re tracking him now. Gonna let him get settled in, then we’ll pay him a house call. He’s also traveling light; only two body men and paid local team which means--”

“Which means a bunch of teenage human shields. Fucking great,” I mutter.

Stephanie Pierce had been dumped half an hour before getting to the airport. Doing her best to save face, she’d made it through security and was intent on getting a little drunk before boarding, if only so she could sleep on the flight. American by birth, she had come to London for school, and had, up until the breakup, been having the time of her life. 

Now it's all spiraling into a nightmare. 

“Please, just let me get back to the airport! I don’t have anything to do with this! I didn’t do anything! I’m just a student! Please!” 

“I can’t do that, darling. For one, you’ve seen my face, and two...Well, you’re my insurance policy. You see, the people that I’m after, they have a soft spot for those they consider innocent. Problem is, no one’s ever truly innocent, are they? No, not even you, dear Stephanie. It only took a few moments for me to do the numbers, so to speak. Young, parents are middle class at best, no real money for school, especially abroad, but here you are in designer clothing, taking vacations whenever it strikes your fancy, and not a dime in debt. Do your parents know what you do on the internet, my darling? Didn’t think so. No, that deep, dark secret won’t be revealed until after you perish, which...will be soon, I’m afraid.” 

Her screams make her captor laugh, almost as though he’s delighted by the reaction. It chills her to the bone. Now she understands that this isn’t some wannabe who hijacked a plane and has no real plan; far from it. Whoever he is, he has calculated each and every move leading up to this point. 

She wishes she could talk to her mom one last time. 

“Night Train to Alpha, confirm visual.” 

“Alpha to Night Train we have visual. We count 12 signatures, including the hostage. You are a go.”

We’re no stranger to David and Goliath fights, and 12 is on the smaller side of some of the groups we’ve taken on, but no matter the number, we approach this one with extra precaution, only because of Wallace’s M.O. None of us are looking to be anywhere near another one of his bombs. 

The compound he’s made his hideout is run of the mill for this part of the world. Like our own, Wallace’s has high walls, a sturdy gate, and a simple floor plan. It leaves us with two options; come in with a bang, or creep in with a whisper. 

“There’s two gates,” I remind the boys, knowing full well that while they all prefer coming in with as much firepower as possible, it opens the door for Wallace to get away in the commotion, and I, for one, want to end this once and for all. 

“Alpha, how many signatures on the exterior?” Dom asks, all of us hidden in the shadows, waiting for the deciding factor on how we proceed.

“Looks like 2 on the south side, patrolling the far gate. If you’re going in quiet, now’s the time to move.” 

We all nod and immediately get to work. Strapping on my gloves, I grab my wire cutters out of the pocket on my kevlar, and wait until Flip has gotten into position. The tallest of the team, he bends over, providing me with the flat of his back to stand on so that I can cut the razor wire off the top of the wall. Carefully, I peek over the edge, relieved when I find the courtyard empty. Though there are lights on in the compound, every window is covered with an opaque blind, making this way of entering far better suited to our needs. 

I cut enough wire away to allow all the boys to climb over, making sure to throw it away from the compound not only for safety, but to reduce the chances of us being heard. Satisfied that everyone has clearance, I pocket my multitool and quickly hop over, landing softly in the dirt. 

Rick and Benji are quick to follow, the three of us taking up post so that the rest of the guys can come in safely. It takes less than five minutes for all of us to breach the perimeter, and after a moment to regroup, we move towards our target. 

“Alpha, we need your eyes,” Rick whispers, taking point as we position ourselves flush against the nearest wall of the compound. We could clear the place blind, but that increases the chance that someone will sound the alarm as they die, and we can’t take the risk. Though they said they had to wash their hands of it, after Rome, the DOD extended their resources; while they can’t send those currently serving, they can provide a helping hand to those who are willing to risk it all to capture one of our own.

“Two at 3 o’clock, in the first room. There’s two at the back gate you’ll want to handle first.” 

Nodding at one another, we split up. Rick and Dom position themselves at the first room, Flip and Benji take up post across the villa in front of another room, while Max, Jake and I edge around to the back of the compound, intent on taking out the two men guarding the rear gate as silently as possible.

With Jake on one side, Max and I move around to the other side, all of us needing to get eyes on the men. As I predicted, they’re young, but I find cold solace when I see that they’re not teenagers, bought out to act as human shields. Checking my gun, I make sure the silencer is on tightly before leveling it into place to look through my scope. At less than 50 feet, it’s an easy shot; it just has to be timed correctly. Max counts us down using only his fingers, and when the time is right, both Jake and I take double-tap shots, killing the men before they have a chance to make a sound.

Over comms, I can hear Rick and Dom breaching their first room, and as we move back towards the center of the villa, Benji and Flip do the same. My relief grows with every room that’s cleared, the body count growing as we approach the spot where Wallace is holed up with the hostage. 

“Last room has the prize. Good luck, and godspeed.”

The room in question lies at the heart of the villa. Protected on either side by anti-rooms, We have to work our way through two more sets of men before finally being able to come face-to-face with Wallace once again. 

A bright smile is the last thing we expect when we finally level our guns to his head. 

“Nice of you all to finally join me. Thought it would take much less time for Uncle Sam to track me down. No matter, you’re here now, we can get to it. In your haste, I’m afraid none of you noticed...” Wallace’s gaze goes to the floor, and as my own eyes follow, I can’t help but feel my heart sink. My eyes dart quickly to Max and Dom, nausea overcoming me as I find that every single one of us has stepped on a trip wire. 

“It’s like Russian Roulette, except I’m the one holding the gun.”

Wallace’s laugh will be imprinted in my mind for the rest of my life.