#no thoughts head empty except angela's back muscles...

[erodingsinner]

ANGELA BASSETT as ATHENA GRANT.

911: 1x10 — A WHOLE NEW YOU.

[thoughts-n-paper]

As Lamia opened her eyes, she could feel her back pressing against the hard mattress, she had a drip attached to her left hand and her head was hurting as if she had banged it against some metal plate. She blinked multiple times till the room came in focus. It looked like a warehouse, with shelves of boxes on one side and a medical bed on the other, she was placed in a small corner, beside the hard bed was a table, over it was placed a battery-powered torch and a red notebook with a pen tied to it. She moved ahead to pick it up but suddenly felt her whole energy leaving her body as she exhaled, she instead decided to drag herself to the bathroom which was separated by a metal sheet made to act as a wall and get herself a glass of water. But the pipe attached to her did not let her go far. She followed it to the source which was a big bottle placed on a movable stand. Attached to the stand was a note, "Do not detach."

She stared at the needle placed in her skin, forming a thin slight bump on the back of her palm. She thought of removing it, even tried to move it by a fraction of a millimetre, but the pain needed too much effort to bear. She held the stand and moved it along her towards the bathroom. It was a standard bathroom found in any convenience store. Only, this was a little bigger, just enough to put a shower and a slab where a towel was placed. She made her way to the sink, which was two steps away, and opened the tap.

That's when she looked up in the mirror and was left even more baffled. She did not have hair on her head, the last time she remembered, she certainly had hair. She rushed back to the yellow stained cot, but there were no strands of hair present. She rushed back to the mirror and ran her hand hovering over her head. She looked around the bathroom, there was a small pot with stacks of toilet paper by its side. She opened the medicine cabinet and it was empty except for a toothbrush, toothpaste and a couple of bottles of moisturizers, there was a bar of soap by the sink and that was all. She stepped out and out of the corner of her eye, she could see a closet and decided to inspect that first. She opened it and found identical sets of clothes, similar to what she was currently wearing, a pile of identical undergarments and boxes of tampons on the upper shelf. She closed the closet doors and turned around, and took a deep breath. She stood there for some time, trapped in a spot, she could move in any direction but she did not know where. This was a new place and she still hadn't learned to make her way around the bed yet.

In her eye line, she could spot a board on the opposite wall. It seemed to be filled with slips of paper and some photographs. On the right was a steel operating bed with a set of stirrups attached to it, and on her left was a shelf with cardboard boxes stacked on it. There was no door in sight, just a few small windows near the ceiling. Lamia could catch a glimpse of the sky in them, she felt a sting like it was after a long time that she was seeing natural light. She went back to the bed, picked up the notebook and flipped through it. It was empty. The torchlight was just that, a torchlight. She was confused, why is she here, why is all this stuff here and how is she supposed to get out?

She walked up to the board on the other side of the room. At first, it all looked too cluttered for her to decode. It was all post-it notes and diary pages. She picked up one post-it at random and it said: "Name: Louisa, 22" She looked at the photograph, it was a young blond girl with blue eyes and a wide radiant smile.

"Louisa," she thought to herself. That named was a stranger to her, just like she was. She placed the post-it back and ran back to the bed. She picked up the notebook and pen and started writing everything she knew.

Her name, Lamia.

Occupation, OB/GYN.

Husband, Eric.

Parents, Dead.

Children, none. She paused. It was like her brain checked out for a millisecond to bring back a memory, but returned empty-handed. She continued.

The last thing, it was dinner in a restaurant, a Chinese restaurant, Eric's favourite. They were having wine, no he was having wine, she was drinking water. They were celebrating.

She paused again. Yes, children, none.

She ran her hand on the synthetic material draped on her body to check for pockets, there were none. She decided to take a lap around the room, past the stained bathroom and the metal bed with some medical equipment scattered on it towards the board. Just as she was about to cross the board, she noticed her photograph on it, beside it was a post-it note which said: "Name: Lamia, 39."

Lamia took the photograph off the board and took a closer look. It certainly was her, she had her long black hair, her cheeks had the natural blush in them and her eyes had very slight noticeable dark circles. She suddenly got the flash of earlier when she looked at her face in the mirror, bald, zero muscles sticking to the bone and every vein visible under her skin.

She placed the photograph back and moved on to another section of the board. There were several photographs of other women, with their name and age attached to them. Mostly ranging from late teens to mid-twenties. Some of them had newspaper clippings attached to them, almost all of them mentioning that they are currently under arrest for violating the Right to Live Act.

Lamia remembered when the Act was passed, she lost half of her clientele, even before the Act was official, she was one of the few who carried out procedural termination of the fetus. There was one clipping that had the word murder mentioned in the headlines, a photograph of a sweet little girl in ponytails was beside it, "Name: Hailey, 15". Lamia flinched. It said her body was found in an alley, cause of death was blood loss. She had recently given birth, but no signs of a child were found near the body. The police suspected that the murder took place somewhere else and the corpse was dropped to the spot. The cops refused to give any statement or even confirm whether it was a murder or not.

It did not make sense to her, it was all too confusing and Lamia was a little too tired to make sense out of non-sense. She moved to the operating bed. The cold touch of the metal against her fingers was the only familiar thing till now. She had loved being a doctor, the thrill of bringing a new life in the world, the rush of blood towards her palm as she went in to pull out a baby. There was a mobile rack by the bed, in it every piece of equipment she would need to perform her surgery of choice. She picked up the scalpel and ran her fingers against the sharp edge. It still had a scent of disinfectants on it, her favourite smell. Every patient she remembers always hated that smell, the distinct hospital smell, but this was what made her love the hospitals even more.

She collected herself and moved her attention towards the shelf, it seemed like the only logical location to look for explanations. But she didn't know where to start, there were about twenty boxes placed and the numbers marked on them but not in sequence. She decided to open the box marked with number 1.

At the top of the pile inside was a small photo album. She opened it and found family pictures of a little girl with her parents and grandparents and then friends, she kept flipping till she came to her teen years where Lamia recognized her as the murdered 15-year-old. She dug inside and found a file containing all the newspaper clippings with her parents' interviews along with the manuscripts of all the video and radio interviews they did. She could only go through half of it as it became unbearable to read the plea of these parents for their daughter to return to them. Next was her journal, Lamia opened the first page and as she traced her fingers through the name Hailey written in pink, with hearts over the 'i', she closed the journal and dumped it back in the box.

This was sick and demented. Going through her belongings was enough to turn her stomach, she was dreading to meet the person who collected all this.

Lamia moved to the next one, she opened it and again the first thing she found was an album. This time it was a slightly older girl in them. She must be at least 19, so Lamia went to the board and started comparing every photograph to the girl in the album. "Name: Angela, 22", the article attached to her picture said that she moved to a foreign country and hence was untraceable by the authorities. It was believed that the alleged abortion incident led her to escape the country. There were no interviews in her box, just screenshots of her phone, to her boyfriend who kept messaging her but she never replied, to some of her friends she said that she was in Paris living with a cousin and to her parents, she said she was in Italy on an exchange program. This only increased her confusion. There was something off about this one but it wasn't as easy to pin as the earlier one.

One by one Lamia kept going through the boxes and assigning them names from the board. With each album she picked up, she dreaded it being hers. She did not want to know what was in her box.

"Name: Rory, 27", Lamia matched the face to the board, but as she flipped through she noticed that she had turned from a curvy girl to a stick figure. In retrospect, she could remember all of them looking a lot thinner in later photographs. Rory was arrested shortly after the last photograph, so in her box were her interviews. Lamia opened the first page of her file, the heading read "I was left with no choice". The article began by saying how this innocent girl was responsible for murdering a life and the price for it was short term amnesia. It said that once Rory got pregnant and she did not want to keep it, she approached a doctor whose name will not be disclosed yet. The doctor told her that the situation will be dealt with and the next thing Rory remembers is not being pregnant anymore but she had also lost 7 months of her life. A small price to pay according to her.

It was like with each piece in place the rest of the pieces kept getting smaller, making it impossible to assemble. It seemed logical to expect her box somewhere in there. She let go of her project to identify each box and rushed through them till she found her family album. She finally came upon it, it was the last one.

She skipped through the pictures of her childhood and opened the last few pages which contained her baby shower photographs. She did not remember having a baby, she went in the box again and found a bunch of certificates, degrees she acquired over the years and a baby blanket. The memory was coming back to her in flashes, she was sitting by the window in the nursery. They had decided to put on a wallpaper resembling a garden, she remembers being happy as she looked around at the drawn on butterflies stuck to the walls and her knitting that blanket. Lamia snapped out, something bad happened, she remembered the feeling of despair, in the back of her mind she knew what but she chose not to go there. Until she picked up the next document in the box, a medical file and the first page was her discharge form. Miscarriage.

She felt dizzy, she went back to the bathroom and bent down to drink some water from the tap. After splashing her face with water several times, she went back to the shelf and sat down near the box, she took a deep breath, now that she was forced to confront her tragedy, she could move on and figure out why she is in this place and what is her connection to the other women. She picked up a book, "Ancient Fertility Rituals: Secrets from the age-old tribes still practised today", there were several pages bookmarked with post-it notes, lines highlighted and some even had handwritten notes stapled to it. She opened the one with the thickest set of papers attached to it.

It told about a nomadic tribe that would feed a stillborn baby and the placenta to an infertile mother to pass on the soul of the child so that it can heal itself in another womb and be born. Disgusted, she moved to read the notes.

"Trial 1: Failed. Trial 2: I am hopeful, the results should come in a month." "Trial 2: Failed. Trial3: It is becoming hard to track a stillborn, the ritual specifies consumption within 12 hours." "Trial 3: A woman came to me for an abortion, Eric has drafted a proposal."

Lamia shut the book closed and tossed it aside.

The next item was a newspaper, the headline "The evilest woman in the world" and below that was a photograph of her being taken from her home in handcuffs. She had to run to the bathroom again, this time to throw up. Only water came out but the dry gag was even worse.

She opened one of the boxes before her, the one which was arrested for abortion. It was the same story as the second girl, she went in for an abortion and suddenly 8 months of her life were gone. She went through her pictures and towards the end, she too had lost an enormous amount of weight, she looked like she had aged 30 years. In an interview where she described her health, she mentioned that she was now anaemic and had a severe vitamin D deficiency. Lamia opened another box and it was the same story, abortion, missing months and a drastic deterioration in health. This pattern followed till the first girl, the one who never returned.

She went back to her stack, there, placed on top, was a plastic bag filled with photographs. The room in them was quite similar to the one she was in, the bathroom was nearly identical with the bed near it and a stand by its side not much different than the one she was attached to. She picked up the newspaper again and the words seemed to start floating in front of her eyes.

Cannibalism.

Vile practice.

Child Sacrifice.

Murderer.

Devil.

She had to rush back to the bathroom to throw up again, this time no matter how much she rinsed, she could not wipe out the taste of blood in her mouth.

'The doctor confessed that her last patient, unfortunately, passed away during the birth and in a state of haste, she made the wrong decision to leave the body in an alleyway. The young girl had come to the doctor for treatment after finding herself pregnant at 15 years of age. The doctor justified her actions by stating that those children were doomed to die anyway, she only thought it justified to use their death to bring a child into the world that would be welcomed. Her spree of cannibalism went on for 7 years, tracing back to a year after her first miscarriage. She went on to bribe coroners to get access to infant corpses but once that seemed to be too complicated, she took matters into her hands and started luring naïve women in the guise of giving them an abortion.

Some of these women managed to escape the law by moving to different countries, but the department managed to arrest most of the women, and despite their own traumatic experiences, they are not exempted from serving time for going against the Right to Live Act. But what about the little girl who made one mistake and had to lose her life. Her parents still fight on to get the accused the death penalty.'

One of the magazines had managed to perfectly summarize her entire ordeal in a few words. Although, it felt like reading about some other version of herself. She remembered how much she had wanted to be a mother, the paranoia every time she saw a pregnant woman. It had started affecting her job. Her body was not healthy enough to create life and even though Eric was willing to adopt, she refused. She wanted to do this, she wanted to prove that her body was not hostile. But the desperation, the drive to kill, it was still a stranger to her. It was like a vivid bad dream she had a night, and in the morning she knew the things she did but they did not feel real enough to have happened to her.

Suddenly, there was a static noise in the room.

"Dr Walters, could you gather why you are here?"

Lamia wiped her tears and stood up. "Yes."

"Care to elaborate."

"I kidnapped women under the pretext of terminating their pregnancies, and" she gagged, "consumed the remains of their child."

Outside the room there was a commotion, Lamia could hear none of it.

A huge crowd was gathered holding posters with "Death to Murderer" and "Kill the child Killer" written on them.

A reporter stood in front of the camera, "This is the second trial of Dr Walters. Her memory of the incident was wiped 24 hours before the trial began. The last time, she did own up to the crimes but when asked what her punishment should be, she pleaded that her memories had been wiped and hence been changed by the experience. If she refuses the sentence again, she will be put on trial on the date decided by the judge. Earlier in the year, Mr Eric Walters, Dr Walters husband had been put in the penitentiary as per his demand, where he will spend the rest of his days. Let's see if like him, his wife has some humanity left in her yet.

[elavoyy]

Worn Wear Won Wars (aka Chuck Hansen Birthday Fic)

Chuck’s 17th birthday started as uneventful as any other day he spent in the shatterdome. He had woken up, trained, walked Max, showered, had breakfast, then trained some more.

The atmosphere in Sydney Shatterdome was filled with an undercurrent of anxiousness and anticipation, and a routined busyness as always. Everything seemed the same as yesterday.

He didn’t expect to see Herc before their afternoon combat training session, but there he was, sitting at their table in the mess hall at lunch, having a seemingly pleasant conversation with one of Striker’s J-techs.

If Chuck had learned anything during the past year of drifting with his father, it was that Herc hated when Chuck publicly demonstrated how disfunctional their relationship was. It hadn’t much to do with shame or pride, no. Rather everything to do with how private a person Herc was and how much he hated assumptions, particularly on their father-son relationship, and how the soldier in him expected his son to act like one at all times.

So Chuck cursed to himself inwardly and made way to where his father was sitting, tray in one hand and Max’s leash in the other. He took the seat with a mumbled ‘hey old man’, then picked Max up and dumped him in Herc’s lap. Almost a peace offering as good as any.

‘Hey kid,’ Herc replied, scraching behind the tail-wagging bulldog’s ears without any protest to the deliberate greeting, which really was a surprise to Chuck. But he made no comment on it, instead picked up his fork and started attacking on the egg salad.

It wasn’t often that he and Herc ate lunch together when their schedule didn’t overlap in the morning. Chuck preferred to get ahead the busy lunch rush and finish eating as quickly as possible while Herc usually waited until the last fifteen minutes before they stopped serving. And in his stubborn mind Chuck had always thought Striker’s team being seen together was more for appearances’ sake than them actually wanting to spend time with each other.

Which was why he couldn’t help feeling a little alert when Herc made no move to leave after he had obviously finished his food. He could feel the old man’s attention focusing on him even though he was still idly chatting with the J-tech across the table.

That was another thing with sitting side by side with your drift partner, no wire or machine was needed to feel the other’s existence in the back of your mind, nor does every intention need to be read through body language or eye contact.

Finally Chuck broke his silence when the J-tech left the table and Herc showed no sign of following, ‘Don’t you have something better to do than sitting around, old man?’

Herc glared at him for a second and said: ‘Don’t call me that.’ Then he looked down at Max, clearly avoiding eye contact, which he rarely did and that just got Chuck more on edge.

Now that Chuck actually turned to look at him, he could see the slight awkwardness on Herc’s face. The typical “I have something to say but I don’t know how” face which could only mean the next thing that comes out of his father’s mouth would be either extremely infuriating or tremendously embarrassing. Great. Chuck regretted not just take his lunch and leave when he had the chance. He was having an okay day until then and really wasn’t in the mood for emotional conflict.

He was just about to get up and leave but of course Herc sensed his retreat and stopped him before he could.

‘Striker’s crew wants to throw you a party.’ Herc said, in a carefully neutral tone.

‘What?’ Chuck asked. Because none of the words Herc just said made sense to him.

Looking at Chuck’s furrowed brows and genuinely confused face, Herc sighed, ‘They knew it’s your birthday today. And they wanted to celebrate. They asked me to ask you if you were down.’

Chuck looked at Herc like he’d just lost his mind. ‘What? No! Why?’ Then he realised he was probably over reacting a bit, so he lowered his voice, ‘No. What were they thinking? This isn’t a fucking summer camp. And why didn’t you just tell them that?’

Herc, surprisingly let the swear word slide, just shrugged. ‘I told them a surprise party would be a very bad idea. And that you probably won’t say yes.’

‘A surprise party.’ Chuck repeated dryly. Just saying these words out loud made Chuck want to grimace. Yes it’s only been a little more than half a year since he started working with these people, but nevertheless they should know that Chuck passionately hated both socialising and surprises. A surprise party. If Chuck didn’t know better he would think they were trying to get back to him for breaking Striker’s fingers on their last drop.

‘They mean well.’ Herc said, ‘And you can’t blame them for finding every excuse to let loose a bit, eh?’

That last comment brought up some unpleasant memories for both of them, and for a short moment Chuck didn’t know what to say.

‘Besides, it’s your first birthday as a Ranger. Reckoned you’d want to celebrate.’ Herc stood up and made to collect both their empty trays. ‘I’ll just tell them that you don’t then.’

Chuck picked up Max’s leash and followed his father’s movements without thinking, still feeling a little off balance with what Herc just said, though he couldn’t quite figure out why.

Herc turned to face him at the door way and hesitated, but in the end he just clapped Chuck’s shoulder and said: ‘see ya later, eh kid?’ Then walked away.

————————

Their training session that afternoon went as well as training sessions could go, leaving them with sore muscles and aching bones and a wonderful aftertaste of adrenaline rush. To Chuck’s relief, Herc didn’t mention anything about birthdays or parties or surprises again, so all in all Chuck was quite happy with how this day ended, now all that left to do was to shower, get some food, then go back to his bunker and do some reading before bed while cuddling with his dog.

Chuck was about to go pick Max up from his sitter—a nice mechanic lady who works in the workshops in the hangars, before heading to the mess hall, when Herc called out to him.

‘Chuck, wait.’ Herc strode down the hallway and gestured for him to follow, ‘Come for a sec, got something for ya.’

‘What now, old man?’ Chuck’s tone was sceptical and wary, as he seamlessly fell into step with his father, ‘This isn’t about that party bullshit again, is it?’

‘Watch it kid.’ Herc warned without really meaning it. ‘No, it’s not. I got something for your birthday, you little wanker.’

Now Chuck wasn’t expecting that. See, after Angela had died, the Hansens just didn’t do birthdays anymore. Mostly because they were usually apart at the times, and evidently calling to say “Happy Birthday” was beyond their capabilities. In the past six years, Herc had gotten Chuck exactly one birthday gift, and that gift was probably getting a belly rub from a nice little lady in the mechanic shop at this moment. So Chuck really didn’t know how to respond, except with his usual “when confused with emotions, act like a little shit” tactic.

‘Since when do you care about anyone’s birthdays?’ Chuck scoffed as they came to a stop in front of Herc’s room, ‘Is it a head injury or just being old?’

‘For fucks sake, Chuck. Can you stop being a brat for one second and accept that people actually care about you?’ Herc pulled the metal door open with an unnecessary amount of force, and purposely ignored the loud noise when it smashed against the wall. He rolled his eyes when Chuck was startled at the sound. ‘And I’m not even forty. Get in.’

Chuck sat on the desk chair and watched Herc close the door behind him, then went straight to pull something out from the cupboard in the corner.

‘Here, try it on.’ Herc threw the jacket at Chuck’s head, but Chuck’s reflex was way too fast to get hit.

It was a leather bomber jacket, dark coloured with short faux fur lining the collar. The leather dull but thick and resilient, the weight heavy and the touch soft. Striker’s logo was sewn onto the right upper arm, its colour vibrant and stitches new, a jarring contrast to the old leather. But Chuck’s eyes were caught on the back, where a little Kaijiu head was spray painted to the left.

‘You got me a second hand bomber.’ Chuck was trying to sound judgmental but he couldn’t stop himself from tracing his hand along the Striker logo and the soft leather over and over.

‘I wore it in Hong Kong.’

Chuck looked up at Herc, there was reminiscence in his eyes, which quickly dissolved into smugness when he saw how carefully Chuck had caressed the garment.

‘It’s probably a bit big for you now, but you’ll grow into it, hopefully.’ Herc said with a smirk.

‘Yeah yeah, and soon it’ll be too small.’ Chuck grinned in that way when he knows he’s being a brat.

‘You wish.’ Herc chuckled, shook his head, then opened the door and waved a hand, ‘Now get out of here and go eat your veges.’

Chuck folded the jacket over his arms and walked through the door, then turned back to look at his father, who was looking at him with the same expression as at lunch, and said: ‘Thanks, dad.’

Herc smiled at him, and for some reason, looked almost relieved as he replied: ‘Happy birthday, Chuck.’

Chuck nodded once and walked away, he never heard the loud clang of a metal door before he turned the corner.

Fin.

[chisie12]

Day 6: Forget-Me-Not

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071907/chapters/45947032

‘Ah, fuck. This hurt.’

I paused two steps outside Jack’s room, gripping onto the railing on the wall as the pain in my chest flared. A discomfort lodged itself in my throat and I attempted to breathe, in and out, slow deep motions, but no matter how I tried, the lump didn’t want to go away.  Breaths came out forced, ragged, like a dragon’s claw taking possession of my neck. The dragon commanded its power, wordlessly demanding my life. Equalled with its might of guardianship was its cries for destruction, laying dormant. To protect or to retrieve, were its choices, or to put it simply, to live or to die.

I wheezed a sharp inhale when it squeezed its claw, the lack of air causing my lungs to contract as they desperately scrambled for oxygen. I palmed my chest, fisting the fabric of the shirt, forcing the pain to go down, but I was a victim of my own devices. The metal in my body began to overheat again, the flames laying a fiery path in my veins. My flesh screamed in protest, a dragon’s agonised howling in my ears, rioting as my flesh started to reject the foreign objects, even if they’ve been conjoined for over a decade.

I lifted a foot off the ground, the tips of my toes grazing against the tiles. It was heavy. All my muscles groaned at the simple movement, but with a slow controlled breath, I gripped tightly onto the railings, lifted and dropped the foot forward. Sweat clung to my face, tracing along the pale scars as I panted. I clutched harder at my shirt, feeling the dread settling in.

Would my body not hold out until then? I promised her. Please, let me hold out until then. Don’t fail me now.

It’s one promise I can’t break. Please, don’t make me break it.

The metal seemed to respond to my mental pleas, as though they resonated with the one that had breathed life into them. That if its her, they could do anything, and it was that that also appeased the guardian, making it choose to let me live – even if it was simply a little while longer, just for her.

She was all that filed my mind as I trudged along the corridor. Each step was still as heavy as the first, but it was steady. Instead of pain anchoring me down, the same power of the dragon in my blood floated through my veins, lending me the slight power that it was willing. Soon. I’m almost there.

My palms were hot and sweaty, certainly leaving disgusting trails on the railing for the next person, and the room was already in sight. Just a little more. My feet dragged across the floor, heavy slapping on the tiles and though the pain was suppressed, it still felt hard to breathe. Short pants, heavy, and I stopped. Right before the door.

‘At least their rooms are on the same floor,’ I bitterly thought at how mine was too, but on the other side, far away. A miracle I managed to walk here to be honest. The nurses saw me, but mostly paid attention to their work. They were busy, bustling about like bees hurrying under the orders of their queen.

And I had survived through, without them telling me to go back.

A shaky hand lifted. Deep breath in, and out. The hand rested against the cold metal of the doorknob. What would I see at the other side? Would she welcome me? Or would she rather have Jack visit her instead?

Then the image of her hitting her head and slumping on the ground resurfaced, causing a wave of agony to curl in my heart. With a tight grip on my shirt, I released the deep breath built up in my chest and twisted my wrist. I needed to know, to see with my own two eyes. And the door opened with a click.

Tick.

Tock.

The hands of the clock slapped loudly in my ears. I stepped closer.

Tick.

Tock.

There weren’t any other sounds in the room except for hopeless breaths and loud, echoing ticking. The measured movement was moving in time with the heartbeats crying inside my restless ribs, and my steps moved in sync.

Tick.

Tock.

I still remembered the way her face would light up with a smile, easily drinking away at the coffee, or the way her nose would scrunch up and eyes drifting up as she pondered on something. On her unbroken wings, she would fly, in unspoken promises, that she’d watch our backs. She was there, protecting us. She was valiant. She was merciful.

She was our Mercy.

My chest jumped as the emotions swirled with the misty breaths fogging her mask. Streaks of fire burned my cheeks, unable to hide behind my mask. Each new wave a hot trail of agony as a hand shakily reached out. I lightly brushed her golden hair aside from her forehead. The flames of despair and regret burned brighter than the pains I felt, a deep emptiness filling my heart as the sentiments raged past the seams. Breathing hitched and knees buckling, I fell by her bedside, metal fingers tightly holding her limp one in desperation.

“Angela? Angela, can you hear me?” I choked out. I winced at the pain in my chest, cursing at the bullet wounds I received, and wheezed before trying to calm my myself. She was alright. She’s Angela. My dear Angela...

I still owe you dinner. Please don’t do this to me now.

Warm tears dripped onto her fingers and I quickly wiped it away with my other hand, only to freeze and stare at the crimson tinting it. I stifled a sob, pushing the pain of seeing a lifeless Angela away, as I looked down onto my chest. The green hospital shirt was stained with my blood, the metallic smell spreading and nearly dying the front a full dark red.

No, I breathed out. Fucking wounds, couldn’t you stay closed?

Grimacing, I gingerly swiped at my fallen tears with my metal thumb. Her name fell from my lips in soft whimpers as I pulled my body back away from her bed, unwilling to stain it – or her. My murmured voice spoke of sweet promises under my breaths as my vision started to distort, the painful yet beautiful sight of her blurring under a greying curtain. I forced my eyes open, pushing hard against the bandages that hid the surgical wounds while the blood continued escaping. I spoke of our future date, that I would bring her to an exquisite restaurant, possibly high up in the sky, because an angel like her deserves only the best the sky could offer, like a vast expanse to anywhere her freedom so desired. Through the entrance, past the short water wall with clear transparent water falling like a curtain would bring about a zen-like feel, so that she may feel at peace. I’d then lead her to a table made private with the bamboo separators, near the large open windows where she could watch the night sky sprinkled with stars hopefully visible despite the light pollution. There would be a different kind of serenity as potted plants, though sparse, decorated the place, with her smiles and laughter the best event of the night.  

“Of course... I wouldn’t... forget the Swiss... chocolate... too.”

......

...

“I found him! He’s in here!” A nurse called out frantically as the ajar door was flung open in panic. Light footsteps entered the room, rushing towards the fallen patient on the floor, blood slowly seeping out from his clothes.

“Hurry and prepare the operating room!” A doctor yelled as he picked up the half-cyborg, half-human man with a grunt and carefully settled him on the wheeled stretcher that a nurse brought in. “Get someone to clean the mess up too!”

“Yes, doctor!”

The nurses ran to get the corresponding tasks done. Even though they looked kind of helter-skelter, there was a certain method to their chaos. One checked Angela’s vitals, searching for anything amiss while those by their station hurried to prepare the documents the doctor on surgery would need.

A nurse carrying a bucket of soapy water, bleach and a rag dragged her feet into the room, cursing inwardly at having to do the dirty work just because she was the newest and youngest of the group stationed today. When she walked through the door, she was startled at the ginger haired doctor already standing beside the unconscious patient.

“Oh? Who are you?”

“I’m new,” the doctor replied nonchalantly without even looking up from the papers in her hand.

‘Then they should have given the cleaning for you to do,’ the young nurse grumbled internally as she fell to her knees by the puddle of blood, noticing the lack of wrinkles of the new doctor and thinking that she was rather young. “Seriously, why can’t that patient just sit still,” she complained while scrubbing the floor. “No one should even be able to move after surgery!”

“Don’t you know who that patient was?” The ginger nurse calmly checked the machines Angela was hooked up to. Her bright auburn hair fell to cover the dark glint in her eyes as she looked down to inspect the mask.

“No,” the nurse on the floor grunted, wringing the rag in the bucket beside her. “Some lovesick man looking for Doctor Ziegler?” She scoffed.

Yes. They all knew of Doctor Angela Ziegler, a talent in their industry. Read her academic journals and findings with nanobiology and her work on cybernetics. They were surprised when the beautiful, well-known doctor turned up by the hospital, and even more shocked when they found out it was related to the hotel scare that happened not long ago.

“That was, I believe, Genji Shimada.” The older nurse wrote some data on the paper on her clipboard, her dual coloured pupils turning sharp. “The first successful experiment of Doctor Ziegler. Rumours has it that she saved him from the brink of death.”

“Wait, he’s the robotic guy?”

“More like a cyborg.”

“Ugh,” the younger nurse groaned as she finished scrubbing the blood away. Thankfully it was still fresh. “Yeah and? He can’t possibly be experiencing the Florence Nightingale effect? He looks so ugly.”

The ginger nurse didn’t bother chiding her for the insult. Not all nurses were after all, compassionate. Or lawful. “It doesn’t matter what we think. Stop being gossipy. Go back to work.”

“Alright, alright,” and the younger nurse left after finishing her task.

When she was sure that the younger nurse left, the older nurse turned back to stare at Angela’s face. The blonde’s features were twitching in pain, brows tight and nearly touching, while sweat covered her pores.

“Poor, poor Doctor Ziegler,” the only other person in the room cooed flatly, resting a hand on her hip. “What mess did you get yourself into now?”

The doctor flipped a page on her clipboard with a thoughtful hum. Details of Angela’s last hospital visit was recorded, noting the concussion and injury on the brain, and the blood loss that occurred. Looking at the date, as she calculated the weeks, she found that it was roughly 18 weeks ago.

“Ah, and you still haven’t fully recovered your memories? Well, it’s no surprise. These quack doctors telling you that you'll remember and recover in a short time.” The nurse rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. “Your body is already functioning different from ordinary humans, with your applied nanobiology. Of course, you wouldn’t fully recover.” She proceeded to put the clipboard by the bedside table, her hands then hovering above Angela’s forehead. “They can’t. But I can.”

~*~*~

A heavy feeling weighed on my mind, a looming presence drifting closer to me in the vast darkness. My heart raced faster at the mere knowledge that something was there, yet I couldn’t see it, nor did it make a sound. A ghostly apparition making its way to me and I scrambled back. If it was the Grim Reaper or a convoy to hell, I wouldn’t want to know. Not now. I don’t want to go.

A sharp pain in my chest jerk my attention towards it, but as I looked down, I saw nothing but a fair bare-chested torso. Shaky hands slowly flitted over my skin, running across the perfect unblemished skin, across the ridges of my still existing abs, feeling the narrow waist and defined hips, made of flesh and not metal. Human-looking skin, back to when I was still the young clan heir of the Shimada, back to the time before my older brother cut me up, destroy my limbs, when I lived a carefree life without another care in the world, just me, myself and I (and the ladies of course). A disgruntled groan rolled off my tongue when a slow, burning pain dragged itself across my chest, before periodic stabs hooked itself onto my flesh. Resisting the urge to cry out, I fell to my knees, painfully aware that the unknown presence still watched me with a penetrating gaze. I looked down onto my chest, confused as I writhe in pain, at the lack of cuts or puncture marks. They felt so real, too real to be a vivid dream.

This was real. It’s happening.

“Argh…”

Desperate fingers clawed and clutched at my chest, but the useless attempts at easing the pain never subsided, not even when I allowed the darkness to swallow me whole once more, all the while that eerie pair of eyes watched me unendingly.

……

…

A blinding light engulfed my sights when my eyes flew open with a desperate gasp for air. My eyes were dry, that much I could tell as they squinted at the bare contact with the air and wished they were hiding behind their protectors. Groaning, I tried to get myself to sit up with my elbows. I had barely succeeded with lifting my body a mere inch off the bed when a calloused hand stopped me by the shoulders, and when I struggled, the person simply forced me back down onto the bed with a push.

“The fuck…?”

“You should stay in bed, love.”

“Lena?” I groggily turned my head to my right, faintly making out a petite woman munching on peeled, cut apples. Sunlight was lighting up the outline of the curtained window behind her. She held some apples out to me, the smell of fresh, juicy apples sneaking into my senses.

If Lena’s here, then…

“Yo,” Jesse grinned lopsidedly at me.

I groaned.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you didn’t want us to visit you,” Jesse mock pouted. “Do you not want us anymore? Sob.”

Lena rolled her eyes at the cowboy’s drama as she proceeded to slowly feed me the apples that I gratefully nibbled on. Not to my surprise, I couldn’t really move my arms or feet, much less feel my fingers. “You were out for a while after surgery, again.”

I sunk my head further into the pillows as another groan escaped. I stared at the opposite wall with half lidded eyes, memories of last night streaming through my mind. Her blonde hair matted against her forehead, covered in bandages, beautiful features scrunched up in pain that made my heart ache with her every twitch. She looked so weak, so… vulnerable. Her breaths slowly fogged the oxygen mask, the machines hooked up to her the only other indicator that she was still alive.

Was she even cleared of the poisons?

“If you’re worried about Doctor Ziegler, she’s all right. I’ve asked the nurses. She’s not poisoned either. She’s just hurt her head really badly this time,” Lena explained upon noticing the tight furrows of my eyebrows.

I tilted my head to look at her, a frown setting upon my lips with my brows furrowing even tighter. Hurting her head really bad this time? …That was my fault.

If only I had been more careful when I had pushed her out of harm’s way, if only my foot hadn’t shocked itself when I twisted around, causing me to fall and stumble.

Lena watched as her bedridden friend squeezed his eyes shut, that scarred countenance twisted into such pain. She glanced over at Jesse, a silent tacit understanding communicating between the two. How were they to help? Words were meaningless, no matter how well they meant them, because before they could help, Genji had to allow them to work first, to accept their words, their help. Everything in life, was always a choice after all. And for now, if he chose to wallow in pain, they'll let him. Just for a little while.

She could only reach out a hand and pat his head, caressing it gently, ignoring the glistening wetness that stubbornly formed beneath his lashes. Seeing him like this made her heart ache. She missed the Genji that would crack jokes with her, the one she could tease and laugh with. This… this was just too painful.

I… I hadn’t known how much time had passed. The sunlight was no longer trying to peek through the curtains and my two friends were already long gone, leaving me alone to the silence of the night. And my thoughts. Thoughts that kept wandering back to…

I sighed.

Flexing my fingers, I felt the blood swimming through my veins as the sensation of touch returned. Slowly, I observed my body from within, sensing out the changes that occurred. To no surprise, my cyborg self was still breaking down, but not as bad to the point where I would no longer function properly. With a deep breath, I tried to then get up, only to realise the futility of my situation when I had to bite at my bottom lip to keep from crying out. Sharp pain speared through my torso and my left foot, realising then that lower limb was bent weirdly from the shape beneath the blankets. It couldn’t properly straighten, dangling at an angle to the side, as though broken. My expression darkened. I suspected that it would take at least half a year before I break down completely at this rate. Then glancing down, I lifted up the neckline of the shirt to stare at the bandages wrapped around my torso, remembering the bullets that were lodged there from the mission.

Once again, I sighed.

What am I to do now?

I didn’t have the mood to play with my phone, no mood to watch the muted television in front of me. All the television spoke off was about a man that had gone missing for over a week now and still not found, only really taking notice when I realised that his build was similar to Slade’s.

I laid there motionless, imagining that I was a corpse (I wasn’t that far off from one anyway), and just counted the seconds as they passed. Time seemed to congeal at that moment, its passing lost in my mind. A slow road to recovery.

At 9pm, my door clicked open as a nurse walked in. I immediately shut my eyes, pretending now to be asleep, listening intently on the sounds of her footsteps. I heard the relief in her released breath when the steps neared my bed (was I truly that frightening to ‘normal’ humans?), and I felt her presence by my IV drip. The tinkering of metal and crinkling of plastic drifted into my ears while she replaced the bag, until her voice joined as well.  

“So many scars...” she muttered. “Why did Doctor Ziegler save someone like you?”

I resisted the urge to move, to roll onto my side and peek my eyes open. Yeah. Just why indeed did she save me? Was it her instincts as a doctor to not let anyone die? Or did she want to try her hand at saving a life that was on the brink of death?

The sounds stopped, but I knew the nurse was still there. Her breathing was soft, and I felt her stare scrutinising my every scar laid bare.

“And why did you go and see her? Can’t really be the Florence Nightingale effect could it?” A pause. “Ugh, whatever. He's not even handsome. Not reaally my type.”

Her footsteps eventually died as she left the room, closing the door behind her with a click.

‘Who the fuck cares if I’m your type?’

When I was sure she left, I opted to turn my head to the side, staring at the ends of the curtain dangling motionless. A bitter smile played off my lips. Handsome, was it? I used to be. Not anymore.

Just like how no one wanted me.

Closing my eyes, I released the pent-up frustrations, the sadness, in one deep long sigh.

No one.

It was bright when I woke up the next day, just in time to see a male doctor standing by the foot of the bed and checking the clipboard detailing my condition.

As though sensing that I was awake, the doctor looked up and smiled despite my silence. “Good afternoon. I'm guessing you slept well?”

I nodded mutely.

“Good, good. Any discomfort anywhere?”

I shook my head. A blatant lie.

He came over to my side while the nurse carefully lifted up my shirt to change my bandages, silently observing as she did. His eyes trailed over the markings of past battles and the surgical marks he created, checking that the sutures were properly in place, before taking a step back. “The second surgery was a success, though I’ll advise for you to not move until the wounds are closed. As much as I’ve helped you remove the bullet wounds, I couldn’t fix the cyberised parts of your body.”

My eyebrows darted up high to my hairline. He could tell?

Seeing my reaction, the doctor continued, although albeit embarrassed, “I'm a huge fan of Doctor Ziegler’s work and have read on her works regarding applied nanobiology and cybernetics. When we found you in her room, I thought you were most likely one of her projects that she worked on.”

His words zoned out in my mind, falling onto deaf ears as I let the hope sizzle into ashes.

Projects? Hah... I guess that’s all I was.

I finally turned to lay on my side as the doctor continued rambling on. I refused to look at him any longer. A glance was enough to imprint his lustrous black locks in my mind, the bangs swept back in a nice fashionable gel, and his bright blue eyes lighting up at the mention of the famous Doctor Ziegler. Tall and slim, well built. A young, charismatic, handsome man.

More handsome than me. And most definitely not a project.

‘Stop it, Genji.’

‘It's true. I'm ugly. I'm a monster.’

‘You fucking idiot. Stop. If you miss her so much, go and see her. Better than this self-pity party you’re not inviting her to.’

I bitterly chuckled. What more could I actually say? Anyone, anyone would be a better fit for her than me. Glancing at the embarrassed doctor from the doctor of my eye, I ignored him as he left the room. The hours passed, I ate what was given and didn’t get to see Jesse or Lena that day.

But when night came, I decided to hold onto the crazy end of my mind and meet her. It was already a few days since the mission and us ending up at the hospital, and after the surgeries, my body seemed to somewhat hold up. I hope. Dragging my legs slowly with controlled breathing, deep pants to ease the pain, I stood up. A muted sharp cry escaped through gritted teeth as I dropped and stumbled. I glared down with a frown at my left foot that was evidently broken. The ankle part was broken, the limb twisted, where bottom of the foot was facing the left.

‘Fuck, just fuck.’ Gripping onto the sheets, I tried to stand again, only to wince and sink my teeth into my lips with a snarl. ‘This shit fucking hurts!’

In a haze of madness, I planted the foot with the sole furthest away on the floor, my leg bent weirdly. The metal bed frame creaked and dented under my grip, and in one clean move, crack! I forcibly twisted the foot back into place, causing disagreeing shocks to rampage in my nerves. My breathing grew haggard, coming out in short puffs as black spots attacked my already blurring vision. I tightened my grip in response. That shit hurt, really fucking hurt. But it was only metal, shattered bits and cracks of something that wasn’t alive in the first place, and when the first wave of pain was over, and I had control of my sight and breathing again, I tested the water once more.

I probably must have broken that pain nerves of that foot, over-shocked it into oblivion, because I could now stand on feet that actually looked normal. Slightly wobbly, but I could walk. Enough for me to crawl out of bed and stand, to quietly make my way through to the other side without the nurses on my tail. I looked fairly normal to outsiders, but internally, I was screaming. My chest would hurt at the slightest wrong move and if I went too fast, my breathing couldn't catch up.

Passing Jack’s room, my steps halted in hesitation. I bit the insides of my cheek, mind whirling with questions before choosing to move on.

A deep breath in to stabilise my emotions and I twisted the doorknob, silently pushing my IV pole in. The closing click of the door rang loudly in my ears, followed by the loud thumping of my heart as I watched wide eyed and mouth agape. Turning her attention away from the window, her profile was illuminated by the moonlight that was streaming into the unlit room, setting her golden locks ablaze. There was a large cotton gauze taped on her head and her vivid blue eyes seemed to twinkle a little brighter in the dark, lit up with utter joy. Joy? Me? Here?

“Genji!” She lifted a hand that was folded on her lap and waved. “You’re all right!”

“Mmm,” I hummed in acknowledgment.

My steps were slow but sure as I made my way to her side, dark eyes scanning every inch of her face for the smallest of signs that something was wrong, but when her grinning lips fell into a confused gape and her head slightly tilted, I felt my face split in half at the wide grin reaching ear to ear. “You’re okay,” I breathed out, resting a hand by her bed as I sat down on the empty chair.

“Yeah, I feel better.” She nodded resolutely, and a burden seemed to have lifted from my shoulders when I sat up straighter and let out a relieved sigh. “How are you feeling?”

“Haha,” I chuckled humourlessly. “As good as I can be. Doc already patched me up here.”

“Oh, that’s good...”

I reached out my hand, slowly like you would to not frighten an animal, and Angela stayed still, allowing my fingers to brush against the gauze. My sombre gaze dropped to find hers, still twinkling bright, looking up at me from beneath her lashes. A silence fell over us. Comfortable and peaceful, with the rhythms of our breathing the orchestra for the night.

My hand trailed down to her cheeks, the back of my fingers tracing her jawline before holding onto her chin. She shuddered under my fingertips as my thumb rubbed just below her bottom lip.

“Genji,” she called out while gripping my hand in hers. A panic inwardly rose when I caught her serious expression. Her cheeks were slightly pink and I froze in fear. The bliss I felt squeaked like a frightened mouse and turned tail. Was she going to ask me to leave? Did she want to chase me out? Wait, if she was, then she wouldn’t hold my hand.

“Y-Yes?”

A roll of her eyes. If she caught onto my nervousness, she never mentioned it. “When are you going to take me out for the dinner?”

I blinked slowly at her. Dinner? Dinner... oh, dinner. I gulped the nervous lump in my throat, feeling the warmth of her fingers covering mine. Our faces were still so close, her breaths fanning my lips. “When we’ve both recovered. I think we can have the dinner then.”

She beamed at me and I felt the tips of my ears go pink. “Sounds great! I can’t wait for it.”

I nodded in agreement.

My hand slowly left her face and I thought to settle back into the chair when she lightly tugged at my limb. “Angela?”

She said nothing, but when she tugged at my hand again, I let her pull me closer. My body was bent over her bed while she leaned nearer and lifted her other hand to caress my scars. Was she appalled by them? Did she find them ugly? My gaze darkened as I dropped my head, casting shadows over my eyes for fear she’d see the hopelessness and fear in them. She’s not the same Angela I once knew, yet she’s still fanned the flames of my love that I forcibly dimmed. It was the same face, the same smile, but the cafe owner Angela was like a new breath of fresh air. She was freer, happier. Maybe this was better, for her to not recover her memories. She was happy as Doctor Ziegler, but she was tied down and restricted. As cafe owner Angela, there was nothing to worry about except for the bills and customers, and she genuinely loved it there.

But then I felt it, the warm moisture of her lips upon the scar on my cheek. Frightened like a poor deer caught in the headlights, I froze at the contact. When she pulled back, I was too afraid to ask, to afraid to break the bubble she created. I closed my eyes as her lips peppered my face, on every scar that carved itself onto my skin, from my cheeks, to my forehead, before moving down to the long, deep one by my nose.

“I feel like you’re afraid, Genji...” she whispered softly, a trace melancholy tinting her voice. She too, didn’t dare ask him anything. Why he’d freeze at her touch, why’d he keep his distance. Had he not loved her?

“N-No, I'm not. I'm just...” I reluctantly pulled back and was I allowed to feel the slightest shred of disappointment when she didn’t stop me? I glanced into her questioning gaze, feeling utterly small at that very moment before dropping imine to my lap. “It’s just... aren’t you together with Jack?”

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline in pure confusion. “What? Since when?”

I looked back at her, an eyebrow of my quirking up in similar confusion. “Aren’t you? Jack said –”

“What did he say,” her face twisted into a slight snarl when realisation dawned upon her. What more lies did Jack tell? What more did he keep from her?

Seeing her twitching in rage, my eyes flew wide open as I tried to explain, “No, no. He didn’t say that you were together, but he made it sound like it. So, I thought –"

“We’re not. We were never dating,” she glared at her hands. “He was only a close friend of mine, someone I trusted.”

I had caught onto that last word but didn’t have the chance to ask when she continued.

“He was just the only one there when I woke up in the hospital. I didn’t remember anything or know anyone, but he felt familiar, he was kind. Naturally I would be close to him.”

“Wait, hospital? You were in the hospital? When?” I straightened in my seat, a sense of panic running through me. I hadn’t heard anything of that sort!

She furrowed her eyebrows. “Yeah, hospital. About a little over four months ago? I woke up in a hospital and he was the only one by my side. Wait, he never told you?”

I bitterly shook my head. “No.” Of course, he didn’t. But I didn’t wish to dwell on it any further, because at the very least, the biggest misunderstanding was cleared.

She watched him visibly relax and the anger diffused as well. Misunderstandings could always be talked through at a later time. Calling out his name softly, she beckoned for him to come closer.

“Huh?”

“I’m not done. Come here.” She grinned.

My eyes widened as a blush crept along my neck and onto my cheeks upon realising what she meant. Lips parted to question her, but I crumbled at the stern, slightly narrowed glare. I obediently leaned forward.

“Do you hate your scars a lot?”

I closed my eyes as she took my face in her hands, tracing the scars on my face as she lightly pecked each one. “Mhmm...”

“Why though?” she pulled back slightly when she was sure she kissed every one of them. “Do they still hurt?”

I shook my head. “They’re ugly.”

“Really?” She forced my gaze to hold hers. I could only bitterly smile when I saw her beautiful countenance up close, thinking that I'll never be able to stand next to her. “I think...” she murmured, a finger grazing the deep cut across my face, “that the strongest souls emerged from suffering.”

Before I could ask any further, her hands dropped after giving me a long, tender kiss on my forehead. “You’re fine the way you are, Genji.”

It was odd indeed. When she had awoken, she found that she remembered of some memories of her past, especially of those when she was recruited into Overwatch. She recalled the events that had transpired and of the related people. They were coming to her in waves and didn’t hurt one bit, like a scene of a drama that was playing, only that it happened in her head and not on a screen.

My heart felt warm and fuzzy at her words, and a smile blossomed on my face. “Thank you, Angela.”

She returned my smile and then we descended into silence once more. I stared at her, watching her comb her hair with her fingers as she leaned against the bedframe.

“You know, I think they should have kirsch in the hospital,” she grumbled lightly under her breath, breaking the silence. “I'm suddenly craving for my special coffee.”

A peal of joyful laughter burst out from my chest. “I'm pretty sure alcohol isn’t allowed in hospitals.” Her bottom lip jutted out into a pout and I leaned over to pat her head, gazing deeply into her eyes. “I'll order you one for our dinner. Sounds good?”

“Mhmm, it does.”

And just like that, we spoke into the night, speaking of random ordinary topics of food and drinks, more specifically the coffee. She had laid down on her side at some point, eyes fighting to stay awake, her lashes constantly fluttering softly. I continued whispering of pleasant scenarios to her, of stargazing in an empty meadow, of trying macaroons on the Eiffel Tower, of strolling under the Sakura trees in Hanamura... up until her eyes remained closed and her breathing grew heavy. They were pleasant to her, but bittersweet to me. Why did I have to say those words? I was already leaving. I shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.

‘But I hoped she would not forget me. That I'm not just someone passing in her life.’

The days and nights passed like that, and as I was recovering, I’d constantly drop by her room in the dead of the night with a rose I’d find in the hospital gardens. Her laughter in the hospital gave me the joy and willpower to simply not run away from it, and I hadn’t seen Jack either; He was already discharged long ago. And I supposed it was a struck of fate that we could be discharged together too.

If my calculations were right, it was already 5 months since her incident in the hospital. So many changes in such a short time. She was back to her cafe and I returned to the bureau to report myself.

I stood outside Jack’s office, back in the comfort of my suit, fingering the letter in my hands.

“Come in,” Jack called, and I entered.

I ignored my shaky movements, trying to look as natural as possible, but there was something lodged in my knees, blocking it from bending properly. There was a drag in my arms as I tried to move my elbows. Slowly. It would be my end.

“Genji, how are you?”

I could tell that Jack was trying to maintain his professionalism, from his flat tone and steady gaze, yet his interlaced fingers betrayed his emotions. They were tightly bound, shoulder muscles tensed. His eyes dropped to the envelope in my hand.

“I'm good, commander. I'm also here to hand in my resignation.”

Taken aback, his fingers slowly unlaced themselves, reluctantly receiving the letter from my outstretched hand. “R-Resignation?” He parroted Genji as though he couldn’t believe his ears.

I firmly nodded. “I would like to quit.”

“B-But...” Jack stopped himself there. What right did he have to go question an old friend’s motives? His own motives were already questionable enough. He stared into Genji’s eyes that were steady and unyielding, and he sighed. Settling the envelope on the table, he rubbed at his temples. “Alright. Take care, Genji.” Just like that, Genji Shimada was unemployed. No more words were said

I nodded my head, pausing in my spot. As though he sensed my intentions, Jack lifted his head to gaze sadly at me. His lips were pressed into a thin line, eyebrows curved in reluctance.

“Where will you go?”

My hopes dashed at his words. Biting back the irritation in my voice, I replied, “Not sure. Maybe I'll go find Zen.”

“But Angela...?”

I shook my head, choosing not to respond. “Thank you for everything you've done for me so far, commander.”

Jack waved it off. “I'm no longer your commander. Just call me Jack.”

“Jack,” I tested the words on my tongue, feeling somehow bittersweet. It was an unspoken promise between friends, yet an invisible boundary of separation. “I wish you the best, Jack.”

“Same to you, Genji.”

I turned and left the office, the unpleasant taste of regret and broken hopes drifting heavily in the air. “Goodbye, Gabriel,” I said when I noticed the tall dark man standing by the door to Jack’s office. “Thank you for everything in the last years.” For taking care of me, for the laughter you’ve given.

Gabriel’s face twisted into an embarrassed scowl as a thick heavy hand ruffled my hair. “You're really going to leave?” He asked, having overheard.

“Yes, I think it's time to relax. I'll go and find Zen, perhaps.”

He nodded sadly. “Take care of yourself.”

“I'm not leaving yet. I plan to lounge around before I do.”

“Sounds good.”

A foot was lifted, ready to leave when I turned around to find him staring after me with a sombre gaze. “Can I give you a hug before I go?” I’d always remember my times in Blackwatch and how he’d always took care of Jesse and I (the other man was the troublemaker. I'm innocent). Wish I told him before, but this man was more of a father than Sojiro ever was.

Gabriel scoffed and rolled his eyes, but it couldn't contain the trace of joy that shone through. “Come ‘ere.”

I chuckled and squeezed the bigger man tight, hopefully conveying all I never said with that. Angela’s condition made me realise how short life could be, that anything would happen, yet I couldn't bear to stay because of that exact reason. I didn't want them to despair when they found out of my condition, and (I glanced at Jack in his office as I hugged Gabriel) I didn't want to expose Jack for what he's done. That was the last bit of mercy that I could give him.

“Take care, Genji.” Gabriel patted my back, watching until I turned around the corridor. The smile on his face dropped as he turned into Jack's office and locked the door behind him. “What's going to happen now? Our best spy and infiltrator just left.”

He didn't have the heart to hold him back and things were dire. The situation was a lot worse than they thought, yet he didn’t want to burden one of his best men (son) with it.

Jack groaned and massaged his temples. “What more can I do? I'll figure out a way. Don't worry.”

Gabriel pursed his lips.

They had found out that the Slade they captured was a fake, a decoy, which explained the sheer madness of the man in trying to bury himself along with them. Their intel was insufficient, lacking, when the news of Slade having a twin brother surfaced, and this was only because the same man had gone missing from his office a week before the mission. Even he hadn't known that his older brother was knee deep into the operations as an underground drug ring leader. The twin brother had gone mad from the drugs administered into him and was now lying unconscious on the bureau's medical bed slowly recovering. He was also our best bet at capturing the real Slade.

“I'll be fine, Gabe. Trust me.”

And that was all Gabriel could bet on.

 ~*~*~

 “Angela!”

The blonde laughed as the smaller Asian woman pounced into her arms and gave the biggest bear hug possible. “Hi, Mei!”

“I'm sorry that you had to tend to the cafe by yourself.”

“It’s okay. I'm happy to do it if it lets you recover properly.” Mei was overjoyed in seeing her friend in one piece. When Jack had thought that the cafe owner would stay put in the cafe, he had assigned for Mei to remain back to protect Angela, but who’d have thought that their sweet, strict (independent) Mercy would rather rush head on into danger instead?

Angela got right into work, greeting each colleague as she got herself ready to work, having already been updated on the cafe affairs when Mei had come to visit. She was cleared on her head injury when the doctors observed no abnormalities in her.

Mei noticed the little skip in her friend’s steps, the cheerful tune as she hummed. “Did something good happen?” she giggled.

Angela avoided Mei’s teasing gaze while focusing on putting the empty tray back on the counter. “It's nothing.”

Mei laughed heartily, arranging the food in the display nicely. “Sure, sure. I guess your blush means nothing.”

Ignoring her friend, Angela decided to instead busy herself with the counter. Mei turned back to her tasks, happier than when she first started. Something seemed different with Angela today, something that was there before separating the two was not there anymore.

After a moment, Mei heard Angela exclaim in confusion. “What's wrong?”

There were sounds of paper crinkling as Angela removed the bag from under the counter.

“Oh, the bag Genji left.” She peered over. “What’s in it?”

“I'm not sure,” Angela frowned at the slightly heavy weight. “I'm going to take a quick break.” Straightening herself, she retreated into the kitchen, away from prying customer eyes to look. The cooks were busy cooking up a storm, sparing only a simple greeting before returning to work.

She was curious. Why would he leave a bag like this here? Why hadn't he taken it back? A hand entered the bag’s mouth and she felt the hardness of paper on her fingertips. Gripping it securely, she pulled it out, the plain unadorned ivory book cover appearing before her eyes. The words [花笑み] were written in gold calligraphy, below it the romaji [Hanaemi]. The book wasn’t thick, probably just about an inch in thickness, and it had contrasting covers; ivory for the front and black for the back. [切ない] were the words brushed in gold upon the back cover, with [Setsunai] written below it; A similar yet contrasting design to the front. With her curiousity piqued further, she turned back to the front page and opened the book.

[A smile as beautiful as blooming flowers.]

There was only that one sentence written on the page. Yes, written. Her fingers traced the words, feeling the bumps as she did. She was certain, this was handwritten. When she turned the page, the story then began.

It spoke of the beautiful smile a certain woman had, detailing of her small quirks that she had. How she loved drinking kirsch in her coffee, the way her nose would scrunch, and her eyes would drift up when she pondered on something.

She found her lips tugging into a smile as she continued to read, this time turning into a random page. The book had then gone to describing a scene, one that somehow struck familiar. It spoke of how the woman had dressed up as a witch during Halloween, down to even having black pointy hat. That night during Halloween, the Overwatch team had celebrated with spooky food and drinks, and of course, trying to beat each other with the biggest loot of candy. It further detailed the event, of how Jesse the dressed as Van Helsing had gotten drunk, and how Mei, dressed as the Chinese zombie, was trying to scare the living daylights out of said drunk Jesse, and essentially how happy everyone was.

It was this particular part that struck her odd. Because this happened to be one of the few memories she recently remembered.

A weird thought crossed her mind.

Turning the book over, she stared at the calligraphy that painted the dark cover before turning to the first page. There, written like the first page on the front, was a lone sentence: [A bittersweet feeling, painful yet wistful.]

On the next page, was a sombre tone setting the book. It wasn’t much like a memoir of what she read earlier but a narration like an actual story.

 ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

 Dear reader, I wish I could tell you that it ends well.

That I found her after two weeks, that nothing had actually happened to her, that it was just a simple misunderstanding. Perhaps, she had gone on an impromptu trip to the Arctic to see the penguins and polar bears, to be surrounded by all the fluff and majestic wonders of life in the ice and snow, doing all that research and contemplating on medical magic like she normally would.

Because last night, I dreamt that I woke up after lying asleep on her lap — one of my favourite moments in life. I closed my eyes and drew in a lung full of air, letting out a contented sigh. I focused on her fingers in my hair, the sound of paper rustling and smelled the alcoholic coffee wafting in the room. A few minutes stretched out like an eternity, a blissful eternity. Outside the room, the pitter patter of rain began to fall.

“Oh, it’s raining.” A whisper barely audible tickling my ears.

“Mmm, it would seem like it is.”

There was silence when she spoke again. “If I recall, it was raining when I found you too.”

My body stiffened at her words and my eyes finally cracked open, falling first on the ever-present smile, and I instinctively relaxed. “Yeah, it was raining just like this at that time.”

She hummed and went back to her book, and I went back to enjoying her warmth. These moments were just short intermissions from the daily hecticness of our lives, but it was all we needed at times.

“I’m glad that I did though.”

“Huh?” My eyes flew open.

She peeked over her book, her gaze glinting in amusement from behind the glasses. “It allowed me to meet you.”

I shifted on her lap so that I fully faced her, and I chuckled when she jumped at my hand touching her cheek. With her attention stolen from the book, I gazed at her as the world around me fall away.

I vividly remember my lips parting as I wanted to tell her — tell her things that I left unsaid, but when I saw the dull white ceiling of my single bedroom dormitory, I was slapped in the face, back into the harsh reality; That I still haven’t seen her in the past two weeks, of neither hide nor hair. Not even my calls or texts were going through. I initially thought that she hadn’t texted me in that week I was away because she hadn’t wanted to disturb me during the mission, but even two weeks later? It’s been a long time… And the worst is not even seeing her in the office.

 ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

 With shaky hands, Angela finally lifted her head from the book, sinking her teeth onto her bottom lip. What that from Genji’s point of view? There was a trace of sadness in those blue eyes of hers when she thought of how the poor man must have been lonely, and adding onto her attitude weeks ago, gods, she couldn’t even fathom how he didn’t hate her yet. A deep breath in, and she tried to steady her emotions, forcing the tears to disappear and her heart to slow.

Carefully bending the book, she lightly flipped the pages open, seeing the rush of blurred words – handwritten words – dance, when it suddenly hitched and stopped. Confused, she opened the book at the page it stopped at, picking up the hidden bookmark that was left inside. The bookmark was unique; A dried and flattened red rose that had lost its lustre was laminated and cut into a rectangular bookmark, with a golden ribbon tied at the end. She lifted it up to peer at it closer when she realised the uneven marks in the transparent film. They looked a lot like dried glue. Turning the bookmark over, she traced its cut edges as an indescribable feeling started to churn in her stomach. It was handmade, done with the use of clear glue stick and a pair of transparent film paper. She guessed that the dried roses were placed in between the transparent films after he applied a large section of glue, where he then constantly flattened it and allowed it to dry before actually cutting it up.

She thought that the surprises were over, intending to put the bookmark back, when her eyes caught sight the words written on the open pages. She was drawn in, like a curious cat to a box.

 ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

 Dear Angela,

There were many things that I wished I could tell you, but I don’t know where to start.

When we first met, I was broken, more than any person should possibly be, and you saved me. You gave me grace and patience, kindness and care, even though all I ever gave you then was unresolved anger and despair. You could have given up on me, but you didn’t.

Now, after years of silently loving you, if I had to choose one thing to say, it was ‘Thank You’. I believe I never told you that enough, never shown you that enough.

Thank you.

You are the reason for my every smile and is the reason for the beauty in my world. You are my joy, my angel, the purest person in my heart. And falling in love with you, was the best choice of my life, even if it was never my choice to make. I hadn’t chosen to fall in love with you, I could not control it. Your smile, your personality, everything about you made it impossible for me to simply do anything else. And each day, I found myself falling ever more in love with you.

Thank you.

And I hope that now, you find your happiness, Angela.

Because…

 When spring comes again,

I only have one wish, that

You’ll remember me.

 ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

[nitewrighter]

Dragonback Pt. 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

AO3

----

The four of them managed to reach the river by the late afternoon and follow it upstream through various foothills and thickets until the sun set. They stopped near a pond, one that had been carved out probably by some Omnic-era blast and flooded. Nature had retaken the area, of course, made it look more natural than it really was, Setting up camp wasn’t too time consuming an affair. Aedan assumed the Shimadas would have a Vishkar Hard-light tent projector or something similar, but instead, they just set up their would-be campfire and their sleeping bags around it, under the stars, well, what would be stars, eventually. They ate a light but satisfying dinner of seasoned tofu, lentil, and chickpea-stuffed onigiri that Genji had apparently adapted from his time in the Shambali, and by the time they had cleaned up the full moon hung in the purple-gray light of dusk. Rei was standing at the edge of the pond, frowning at it, as Genji came up alongside her.

“So,” he said, folding his arms next to her, “How do you want to go about this?”

---

“Anything?” Genji called out as Rei floated in the middle of the pond on her back, wearing a plain navy one-piece.

“Nope,” said Rei, frankly feeling a little ridiculous being the only one in the water.

“Just... try and remember what Zenyatta taught you. Close your eyes, open your mind, take deep breaths, empty yourself of all distractions, all doubts, focus on your breathing, on the sound of the wind in the trees, let yourself--”

“Can you not narrate this?” said Rei.

“Right,” said Genji, “Sorry.” 

Rei closed her eyes and floated on her back for a few more minutes. “Can you guys leave, actually?” she said after a long pause.

“Of course,” said Genji.

“That includes you too, Dad,” said Rei, flatly.

“Oh-of--Right. Of course,” said Genji as he walked off with Hanzo and Aedan to give her space. 

Rei gave a glance back to the shore of the pond to see the three of them weren’t in sight, then took a breath in and closed her eyes.

---

“I’m messing this up,” Genji was pacing back and forth in a clearing a ways away from the pond, “I’m making it worse. I’m putting too much pressure on her---”

“To be fair, in all of our stories of all of our family, we’ve never heard of anything like this happening,” said Hanzo, “We don’t know how to deal with losing a dragon, because no dragon has ever been lost like this before.”

“..Never?” said Aedan, rolling his knuckles against his leg nervously.

Genji and Hanzo looked at Aedan as if they had both forgotten he was there. 

Hanzo frowned but Genji stepped forward. “Well, Rei’s dragon hasn’t really behaved like previous dragons, either,” he said, pacing again, “I mean our leading theory is that Angela’s biotic spinal implants affected how Rei’s dragon would manifest itself when she was pregnant with Rei, but the truth is, we never really know what comes with the dragon’s manifestation. Hanzo’s and my dragons are actually some of the simplest manifestations. According to the stories, other members of the main branch have had dragons that can sense things beyond human perception, make their wielder invisible to the eye and mind, or even control the minds of opponents.”

“But these are just Father’s stories,” said Hanzo. 

“Part of the reason the Shimada Clan’s empire stood so long was because it could do things no one else could do. The reason that it could do those things was the dragons.”

“But you still don’t know what the dragons are,” said Aedan, “Why they are.”

“We’ve tried,” said Genji, “Or at least Shimada before us have tried. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this particular generation of Shimada have been a bit busy fighting Talon and... our own clan. But we’re trying to understand it... as much as we can.”

“But if Rei can’t get it back... we may well never figure it out,” Aedan said quietly.

“I couldn’t imagine losing my dragon,” said Genji, “It... it must feel like being gutted. And I’ve been gutted.”

“Thanks,” Hanzo said flatly.

“Oh thank you,” said Genji, folding his arms.

Aedan just glanced back in the direction of the pond, unable to see anything through the thicket.

---

Rei stared up at the leaves framing the darkening sky, their green fading to dark blue against star-dotted lavender.

“I know you’re in there,” she said very quietly. She shut her eyes. “Please,” she whispered, “Please, please be in there.”

How did I do it the first time? she thought, How did it happen when I didn’t even know it was there?

“What if I don’t have it?” she remembered the smell of Shambali incense and the hum of the processors within the Sanctum.

“Then that’s fine,” she remembered the feeling of her father’s prosthetic hand on her cheek, “You’re your mother’s daughter too, and she never needed a dragon to do amazing things.”

“You summoned yours sooner--” she started, 

“Because your grandfather pushed me and your uncle much harder than was healthy for any of us,” said Genji, “No matter what, Rei, you represent a new future for our family--something brighter, kinder. If we have to leave the dragons behind for that future, I’m fine with that.”

“I’m not fine with it,” Rei muttered.

“Oh? Why’s that?” said Genji.

“The dragons make us special,” Rei said quietly, “I know Mom’s special too, but...” she fidgeted with her hands, “But I’m not special like mom. And-and--if I’m supposed to be brighter, and kinder, maybe it’s my job to make the dragon that, too.” 

Her father had smiled at this, his mouth tugging at the scars on his cheek. Rei had glanced down, but she felt her father’s finger’s trail under her chin and lift it slightly so she was facing him, “I think, dragon or no dragon, you’re already special. Whatever happens in this sanctum, you’ll be loved just as much as you always have. Are you ready?”

Rei nodded and Genji left her. She sat down cross-legged and closed her eyes, letting go of her distractions and...

And then what?

Rei opened her eyes and she was still floating in that pond, staring up at a starry sky.

“Some half-gaijin bastard shouldn’t even have the dragon,” the tattoo artist had said as the needle beat into her back. It wasn’t a tattoo gun, either. It had to be Tebori, the old way. The needle was being jabbed on the end of a black bamboo stick, the tattoo artist’s hand pressing hard against her back to keep her skin steady. Biotics at least sped up the process. Without them, getting a tattoo of this size and detail should have taken months. Rei remembered her uncle squeezing her hand. Genji couldn’t be there. They could accept a bastard of Hanzo, but there was no telling what they would do if they knew Genji was still alive.

“You won’t speak of her like that,” Hanzo had warned.

“I’ll speak however I damned please. I may hate the Shimada clan enough to help you with this, but that doesn’t mean I forget what it once stood for,”  the Tattoo artist dabbed away some of the excess ink. Hours and hours had passed, short biotic-treatment breaks were taken, then more hours, more jabbing, before finally the tattoo artist had said, “Dammit.. I think this might be my best work...Hey kid. Make it count. Show me the dragon.”

Rei had peeled her cheek off of the plastic of the bench she was laying across and looked at Hanzo. 

“Come on, kid--We’ve been at this for 20 hours,” the tattoo artist goaded, “You can at least summon it, can you? This isn’t some bullshit where you can walk in and get a pretty chrysanthemum or a Koi--”

“The Shimada Dragon is not a parlor trick,” Hanzo had interceded.

“I’d say it’s worth 20 hours of my goddamn life,” said the tattoo artist, “Come on kid...” he paused, “You can’t even do it, can you?” 

The words were drying up in Rei’s throat. I used to. I used to. I loved it. It was beautiful. It was powerful. It was me. But instead her mouth just hung open helplessly.

“That’s enough,” Hanzo had said.

“Figures,” the tattoo artist scoffed, “Fucking gaijin...” 

Rei opened her eyes and she was floating in the pond again. The sounds of night birds and insects bled into her hearing and she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed herself beneath the surface of the water, exhaling through her nose as she did so to keep the water rushing up it. She remembered herself as a little girl, sitting cross-legged in the Shambali sanctum, imagining herself in a vast dark space. The first feelings of something prickling and bright and warm coiling up inside her, an almost dizzy sensation radiating out from her solar plexus, a light ribboning around her arms.

I know you’re in there, she thought furiously, I know you’re in there. I know you’re in there. Please come back to me.

Like flexing a muscle that isn’t there, she remembered Aedan’s voice, Something that was always there that I just had to figure out how to call.

Except I could call it before, she thought, Now there’s just a dark and empty space where there once was this light and warmth and power and--oh scheisse I need to breathe.

Rei’s head broke the surface of the pond and she gasped, got a droplet of water in the back of her throat and then coughed, then cursed under her breath. “Stupid pond,” she muttered, swimming to the edge and then wading out.

---

Genji perked up at the sound of a twig snapping, then stood up from the log he was sitting on as Rei pushed through the thicket, her clothes on and her hair dripping wet. 

“Rei--” he started but he read her face in an instant. His shoulders slumped slightly but he closed the distance between himself and his daughter in a few brisk steps, “It’s okay---” he started, moving to put a hand on her shoulder.

“No, Dad, it’s not!” Rei snapped, knocking his hand away, her voice was rippled by near sobs, “It’s not okay! I’m not okay! I’m--I’m---Something in me is broken, and--and--and the dragon won’t come as long as it’s like that and I don’t know how to fix it,” She stared at Genji for a few seconds before saying, “Or... or maybe that’s not it either. If--if the dragon didn’t come to broken things, you and Uncle wouldn’t be able to call it either. It just... it hates me. I--I died, so it won’t come back to me because it knows with me it could die. I’m not worthy of it. I’m not strong enough for it. And--and you keep saying it’ll come back. That it’ll be okay. That I just have to be patient. But I’m empty! I’m empty! I can’t do this!! I can’t keep doing this!!” 

“Rei...” Genji started, but Rei just briskly walked away from him, sniffling.

Aedan moved to go after her but Hanzo put a hand on his shoulder. Aedan looked back at Hanzo in protest but there was a steadiness in Hanzo’s expression and Aedan instantly realized that there was nothing he had no idea what he could say to Rei to make things better. 

---

“Zeroing in on the target’s location now,” said the Talon pilot.

“Hold position,” said Faustine, “Circle the target at an eight mile radius with the cloaking on. The trees should give us enough cover, but it’s too early in the evening for us to attack. We’ll take the target later in the night, catch him when he’s sleepy and disoriented.” Faustine leaned back in her seat slightly and looked over to Andrea, who was suiting up with the rest of her strike team, “Sound good to you?”

Andrea looked up from strapping on her combat layers. “You are my controller, aren’t you? You aren’t Reyes, but I will still defer to your decisions.”

“Well we’re partners, as well. You’re the one with 200 years of Mnemosyne-crammed martial knowledge in your head. If you have ideas for potential strategies I’d love to hear them.” 

“Partners...” Andrea repeated.

“Well just because you’re fresh out the amnio-tank doesn’t mean you’re a child, obviously,” said Faustine.

Andrea blinked a few times and then glanced down as if confused.

“Have I said something that’s bothered or confused you?” asked Faustine.

Andrea shook her head. “I am used to Reyes as my controller. He tends to be more...” Andrea furrowed her brow thoughtfully.

“Controlling?” Faustine smiled.

Andrea nodded. “He... never told me I’m not a child,” she said.

“Well, you share half his DNA and he’s been shown to have a history of emotional compromise” said Faustine with an easy shrug.

“You don’t think I’m a child,” said Andrea, “Despite my artificial aging.”

“Well, the way I see it, we put Omnics out into combat when they’ve been functioning for only a few hours,” said Faustine. She held up her hand, turning it over to show the latticework of neuroprostheses on the back, “There’s never been a large distance between wires and flesh for me. Programming doesn’t make Omnics any less of people, why should we except you from that sentiment?” 

Andrea tilted her head, weighing Faustine’s words. 

“We’re partners here. We listen to each other,” said Faustine. She extended her hand, “Knight and Bishop?”

Andrea stared at Faustine’s hand, not really sure what she was being prompted to do. Faustine waited with her hand extended for a few seconds before grabbing Andrea’s hand, shaking it, and saying, “Knight and Bishop,” again.

“Knight and Bishop,” said Andrea, shaking Faustine’s hand hard enough to jostle her shoulder slightly. 

---

Rei came back to the camp about an hour or so later, eyes puffy and bloodshot. They had the campfire going then, and had taken the time to set out her sleeping mat alongside it. Genji glanced up at her as she came into the light of the fire.

“If you need to talk about it...” his voice was gentle.

Rei shook her head.

“...We can head back to the Watchpoint in the morning,” Genji offered. 

Rei nodded.

“All right,” said Genji. A long pause passed before he said, “It was really brave of you to do this. And I’m so proud of you for trying. And... and you’re still wonderful and amazing to me. You understand that, right?”

Rei looked up at the, her eyes glistening in the light of the campfire before she rubbed at them and looked down again. She gave a short, shy nod.

The campfire died down to embers, but the words stuck hard in Aedan’s mind. “I’m so proud of you for trying.” He couldn’t recall anything like that ever being said to him in Talon.

The night carried out in a quiet, muted manner. Aedan wondered if it would be more of a shouting session between Rei, her father and her uncle if he weren’t there, or if it was simply the exhaustion of the trip here and the following hike and the emotional exhaustion of Rei being unable to summon the dragon wiping everyone out.

Conversation was almost nonexistent as the four of them watched the embers of the fire die out. They each silently went to their own sleeping bags, forming a square around the low-burning campfire. Rei was the first one out. With Hanzo and Genji supposedly serving as a buffer between them, and the fire blocking most of her out from his vision. Her features rippled in the waves of heat, but still Aedan studied her face--thick, concerned eyebrows, furrowed against thick eyelashes. He wondered what she dreamt of until sleep swept over him, too.

He dreamt of his own hand pressing against the glass of the amnio-tank, the face of his mother through the haze of biotic amnio-fluid. 

“I can give him everything I never had,” her voice was thick in his mind.

The face of Moira suddenly morphed into McCree as the yellow fluid of the amnio-tank and the glass suddenly phased into a wall of blue light between them.

“How many more of you are there?” McCree’s voice was like a pile of sharp rocks.

The words of Aedan’s own voice seemed muted, half drowned out to postulate and memory.

“There’s no others of you? You’re sure about that?” McCree’s fists suddenly slammed against the blue field.

“What makes you think you have any right to be here?” it was McCree’s voice but Aedan couldn’t recall the words in a memory. The world suddenly plunged into yellow again, his hand against the glass and that plane of glass separating Moira’s hand from his. He glanced down to see the inside of the tank slowly filling with a dense black liquid. He banged a fist against the glass but Moira’s hand only slipped away

“She’s a monster!” the glass shifted to the walls of an elevator, Rei was two feet from him in a yellow sundress, running her hands through her hair as the elevator was filling with the black liquid as well. It was around both their waists at that point, “She’s a Talon psycho!” 

“So what does that make you?” Mercy, Hanzo, and McCree’s voice seemed to overtake Rei, the dense ink around his waist suddenly sloshed away and then Aedan was on his back, desperately crab-walking back from massive form of shadows.

“Nary a soul to be seen,” he could hear his own voice from the mass of shadow. 

And then he was in the hangar. Rei was in his arms. Dead? No--no--no, he couldn’t go through this again---

“She’s gone, a thaisce,” he could hear his mothers voice, but no, he coudn’t accept that.

“Rei--” he shook her, “Rei--please--don’t leave me---”

Rei’s eyes flicked open, glistening ink-black, with black tears running down her face.

“You’re not alone,” her voice sounded drowned, strangled, wrong as black dripped from her mouth. Her hand clawed at his cheek and he woke with a start. 

He always had a tendency towards nightmares, he figured it was a side effect of Mnemosyne being used on a developing brain, but they hadn’t been that bad in a while. There were a few seconds of soreness and disorientation as he sat up from his sleeping bag and looked around. 

Camping. Right. Because I love camping, he thought, rubbing at his back, bitterly. Why did rocks always seem to find a way to poke up through the sleeping mat and jab him in the spine?

He could hear the soft snores of Hanzo and Genji’s slightly electrically warped breathing, but a shaft of moonlight shined down through a gap in the canopy on Rei’s empty sleeping bag. He stared at it for a few seconds. Probably using the bathroom? he thought, and then glanced over at the roll of toilet paper resting on top of one of their backpacks, Nope.

He blinked a few times then padded his hand around his sleeping bag for his flashlight, but he only managed to find his biotic rig next to it. Well, it would have to do. He unzipped his sleeping bag, then looped the straps over his shoulders and rolled his shoulders, prompting the biotic rig to unfold, the wires winding once around his arms and the biotic nodes clicking open at his palms. They had streamlined the technology for it significantly since his mother’s day, and his own physiology eliminated the need for a massive biotic tank in the back. 

He flicked his wrist and a small yellow sphere of biotics alighted on his palm before he stood up and pulled his trainers on. He stepped off of the sleeping mat and a twig snapped under his foot. Hanzo grunted and Aedan immediately flinched and looked over his shoulder at the still-sleeping 50-something ninja stir, then his eyes flicked to Rei’s sleeping bag. Aedan decided it would probably best if Hanzo or Genji didn’t wake up to both him and Rei gone from their sleeping bags. He faded, decomposing his physical form into smoke and slipping away from the camp. He reformed, then became acutely aware of how sweaty his shirt was from his nightmare, relieved himself in some bushes (albeit awkwardly with one hand holding his biotic light source aloft), then made his way to the pond to clean up a bit. 

He dimmed the biotic sphere off as he knelt at the water’s edge, rinsing his hands off. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of biotic light, he stared at the pond in the moonlight for a bit, the waxing gibbous reflected mirror-like on its surface. The whole ‘outdoors’ thing wasn’t so bad, he figured, all things considered. He shook his hands off then brushed a bit of the cold water on his forehead and the back of his neck to try and relieve the greasy, clammy feel of his own sweat, then flinched hard as a dark shape broke the surface of the water. A mass of black. He scrambled back but then two pale hands came out of the water alongside the black lump, and parted it. Aedan made out thick eyebrows, and eyelashes. It was Rei, tucking her dark hair away from her face and smoothing the water from her forehead. She hadn’t noticed him. He got up from the pond’s edge as quietly as he could. Well she wanted privacy last time so--

He moved to walk away and another twig snapped beneath his foot.

“Scheisse—!” she splashed the water around herself with a start and her head jerked toward Aedan, “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry, you just… weren’t in your sleeping bag so…” Aedan trailed off, “You’re trying it again.”

“Yes, I’m trying it again. Go back to sleep,” said Rei, turning away from him.

“I mean, I would, but it’s really not safe, swimming alone at night,” said Aedan.

“Well if I get into trouble, maybe the dragon will help me,” said Rei, “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m—I’m sorry did I say something wrong? Is this some kind of ninja ‘I need to do this alone’ thing or—”

“Aedan I’m skinny-dipping,” Rei said flatly.

“Oh god—” Aedan immediately turned around and Rei just snickered.

“It’s fine, I know you didn’t see anything,” she said.

“Well I have no intention of… seeing anything. I—I didn’t set out with the intention of seeing anything, and I’m just going to continue not seeing anything,” Aedan stammered. He paused for a few seconds, “Can I ask why you’re skinny-dipping?”

“Same as I said earlier: Trying it again,” said Rei, “I guess I thought, ‘Maybe I need to humble myself about it.’ Get more… primal or primordial about it, you know? Maybe the dragon’s seeing me with all these modern trappings and preconceptions of self and it’s not having it, so I should just…” she trailed off, “Admittedly it seemed like a much better idea when I was half-asleep.”

Aedan was quiet, his back still to the pond and her. “Um--I--You told me to go, right?”

“Well... I mean if you’re up and out, anyway...” Rei said, “Just... keep not-looking, I’m getting out.” 

Aedan put a hand over his eyes just to be safe as he heard the soft sloshing of water. “Wait--” Aedan said after a few seconds, “So... it didn’t work?”

“Well I guess... when I see myself in relation to the dragon,” Rei toweled herself off, “Like... in my head, I don’t have clothes--and I guess it was stupid and desperate to think, ‘Oh I should get naked’ rather than the more obvious answer which is...” she grunted as she shimmied into her sweatpants, “The dragon doesn’t see clothes, so it doesn’t even make a difference if I’m naked or not. It’s stupid. I was stupid.” She pulled her ‘Glitchbot Studios LTD’ shirt over her head.

“You’re not stupid,” said Aedan, he snorted. “You’re... probably the bravest person I know.”

“Bravest?” Rei repeated, toweling out her hair.

“Well, I mean, only you would go skinny dipping when literally the only people who could walk in on you for miles around are either your father, your uncle, or me--”

“You?” Rei arched an eyebrow, stepping in front of him and smiling as he still stood there, hand over his eyes.

“You know... me,” said Aedan gestured with his free hand.

Rei tilted her head with some smug expectant expression. The silence from her only made Aedan more nervous.

Aedan could feel his ears burning. “I mean--There’s a thing, right? With us? I’m not crazy? There’s this...thing?”

“‘Connection?’” Rei guessed the word.

“Yes--C-connection,” Aedan nervously ran his free hand through his hair--God, he needed a haircut.

Rei glanced down at the ground beneath her feet and stepped forward tentatively, soundless against soft dirt, no crunching of leaves or snapping of sticks. Aedan’s hand was still over his eyes. She could kiss him now, if she wanted to. She kind of wanted to, but she wasn’t sure how fair that would be to him. If she spoke now that would give away how close she was. She leaned forward slightly, catching her own breath so he wouldn’t feel it on his lips before pulling back and thinking better on it, stepping backwards. Then he started talking again.

“I mean---That’s--that’s not what I’m here to talk about--I mean, granted I didn’t really come out here expecting to talk about anything. But--I guess as long as we’re here... I’m sorry.”

“For what?” said Rei.

“For getting your hopes up,” said Aedan, “It wasn’t fair to you. I just... I guess I wanted it to fix things, too.”

“It’s okay,” said Rei, “I... I know I’ve been angry and bitter this whole time but... It really does mean a lot to me to be spending time out here with you and Dad and Uncle...” she trailed off.

“You can come back, you know,” Aedan said quietly, “I mean, dragon or no, you were always... one of the strongest, most quick-thinking, most capable people I’ve ever met. If you’re not in Overwatch because you don’t think you’re good enough without it---”

“I get it,” said Rei, “I don’t know if I’m ready to do that, but... thank you, Aedan.”

“Also I’m sorry for walking in on you skinny-dipping, I swear I didn’t see anything--”

“Aedan... I’m decent,” said Rei.

Aedan brought his hand away from his eyes and he instantly flinched at how close she was.

“...Oh...” he managed.

“What was that you were saying earlier?” Rei leaned in a little closer, “About a connection?” 

“I---” Aedan swallowed hard, “I--I was kind of rambling. You know me. I ramble.”

“Uh-huh...” said Rei, leaning in.

“I should... probably... learn to shut up... once in a while,” said Aedan, tucking a bit of Rei’s wet hair behind her ear.

“Maybe,” said Rei, her own fingertips brushing along his jaw as her other hand took hold on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, stooping his neck slightly to angle his face towards her more. Stupid O’Deorain height. She pushed up slightly onto her tiptoes, felt his breath against her lips and then...

Rei heard a heard a twig snap. She glanced over Aedan’s shoulder to see  smoke amassing. 

“Rei?” Aedan opened his eyes as he realized he was being left hanging but Rei suddenly seized the front of his shirt and tackled him down to damp soil as a ‘K-CHK’ was heard and the tree right behind where they had just been standing shattered to splinters with shotgun fire.

Rei recovered quickly from the dirt, hauling Aedan up to his feet alongside her.

Standing there in the moonlight was a figure clad in the black, white, and red armor of Talon. The sides of her head were shaved and her remaining long dark hair was tied up in a bun. Her face was covered by glowing red-lensed tactical goggles and a black mask with white skeletal teeth painted on it. 

“Subject Six,” she spoke before cocking the shotgun one-handed. 

[sweetdreamstrilogy]

Chapter 2

The Longest Summer

…was only made longer, wondering what was on the other side of it.

Getting expelled was kind of like dying, only without the funeral and everybody missing you and wishing you’d come back. No one even seemed to notice I was gone. I didn’t hear from Angela or anyone we hung out with and if they wondered where I disappeared to, I never heard about it. I always wanted to blend in, stick to the shadows, but it took getting kicked out to realize just how well I’d done on that front. At least I was good at something.

That first night was the worst, locked in my room that felt smaller than a coffin, listening to my mom and Cliff go round and round. Little fuck up, I told you he wouldn’t make it to the end of the year. Teeth grinding. He’s getting another chance, I know he can do it. Guts twisting. Don’t be an idiot Marla, he’s just gonna fuck up again. That’s what fuck ups do. Round and round and round until I threw on headphones and blasted music loud enough to drown out their voices, and a hundred other voices crowding in my head, asking questions I couldn’t answer. Like, what now? Or, how the fuck am I gonna survive this summer? Without anywhere to go, or anyone to turn to?

At least I didn’t miss Angela. Whatever I felt towards her had popped like a bubble and was gone forever. I only felt stupid for ever thinking I loved her. The place where all the rough sketches of a future with her used to live, all the worry and wondering how to help her, how to save her - it was just an empty grave now, filling in fast with new worries, new fears, new questions.

Like, why the fuck was this happening? It wasn’t getting kicked out that bothered me, that barely even scratched the surface of my attention. But what was waiting at the end of summer…that loomed up like a tidal wave. How could I leave, knowing what Cliff was capable of? How could I stay, knowing my own mom, the only person left on earth I gave a damn about, didn’t even want me around? She’d planned all this, knowing I’d get kicked out eventually, choosing somewhere so far away it might as well be on another planet. I wanted to be surprised, furious, but I just felt gutted, carved out, knowing like I’d known all along - there was nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice for him, not even me.

I didn’t sleep at all that first night, looking for another answer, trying to convince myself that she did this for my own good, to help me achieve my potential or whatever bullshit she fed me earlier. True or not, I couldn’t stay where I wasn’t wanted and that left me with exactly zero options. I could go, or I could go, or I could go. Which meant Cliff was finally getting everything he wanted, free reign over his trashy little kingdom. Now he could say whatever he wanted to her, do whatever he wanted to her and I was just supposed to step aside and let that happen? I ground my teeth around that thought, looking for another way, but there was none.

You can’t save nobody, he had said and maybe that was the one thing we could agree on. There was nothing I could do. I tried, ten years I tried, my first words were probably “let me help you” and my first memories were checking to see if she was still alive in the middle of the night. What good had it ever done? After she kicked the drugs, once, then again, then one more time for good luck, she just replaced them with alcohol, the easy poison, the clever demon lurking in every shadow, always on her heels, already overdue to take another bite out of her. After my dad bought his one-way ticket out of this world, she just found somebody else, and then somebody else, then somebody else until Cliff finally stuck, unmovable, incurable, like a cancer that kills slowly, slowly. But I was always there, I was the one who got her to rehab, I was the one who stopped her from ODing, I was the one who called the cops on her fucking boyfriends. What was she gonna do without me? What was I gonna do without her to look out for?

It hit me with a cold chill - that’s why she wanted me gone. My whole life had been all about her, her problems, her boyfriends, her addictions. A million miles away there’d be nothing for me to do, nothing to think about except…me.

Maybe she thought that would get me back on track, help regrow all the brain cells I’d killed with cigarettes and booze. But she didn’t know what I knew - the damage was already done, stupid Derrick wasn’t gonna suddenly disappear, he was just gonna be on the other side of the world and even more alone than ever.

It must’ve looked like a sweet deal to her though - give Cliff everything he wanted and give me “a chance” in one fell swoop. But did she realize how long a year was? Did she realize the thread connecting us was thin enough that just crossing the street could snap it? Did she even care? Of course not. She had Cliff and I had nobody. Maybe I never did.

Around and around it went, all night, until the sky lightened and the neighbors started screaming at each other, the rooster of the trailer park. I watched the sunrise from the roof, just like the morning before, blowing smoke at the sun and thinking how everything looked the same but everything was changed, shaking my head at the old me who knew nothing at all. I felt strangely calm, light even, kinda like that feeling when you get a buzz just right and for a minute you forget how wrong everything is, how everyone you love is gonna die someday, maybe someday soon. I think it was because I finally let go. I finally decided and when you decide there’s nothing left to do but do it.

TRIGGER WARNING - contemplating suicide in detail

I was so relieved thinking how this was my last stupid day on earth that I didn’t even think about leaving a note until I was already halfway to the tracks. I stopped, thinking about going back. What would I even say? Sorry mom, had to go. No, there was nothing to say, or maybe too much. Either way, it was already too late - they’d be awake by now and I kind of had my heart set on never seeing Cliff’s chew smeared grin again.

There was no train when I got there and I wasn’t sure how long  it would be until it came. If it ran on a schedule, I never noticed but it always showed up eventually. I figured waiting a little longer wasn’t so bad, considering the alternative. Course, the problem with that was it gave me a chance to think.

I sat on the tracks, looking down the line that disappeared around a bend and into the trees. I pulled out a cigarette and smoked, strangely aware of the golden sun, the birds talking to each other in the trees around me, the way the smoke felt so smooth reaching deep in my lungs. It made me think maybe life wasn’t so bad after all, but I clamped down hard on that thought, telling myself it was just survival instinct kicking in, a million years of evolution whispering in my head that no matter how horrible, living is always better than dying, something is always better than nothing.

“Not always.” I said aloud, trying to ignore the perfect day waking up all around me. I crushed my first cigarette and lit another. Might as well finish the pack - survival instinct wasn’t gonna get me this time. All it ever had was questions - why not one more day? what if she still needs you? what if something good is just around the corner? But it never was. There were just a thousand black nights waiting to eat me whole, even though here in the daylight that seemed impossible. That’s why it took all my strength to stay still when the tracks started to hum underneath me.

I tried to stay calm and smoke my cigarette slow, but my heart was beating down the door inside my chest. I reminded myself all the reasons I had to go - there was nothing left for me, nobody in the whole damn world, not even me. I was just a stupid fuck-up, the best I could hope for was a shitty minimum wage job, a shitty apartment, a shitty life-

The train was coming around the bend. My cigarette was down to the filter, burning my fingers but I hardly felt it. It took all I had to stay still. Just a little longer and it’d all be over - empty, black, nothingness…probably. Whatever it was it had to be better than this, right? Survival instinct was in my ear again, why risk it, when death is so final and life is so full of possibility? Probably some bullshit I heard in one of my mom’s AA meetings.

The train’s horn blasted, sending the singing birds into the air like a gust of wind. I watched them go, the moment seem to hang, suspended and spinning in mid-air. Then the horn blasted again and the moment was gone. Could they see me? Would they try to stop? It was too late though, no brakes in the world were that good. All I had to do was keep my nerve and it would all be over soon. I stared down the eye of the train - stay still, stay still.

(possibility)

Stay still, dammit!

From somewhere far away I could feel my muscles shaking with the effort, my fingers burning from gripping the shaking tracks. Just a few more seconds…I’d never let it come this close. My head was going crazy, trying to take control of my body,  trying to reason with me. Possibility, possibility, possibility and then-

TRIGGER WARNING END

Destiny.

It was that word that sent me sprawling back into the grass at the last second, so close that for a minute I thought I was dead and when I realized I wasn’t I started to cry. The train was screaming by me, so loud I couldn’t even hear myself but it wrecked my whole body, a tsunami crashing over the unsuspecting shoreline.

By the time the train was gone I was empty and silent, staring up at the clear blue sky, trees waving in my peripheral vision. The birds were talking again. I could hear my heart beating, feel the sweat cooling, my fingers aching. My mind was empty, for once, except for that strange word that didn’t mean anything to me, not yet. Destiny.

What the fuck does that mean? That was my first coherent thought as I sat up on my elbows, arms still shaking like jello. Destiny was for heroes in fantasy books and I was about as far from a hero as you could get.

God dammit, I was so close, I had my mind made up, one more second and I would’ve been…somewhere else. Something deep inside was glad I wasn’t. The rest of me was miserable, almost panicked, knowing I’d have to try again, knowing I didn’t have the nerve to, knowing but not believing that there was no choice - I was gonna have to get up and trudge through this day and the next and the next. All for some meaningless word that was gonna fade from my mind like a dream.

I smoked another cigarette with shaking fingers and told myself I’d wait for the next train, but I just sat there all morning and most of the afternoon, smoking the rest of my pack, ignoring my growling stomach, listening to the birds and the bugs, watching the sun arc over the sky. When the next train came I just watched it go. All my nerve was used up in that one attempt and God only knew how bad things were gonna have to get before I had the guts to try again. In the meantime there was nothing to do but go home with my head hanging, like some prisoner finally accepting his sentence. I just hoped they wouldn’t notice I was gone so long or ask me why, but of course they didn’t.

When I finally got back, exhausted, stinking like sweat and starving, the trailer was empty. I wasn’t disappointed but I wasn’t glad. I just knew I didn’t want to be there when they came back, so I ate a sandwich so quick it made me feel sick and had the quickest shower of my life. I was out the door again before fifteen minutes had passed, with a fresh pack of cigarettes and a fifth of jack I stole from Cliff’s stash. It was gonna be a warm, clear night and I was gonna spend it alone, under the stars.

I just didn’t expect to spend the whole summer that way.

When I wasn’t working double shifts to save for whatever strange future lay ahead of me, I was out wandering, walking along the tracks, smoking and trying not to think about anything, waiting for the sun to burn down the horizon. The clear nights I spent in the fields, staring into the darkness, the night alive with crickets chirping all around me. More often than not I fell asleep there. Thanks to that, I was hardly ever home, except to change and shower and scarf down whatever food I could find. My mom barely seemed to notice. She never asked me where I went or seemed to care but then again I made it my life’s mission to never be alone in a room with her. We only saw each other in passing and even then there was a distant look in her eyes, like she was already forgetting me.  

The summer dragged on. By the time the forms came, with all their blank lines and checkboxes, I was almost looking forward to leaving, just to put the nightmare to an end. It was like being stuck in a dream, a delirium…and like always, I was in it alone.

Then suddenly, one day, it was over. My flight was booked, my suitcase was packed and my mom was looking at me sadly, saying, “please, just let us drive you. Cliff really wanted to take us all out for a nice dinner, a kind of going-away present-"

"Mom…” I hadn’t expected her to try so hard, since she’d pretty much ignored me all summer. I’d planned on walking and then getting the bus to take me the rest of the way. But my suitcase was heavy and my resolve was shit and I didn’t want to be the reason she was holding back tears. “I, uh, alright, okay. But I gotta be there by seven.”

“Got it.” She said, flashing a smile I hadn’t seen in months and it almost made me smile too.

Then Cliff came around the corner and ruined it all with a snarky grin, saying with a mouthful of chew, “ready to hit the road?"

That’s how I ended up crammed in the backseat of Cliff’s truck, sandwiched between his tools and my suitcase, flying down the highway toward O'hare. I tried to stare out the window, focus on the city coming into view, but all I could see was them holding hands in my periphery. Should’ve walked, I kept thinking, should’ve just hoofed it.

After an endless thirty minutes of Cliff’s country music, he finally pulled off an exit early and parked in front of a little Italian restaurant that was squeezed between a parking garage and the overpass. They got out of the car first and didn’t even look back to see if I was stumbling in after them. I should’ve known then, sensed something was off, but I was thinking about what it was gonna be like to see all this from a thousand feet in the air. Would it feel small? Or would I?

Dinner was excruciating. However long the summer was, this felt ten times longer. I might’ve been a ghost if my mom didn’t keep throwing out a random question here and there, what classes do they have you taking? Do you get a room all to yourself? Cliff seemed to resent every moment the attention wasn’t on him. I wondered why he bothered to bring me at all and by the time I figured it out, it was too late to do anything about it.

"Marla, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you...” One minute we were eating dessert and the next he was on one knee.

The whole restaurant went dead quiet, and I just sat there, dumb and silent, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. The only sound was my mom’s gasp and then I missed the rest because my dinner was burning its way back up my throat and I was pushing through the crowded dining room, out a side door, into a dimly lit alleyway that reeked of trash, where the sound of clapping and whooping followed me until the door crashed shut and I was alone.

For a minute there I just felt everything at once, the urge to scream or cry or punch something, it all came in waves so fast I couldn’t react, so I just stood there with clenched fists, breathing in the rancid air, until the weight of it pushed me to my knees against a greasy wall, thinking, that’s why he brought me, didn’t want me to miss the show, the last twist of the- the thought was cut off by the back door swinging open.

“Derrick?” My mom’s voice. She peered around the door and saw me. In her eyes I saw it all, the elation, the frustration, why can’t you just be happy for me? My eyes dropped like a dead weight to the ring on her finger, a cheap thing he probably got out of a crackerjack box. The sight of it somehow brought me back to myself.

“This is crazy.” I said, rising to my feet. “He’s an alcoholic. He hits you, he talks to you like you’re a fucking dog, he gave me this scar-” I started to lift my hair to show her but I could see she didn’t care, she already knew all that. My voice came out thin. “You can’t marry him."

"I know you don’t believe it, but things are different now-"

Here we were, running our lines again, once more with feeling.

"No, they’re not and they’re never gonna be. You’re supposed to put down dogs that bite, not marry them-"

"Derrick…” She was giving up on me, shaking her head. “You’ll understand when you love somebody."

"That isn’t love!” My voice echoed in the alleyway. I felt suddenly raw, bottomed out. “Mom, please…don’t do this."

She just looked at me with weary apology. She couldn’t help it and I couldn’t save her. "Please, just come back inside.” And when I didn’t respond, she went back the way she came.

For a moment I couldn’t move, just stood there in the rank alleyway, listening to the traffic from the street and the sounds drifting out of the kitchen. I thought of going back inside, making amends, tucking my head just to get through the evening. Then I thought of Cliff’s smug, smiling face. My guts twisted and I knew what I had do.

His truck was unlocked, thankfully and I wrestled my suitcase from the backseat and onto the ground. The money I’d earned over the summer paid for a taxi to the airport. As I watched the buildings whir passed my vision, I tried not to think about anything, not Cliff and his stupid plan to gut me one last time, not my mom and how she might not even notice I was gone, not the flight and all the hours I had ahead of me to think of all the things I didn’t want to think about.

The taxi stopped in front of departures and I stepped out onto the curb, into my new life. For a minute I just stood there on the sidewalk, surrounded by cars leaving and arriving, people coming and going, doors opening and closing. I didn’t know where to go, what to do. I’d never been on a plane before. I’d never even left Chicago.

I did the only thing I could do - started forward blindly, my suitcase groaning with a loose wheel behind me. Then the confusion of the airport swept me up for awhile - the lines and rules, elevators and escalators, everyone rushing around me or else bored, waiting for nothing. I didn’t even realize it was over until I was in my seat, face tight from nicotine deprivation, staring down at the tarmac, mind finally quiet enough to wonder if my mom was on her way home already. If she called I’d never know, I’d turned my phone off -  indefinitely. There was no one to talk to anyway. I was alone, for real, for good. The feeling was strange but not that unfamiliar and it subsided when a stranger took a seat next to me.

I squeezed up next to the window and put my headphones in. I only had the one CD, an old mixtape I made for Angela that she never listened to, but it was gonna have to last me all night. It was strange to think that in the morning - or would it be evening when I got there? The time difference didn’t make sense to me at all - everything would be different, as if it weren’t already. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it - even though I knew what the Academy looked like and had a rough idea of what I’d be doing there, thanks to all the brochures and pamphlets, the future was just a blank white slate. Anything could happen, I just couldn’t imagine what. Every time I tried to imagine myself there, pressed suit, slicked back hair, it just looked like somebody photoshopped me into the picture. I just didn’t belong, I probably never would-

These thoughts were interrupted by a flight attendant’s speech and then the part I’d been waiting for - take off. Since I’d never been on a plane before, I wasn’t sure what to expect but it was strangely exhilarating, the weightless feeling as the wheels rose up above the ground, seemingly against all odds. The ground got smaller and smaller and smaller until I could see everything; Chicago lit up in a grid of gold, Lake Michigan a black silhouette hugging its edges. I wondered if one of those little brake lights was Cliff, stuck in traffic. I hoped it was. I hoped they were already forgetting me, cause God knew I was gonna try to forget them.

The rest of the flight went quickly. I stared out the window, watching the lights get further and farther between, until we were too high to see anything but clouds. I thought it’d be hard to fall asleep but somehow I must’ve, because half a dozen hours passed without me knowing and when I opened my eyes again, the sun was rising over the ocean. I kept thinking I should feel worse, scared or worried or something, but I just felt calm. Maybe it was because, for the moment anyway, I was in-between worlds. What was behind me was behind me and what was ahead of me was unknown. And that small voice that saved me from the train-tracks was still whispering about destiny, somewhere in the back of my mind.

I don’t know what time it was when we landed, but all of a sudden we were below the clouds and sweeping over a city. It didn’t look all that different from Chicago, really, smaller maybe with a lot less skyscrapers and no Great Lake but it was still just a regular city. That comforted me somehow, knowing I wasn’t going somewhere all that foreign. Then we hit the runway and it started to sink in - I was here, it was happening, something, I didn’t know what. Suddenly the flight attendant was talking again and everyone was getting up around me, struggling with their bags, waddling down the aisle. I was one of the last to go, some invisible weight holding me to my seat. Maybe I could just wait for the next flight, spend the rest of my life above the clouds, yeah, that seemed like a good idea-

“Sir?” The flight attendant was looking at me curiously.

“Yeah, sorry."

The airport wasn’t all that different either, just smaller. First thing first, I smoked two cigarettes in a row just to feel somewhat normal again. Then I realized how hungry I was and grabbed a sandwich from one of the airport shops, counting out my money and wondering just how long it was gonna last me. It wasn’t until I got to the counter that I realized it wasn’t the kind of money they wanted and then I had to go and find someone to exchange it. By the time that was over I was starved and pretty sure I was supposed to be on a train to somewhere else, but I couldn’t think straight, seeing as a whole new life had started without me. I went back for the sandwich and resolved to figure it all out after. That’s how I ended up missing the first train.  

The second I missed because I couldn’t decide if this was really happening or not. It just seemed easier to wait around in the airport, holding onto that last bit of freedom, that last chance to change my fate forever and do something - anything - else. I took a chance and ordered a beer at a little pub tucked between a McDonalds and KFC, and by some miracle they gave it to me. By the time I had a good buzz going, the third train had come and gone and I was too happy to care. I was free - for the first time in my life - I was free. I could go anywhere, do anything. I had enough money saved up to take the train just about anywhere and when I got there - wherever it was I going - I could just find some job bussing tables again, make enough to rent a room. Even a bed in a hostel would be enough for me. I could work my way across the world, visit places I’d never heard of, see things no poor kid from Chicago has any right to see. Yeah, this was my chance, I was gonna go my own way, make my own path, let fate lead me-

"Derrick? Derrick Woods?"

I was drowning my fourth beer when I heard my name out of nowhere. My stomach plummeted. Was it all a dream? Was I about to wake up? Still on the plane, or worse, still in Chicago? I jerked my head around to see where the sound was coming from and saw a compact, official-looking boy wearing a suit and glasses, yelling my name at passersby like some bizarre foreign greeting. Almost out of surprise, I answered,

"Yeah?"

He turned to me with the look of someone lost in the desert who just found water. But when he saw me his expression went sour and got worse with every step he marched in my direction, repeating,

"Derrick? Derrick Woods?”

“Yeah…” I said, and drained the last of my beer. Something told me this kid was about to ruin my day.

“You know you were expected at the Academy three hours ago?”

I shrugged vaguely. “Missed the train."

"You know there are other trains…coaches…” He was looking at me like he was trying to figure out if I was mentally challenged or not. He sighed, bristling and giving up. “It’s of no matter now, come with me.” He started away and then turned back when I didn’t follow. “Quickly, or you’ll miss another train!"

I hesitated, not sure how to explain that my plans had changed and I was just gonna wander the world now. He came up and tugged on my leather jacket, that’s about when he realized I’d been drinking.

"Oh dear, no, you cannot be old enough to drink-"

The bartender cleaning glasses looked up suspiciously so I had not choice but to slap a shiny, new foreign bill on the bar and follow the stranger tugging on me. When we were out of earshot, I slowed, bringing him to a stop beside me.

"I-I’m not going.” That was all I could get out with the cloud over my brain.

“What? Why not?"

"I changed my mind, I’m gonna-” I waved my hand vaguely toward the airport exit. “Travel the world."

"Are you mad?” And then to himself. “Did they send me a lune?” He tugged on my jacket again. “Enough nonsense, we have to get going.” When I didn’t budge, he continued. “You can’t be serious."

"It’s my best bet.” I said, mostly to myself but he turned to me seriously.

“No, it’s not. You’re a minor in a foreign country. What will you do for money? Where will you live? You’ll need a work visa, proper documentation. You can’t just loiter in foreign countries like some- some vagabond.” I knew this kid was going to ruin my day. “Now come with me, they’re expecting us."

I had no choice but to follow sullenly, wondering who the hell ”they" were. My suitcase struggled along with me, like an old, sympathetic friend.

“I’m William, by the way. William Dorsey the Third.” Of course that was his name. “Here we are. Just stay put and I’ll get the tickets.”

I thought about walking off when he turned his back. His tirad broke my spirit though and all that was left was a dull feeling of dread, growing stronger as my buzz faded. I was gonna be trapped again, stuffed into a uniform like his, miserable and alone, until they finally realized I didn’t belong and kicked me out just like at McKinley. I looked around for some escape, a sign, a miracle but then he was back with the tickets and all I could do was follow him onto the platform.

“I’m head of our house this year.” He said, as we found our seats on the train.

“What is that, like hall monitor?"

"Hall monitor? Is that American slang or something?"

"No, it’s…” I didn’t have the energy to explain. “Nevermind. Doesn’t matter."   

The train pulled away from the station and suddenly it was too late to do anything but watch as the foreign sights passed before my eyes, quicker and quicker.

"Well, in any case, I suppose I should acquaint you with the rules considering we have nothing but time,” he went on. I sighed and kept staring out the window like I hadn’t heard him. “They’re fairly standard, for boarding school…you have been to boarding school before, haven’t you?"

"Oh yeah, tons of times.” I rolled my eyes out the window.

“Oh good.” He said, nestling into the seat across from me with a satisfied look. “Hold on, do I detect a note of a sarcasm?"

I grunted, something between a laugh and assent.

"Was that a yes?” He squinted at me from behind square glasses. “You know, we’re going to have to learn to communicate eventually. We’re to share a room, after all."

"Us?"

"Yes…” He said, examining my face like I might be slow, then muttering to himself, “Although, perhaps that can be rearranged…no, no, it’s too late. Nothing to be done about it.” He raised his eyes back to me. “Rooming with an experienced boarder should prove helpful. And I’m sure I can count on you to return the favor and be a courteous housemate.”

“I can try.” I sighed, trying to picture spending the next year trapped in a room with this guy. Maybe he’d rub off on me and I’d come home with a tie and a British accent, or maybe I’d rub off on him - no, that didn’t seem likely. Picturing him in a leather jacket was about as ridiculous as me with straight A’s and a stack of books under my arm.

“…just be certain to read the rules very closely,” He was still going on. “Keep up with your studies, our house has the highest marks of anyone and we want to keep it that way."

I nodded, not really listening, trying to figure out when would be a good time to jump off the train. This wasn’t going to work, that much was obvious. My first instinct was right, I should’ve just stayed at the airport, drinking until I ran out of money or dropped dead, whichever came first. What the hell was my mom thinking, sending me to this place? What was I thinking, actually going? I was just a stupid nobody, worse than a dropout, only good at one thing and that was getting myself kicked out - out of school and out of my life. Now I was stuck on a train with this kid who was nice enough but sure to turn on me before long, barrelling toward another failure, another disappointment, another trap I was gonna have to-

"Hello?” William was waving a hand in front of my face. “Are you alright?"

"Huh…yeah."

"I know rules can be dull but I thought I’d lost you there for a moment."

"I think I should get off-” I said, starting to stand.

“Are you ill? We’re nearly there."

I sat back down. "We are?"

"Yes, but the toilet is just down there if you need it."

"No, it’s okay."

"You look quite pale."

"It’s normal."

"Well, you won’t be getting a tan anytime soon. England is quite rainy. Gloomy and gray, even, at times."

That much I knew. I looked back out the window, but it was all dark now, just shadowy shapes of the forest and countryside barely illuminated by a half-moon. How the hell did I get here?

"It’s quite normal you know,” William went on, wearing an almost sympathetic expression. “To feel…well…out of sorts. I was gobsmacked my first year away from home. It passes…eventually."

"Yeah."

"But you’re much better off, see.” He continued, seeing his encouragement hadn’t taken hold. “I was just an 8 year-old prat and you’ll be the cool American boy.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Really?"

"Oh, surely. Everyone loves a foreign accent.” He said, with just a hint of resentment. “The girls especially."

"Oh, goodie."

"Sarcasm again?” He raised an eyebrow. “Or are girls not your…preference? No judgements of course, only asking-"

"No,” I laughed. “It’s not that, just…taking a break from relationships right now."

"Ah, heart on the mend?"

Was there ever a time it wasn’t? "You could say that."

"Well, the Academy will be a good distraction, then. Plenty to do.” When I didn’t answer, he went on. “Truly, it’s not so bad. You’ll see."

"I’ll take your word for it.” I forced the slightest grin. “Thanks."

He nodded, satisfied that his work was done and his charge wouldn’t be jumping off the train at the next stop. I still wasn’t so sure, though. But I was too late as usual, the next stop was ours and we emerged into the night, one upstanding student and his weird, foreign roommate with the squeaky suitcase following after him.

"It’s not usually so deserted.” He said, motioning at the empty platform. “But we are quite late.” He sniffed and went ahead of me. “The car is just over here. Not mine, of course, we’re not allowed. The school lent it to me for this errand especially."

"Good to know.” I muttered, following him to a black car parked along the road and trying to light a cigarette at the same time.

“Must you?” William said, waving the smoke away from him. I nodded, cigarette puffing between my lips.

“I must."

"Not in the car, you won’t.” He said, opening the trunk. He took my suitcase from me and hefted it in somewhat easily. “That was lighter than it looked."

"Yeah, don’t have much.” I said, exhaling smoke toward the sky.

“Always best to pack on the light side, I find. Hurry now, it’s getting chilly.” He rubbed his arms.

“Alright, alright.” I put my cigarette out barely half smoked and went for the car door.

“Oh no, you’re not driving!"

I looked down at the passenger’s side to see the steering wheel and gearshift. "Just getting the door for you.” He went past me with a sniff and sat down. I went around and got in on the other side.

“You didn’t realize this was the driver’s side, did you?” William said as he started the car, with the air of someone solving a mystery.

“You got me."

"Ah, see we are starting to communicate.” And with that remark we were off, winding by the light of two headlights and a half moon through green hills, along tree lined roads, passed a sleeping cobblestoned village, the only lights coming from houses nestled in the distance. William was going on about the town, something about its history, but I could barely hear him - I was too busy thinking about how Angela must be passed out at some party right now, and my mom was probably celebrating with Cliff and here I was in another dimension. Then suddenly we were turning and passing under an arched gateway that read The Academy in wrought-iron letters.

“Here we are.” William was saying, following the tree-lined driveway up to what could only be the Academy itself. It was just like the brochures, only now it was real and towered three-stories over me in pale stone, sprawling to the left and right so far I almost couldn’t see where it ended.

“Wow,” I sighed. Yeah, this place was gonna spit me out the second I walked inside. Maybe I should just fuck off right now, steal the car-

“Coming?” William knocked on my window, already out of the car, my suitcase in hand. I pushed the door open. “We have to leave the car here and walk, but it’s not terribly far. The tour will have to wait until tomorrow, seeing as it’s dark now.”  

I didn’t miss the note of resentment, like it was my fault it was so late, which I guess it was. I was already ruining things and it wasn’t even my first day yet…but there was no choice now. Maybe I could sneak away in the night, I thought as I followed him. I should just go and live in the woods, at least there was nothing there to remind me what a fuck up I was…and always would be.

“…Bright House just there.” William was saying. “And this up ahead, is Beckett, our house.” He motioned toward a miniature of the Academy, backdropped by the dark forest. I followed him up a manicured lawn, lined with neatly planted flowers. “The boys are probably off at dinner by now,” He said as he pushed through the door into the quiet house. “Or nipped down to the pub more likely, but you’ll meet them before long. If you hurry we might catch the tail end or you could make supper here, I suppose,” He motioned vaguely toward the kitchen as we passed by it. “But no one ever does, so I’m not sure what you’ll find in the cupboards."

"It’s ok, not hungry.” I muttered, following him up the stairs.

“Well, I’m famished,” he said, pushing through a door that could only lead to our room. “Here it is.” He waved to the room as he flicked on a light. Two beds, two nightstands, two dressers and two desks, mirroring each other on opposite sides of the room. “Your bed, there.” He nodded toward the bed with nothing on it. His was stacked neatly with clothes, as though he’d been about to put them away and then been called away on some errand. His desk had books piled high and mine had nothing, and still wouldn’t even when I unpacked. “You sure you don’t want to come? You’ll need to change into your uniform first, but I can wait. The toilet is just there.” He nodded toward a door on my side of the room.

“It’s ok, you go ahead.” I think I’ll eat a cigarette for dinner.

“Well, you get unpacked and perhaps I’ll bring you back something to eat?"

"Sure, thanks.” I wasn’t sure what I’d done to garner the pity of this kid but I was sure it wouldn’t last long. Still, it was nice to have someone be friendly, even if I didn’t deserve it.

When he was gone I stared around the room like an idiot, trying to figure out what to do. It was hard to move at all, felt like somebody filled me in with lead. Finally I pushed myself to my feet and wandered in a little circle, opening empty drawers. I threw my suitcase open and dumped my clothes into the dresser, which took up all of one drawer. I threw my phone and walkman in the nightstand. I thought about checking to see if I had any missed calls, but I couldn’t stand to look, to find out no one cared at all. So I crept through the silent house instead, wandered out a back door and smoked two cigarettes in a row, staring up at the moon. At least one thing hadn’t changed. I stared into the dark forest, wondering where it led, thinking about wandering into it but then I heard laughing and realized they must be coming back, so I snuck up to my room before anyone could see me. I wasn’t ready to meet anybody, to see the looks on their faces when they realized what I already knew - I didn’t belong here.

William came back sometime later, but I pretended to be asleep and he was quiet as a mouse as he finished unpacking and went to bed himself. When he started to snore I turned over and stared up at the ceiling. The moonlight was coming in through the window, so I could see the little cracks in the ceiling, forming strange pictures in my head like looking up at the clouds. I didn’t feel tired, just empty…but still heavy somehow, knowing how all this was gonna play out, knowing the only way out was through. But, just like with everything in my life, there was nothing I could do about it. I was stuck watching the wreck happen from behind glass, could scream and yell and try to stop it but it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. So I just listened to the strange house settle, wishing for sleep, waiting for the pieces to start falling.

Tag List:

@danielleslayer @thel3tterm @literate-libby @thewriteblrarchives @writeblrconnections @lottieiswriting

[bruno-in-barovia]

Session Two

Before I get into what happened in the basement, I should note that by the time we got to the stairwell down, most of us had found some kind of armor or clothing. I managed to get my hands on a full set of plate armor, which chafed a bit since I had nothing underneath but was way better than nothing. I felt a lot more prepared for whatever we would find once I had that comforting weight on me.

Anyway, we headed downstairs and started exploring this really grim catacomb beneath the house. There were cots and some other necessities in this one sparse-looking living space. We could hear faint chanting coming from deeper in the basement. I realized what we were most likely going to find there, and the notion had me on edge.

Zazear kept running ahead to explore, so Elliott volunteered to keep him in check. Opal and Lith stuck with me for the time being, and so our group split in two to keep exploring.

The three of us found a section of the basement that was more of a mausoleum, with four coffins, each labeled with the name of a member of the family that had lived here. We went upstairs to get the bones of the two kids, Rose and Thorn, and we laid them to rest. Their ghosts faded away once the coffin lids were closed. Two tallies resolved, praise Athros.

We rejoined Elliott just as Zazear came rushing back from where he had apparently been scouting the next room. His fur was all puffed out, and he announced in a furious whisper, “There’s somebody in the well!”

Naturally, we had to see for ourselves. We huddled around the edge of the well and peered in all together, and sure enough, there was a HUGE man standing in it. He and Elliott exchanged a greeting, and he seemed decent enough, so we did our best to pull him up and he managed to get over the lip of the well with our help.

He introduced himself as Haku. We all had to take a minute to take in the sight of him. He’s over seven feet tall, with bulging muscles, literally bulging, I don’t know how his skin holds it all in. Lith seemed into it. I’m not sure what that’s about.

Haku said he was looking for his brother, which is how he entered the house in the first place. Elliott got his jaw off of the floor enough to make a comment on his size—rude, Elliott, I thought you were some kind of gentleman—and Haku seemed taken aback. He gave himself a good look over, and he had no explanation for it. Apparently he only remembers being a normal sized human prior to finding himself in the well. I’m not sure what to make of that, but it reeks of dark magic. I’ll have to keep an eye on him, no matter how friendly he is.

The six of us moved on together, since Haku reasoned we were his best bet at finding his brother. We opened one door and got pounced on by a grick, so that was exciting. Lith torched it, but it got some good licks in on us before that. The next enemy was a lot worse. We somehow stumbled into a handful of ghouls and had to fight them off. That was not fun. Even with the armor, I got bit pretty bad, but thankfully Opal was ready to heal me up.

We found some chests in another living area, and there wasn’t much in them but we each took something. This place is as good as abandoned. I found a few moss agates and tucked them away for safekeeping. You never know what will come in handy when you’re stuck in unfamiliar lands and have nothing to barter with.

The next couple of rooms had some unsettling stuff in them. There was some kind of statue of a man labeled “Our Dread Lord Strahd” in one. Even if it weren’t for the skeletons chained to the walls all around it, calling somebody a “dread lord” is never a good sign. By that point I was pretty sure there was some bad necromantic juju going on in this house. And all throughout this, the chanting continued in the distant lower levels.

The statue of the dread lord guy was holding this orb thing when we first walked in. Opal started examining it right away, and then she took it down and held it. She made a face after a second and then suddenly rushed out of the room to where the others were exploring down the hall. I heard Lith’s voice and then Opal came back in without the orb. She said that she couldn’t use the orb but a sorcerer like Lith could. Elliott and Opal and I kept investigating that room for a while longer, but we didn’t find anything interesting. Then the yelling started from the others down the hall.

Our group came running, of course. What we found was... yikes. So Lith, Zazear, and Haku were in this tiny room that had a headless corpse on the floor and a headed one standing up, talking to them. She was horrible. She kept moving and talking all weird, I don’t know how to describe it, manic and syrupy and snarling in turns. Obviously I cast a sacred flame as soon as I saw her. For as freaked out as we all were, it was a relief that that thing went down as easy as it did. I burned both bodies while the others explained what had gone down before our trio rejoined them.

The undead woman was the lady of this house--the mother of those two kids, who she had locked away to die months earlier. Gods, it’s sickening. The other corpse was her husband, and he had been hanging from the ceiling when they first walked in. Then Lith had disturbed a painting on the wall and she had climbed out of it. Zazear showed us the note he had found in the husband’s pocket. Apparently he’d noticed his wife becoming... whatever she was now, and felt like he might go the same way and harm his children. Um. I have some thoughts on that logic. But yeah. So that was the last of this family, except for the missing baby that Angela was talking about earlier. Walter.

At this point, we’d been on the move for over a day without food, but we were so close to the source of the chanting. It was coming from down another flight of stairs. It took some arguing, but we resolved to scout out the next section of the basement and come back to rest if there wasn’t anything progressing. We wouldn’t be any good to the baby (who at this point I had doubts was still alive, given that the rest of the household apparently died months ago) in our current state.

The first room at the bottom of the stairs had relics all around the niches in the walls. Opal said they were fakes, but Lith didn’t believe her. She took a couple of bone daggers anyway. We looked around a bit more, and didn’t find much aside from a small dungeon (everything in it was long dead) and then a water entry of some kind with a portcullis. The chanting was coming from beyond it, but we couldn’t see anyone. The words were clear by now: “He is the Ancient, he is the Land,” over and over.

Nothing seemed to be changing, and we were all hungry and tired. Elliott didn’t want to wait before going through the portcullis and facing the (definitely necromancers). I half agreed with him, because necromancy really shouldn’t be left to its own devices any longer than necessary, but also, we weren’t at our best necromancer-fighting shape at the moment. He was outvoted, and we went back to the previous section to rest a bit.

We still hadn’t found anything by way of food, and by this point it had been more than a day and a half since we got stranded. Luckily Elliott thought to examine that grick we’d killed earlier, and trailman that he is, decided it was worth trying. Lith finished cooking it, and Elliott used a little bard magic to make it taste better. The dog he picked up, Lancelot, was perkier after getting something to eat. I’m not sure how that little guy survived for the last few months without food or water.

After sleeping, we returned to that water entry. Haku lifted up the portcullis—I guess the whole unnaturally-large muscles thing is handy—and we stepped into this big watery chamber with a stone altar on a dais in the center and a path running around the edges of the room.

It was empty at first, but then this circle of floating cloaked figures faded into view around the room. The chanting changed and became louder, insistent. “One must die. One must die. One must die.”

We stood there looking at each other. Lith made the first move, pointing at Lancelot in Elliott’s arms. “Give them the dog!” Elliott refused. Opal and Zazear seemed to agree with Lith. I was petrified. One the one hand, who knew what would happen if we didn’t do something, and it was awfully convenient that we happened to have one living thing with us that wasn’t a party member. On the other, that felt gross to even consider. And my deity wouldn’t look kindly on me for participating in a necromantic ritual as self preservation. Haku seemed a little lost, his gaze darting around the room frantically. Lith tried to take Lancelot from Elliott, and they started a tugging match. We were all arguing, shouting over each other, all while the chanting got louder and louder around us.

Haku let out this wild yell, and he charged at the altar, bringing an axe he’d grabbed earlier down on the stone with so much force that it cracked in two. I’m not sure if it was his actions or if we had just run out of time, but the chanting stopped. All the ghost cultists called out, “The end comes! Death be praised!” and faded away.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then this mound of something began to move at the other end of the chamber. As it rose above the water line, we could make out the shapes of bones and things in it. Oh gods.

We spread out around the room to fight it. At one point, it lashed out at Elliott and enveloped him. His face would poke out of the mess every once in a while and he’d try to tell us something before getting sucked back under.

Finally, the monstrosity burst apart under our attacks, leaving behind an exhausted Elliott... and a crying baby? I’m retching a little just recalling it’s face. It was crying black tears. It was obviously undead, but Opal insisted on magically checking to be sure. Yep. I started forward to burn it, and Lith and Opal stopped me, pointing out that we knew where its resting place would be. So we all headed upstairs to put the baby to rest in the crib from earlier.

As soon as the body touched the crib bottom, it faded away. There was a rumbling around us, and the house started to fall apart. We all rushed down the stairs and made it out the door just before the whole building collapsed behind us. Everything that we had picked up from the middle levels of the house—mostly armor and weapons—started to rust and disintegrated off of our bodies as we ran. Zazear and Lith were the only ones who had taken or made makeshift clothing from the decrepit upper level and the basement, so the rest of us were down to our underwear again.

In the ruins of the house, the shapes of Rose and Thorn flickered, mouthing their cries for help from earlier. But... hadn’t we put the ghosts to rest? They shifted into another person’s shape then, and then another, flickering so fast it was hard to distinguish the different people. One lingered a little longer than the rest, causing Haku to make a sharp noise in reaction. It was his brother’s shape. The visions disappeared for good once they had all been cycled through.

The house must have been drawing people in for years like a sick people-trapping death... trap. Poor Haku. He says that his brother can’t be dead, and he’s sticking with us to keep looking. It’s sad to see someone that deep in denial. 

There was a man not far from the house who we ran into after this. He introduced himself as Vasili and gave us some of his supplies, as well as directions to the closest village, Barovia, which we learned is also the name of this whole valley. We’re getting our bearings now. Who knows what we’ll find in Barovia. If this house was any sort of a sign for what’s ahead, I think I’m going to need new armor.

[lokisbuttxrknife]

Jonathan Pine - The Catch - Part 1/2

"Bloody hell he's gone !" I shouted to my partner, Jonathan, from the huge terasse of our room.

I heard him running to me, quickly taking the binoculars I had in my hands before observing the empty appartment that faced ours.

"Damn it" he sweared before getting back into our hostel room, grabbing his coat and giving me mine so I would get dressed quickly.

Robert Hanword, the most dangerous drug dealer alive, who had comited the worst crimes. Anything that you would thought as a nightmare, he would make it a reality, torturing, killing, rapping, selling people as slaves with cold blood. Recently, his new hobby had been to sell weapons to extremes terrorists groups, making the governments go crazy. Dragging him down became one of their priority and so they decided to send the most qualified agents they had for this mission : Jonathan and I.

I had been keeping an eye on our target ever since we arrived at this luxurious hostel in the mountains, and after nights of insomnia scruiting every of his moves I had let my guard down and couldn't helped it but fell asleep. And now I was hating myself for it, feeling so guilty and stupid. What a shame that an agent who had such a reputation as mine lost her target because she felt asleep for an hour ! I looked up to Jonathan who was taking the key of the room, their jingle drawing me from my thoughts.

"Come on Grace, we gotta catch him" he said.

I hurried and soon we were outside, running accross the streets until Jonathan decided that we should separate, to be more efficient and eventually find the man we were looking for. Yet I was disagreeing on that point, feeling like if we separate we would be more vulnerable, which in our situation was dangerous. Something was wrong, I knew it.

"Jonathan, I don't think this is the right thing to do" I started.

"Grace we got no time to argue on that". He shaked my shoulders, his eyes giving anxious looks once every two seconds around us. "One of the most dangerous man is god knows where doing god knows what and nobody know about that except us ! This is what we have been recruited for, we can not fail !"

He took a little black box with a blue button and a red bulb in the middle before putting it into my hands.

"Take this, he said, I got the same. The first who finds Honward gives the alert to the other thanks to this button, right ?"

I nodded.

"It will send our location to our phones, so the other will be able to join the other." He frowned. "You got your phone with you, right ?"

"Of course I do, that's the 101 thing for an agent you fool" I replied giving him a smirk.

He let a quick laugh get out of hsi mouth before taking me briefly into his arms. Even though I was surprised at first, I returned him the hug, smelling his woody fragrance through his shirt. We separated and right before we go in opposite directions to track our man, he looked at me with his sparkling blue eyes, giving me a concerned look.

"Stay safe" he said.

"It will be fine" I replied. "See you in a hurry, Pine" I said before started to run through the dark streets of Geneve.

I could feel Jonathan's stare behind my back until I turned to a corner leading to an alley which was a bit far from the center of the town, which made me overthink. I could not deny, Jonathan was definitely attractive. His blues eyes changing to green depending on the lightning, his sharp jaw line, his smile in front if which any girl could faint, his british humour, his tailored shirt that were fitting him oh so well, letting his muscles show a bit through the fabric... I smiled thinking about the way he was looking at me an hugging me a few minutes ago, as if it was the last time he would see me. Those last days, he had been acting much closer to me than during the past, and was even kind of flirty sometimes. Did he actually cared more about me than what he was supposed to ?

I shaked my head to get him out of my mind. I was not allowed to think about him that way, there were too many risks in this job. This would put both of us in danger, I knew that, as if some people found out there was something going on between us, which was not the case, it would give them an opportunity to put some pressure on the other by capturing one.

While I was walking quietly, I realized both of my co-worker and I were not armed, which was not the best thing to do when you were hunting a man who could kill you with a butcher knife within two seconds. I passed one hand through my hair, as I was usually doing when I was nervous. Something did not make sense in this story. If Hanword did not knew we were watching him, the why did he mysteriously disappeared right when you were asleep ? Why didn't he left when you were secretly spying him ?

Deep down, even though I was was oh so scared to admit it, I knew all of this was anything but a coincidence. I had to face the truth : I did not know how did he managed to, but Honward found out you were after him. That man was sly, after all, and he probably even had moles inside British Intelligence. Jonathan and I were alone in that, we could not really know who to trust, except our chief and recruiter Angela Burr, who's rage and will of revenge over Honward was keeping her alive after he killed her husband. But this was another story, and I had no time to think about it. I needed to focus on what I was looking for and stay on my guard.

Crossing the street I was in, whose lamps were  les lampadaires were vibrating,  making me feel like I was in those kind of old and clichés horror movies, I saw some light coming through an old hangar. I marched along the walls of the old kind of fabric, trying to be as discreet as possible, silently thanking my unconditionnal love for dark clothes, which made me barely noticeable in the darkness of the night.

I entered the building, slowly taking my Swiss knife out of my pocket. I stappled to it as if it was my only way to survive this night. I knew that tracking Honward was a proof of unconsciousness, especially knowing that Jonathan and I were on our own, and that if anything would turn wrong, we would have no way to ask for reinforcements.

I went from one wall to the other before finding myself in front of a metallic staircase. As I approached the stairs, I began to hear voices. His voice. I could have recognized it in front of thousands thanks to all those night I spent listening to his phone conversations we were wiretapping. He was not alone. As far as I could hear, there were two other manly voices there, probably some other dealers he was making business with, I thought.

Suddendly, I saw the light from the ground floor lit, while I heard footsteps coming my way. I went all the way down the stairs as fast as I could, frenetically looking around me while I could feel the panic growing inside me. I noticed some kind of ramschakle archieves library I hid myself behind. I saw the two mens stopping, looking around them to check if everything was in order, silently praying for them not to come over me. The two men went upstairs a few moments later, leaving me in the dark again. I uttered a sigh of relief, putting aside all the tension I had felt during those last minutes.

I went out of my hideout while taking the little black box Jonathan gave me thirty minutes before. I was hesitating in front of that button, asking myself if I should get him involved in that or not. Of course, this  was his job and he was a brilliant agent, that was not the problem. I just did not knew if I wanted him to risk his life to solve a problem that I caused. I knew our chances to make it out alive were not really likely, especially since we did not have any proper weapon. Yet I knew only one of us would not be strong enough on his own to bring Honward and his men down. And he was our priority. The safety of our world was our priority.

Before I would change my mind, I grabbed the little balck box tightly while pressing hard the blue button. A little red light lit on the side, letting me know the informations had been send to my partner.

"Right" I thought. "All I have to do is to explore the ground floor to find a better hideout and then think about a strategy to take that bastard of Honward by surprise, while waiting for Jonathan to show up. I got this"

I went a bit further into the ground floor, waiting for my eyes to adapt to the darkness of the great hall I was in. A heap of huge wooden boxes down the hall caught my attention.

"Boody hell" I thought. "If this is what I'm thinking, we are in deeper troubles than I thought we were"

I opened one of the boxes, putting my hand in front of my mouth as a reflex of despair when I saw what was in there. Guns, bombs, missiles... The people Honward was talking to are probably far from being simple drug dealers. I had to get used to it : the people who were in there were terrorists, men trained for war and torture, who can kill a man without getting any troubles to sleep, as if it was no more than a kind of routine. I was stepping back from the boxes until I tapped against something. The moment it took me to realise it was in fact a man and not a wall, I was hit hard by a iron bar before it all became black around me...

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Hello everyone ! Right, so this is my first OS about Jonathan Pine, hope you'll like this. I know he's not really present in this first part of the story but I promise in the second part it will be ALL ABOUT HIM ! But I wanted to create an ambiant and to get everyone familiar with Garce Dwincher, the main character. Don't hesitate to comment, feed back are really appreciated ! And let me know if you got any OS requests, I'll take it ! Xx

[blessyourheartdharps]

Fried Dough and Half Truths || Dani&Rachel

Who: Dani Harper & Rachel Berry @broadwayberryforever

When: Thursday, 7/26/18 - after 9 am

Where: Rachel’s Hotel Room

What: Dani and Rachel catch up over beignets

Notes: there’s a lot of implied things (depression, abuse, etc), mentions of alcohol/drinking

Dani was more playing with the beignet in her hand than actually eating it. In truth, she'd barely touched most of her food, having forgotten how much effort eating breakfast was when she was tired. Pulling apart the fried dough she stuffed a piece in her mouth, hoping the conversation that was coming was going to be less draining than the one she had with Santana the day before. "So, you want answers, yeah?"

Rachel looked up from her own beignet--her second--and the knife she was using to spread a generous layer of strawberry jam across to top of it. She rolled her lips over her teeth, Dani's phrasing reminding her of the truth she still owed several people, then nodded. "Yes." She put her knife aside, then tore a chunk of her own beignet. "Starting with why you left."

Dani nodded a bit, sighing. She'd been expecting this, so why was it always hard? It's not like she was having to talk about Angela, like she had with Santana. "I took Santana breaking up with me harder than I thought I would. Something about it made me realize I'd lost myself. It made me mad, that I'd gotten so bent out of shape over something like that. I'd never been that girl. So, I decided to head south. I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want people trying to talk me out of it. It's why I changed my number, it's why I abandoned my social media, all of it. I just needed to get away. I needed to slow down and being down south, being out in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere, I got what I wanted." She shrugged, tearing off another bite of her beignet.

Rachel pieced her torn chunk back into place, then licked a spot of jam from the side of her finger. She'd felt much the same way over the last few weeks and if she hadn't had work or Quinn or Jesse to keep her here, she might have done the same. Taking a deep breath, she plucked her torn mouthful free again and brought it to her mouth, pausing long enough to ask, "No regrets?" before popping it between her lips.

Dani sighed at Rachel's question, shrugging a bit. Did she have regrets about it? She'd left the city, swearing to herself that she didn't. That she was doing what needed doing, that being alone was easier than keeping her friends and working through what she felt with their help. There were regrets, about Mississippi, about the people she'd hurt, the things that happened, but they all linked together. "I don't know. I did what I thought I needed to at the time and looking back... the regrets I have don't exactly fit a time period anymore."

Rachel nodded, tearing off another piece of beignet as she stared at the table containing the remains of their breakfast. "Regrets are like that." She said softly before she looked up at Dani. "Was it worth it? Did you find yourself?"

Dani looked down as Rachel asked her question. She'd been so sure of herself before yesterday, before Santana. Now, she didn't know. She wanted to say she did, that she found herself, that it was worth it. But was four years of regrets drowned at the bottom of bottles really worth what she found? "I found myself." She stuffed the rest of the beignet in her mouth to keep herself from saying something else, as if her silence didn't speak volumes.

Rachel washed down her mouthful of jam covered doughnut with a gulp of orange juice before tearing the remaining beignet in half, one part put aside as she picked up her knife to slather the exposed interior with more jam and a slice of the remaining cheese. "And who are you now?" she asked as she settled back in her seat.

Dani shrugged, thinking for a moment. She was a woman who had fallen in love with a devil named after an angel. Let herself been torn apart. Always just drunk enough to believe what was told her. But she was also a woman who took a stand for herself on the edge of self destruction and chose not to see the way blood could still pour from her body when she wanted it to. Chose to fight back against the force that had drove her there. Chose to leave when everything in her still wanted her to stay, as if loving someone else was worth learning to unlove herself. How did one put that into words? Put into words the pain it took. The process of finding oneself just to lose it again, and then once again be found. "Someone who knows that even the sweetest of people are sometimes the cruelest and that nothing is worth hating yourself, but especially not love."

Rachel cocked an eyebrow at Dani's reply. She hadn't been expecting anything that deep or that dark or that begged for so many more questions to be asked. She also couldn't help but feel a connection to Dani's answer that caused her to look down at the table again after only a moment. Her lips rolled over her teeth again before parting with a faint *pop*. "... I'm sorry you went through that alone..."

Dani shook her head, a dark chuckle falling from her lips. "You don't learn a lesson like that alone, hun. I'd have been better off on my own." Ever since her conversation with Santana, she wanted so badly to talk about, even as much as she didn't. She wanted to yell and scream and be angry over how stupid she felt she had been. She wanted to be angry about the fact she still couldn't sleep alone. That she woke up in cold sweats, terrified she'd never made it out of Mississippi. Her muscles tensed and she breathed out slowly, eyes closing for a moment. "Sometimes to find yourself you have to lose even more."

Rachel nodded. That's what she was afraid of most, of losing more than she already had. Losing any chance of her and Jesse maintaining any sort of relationship, or at least a cordial one. Losing Quinn. Losing her friends, her job, her career. The only thing she knew she was going to gain from all of this was a baby and even that... Rachel shook the thought off, the remains of her beignet tossed haphazardly onto her empty plate as she shifted in her seat, arms tucked tight around her waist. "I won't accept that."

Dani watched Rachel's reaction, head tilting in confusion, an eyebrow raised. None of it made sense, given the conversation. Even with how exhausted she was, Dani could tell something was wrong. "Won't accept what? Cause I feel like you're havin' a conversation in that head of yours that doesn't entirely have to do with me." She sighed. "Not that it's my place or anythin' but if you wanna talk about whatever's eatin you..."

Rachel wanted to say yes, to tell Dani everything that had been building up inside her for weeks, months even. And unlike everyone else in her life, Dani was safe. Rachel had gone years without Dani, she could survive losing her now. But what she couldn't survive was the guilt of knowing that she'd told Dani before she'd told Jesse or Quinn or her Fathers or even Santana. Shelby had been an exception born out of desperation and panic but one that could, hopefully, but understood once the truth got out, once the people she should be telling found out they weren't the first to be told, or even the second. But Dani- Rachel shook her head. "It's nothing." A smile forced her lips apart. "Just the actress in me getting riled up. You know me and drama." A too sharp laugh briefly bubbled from Rachel's throat before she drowned it with another mouthful of juice. "So," She said, not quite looking at Dani as she spoke, "speaking of your place, have you found one yet?"

Dani simply nodded, not really surprised at the way Rachel reacted. She'd been gone, they didn't know each other like that, and Dani certainly wasn't going to push the matter. If it meant anything, it'd come around again, provided this didn't end in disaster, which, Dani still wasn't sure it wouldn't. She wasn't sure of much anymore. "I have not. Abel and I have plans to go looking here soon, but between him just getting back in Tuesday and the slight chaos I've inflicted on myself since he got back... we haven't exactly found the time. It's hard finding places in the middle of the year, since most people sign year long leases. Worse comes to worst, and the whole couch living thing starts to bug me, I take Hunter up on his offer of his spare room."

Rachel tilted her head to the side as she tried to tie the name to a face. Abel... Abel... oh, yes. From online. A small shot of irrational jealousy shot through Rachel as she made the connection; Dani had been away for years and the person she asks to help her house hunt was some complete stranger. But as soon as the emotion hit, it was gone and Rachel could understand why Dani had sought out someone less connected to her past, or at least to Santana. Wasn't that the same reason she'd been so tempted to tell Dani about everything? "Wait-" Rachel's head jerked upright as her ears called her out of her thoughts. "Hunter? As in Smythe's Hunter?"

Dani raised an eyebrow at Rachel's response. They then knitted together. Was that his boyfriend's last name? She'd been so caught up in her own drama that she'd lost track of his life, which she made a mental note to catch up when he got back from Europe. "Currently gallivanting around Europe with his boyfriend?"

Rachel sighed, nodding her head. "That would be the one." She looked around her hotel room, knowing even as she did that she couldn't offer Dani an alternative even if she thought the other woman might accept one if she could. Sooner or later she'd have to move on herself; she was not going to raise her baby in a hotel. Rachel shook her head, another, heavier sigh escaping before she turned back to Dani. "How do you know him?"

Dani nodded. She really did need to connect the dots more, cause it was far more obvious and she hadn't connected the dots. Sure, she'd been in sparse contact with Hunter recently, before she left Mississippi, but she'd grown tired of hearing him mention needing to leave Angela. It's why she'd asked Abel and not Hunter for a place to live, despite everything going on in Abel's life. "Met him down in Mississippi. We've been friends since. Even when he said things I wanted no part in hearin, over and over again."

Rachel let out a short snort of laughter, followed almost immediately by an apology as she slapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry it's just-" Rachel lowered her hand to her chin, "-I feel the same way about Smythe." Rachel cocked her head to the side, then added, "Except for the being friends portion. I'm not surprised you weren't introduced to him."

Dani shook her head, laughing a bit. "Totally fine, dear." She shrugged. "I was... preoccupied with personal things up until I left Mississippi, I'm sure he would have if I hadn't started distancing myself from him. He didn't even know I left Mississippi til I'd gotten back to New York. Didn't know I finally did what he'd been tellin me to for years. Think I'm lucky he stuck around as my friend through all that, honestly." Dani hated it. He'd had such an I told you so attitude about it, but he'd also been kind. He recognized that she had struggled because it really was easier said than done. At the end of the day she was thankful for his friendship and his stubborn ways. She just needed to get around to making it up to him, at least a little.

Rachel gave Dani a small, self-conscious smile. Between the significant pause and the vague phrasing, Rachel guessed they were skirting closer to the real reason Dani had come back, the sweetest of people who could be the cruelest, as Dani had put it and while Rachel felt that this was the sort of thing a friend should as about, and wanted to ask about, she also knew that she wasn't in the best position to start prying to other peoples secrets. "It's always nice to have someone you can count on." She said instead, her smile growing a hair for a few seconds before fading to half strength.

Dani nodded a bit, finally relaxing into the chair. She was glad Rachel hadn't pried, just because she wasn't sure she could have handled it. It was bad enough Santana knew about Angela, knew just how much she'd damaged her. Rachel didn't need to know that. Didn't need to know the way Dani had drowned parts of herself at the bottoms of bottles, that she'd lost so much more of herself in Mississippi and when she found herself again, she wasn't who she ever thought she would be. "Yeah, I'm lucky to have people like him and Abel, they kept me going, especially..." She rubbed the back of her neck nervously. Why did she getting so close to mentioning Angela? What did she think she'd accomplish by trying to talk about her? All she ever did was skirt the subject, mentioning bits and pieces, even when she didn't want to talk about it, she never wanted to talk about. Not with Abel, only sometimes with Hunter, and never with anyone else. Santana had forced her hand, the consequences Dani had to pay for drunk texting her. Trying to skirt the subject, talk of it without talking of it wasn't helping anything, yet she did it anyway.

Rachel flexed her jaw. There it was again, that significant pause. She pulled at her bottom lip, internally debating a second time whether she should ask or not. In the end she decided not to and forced herself to follow her decision by grabbing her discarded beignet pieces from her plate and stuffing one of them into her mouth.

Dani sighed, grabbing another beignet from the plate she'd brought. Her eyes wandered the room. When she'd been sent the address for a hotel, she'd been confused. It didn't really make sense to her. However, she didn't feel it right to ask. For all the she knew Rachel just did it for certain shows, even if it definitely looked like Rachel was living there. "Y'know, I usually make a bourbon caramel sauce to go with these and I seriously think I forgot what they tasted like plain." She couldn't handle the silence and she figured the easiest way to not keep accidentally half bringing up Angela was to change the subject completely.

Rachel bobbed her head in a semblance of a nod, not really agreeing with Dani's statement--though the mention of caramel now had her craving that, the bourbon she could do without... and for several more months, would have to do without--but not really sure what else to do while she chewed. Had this been a mistake? She'd been so desperate for a distraction that she may have rushed into this reunion without thinking the realities of it through; as the awkward lask of conversation could attest. After taking another mouthful of juice, Rachel said the first thing that popped into her head just to end the drawn out silence. "Have you talked to Santana?"

Dani let out an involuntary groan at Rachel's question. "I have done quite a bit more than talk to her. I drunk texted her Tuesday night. And then got talked into meeting her for lunch yesterday. She wanted answers and she got them... More than I was expecting to give, because she's Santana and such is my life." She ran a hand through her hair, pulling at it ever so slightly. "Worst part is, I'd take everything I had to explain to her, because I drunk texted her, than even the thought of drunk texting the last ex." And there it was.

Rachel held back a sigh. So much for avoiding awkwardness. "She does have an annoying habit of getting her way." Rachel said, trying to salvage herself with an attempt at humour. "Sometimes I wonder if I hired her or she signed me."

Dani rolled her eyes, laughing a bit at Rachel's attempt at humor. "She certainly does, though I wouldn't have had to deal with it quite as heavily if I'd done the smart thing and just not texted anyone and gone to sleep." She shrugged. "The world may never know, cause we both know she'd deny it from now until forever and say it was all on you." She laughed a bit, looking down at the table. "Though, I think I'm glad I got it over with, talking with her. Even if I hate how it came about. I hadn't talked about a lot of what I told her since leaving Mississippi, or even really before that, either."

Rachel smiled at her at least partial success but the smile lasted only a few moments before slowly fading as she listened to Dani. Would that be how she felt once she told everyone, glad to be done with it? Or would she be left wishing she'd held her silence a little longer, hating what the truth had cost her. After a few seconds--it had been seconds, hadn't it--of staring at her empty plate, Rachel shook herself out of her reverie and flashed Dani a quick smile. "At least you didn't show up at the old apartment. I don't even know who's living there now."

Dani watched Rachel quietly, wondering just how much had changed for the brunette over the years. Sure, she'd seen bits and pieces on the internet when she'd google various shows she was curious about. But even she knew that was never close to the truth of the matter. It never was. She smiled, laughing a bit. "I wouldn't dare, don't like being surprised, certainly ain't gonna try that on someone else. I actually know who lives in my old apartment, but that's because he keeps getting my mail, even now. I swear, I have tried everything to get the mail to not show up there, but it never worked. I may also be sleeping on his couch. I think we almost gave Gunther a heart attack when we showed up for lunch yesterday, though. Looked like he'd seen a ghost or something."

Rachel tilted her head in curiosity. Now this was the sort of distraction she'd been hoping for. "Gunther?" She asked, leaning forward in her seat. "Who is Gunther, and perhaps more importantly, who is 'we'?"

[megsblackfirewrites]

My Old Hunting Partner: Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“Ssh,” Jack soothed as he pressed a hand hard against his stomach. “They won’t touch you, my darling.”

His child whimpered in his head. They were strong beneath his fingers, pulsing furiously against the power that had sunk its hooks into Jack’s body. Petras was trying to force the seedling to germinate, but they were stubbornly refusing. He was so proud.

“You can’t force a pregnancy,” Jack snarled. “This is against everything angels stand for!”

Petras’ golden eyes narrowed. “An exception is made every once in a while,” he said. “In this regards, your Nephilim will be more valuable to the Hellguard than any one mortal could ever hope to be.”

His Nephilim. The offspring of the union of an angel and a human. The thought sent a shiver of fear down his spine, but at the same time, he was thrilled. This was his and Gabriel’s child nestled in his gut. This was theirs, their creation, their perfection made real.

Jack ran his hand slowly over his pulsating stomach before he curled forward. He grit his teeth against the pain before he carefully shifted his knees so that his pelvis was pointed towards the ground. He pressed on his stomach, directing the seedling lower until it was almost in the cradle of his pelvis.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I want you.”

“No! No, Dad, I’ll kill you! I won’t!” his child shrieked. “I would rather die!”

“I want you,” Jack repeated with a fond smile as he ran his fingers over his belly. “Even if it kills me, I want you, my burning star.”

The child whimpered against his mind before it curled under his hand. Jack cried out in pain as he felt his guts being shoved aside as the seedling took root. He sobbed at the agony that cut through him, but he didn’t change his mind. He wanted this; he wanted his child. This child was his and Gabriel’s and he would never get another chance to have them. He wanted them.

He redirected as much energy towards his growing child as he could. They pulled powerfully beneath his fingers and he smiled as Petras laughed victoriously. The others were screaming, begging Petras to stop as Jack stomach started to push out rapidly. Gabriel was thrashing and screeching in his chains, sending sparks flying in all directions as the chains scrapped over his wings.

“They’re scared,” Jack murmured to his child. He could almost see them in his mind; a curled up fetus slowly growing wings and claws as it stayed attached to the muscles under his navel. “I am not.”

“You should be,” his child hissed. “I’m going to kill you. You weren’t made for this!”

“Maybe not,” Jack agreed as he ran his fingers slowly over his stomach and shivered in awe as he felt fingers pressing back. “But I will be damned before I let Petras get his filthy hands on you. You are mine, my baby, and I will protect you until my dying breath.”

“Lot of good that will do me when I’m trembling and covered in your blood,” they snapped.

Jack let out a soft laugh before he wailed in pain. His stomach sagged towards the ground, weighed down by the child growing inside of him. He started coughing up blood, feeling the tiny claws flexing into his stomach. It hurt, but it would be worth it. This was his baby and he would not let them be a tool. He would help them grow strong enough to fight Petras off before he got his vile talons on them.

Jack sucked in a lungful of air before he forced himself to his feet. He wrapped his arm around his stomach and started forward, baring his teeth at Petras as he approached. He brought his shield up in time to keep Petras’ sword from sending him back to the ground. Petras scrambled away from the shield, hissing at it as Jack sank down beside Gabriel. He could not break it and he didn’t dare strike Jack down; he’d lose his precious Nephilim if Jack died.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel whispered as Jack collapsed against his shoulder. “She’s going to kill you. Please, Jack, it’s not too late. She’ll understand.”

Jack shook his head and pushed his fingers into his rapidly swelling belly. Gabriel’s golden eyes shimmered with tears before he pressed his forehead against Jack’s. Angela was shouting at Petras, infuriated that he was doing something so unnatural to Jack’s spirit, but no one else seemed to be trying to fight. They just watched Jack’s belly swell and the Nephilim inside stretch and flex against the walls of its improper womb.

He doubled over and vomited blood all over the ground. Gabriel let out a cry of fury and thrashed in his chains, but Jack pressed against him reassuringly. He would get through this, their child would be born, and they would smite these monsters from existence. That was the end goal; he didn’t care what happened to him. Gabriel would be free and these monsters would pay for what they did to him.

Jack screamed and convulsed, thrashing as he felt a wing push unforgivingly into his stomach. He threw up again, coughing as his throat burned. The wing rolled up into his liver, jamming its way into his lungs, and then settling painfully in his side against one of his kidneys. He cried, holding his enormous stomach as the skin stretched to capacity. Any bigger and his daughter would tear him open.

“It hurts,” Jack whimpered as he pressed his hand against his straining stomach. “It hurts.”

“I’m here,” Gabriel promised as he pressed as much of himself against Jack as he could. “I’m here.”

Jack closed his eyes as he felt his stomach tearing. He screamed, shaking his head as the flesh on his stomach split wide open. His guts tumbled to the ground, tangled around a softly glowing lump in the center. He screamed and sobbed, pushing his hand into the open cavity of his stomach as he tried to hold his internal organs where they were supposed to be.

“Gabe, Gabe,” Jack sobbed. “Protect her. Protect her!”

“Dad?” a soft voice whispered as Jack started tipping sideways. “No!”

“Jack!”

Jack felt his head bounce off the ground, but there was no sound to go with it. There was no pain; every nerve in his body was screaming too much for head trauma to register. Steam was rising out of the pile of his guts as the tiny golden Nephilim tried to untangle herself. Purple eyes watched him, tears leaving angry blue trails on her dark skin.

She looked so much like Gabriel. She was beautiful with his dark hair and dark skin. She was slight of build, just like he had been in his youth before the hunting lifestyle had demanded otherwise. She had Gabriel’s golden wings, too. In fact, there was very little of him in her; you’d think Gabriel had created her without any outside interference.

“Dad, don’t leave!” she sobbed as she continued growing, slipping in the wet pile of his intestines. “Don’t! I’m sorry! Please, please!”

He smiled and reached up towards her face. She pushed her blood-covered cheek into his hand, sobbing and clinging to his wrist. His little shadow, the little seed that had kept him safe and free from loneliness for years, was finally walking the earth.

“Sombra,” he murmured. “My Sombra.”

Her terrified eyes were the last thing he saw before he sank into the waters of oblivion.

Gabriel screamed as his mate died. His daughter screamed, clawing at his face and trying to get him to wake up. She sobbed, beating her fists against his chest as Jack continued staring ahead without blinking. His beautiful blue eyes were hollow and empty, a look Gabriel had hoped to never see on that sweet face.

He screamed and fought his chains as Petras walked forward. The Champion reached down to pick Sombra up, his talons hooking into her dark brown skin. She fought him, screeching furiously, but she was so much smaller than the Champion. She wouldn’t grow fast enough to be able to fight him off. She had ripped Jack open too soon. This was why males weren’t given seeds to nourish and grow; they weren’t built for the demands.

Gabriel felt the chains reaching their breaking point and pulled harder as Petras turned around and started to lift Sombra over his head like a prize. His foot crashed down through Jack’s chest, shattering his ribcage and reducing his lungs to mulch. Gabriel felt his breath catch at the sight as Petras dragged his foot across the ground in disgust, as if Jack’s guts were nothing but an inconvenience.

Something snapped inside of him and the chains shattered as he rose. Petras spun around at the roar that tore its way out of Gabriel’s mouth. His human visage gave way to the twisting monstrosity that would have killed humans on the spot, his golden wings splitting into numerous smaller ones as his jaws opened wide. He roared again, tongue lashing the air as his body twisted and contorted. He was fury given flesh; he was vengeance in its purest form. And Petras had just demanded the highest form of vengeance imaginable.

He had killed an angel’s mate, had forced an unwanted pregnancy onto another sentient creature, and then had tried to claim the offspring as his own. He would not survive this betrayal. The Scales would demand retribution and Gabriel was their Instrument of choice.

He rushed forward, slamming into the Champion with a roar that would have split rocks. Sombra hit the ground and scrambled out of the way, crying in alarm as Petras tried to shift to his own true form. One of Gabriel’s heads fell to Petras’ enormous claws, but three more surged up like a demented hydra of myth and latched onto whatever flesh they could find.

They tumbled through the air, clawing, kicking, and tearing each other apart. The other angels had fled, all but Angela, who was crouched over Jack and trying to tend to an infuriated Sombra. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew in his heart that Sombra was blaming Angela for Jack’s death; good. She had put the wheels in motion for this whole sordid affair. She deserved to be eaten alive by her guilt. Gabriel’s claws tore Petras’ belly open and he kicked hard at the thick muscles keeping his innards safe. Petras’ claws ripped two arms off, but three more grew from each socket.

They fell apart and circled each other like animals. Gabriel’s tongues were dragging on the ground, each one sliding innumerable rocks down his throat with every breath he took. Petras’ three nostrils were flaring as he sucked air greedily into his lungs, but he was already flagging.

“Kill him, Papa!” Sombra shrieked. “Make him pay for what he did to Dad!”

Gabriel snarled his agreement and charged forward. He slammed hard into Petras, driving his shoulder blade between the thick muscles on Petras’ chest. Petras lashed out and busted six of the ten eyes on Gabriel’s apex head. He reared back with a roar as blood and clear fluid gushed down his face. The other heads vied for supremacy, pushing the apex one out of the way so that they would not be disadvantaged.

“You are unworthy of your gift,” Petras bellowed. “You dare to turn on your Champion?”

“You started this, Petras, when you dragged my mate into this,” Gabriel snarled. “You killed him and I will never forgive you for that!”

Petras bared his teeth and Gabriel lunged. They tore at each other, falling further and further into their animalistic natures until they were no longer Petras and Gabriel, but Power and Vengeance. Blood, brilliant white and iridescent, splattered the ground and each other. Meat splattered the ground, burning away into nothingness as they fought. Claws and teeth were ripped out of their beds, burrowing into the flesh of their enemy or being crushed under furious feet.

The finishing blow knocked Petras to the ground. Gabriel stumbled back, panting as he came back to himself like a rubber band snapping back into shape. He stared at Petras’ crumpled form as it convulsed on the ground. White blood oozed out of the wound on his throat, the gaping hole flexing as he tried to breath. Gabriel snarled and prowled forward, letting his heads argue over who would get the killing blow as he grabbed Petras’ jaw and wrenched it up towards him.

“Your time is over, Champion,” Gabriel snarled as his heads started merging together into one horrific image. “It is time for the Hellguard to repurpose themselves.”

Petras coughed blood all over Gabriel’s claws, but whatever he wanted to say was lost in his stuttered breath. Gabriel lunged and clamped his jaws around Petras’ throat, shaking him violently until he heard the crack of his neck snapping. He dropped Petras to the ground and tore his chest open, devouring the pulsating seed inside and adding its power to his own.

He turned away from Petras’ rapidly decomposing corpse and padded over to where Jack’s body was. Sombra had her face buried in his golden hair, whimpering as her fully formed wings tried to cover him. Angela was trying to put Jack’s innards back where they belonged, but it wouldn’t do much good.

Angela scrambled away as he approached and Sombra looked up. Tears were still trailing down her face and she let out a broken whimper. Gabriel pressed his head against her cheek before he buried his nose in Jack’s scruff. Sombra hid under his chin, hiccuping and whimpering as they kept Jack’s broken body hidden from sight under their wings.

[snowsheba]

iron-willed are the ascended

start | next

chapter 1 (part 1 of 3) - your life and mine

Angela is young when Mercy etches the golden ink upon her back – the youngest chosen in all of history, barely two weeks out of the womb when she awakens her parents with anguished cries, tattoos of feathered wings glowing bright and holy upon her back. She’s so young that when her parents take her to the palace, they have to show the guards her skin so that they can enter, and she’s so young that when the royalty see her and take her, she can’t even remember her parents’ faces as the years pass her by.

This is how she grows up, then: singing to the goddess Mercy every morning with the sunrise as soon as she is old enough to speak, learning history and conduct under the strict teachings of Mercy’s priests and priestesses, holding and dancing and fighting with a staff so she will never be defenseless. Angela is forged into Mercy’s weapon, the Angel, the Miracle, the Chosen, fair and true and bright and bold; with her gilded wings and golden voice she heals, and stories of her gentle hands and gentle eyes and gentle heart spread far and wide throughout her kingdom.

Mercy is not kind, however. Angela’s gifts are miraculous but do not come for free, and those are the days when her eyes blaze azure and her staff lifts high and delivers the judgment that one deserves. There is always gray, but Mercy sees the world in black and white; with injustice comes righteousness, and alongside Justice’s disciple Angela is the judge of all. Not even the kings can reverse her decision, not with Justice at her back, and those are the days when Angela kneels on her bed and screams as her wings burn white-hot against her back.

So it goes. Her life is a never-ending cycle of healing, singing, reading, combat training, dancing, judging, speaking. The kings come to her advice and she gives it as freely as she dares, consulting with the goddess and carrying Her words to her people, and Angela is comfortable and content. Life is exciting and every day is different and she gets to help people, the most important and fulfilling part, and that is enough. She desires for nothing.

(Except, on the nights where she cries herself to sleep as the golden ink across her skin ripples and aches and burns, for freedom.)

“Morning, Angel.”

“Good morning, Jesse.”

Justice’s chosen grins and gives her the slightest bow, to which she smiles back with a nod. Jesse, like her, was taken away from his family at a young age after they found the telltale red ink of Deadeye stamped onto his shoulder, glowing scarlet in his left eye and dry wind and wit following him wherever he goes; Angela has grown up beside him, has fought alongside him, has judged with him at her back, and now they are both twenty and they are inseparable, even now.

“Anything exciting planned for the day?” he asks, taking the spot across from her at her table. Strewn across its surface are various texts and tomes, all of which he ignores as amber eyes bore into hers.

The intensity of his gaze is intimidating and the hallmark of all of Justices; stare into those irises for too long and Jesse will know all of the sins that crawl under one’s skin – the Sight, it’s called. Where Angela is given prophecies that she speaks to the world, Jesse can peer into the specific future of whoever he is reading with stunning and, occasionally, unsettling accuracy. His clairvoyance lends him entirely non-cryptic advice, too, something Angela is envious of; whenever she prophesizes, her words always take the form of riddles.

“No,” Angela says presently, giving him a patient smile. “I have combat training in the afternoon as usual, and before that, my abilities will be needed, I suppose.” Healing the desperate who come to the royal palace is her greatest calling, in her eyes, something she takes pride in and something she’s insisted on since the beginning; why have these abilities if she never uses them, after all? “And you?”

“Nah,” Jesse says, blinking once. “The court’s not in session.” He shrugs, and it’s only because Angela knows him so well that she can see the disappointed flash in his eyes as he adds, “Gabe said he’d take me out today, but he got busy, so. Got nothing to do now.”

“You are always welcome to accompany me,” Angela offers quietly. “The children like you best.”

“Aw, that’s just ‘cause you’re always busy with their grown-ups,” Jesse replies, grinning crookedly. “But hey, if you’ll have me, then I’ll be glad to.”

“Wonderful,” Angela says with a beaming smile. She can see one of the priestesses out of the corner of her eye; so too can Jesse, and they lean forward and pretend to be glossing through the papers in front of them as Angela confesses, “It gets so dull without anyone to talk to.”

“Tell me about it,” Jesse says, rolling his eyes. The priestess casts them a suspicious look, enough that Angela actually picks up a quill pen and scribbles something nonsensical on it to give the appearance of work, and it’s only when the woman sniffs and moves on, apparently convinced the two are studying, that Jesse murmurs, “You hear anything about the meeting that’s got Jack and Gabe tied up right now?”

“Not much,” Angela whispers back. “Only that it has something to do with Shimada. I think they might be poking at our borders again.”

“You think their king would’ve learned his lesson from the first try,” Jesse says, shaking his head.

“Twenty years is a long time,” Angela says. “Maybe he’s feeling overconfident.”

“Well, his sons are coming of age soon, aren’t they?” Jesse muses. “Maybe he’s trying to be a good role model or something. The whole Shimada country is like that – you know, always talking about how good and disciplined their warriors are.”

“Our armies outnumber theirs three to one,” Angela points out, a little incredulous. “Surely he recognizes that.”

“And now that we’ve got a Mercy, he doesn’t stand a chance,” Jesse agrees. At Angela’s questioning eyebrow – she’s no combatant, after all – he explains, “People would die to protect you, Angel – armies included. Having a common cause to rally around is going to keep morale high, and that’ll make our troops all the more deadly.”

“I suppose so,” Angela concedes, though such a notion makes her explicitly uncomfortable. She sighs. “I hope that we can find a way to avoid conflict altogether. We could accomplish so much if we could just work alongside each other.”

“Wishful thinking,” Jesse says, smiling. He’s so young, she thinks distantly, and he’s grown into that gangly body of his, muscles filling out and voice deepening to a soft, almost country twang. If he wasn’t Justice, people would be fawning over him, Angela has no doubt; yet here they are, cooped up in the palace’s enormous library, living in luxury and loneliness, discussing war and its implications without batting an eye, at least until he changes the subject. “How much longer you got here before you’re going to the main hall?”

“Another half hour, I think,” Angela says, sneaking a glance behind her. The priest who typically watches her and keeps her on task is reading from a tome himself, while the rest of the open area around them is deserted, and she meets Jesse’s eyes and smirks. “Perhaps a bit sooner, if you know what I mean.”

“Think I do,” Jesse says, grinning outright now as he hoists himself to his feet. “This’ll take just a sec, then.”

It’s a tried and true tactic of theirs – Angela and Jesse, depending on who is stuck somewhere, acting as a distraction so the other can escape, that is. The technique has become more and more refined over the years, to the point where most of the priests and priestesses grudgingly accept it as inevitable, and so when Jesse’s smooth drawl rings out in the quiet of the library and it appears the priest is engaged with him, tiredly so, Angela slips out from her seat and darts towards the exit, slippered feet silent on the carpeted floor.

Once in the hallway outside, she tucks herself into an alcove between two marble pillars and waits for Jesse to emerge. He does, a moment later, and they share a grin as she loops her arm through his and they begin to walk. “Sometimes having the Sight is nice,” Jesse says. “Keeps ‘em on their toes whenever I’m talking to them.”

“But then no one will meet your eyes,” Angela points out.

“True,” he says, and he nudges her with his shoulder. “You always do, though, and that’s all that really matters.”

“I’m flattered,” Angela says with a laugh. They’re making way to the main hall, it appears, though she isn’t due for another twenty minutes; ah, well, being early wouldn’t cause any problems, she’s sure. “And what do you see in my future, then?”

“You know I never can say,” Jesse says, and when she glances up at him, he’s pouting. It looks hilarious on him. “Mercy hides your fate from me. Guess She and Justice don’t get along.”

The answer never changes, no matter how many times she asks, but that never stops her. In any case, she sighs and says, “I’m sure it would be a very boring reading.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong there,” Jesse says with a shake of his head, “Considering how little we do, anyway,” and the doors open silently as they push into the main hall.

Angela is expecting it to be full of people – priests and priestesses, mostly, the gravest of the injured and ill to be brought to Angela’s attention, possibly some of the general public – but both of them slow to a halt when they find it desolate and empty. It looks impossibly huge without anyone to fill the space, and a curl of dread coils coldly in her stomach.

“This doesn’t bode well,” Angela says after a moment, keeping her voice down.

“Definitely not,” Jesse murmurs. When they look up the stairs to where the throne room is, the door is slightly ajar, and Jesse says, “Guess the Shimada thing was more important than we thought.”

“If we get close, perhaps we can listen in,” Angela suggests, but as soon as the words are out of her mouth, there is unintelligible shouting – and the door is thrown open and who should storm out but King Gabriel himself, stomping down the stairs and muttering something under his breath. Instinctively both she and Jesse draw back to hide in the shadows of a pillar, and Angela tightens her grip on Jesse’s arm when King Jack darts out of the throne room, too, rushing down after Gabriel and stopping him by pushing in front of him. They’re speaking too softly for Angela to make out the words, even as she and Jesse press closer to the pillar and lean in as closely as they dare.

And then Angela feels it – the itching sensation in her back, and she breathes, “Oh no,” softly, and Jesse looks at her in confusion. “My wings,” she says, the itch slowly getting stronger, and she releases Jesse’s arm and straightens her shoulders, grimacing as the prickling sends sharp shoots of pain up her back.

“Shit,” Jesse curses, and then, “Couldn’t have picked worse timing. C’mon, let’s get you out of – ”

Angela cries out when her entire back bursts into flames, or that’s what it feels like, and Jesse swears again. She’s hardly aware of him catching her as her knees give out from beneath her, of Jack and Gabriel turning towards them and then rushing to her as Jesse gently lowers her to a kneel, and she hugs her arms to her chest and reminds herself to breathe, breathe even as the searing pain causes the edges of her vision to go white. This isn’t the first time it’s hurt this badly, but it’s the first time it’s done so in such a short amount of time, and she grits her teeth and tries not to whimper as Jesse keeps an arm draped around her middle, whispering reassurances in her ears as Jack and Gabriel kneel in front of her.

And then it’s gone. In its place is a heavy weight in her mind itself, and she swallows hard as the images and sensations spill into her mind. The words take longer to come, though, she has time to orient herself, and when she flaps a hand at Jesse he knows to help her to her feet. It’s only once she’s standing that she lifts her head, and when she meets Jack’s eyes her tongue moves of its own accord.

“The golden light will fade and hope will take flight, far away and out of reach; when the darkness closes in and when all seems lost, the flames of the emerald dragon will guide it home.”

With that, the presence in her mind gives her a sense of approval before vanishing, quick as it had come, and she feels almost resentful as darkness overtakes her vision. Shorter, but no less cryptic, she thinks, and then she thinks nothing at all.

start | next