#(said the bitch in charge of keeping the worth it content flowing)

[wheels-of-despair]

There's only one more Honeymoon Blurb left. 😭

[thethirdamell]

Accursed Ones - Ch. 136 - World Gone Crazy

This is an edited version of Chapter 136 of Accursed Ones that does not include the scene with sexual assault if you wanted to read more than the summary but did not want that content included. 

9:35 Dragon 19 Eluviesta Early Evening Ferelden: Vigil’s Keep Crypts

“See how the rain has washed away The tears that you were crying? Though the darkness calls me down You know we all are dying…”

Anders inhaled shakily at the end of the verse, too choked to sing the next. He closed his eyes and thumped his head against Sigrun's sarcophagus, wishing she was here with him. She'd always been able to make him smile. At least he finally had a song for her.

“A little early for your Calling, isn’t it?” A familiar voice asked.

Nate. The Warden Constable stood at the base of the stairwell into the crypts. His hair had gotten longer, a mane of black he’d braided like one. He’d traded his goatee for stubble, as if he needed more shadow. He had enough of it under his eyes, in his voice, in the ghost of a smile he wore on his lips. He looked good. A little fat.

“Men are always premature,” Velanna chimed in from beside him. She looked better, wild blonde bangs obscuring the vallaslin on her face but not the resting bitch. Someone must have forced her into real clothes, an elegant dress that looked like folded leaves corseted about her waist and pinned in place by a gryphon pendant at her collarbone. “A Shred of Blue? This is the best you could do?”

“At least she’d understand it,” Anders countered. It wasn’t in elvish, which seemed like it should give him a point over Velanna’s old song.

“She would understand you’ve a terrible singing voice,” Velanna said, joining him on the floor. She smelled like the forest, and age-old memories. “What are you singing of your Calling for, you fool?”

Because it feels like I went to it.

“Death and dying was her thing,” Anders shrugged, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Nathaniel toyed with one of the flowers on Sigrun’s tomb. “Can you feel her?”

“Normal question," Anders said.

“In the Stone,” Nathaniel elaborated. “Oghren says she makes the Vigil stronger.”

“Oghren also says dwarves are born from the Stone as rocks,” Velanna rolled her eyes.

“Velanna believed him,” Nathaniel grinned.

“Oghren?” Anders repeated, something almost like a smile creeping at the corners of his lips. “You believed something Oghren said?”

“I did not say I believed him,” Velanna kicked a foot out at Nathaniel, who dodge nimbly to the other side of Anders. “I said I almost believed him.”

“Pink rocks for girls, gray rocks for boys,” Nathaniel elaborated, sliding down on the opposite side of Anders. “Dipped in lava until they hatch.”

Anders exhaled hard through his nose. Velanna elbowed him for it, a sharp stab beneath his ribs that came with a surge of relief for the excuse it gave his tears. Anders choked on a sob, and Velanna crushed him into a sudden hug Nathaniel quickly joined. Limbs and hands tangled together with the scent of leather and leaves, and Anders felt better than he had in weeks. He was still crying, but there was something safe in it, in the shadow of Sigrun’s tomb, where no one would question his tears.

“You idiot,” Velanna muttered into his chest.

“She means-” Nathaniel started.

“I know,” It was so hard to know anything recently, Anders couldn’t have been more grateful when he did. He couldn’t not know, crushed between two of the best friends he’d ever had in his life. He grabbed an ankle and a wrist, his face in Velanna’s hair. "I'm an idiot."

Velanna thumped a fist against his chest. “You and your spirit both.”

“An inescapable one," Nathaniel said.

“I’m special that way,” Anders said.

“That’s one way to put it," Nathaniel said.

“Ironic is another," Velanna countered. "How is it you escape your templars and we cannot escape you?"

"You're the one who came to see me," Anders pointed out.

"I came to see Sigrun," Velanna said, untangling herself from him to settle more comfortably against his side.

"Liars," Nathaniel kept an arm around Anders' shoulders. "Both of you."

"Us?" Anders joked, leaning back against the tomb and Nathaniel’s arm. "Lie about feelings?"

"I have never," Velanna huffed.

"You'd have to have some first," Anders pointed out.

"I have feelings."

"Bitchy isn't a feeling."

"Neither is stupidity."

"It's been working out for me so far."

"I would imagine, considering you have the emotional depth of a puddle."

"I'm an ocean."

"You're an idiot."

"I'm glad the two of you are still so close," Nathaniel said.

"Do not be jealous," Velanna waved a hand at him.

"Who's he jealous of though?" Anders wondered.

"You, obviously," Velanna said.

"You sure about that?" Anders raised an eyebrow at her.

"Velanna," Nathaniel said.

"I knew it," Anders grinned.

"I'm breaking up with you," Velanna said over him.

"Again?" Nathaniel sighed.

"We can share, I have two hands," Anders joked, waving both.

"Touch me with them and I will break them," Velanna threatened.

"I'm a healer," Anders shrugged, throwing an arm around her shoulder that Velanna did not in fact break.

A companionable silence stretched, and Anders breathed easier for it. His broken heart felt better, splinted between old friends, and for a time he could pretend the past four years had been a fever dream and he wasn’t living some waking nightmare without them.

"I have to admit, I didn't think it would be this easy," Nathaniel broke the silence.

"What?" Anders asked.

"Going back in time," Nathaniel clarified.

Anders thought of Amell, and the smile he'd had for him, and how nothing Anders had done had managed to take it away. "...I did."

The three of them stayed in the crypts, talking about what Amell had planned for the month. There was the feast, of course, paired with so many minstrels and bards it would have made an Orlesian blush. A theater troupe on reserve for evening plays. A veritable tourney's worth of games for the days.

"What if I hadn't shown?" Anders couldn’t help wondering.

“Then you’d have been even more of a fool than usual,” Velanna said.

“I think we all know there was no chance of that,” Nathaniel grinned, a secretive sort of grin that made Anders’ sick to his stomach wondering if they knew about his letters to Amell. “We’re keeping you. I’m sure dinner is about to start. Shall we?”

We shan’t. We shan’t because if we shalled then we’d have to go back inside wearing the wrong ring for the wrong man but there was nowhere else to go. Anders followed them out of the crypts and back into the Vigil, where servants were hurrying back and forth arranging the main hall for a banquet. Tables were being pushed together, benches were being carried out, a stage was being set up.

For Anders. All of it was for Anders.

Amell couldn’t tell him it was for all mages or his morals or any of the other excuses he’d used years ago whenever Amell had done something kind for him. It was just about Anders. It was always just about Anders. It was there in his letters, and the way that he signed them every month, with a quiet Always, Amell like it meant something different if he didn’t put Yours in front of it.

Hawke probably knew that, and that was probably why he manifested out of the Fade like some reincarnation of his mother to confront the three of them the second they set foot in the hall.

“There you are,” Hawke signed, a hand on his arm dragging Anders away from Nathaniel and Velanna and out of the flow of traffic. “Where have you been?”

“With my friends,” Anders signed.

“Everything alright?” Nathaniel asked.

“I-” Anders started, but Hawke was still signing, and he couldn’t pay attention to two conversations at once.

“You can’t just leave without telling me,” Hawke signed.

“I didn’t leave,” Anders argued.

“How would I know?” Hawke countered. “I can’t talk to anyone here but you and Varric. I shouldn’t have to remind you. You know why I’m deaf.”

Hawke was right. He shouldn’t have had to remind him, but for some reason he did. Hawke was deaf and it was Anders' fault. Anders had abandoned him, and Hawke had gotten hurt, and Anders hadn’t been there to heal him. The man responsible for his mother’s death had healed him instead, and Anders was still lying to him about it.

“I’m sorry,” Anders signed, because he should be sorry, but he was too busy feeling sorry for himself.

“Just tell me next time,” Hawke signed.

“Oi, Sparkles!” A familiar voice bellowed. Anders tore his eyes off Hawke to the sight of Oghren stomping across the hall like a bronto and rolling up his sleeves as he went. “I warned ya! I’m gonna kick your sorry ass!”

“I missed you too-” Anders started.

Oghren slammed a fist into his stomach. It wasn’t enough to knock him on his ass, but it was enough to bend him over it. Anders wheezed, while Velanna laughed and Nathaniel looked like he was struggling not to. “That’s for sending us the old broad,” Oghren spat. “Now we’re even-”

Oghren didn’t get further than that before Hawke grabbed his shoulder and spun him into his fist. Oghren reeled back a pace from the suckerpunch, rubbing his jaw while a vicious grin crept onto his face. “Boy, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for some son of a bitch to do that.”

It felt like there was a moment where Anders could have said something. Done something.

It passed.

“Here comes Oghren!” Oghren bellowed, charging forward to ram his shoulder into Hawke’s stomach and slam him bodily into the wall. Hawke collided with a pained grunt, and brought an ineffectual elbow down on the crook of Oghren’s neck. He couldn’t have been at more of a disadvantage, facing off against a berserker in melee combat with a height difference that made every knee and elbow hit just shy of where they should.

Anders wondered why he didn’t care more.

“Would you like this to stop…?” Nathaniel asked.

“It seems it will soon,” Velanna noted. “Five silver for the dwarf.”

“You can’t always bet on Oghren when this happens,” Nathaniel sighed.

“You are just tired of losing.”

“And your point, my lady?”

“My point is you should bet sooner.”

Hawke finally broke free of the exchange, rolling clear of Oghren’s flailing fists and slinging a flask at his feet that exploded in a cloud of dust. Oghren sneezed. “Knockout powder? I’ll use that shit for seasonin’ when I serve you up your ass! Let’s go-!”

“Oghren,” Nathaniel interjected. “That’s enough.”

“He soddin’ started it-”

“I said that’s enough.”

“Elf bet first, didn’t she?” Oghren guessed.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Nathaniel sniffed.

“I did,” Velanna said cheerily.

“Pha,” Oghren spat. “Whatever.”

“Are you alright?” Anders signed while his friends argued.

“Am I alright?” Hawke signed back with one hand, and held his injured side with the other. Anders belatedly remembered to send a surge of creationism through him, washing away the bruises Oghren had left on him. “He attacked me.”

“You punched him,” Anders signed.

“For punching you!” Hawke signed.

“He’s my friend,” Anders argued. “He didn’t hurt me-”

“He punched you,” Hawke corrected him. “And they laughed! They’re not your friends. They’re assholes.”

“They are my friends-” Anders argued.

“You haven’t been friends with them for years,” Hawke countered. “If you were still their friend they wouldn’t treat you this way.”

They weren’t treating him like anything. It wasn’t like it was the first time Oghren had punched him. It was Oghren. Oghren punched everyone. Oghren had even warned him he was going to kick his ass when he showed up, and if he really wanted to hurt him he could have done a lot worse than a gut punch. And sure, maybe Velanna had elbowed him, but…

“It’s not like that,” Anders signed.

“Yes it is,” Hawke signed. “You think Varric would ever do that to you? You think I would? They’re not your friends - they never were.”

That wasn’t right. It wasn’t right. The Wardens were his friends. Nathaniel and Velanna and Oghren and Amell. They were some of his best friends, but Anders could still feel the pain of Velanna’s elbow and Oghren’s fist, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to do.

He was so tired.

“Everything alright, Anders?” Nathaniel asked again.

“Aye, he’s fine,” Oghren slapped Anders’ shoulder. It hurt a little, but it wasn’t-... It just wasn’t like that. “He’s a tough son of a bitch. Good fight.” Oghren held out a meaty hand for Hawke, who eyed it with a scowl.

“Good fight,” Anders translated.

“Whatcha waving for?” Oghren frowned.

“Hawke’s deaf,” Anders reminded him.

“Looks fine to me,” Oghren said.

“Deaf, you toadstool, not dead,” Velanna rolled her eyes.

“Ah. Shame,” Oghren shrugged, giving up on the handshake when Hawke didn’t take it. “So we gonna eat or we gonna stand around and starve till our trousers drop?”

“Drop your trousers around me again, dwarf, and I will make sure you have no need of them,” Velanna threatened him, but they headed off towards the main hall, trading the same shoves they gave Anders. Because they shoved everyone. Because they were soldiers. Because they were Wardens. Because they were friends.

They were his friends.

Hawke wrapped an arm around his waist and kept him from following. Anders didn’t want an arm around his waist but he didn’t know how to get it off. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow for it. He looked like he was doing a dozen different equations in his head, but they could only lead to one shameful conclusion. Anders suddenly understood why Hawke hated eye-contact. The confused look Nathaniel gave him made him want to curl up and die.

“I take it this is Hawke?” Nathaniel guessed.

“That’s him,” Anders agreed.

“I see,” Nathaniel said slowly, with a nod to Hawke. “... A pleasure to meet you, Champion.”

Anders translated. Hawke waved.

“Anders, could I have a word with you?” Nathaniel asked.

“Knickerweasels?” Anders supplied.

“A private word,” Nathaniel clarified.

“Dick?” Anders tried again.

“Very well, be glib,” Nathaniel sighed.

“What’s he saying?” Hawke signed.

“He wants to talk,” Anders translated.

“Don’t want you talking with him.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Anders argued.

“Still laughed.”

“He’s still my friend-”

“Merrill’s your friend, and you haven’t even seen her yet,” Hawke countered. “You don’t think she wants to see you?”

“... Maybe later?” Anders said aloud.

“... Later it is,” Nathaniel agreed. “Our table is at the head of the hall, closest to the stage. See you shortly?”

“See you,” Anders agreed.

Hawke led him back to the guest rooms with his arm still firmly locked around his waist. It was just an arm. Hawke had had his arm around him before, and it hadn’t bothered him before, so it didn’t make sense that it should bother him now, but it did. They reached the guest rooms, up on the second floor, where Varric and Fenris were talking to Merrill out in the hall.

She didn’t look anything like the broken woman Anders had dragged out of a burning building ten months ago. Her clothes weren’t threadbare linens worn for want of anything else. She wasn’t drained of blood and joy. A knee length emerald dress swirled with patterns reminiscent of her vallaslin, belted with a teal sash that looked like it had been knotted one too many times by forgetful hands. Her raven hair was free of soot and finely braided, one pointed ear lined in silver piercings. She looked good. She looked great. She looked like the hero of her own story while Anders prayed for one in his.

“Lethallen!” Merrill shrieked at the sight of him, sprinting down the hall to fling herself into his arms. Her arms locked around his neck and her knees around his waist, and Anders would have fallen over if Hawke wasn’t supporting him. “It’s so good to see you! Did you miss me? You did, didn’t you? I missed you! I missed you so much!”

Anders hugged her. She smelled like spring, and dirt after rain, and rebirth. “Hey Merrill.”

Merrill hopped down from his arms, and snatched up his hands, practically beaming, “I’m so glad you came! I have so much to tell you. You must have so much to tell me! Did you know you’re a hero? I mean, of course you know, but did you know? There are so many songs, lethallen, you have to tell me which ones are true!”

“I’m telling you, Daisy, stories are never true,” Varric said when he joined them, Fenris trailing silently behind him. “They’re only true for whoever tells them.”

“I want to hear Anders' story, then,” Merrill insisted, undeterred. She glanced at Hawke, like she finally realized he was there, and her eyes widened. “...Hawke?”

“Merrill,” Hawke said in greeting.

“... You came to see me?” Merrill asked, and Varric translated the question for her.

“‘Course I came to see you,” Hawke said. Hawke lied. Hawke hadn’t come for her. He’d come for Anders. He’d come to be with Anders because he was always going to be with Anders whether or not Anders wanted to be with him.

“But I-... I never wrote… and you still came?” Merrill asked.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Hawke said after Varric translated.

Not for her. It wasn’t for her, but Merrill didn’t know that, and Merrill wouldn’t believe that, and Merrill wasn’t even looking at him anymore, she was looking at Hawke, and then she was hugging Hawke, and then Hawke was hugging her, and Anders felt sick to his stomach.

“It’s good to see you too,” Merrill said.

“You better?” Hawke asked.

“I’m better,” Merrill agreed. “Are you better?”

“Better,” Hawke agreed.

“... Do you think we can still be friends?” Merrill asked.

“Think so,” Hawke said.

“I think so too,” Merrill smiled, watching Varric translate. “I’ll have to… um… learn how to do all that with my hands. I think I can learn how to do that. I already move them so much when I talk I may as well be saying something with them, don’t you think?”

“I think you’ll be great at it, Daisy,” Varric said.

They were friends again. Hawke and Merrill were friends again. They couldn’t be friends again. Anders didn’t have any friends who weren’t friends with Hawke outside the Wardens, and Hawke had said the Wardens weren’t his friends. It wasn’t true, but everything Hawke said was true, so it had to be true. Anders had to have a friend who wasn’t friends with Hawke, and if that friend wasn’t Merrill, then who was it? Who did he even have left?

… Fenris was his friend. The lyrium-branded elf leaned against the wall, off to the side, squinting while Hawke and Merrill and Varric spoke in an awkward combination of signs and sounds. Anders found a spot beside him, and breathed a little easier when Fenris spared him… not a smile, but a raise of his eyebrows that acknowledged his presence.

“She forgot Isabela,” Fenris signed.

“She loved Isabela,” Anders signed back.

“And you?” Fenris signed.

Anders looked at Hawke. He was talking to Merrill, but he could look over at any moment and see whatever he was signing. Even if Anders said something, Varric would hear it and tell him. It didn’t matter either way, because Anders didn’t know what he wanted to sign or what he wanted to say.

What was he supposed to say? That he didn’t want to be with Hawke? Even if Anders couldn’t remember agreeing to marry him, Hawke probably hadn’t forced the ring onto his finger. Anders could take it off. Nothing was stopping him, but everytime he thought of taking it off he felt paralyzed. He felt guilty. He felt trapped. He felt crazy. He couldn’t tell Fenris that. He couldn’t tell anyone that. It didn’t make any sense.

Anders never answered him. The five of them went down to the main hall for the feast, to a chorus of cheers from all gathered when he entered. Anders waved sheepishly, and Nathaniel waved him over to join him at a table with Velanna, Oghren, Amell, and a few people Anders didn’t recognize. He took a seat at the corner, diagonal from Amell. Hawke sat next to him, and everyone else found their seats as food was brought out.

The minstrels started playing one ballad in his honor after the next. Children and mabari ran wild, getting underfoot and under tables, the din of laughter and conversation flooding the hall. It was the most elaborate party Anders had ever seen, and it was his party, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Hawke was sitting too close to him, their legs pressed together, his hand occasionally running along Anders’ thigh.

Anders couldn’t stay focused on any of the conversation. It wasn’t important. Old friends and new exchanging pleasantries and making acquaintances. The only thing Anders managed to focus on was Amell, but Amell hardly spoke, and when he did, it was usually in a secretive aside to the dark-haired woman at his side. Anders missed her name, along with the names of everyone else at the table, and eventually lost interest in it. He watched the children careen through the hall, and wondered which of them was Kieran.

It was easy to find Amell. Oghren’s Amell. He looked like Oghren’s beard with legs, covered in grease and crumbs, and brandishing a turkey leg like a club. His fiery red hair had frayed free of its braids as the little berserker ran shrieking and barefoot after a few of the other children. There were so many of them - and more than a few had black hair.

The little group circled their table more than a few times, and eventually one of them went scrambling up into the dark-haired woman’s lap. He had to be Amell’s son. He looked just like him. He had the same wheatish skin, the same raven hair, the same blood red eyes. He stayed in his mother’s lap, eating apple slices off her plate and humming along to the latest song the minstrels were playing.

“Enough, you silly boy,” Morrigan - that was it, her name was Morrigan - said eventually, hefting Kieran off her lap and passing him off to Amell. “Eat your father’s dessert, if your own was not sufficient.”

“Your father wants his dessert,” Amell protested.

“Then your father should have eaten it first,” Morrigan countered.

Amell leaned over and whispered something to her that made her laugh, and bounced Kieran idly on his knee while the boy stole all the apple slices from his plate. They looked happy. They looked like a family. They looked like everything he and Justice were fighting for, and everything he’d never have. They looked like what he needed to see, and what he needed to remember, and what he needed to focus on, and what mattered more than he did.

**Deleted Scene: Anders feels sick after spending the night with Hawke, leaves the room to find somewhere to throw up, and blacks out.**

Anders was outside. Anders didn’t remember going outside, but he was there, standing under the Vigil’s eaves in the southern courtyard. It was raining, droplets splashing up and under the eaves to muddy the legs of his trousers. Amell was standing next to him, still dressed for the day despite the fact that they’d moved into the night, a roll of something smoking between his fingers.

How did Anders get here? What was he doing here?

“What did you want to talk about?” Amell asked.

Did he want to talk? Why didn’t he remember asking Amell to talk? Anders rubbed warmth into his arms, struggling to find a topic. Everything. Nothing. He didn’t want to marry Hawke. Couldn’t Amell see he didn’t want to marry Hawke? Maker, please, couldn’t someone see he didn’t want to marry Hawke? Why couldn’t Anders tell someone he didn’t want to marry Hawke? Why didn’t he want to marry Hawke? Hadn’t he at some point? Why was he losing so much time? Why couldn’t he have lost the time he’d just spent with Hawke instead?

“... Lot of rain,” Anders said.

“Hm,” Amell agreed, taking a long pull of whatever he was smoking before offering it over to him.

Since when did Amell smoke? Since when did Anders? Anders took it, along with an experimental pull, and coughed through the burn before handing it back.

“We were going to host games tomorrow,” Amell told him.

“... Maybe Velanna and I could dry the grounds,” Anders offered.

“Maybe,” Amell said.

“... Amell…” Everything Anders wanted to say stuck in his throat. Help me. Please help me. The words wouldn’t come. “... I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“Why can’t you?” Amell took another pull of whatever they were smoking. “I meant my last letter, Anders.”

Anders hadn’t read his last letter. He couldn’t tell Amell that.

“... You look good,” Anders said instead. It won him a smirk. It felt like a nice thing to win. “... I look good too, by the way.”

“I know,” Amell said.

“You don’t though,” Anders said. “I could look like a ghoul right now for all you know.” He felt enough like one. Unable to say anything. Unable to think anything. Losing more time and more sanity with every passing day.

“I'm sure you’d make a handsome one,” Amell assured him.

“All three teeth and no nose,” Anders joked.

Amell took another long pull, and flicked the rest of the roll out into the rain. He reached out and touched Anders’ chest, starting at his heart and sliding up to his trembling throat, lingering briefly over his lips before he found his cheek. He ran his thumb along the bridge of Anders’ nose, and smiled. “Still here,” He noted.

“Teeth might not be,” Anders mumbled, wetting his lips.

Amell’s hand slipped lower on his cheek, his thumb running along his bottom lip and pulling it slightly back from his teeth. Anders sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for words, for action, for anything. “... Did you want me to check?” Amell whispered, taking a painful step closer.

Yes. Fucking Maker yes. “Can you-...” Anders took another breath. “... Can you just hold me?”

Amell pulled him into his arms, his whisper softer than the rain. “... Always.”

[shipersanonymous]

Au

A West-Allen AU 💜

Worth more than gold

Iris West is a multi billionaire and heiress who’s emotionally scarring childhood has made her shut herself off to all possible emotional relationships. Her life takes an interesting turn when her adoptive grandfather passes away leaving her in charge of his fortune, including a share of S. T. A. R. Labs. While in Central City, she meets Barry Allen, an innocent and charmingly clumsy kind of guy with a high EQ who’s trying to climb his way up the science social ladder to become a recognized scientist. Can you guess his lab of choice?

Your average, every day, girl meets boy kinda story with a rags to riches twist, a dash of family drama, lots of angst and a love worth more than Au.

…………………………………………………………........

Author’s Note: 

Here we are! 

Au is finally making it’s way onto tumblr! I’m so excited! I’m gonna try to get tumblr updated by this week, so we’re all on the same schedule! Let’s do this!

XOXO

...................................................................................

WARNING : MAY CONTAIN CONTENT NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 18

*********** Cliffhanger Warning ***********

Chapter 1

Her hand rested on the cool glass of the floor to ceiling window as she overlooked the nightly view offered by her million dollar apartment. The sky was clear, not a single cloud concealed the sparkle of the stars that were dimmed only by the ever present Parisian city lights. The moon was full and white, its iridescent light bathed her naked body creating a picture out of shadows on her bare skin. Iris took a sip from her glass, the semi-sweet wine burning her tongue with a pleasant ardour before she swallowed and it heated her body from the inside out. Her latest boy toy came up from behind her, his body just as bare as hers, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He proceeded to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, savouring in the feel of her warm chocolaty skin against his lips and she simply took another sip of her drink, completely unfazed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered on to her shoulders but she seemed unmoved by the compliment. With her stare trained on the city-scape bellow she simply said,

“It’s getting late.” Eddie knew what that meant, it was time for him to leave. It didn’t surprise him but even after months of this back and forth ritual between them it still hurt him to know that to her he was nothing more than a sex toy. He quietly moved away from her and made his way up the stairs to get dressed. As always he didn’t bother saying goodbye, he couldn’t say goodbye, not to her. She was like a drug to him, no matter how much she hurt him he’d always come running back when she called. That’s why he couldn’t say goodbye, he wasn’t done with her yet.

Iris waited until she heard the door close to let her guard down. She didn’t do that often but today she made an exception. She had too much on her mind to keep her walls up. With a partially full bottle of red in one hand and her glass in the other she made her way up to her suite. She showered, washing away the tension from her stressed muscles along with the sweat of her late night activities. Wrapped in nothing but a satin robe, she settled down in her bed and drank her way through half the bottle without so much as a minor buzz. She opened her side table drawer and from it took out a black, rectangular picture frame. Her fingers caressed the glass that held a picture of a younger less, damaged version of her, standing next to a kind faced older man. Grandpa West. The only reason why there’s still any shred of humanity left in her. She smiled, as happy memories played out in her mind and this time she didn’t stop the tears from flowing.

This was her one moment of vulnerability. The only minute of grief she would allow herself to have before she withdrew back into her safety shell and locked away her emotions from the world. This world that had chewed her up and spat her out on countless occasions and now it took away the one person that made her life livable.

Elvis West was a type of hero to her. He saved her from the crippling grasp of the foster system she was under and gave her a life fit for a princess. Now, like everything and everyone else in her life, he was gone. No wonder she didn’t open up to the possibility of new relationships. Her father didn’t want her, her mother died giving birth to her and every foster family she went to, succeeded in making her feel less than human. Grandpa West was the last person she ever showed genuine affection towards and nothing on Earth could ever make her open up again. Love wasn’t worth the pain it caused.

She fell asleep with that picture held tight against her chest, the empty bottle of wine rested on the nightstand and her pillow was bathed in her tears. The next morning she took the family jet to Central City for the memorial. The man was sentimental and his birth town held a special place in his heart. As she looked out the window at the tiny town below she remembered the countless stories he’d shared with her at bed time about how he met his one true love. Grandma Esther. Iris didn’t get to know her all that much. She had recently passed away when Grandpa West took her in so the only impression she had of the woman came from the many tales he’d tell. He spoke fondly of her and when he did she noticed that he’s eyes had a certain quality about them as he stared into oblivion completely lost in thought. As a girl she’d dreamed that she’d find someone who would look at her with those same eyes but time and knowledge wiped away that childish fantasy. True love was just a myth that man kind made up to silence their fear of being alone and make they’re animal like desires less shameful. It was an excuse used to answer the existential crisis of the more gullible who believed that a cerebral chemical reaction was good enough a reason to live. Pathetic.

She’d made her peace with it and found a new reason to live. Pleasure. Whether it lie at the bottom of a six thousand dollar bottle of champagne, at the end of the endless zero’s in her checks or a really good night of sex, she would have it and no one could convince her otherwise. No one could tell her that this wasn’t the way to live life. The only person who’s opinion she cared about was currently six feet under ground. The rest of the world was just a stage and she was the director.

The jet landed and she took a minute to touch up her make up before she cat walked her way out. As soon as she entered the airport she was showered with a billion flash lights. You’d think she was a movie star or big shot music sensation but all she was, was rich. She owned shares to five of the worlds most prominent media outlets varying from magazines to newspapers and that doesn’t count the old money she was raised in.

Linda walked up behind her and huffed under her breath.

“Mon Dieu (My goodness).” she exclaimed frustrated.

  “Que s'est-il passé? (What happened)” Iris questioned with her shaded eyes still trained straight ahead. Linda was the closest thing to a friend Iris would allow herself to have, mostly because she was a good assistant and Iris found herself enjoying her company. 

“Nous sommes entourés d'idiots. (We’re surrounded by idiots)” she explained and Iris let out an amused chuckle. Remembering that she needed to ease her tongue back into the English language she responded,

“That I already knew.” Her accent was still pronounced but she knew after an hour or two it would soon fade. She might have been raised and educated in France but she was brought up by Americans so english was more like second nature than it was a second language to her.

“What do I have to do today?” she asked, her step never faltering and her face never turning to acknowledge the curios glares. Her security detail walked a safe distance ahead, already accustomed to her need for personal space and fast walking pace.

“Uh…d'abord (firstly)-”

“En anglais Linda. In English.” she interrupted. 

“Oui, I mean yes. Sorry. Firstly you have the will reading with Monsieur Wells and then a share holders meeting at some sort of laboratory.” Linda listed out, her accent much more noticeable than that of her employer. 

“Great, just what I needed today. A sit down with a bunch of old mouth breathers who think they know about science because they invested in a laboratory.” It was all she could do not to slap her own forehead in exasperation. Not that she knew much about science herself but S. T. A. R. Labs wasn’t her baby, it was her grandfather’s and being his only heir, with his passing it automatically became hers.

The limo was waiting outside for her surrounded by reporters and a growing crowd all waiting to catch a glimpse of her. To the public and the press she was basically anonymous. They knew her face and envied her net worth but they couldn’t pin a single rumor on her. As scandalous as the life she led might have been Iris West knew how to be discreet and the mystery surrounding her life is the very reason why she wasn’t just another person apart of the wealthy minority.

She stepped inside the lavish auto mobile without so much as a wave in the on-lookers direction and as soon as the doors were closed she drove off with her security detail riding in a black Land Rover behind her. 

“Why on earth do we need a will reading exactly? I mean my grandfather had no one but me to leave his estate to and I’ve already taken care of all the charity’s he was associated with." 

She’d spoken to all the parties concerned and guaranteed that all her grandfathers monthly and yearly donations would remain on schedule despite his untimely departure. She was an anti-social socialite not an emotionless bitch.

  "I don’t understand the logic behind it either but Dr Wells insisted that you attend." 

Iris huffed out a frustrated breath and massaged her temple’s with her thumb and middle finger. 

"I’m gonna need a pain killer.”

They made a brief stop at the towering black gates and once an armed guard confirmed the identities of all the people in both vehicles they were let through. They drove through the perfectly groomed garden, that was split in the middle by a cobblestone drive way, and pulled up to a gigantic structure. It was a massive building, with just enough floor to ceiling windows to allow for the right amount of privacy. She stepped through the door and made her way up the stair case. 

“Where are you going?” Linda asked, her voice alert. 

“Les toilettes (the restroom). I need a bath.” she answered taking a short turn to the right and climbing up the remainder of the way. 

“But Monsieur Wells will be here any minute.”

“And I pay him handsomely for his time. He can wait." 

Iris shut the doors to her suite and took a moment to breathe before she walked to the bathroom and striped off her travel clothes. Her bath was already waiting for her (the servants knew the drill, they kept track of her whereabouts because as soon as she stepped through those doors she needed to have her bath). She stepped into the scalding hot water, the steam rose all around her in twirling wisps carrying with it the unmistakable smell of coconut. Coconut oil did wonders for her skin. She sank into it up to her neck and closed her eyes completely allowing her body to relax.

Her moment of bliss was short lived, however, because a few minutes later a knock came at her door. She cursed under  her breath before she told the person to enter. 

"Mademoiselle West? Monsieur Wells is here,” came Linda’s voice from the room. 

“I’ll be down in a minute,” she huffed out and waited for the sound of the door closing before she sank deeper into the tub, not worried that her hair was getting wet. She resurfaced and elevated her body from the bath tub. Without bothering to towel down she wrapped her self into a satin black robe that was decorated with yellow, orange and green flowers at the hems. The fabric stuck to her bare, moist body and her hair left droplets of water in her wake as she exited her room, making her way downstairs. 

She found Wells seated in the office with a small cup of coffee in his hands. He stood when he noticed her at the door, ever the gentleman. 

“Ms West. Always a pleasure.” he greeted and she walked into the room, slapping on her most convincing (yet neutral) smile. 

“Wells. Wish I could say the same but unfortunately the sentiment is not shared.”

She took the seat behind the desk and leaned back into it, crossing her legs and arms in the process. 

“Can we speed up the process?” she asked looking far from amused. “Unfortunately not,” he said. 

That response was not what she wanted to hear and after the night she had and the long flight Iris found herself losing her composure. 

“And why the hell not?” she demanded. 

“Because we’re waiting for someone.” Wells answered, loosening his tie as his discomfort grew. 

“Who?” Iris asked confused, as far as she  was aware she was her grandfather’s only heir. She didn’t have to wait long for an explanation because seconds after she uttered the question the door bell rang. 

“I believe that’s him right now.” Wells said standing up to greet the mystery guest. Iris followed suit, her confusion clear on her face. 

“Him? Him who?” she asked and the new comer stepped into the room. 

“Me.” he said. He was a tall, dark skinned man that looked like he was 

somewhere in his late forties. Iris gave him a once over before she folded her arms across her chest and shot him a suspicious look. 

“And you are?” She sassed out. 

“Joe West. I’m Elvis’s son.”

[proxylynn]

Lynchtale: File Name Game of Death #2

Chapter 2: Pay the price for your betrayal

WARNING: THIS IS A MATURE STORY THAT WILL HAVE BLOOD, GORE, PSYCHOLOGICAL SURVIVAL HORROR, HEAVY CURSING, AND LIKELY SEXUAL THEMES/BONING. I DO NOT OWN UNDERTALE, THAT BELONGS TO LORD TOBY FOX. I DO NOT OWN DEAD BY DAYLIGHT, THAT BELONGS TO BEHAVIOUR DIGITAL INC.. I DON'T OWN THE AU'S THAT SOME OF THE CHARACTERS COME FROM, THEY BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE CREATORS. I DON'T OWN THE IDEA FOR LYNCHTALE, THAT BELONGS TO PUNNYSIDEUP (AKA. SANSFULPUNS). WHAT I DO OWN IS MY SELF-INSERT OC ANOMALY LYNSIE AND THE LOVE OF FAN PARODY. IF YOU'RE STILL READING THIS, THEN CONGRATULATIONS ON EITHER BEING ONE WITH STRONG DETERMINATION OR AN ENDLESS WILL TO OVERCOME THE CHALLENGE OF STOMACHING WHAT I HAVE IN MIND. EITHER WAY, IF YOU LIKE THIS AND/OR MY OTHER CONTENT, SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. HAVE FUN SINNERS. ^_^

With each step taken the fog ebbed and flowed back, never revealing the solid surface under its misty shroud. In fact, nothing was capable of being seen. At least, for now. Such is how the Entity makes these spaces between realms. The soft footfall of sneakers barely audible. Though one body walked this path, it castes four shadows. This was the Legion. Four souls bound together in a single body, with only one ever in control at a time. They don't remember much before they were taken by the Entity, but they know one thing. They oddly all share the same name. So to break any confusion they each bare a nickname. Dead-Eye is the impulsive one, quick to show off and enjoys doing so in the most hardcore of ways. Boo is the shy and naïve one, usually only doing things because they're forced or afraid to disobey. Chops is the demanding one, thinking they are deserving of more than they get and taking pleasure in earning such rewards. Then there's Bones the opportunistic leader of the bunch, they are as crafty as they are charismatic yet loyal to a fault. They are Legion. And they are on the move. Or more accurately...Bones is on the prowl.

{where are we going? this isn't the way back to the cabin.}

Boo questions.

{weren't you paying attention, twerp? there's new meat in this game. we're gonna go see if they're worth any trouble.}

Chops barks.

{oh...sorry.}

{leave the kid alone. we need to pay attention.}

Dead-Eye makes his point. To which Chops scoffs in annoyance.

"will you guys knock it off. we're almost there. and i want all of you to focus."

It's not easy to keep one's mind centered when three other voices tend to chatter on, but Bones had managed to get used to it. This was what it was like for them all the time. The only exceptions were in trials and if the Entity was feeling they earned a generous reward. In trials, the other three would be held back and allow the one in control to be fully themselves. And the generous reward...temporary separation for a short limited time. Moments to themselves are rare, so any chance to have them is highly sought after. This wasn't one of those moments, but could potentially lead up to one, so scouting out the meat was very important.

The fog begins to lessen. Tress start to come into view. The realm of the Survivors' campsite finally draws near. A sinister grin creeps up Bones' face as the sight of a speck of light is seen in the distance. His pace quickens with a sudden eagerness. A feeling of excitement like a child rushing to open their gifts on X-mas day. The light getting closer the faster he went, almost going into his Feral Frenzy state.

{geez, man, chill. ya don't wanna give away that we're here.}

Chops for once was being logical.

"i can't help it. wraith did hype me up a little bit."

{she is merely another human. there is nothing to get so worked up about.}

Dead-eye states coldly.

"that's not the part i'm hyped for."

{it's her soul, isn't it? wraith said it had more colors than the others.}

Boo innocently chimes in.

"heheh...call me curious, but a human with more than one trait to their soul is a rather interesting surprise, to say the least."

{*chuckles* bet she's some kind of freak.}

{don't be so mean.}

{we are all freaks. the only difference is if you embrace it or not.}

"shut up! all your yammering is pissing me off. i need concentration."

Their murmurers in his mind settle down as the density of the forest wanes and the smell of smoke becomes as clear as the light source creating it. Bones' movement now was but a crawl of its former speed as he crouched into the bushes near the humans' untouchable safe zone.

"okay...now, where is the new face?"

Mimicking the stealth of the very prey he's eyeing, Bones silently moves from one shrub to the next to circle the site and better spy the new odd human out.

{this has to be a record for the closest any killer's gotten to the camp.}

{what about that time one enraged huntress and she charged them?}

{i think he means closest without the entity interfering.}

{oh. then yeah. totally a new record.}

{bones, look over by that log in the back. i think that is her.}

"huh?"

From his current spot, all he can see along this log in question is a pair of arms locked behind a pony-tailed brunette head in relaxation. An easily missable sight if not paying attention. Creeping more around grants him the first view of her at a side angle. Yep. This was her. No one like her has been here before.

"bingo."

While different from what he's used to seeing, she wasn't out of the ordinary and just only contrasted from the other humans. Wearing a simple black shirt with weird white symbols across the chest, faded gray camouflage cargo pants, a dark hoodie tied around her waist, and old worn-out white sneakers that look like they've seen better days. She was new, but nothing special.

{that's her? *scoff* wraith must be losing his mind. the only thing she looks like is an easy kill.}

{i don't know. she looks nice enough.}

{boo, i swear, sometimes ya make me want to beat the shit out of ya.}

{what? why?}

{you're both being stupid. don't dismiss the prey by of how it looks. meat is tricky. do not trust it.}

"if only there was a way to get her to expose her soul."

{we can always get a look during trial. we just need to use our moris on her and bing bang boom, it's soul time.}

"true. but there's no telling when we'd get a crack at her."

{oh! i know!}

"what, boo?"

{we can do as wraith did. we get her to come into the woods and then kill her.}

{it does sound like a reasonable idea.}

{for once, the baby said something i can agree with.}

{hey!}

"fine, let's say we do try to lure her out. do any of you know how?"

{we can always chuck a rock at her head.}

"you've got to be fucking kidding me?}

{i don't see you suggesting anything. and besides, it's not like i said we throw our knife.}

"*sigh* i swear, the more time passes the dumber we get. i mean, what the fu..."

{bones...}

"what?"

{she is looking this way.}

His attention returning to what's in the camp, Dead-eye was right, and her head was now facing his hiding spot.

"...you don't think she heard me, right?"

{no one else is looking. so my guess is no.}

{so weird.}

{weird bitch. i don't like the way she's staring at us.}

For once the shoe was on the other foot. The killer was nervous about being spotted by the prey. But he knew she couldn't possibly know that he's there. Even if he was talking to himself, she was too far away to have heard him and the fog coated bush hid him too well to be seen. So why then was her gaze just strongly locked on him to the point he could feel her eyes picking away at the leaves to find him.

{what do we do?}

{what do ya mean what do we do? it's only a human. she can't do squat to us.}

{then why does this feel so...?}

{intense?}

{yeah. like, super intense.}

{you two are pussies. bones, can ya believe the lack of balls on these dorks? ...bones?}

Bones didn't hear his companions. For that matter, he couldn't even feel their presence. He was too lost in the eyes staring into his very soul from afar. Something held him there and compelled him to keep staring at her. Then she moved. Standing up yet never breaking contact. She tilts her head, as if unsure of if she indeed sees something. But once her mind is made up, she starts to head his way and he hears something that will surely give his cover away.

lub-dub...lub-dub...

{wait...is that...?}

{our heartbeat?}

{why is our heart beating ominously?}

"i don't know."

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

"'ey Luv..."

She stops at the call and approach of one of the male survivors.

"You're not really wanderin' off again, are you?"

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

When she doesn't respond to him, the man looks to where she's looking and Bones feels awkward.

"What's wrong, Luv? Somethin' over there?"

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

She rolls her shoulders and turns away.

"Nah. Just my imagination."

The man puts his arm around her shoulders and guides her back toward the log.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Bones lets out a quiet sigh.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Whatever the reason for this strange feeling, he's at least glad it was going away.

lub-dub...lub-dub...

A few beats more and internal silence fell once again...not counting the three voices in his head.

{uh...i don't know about you guys, but i say we go home before something else weird happens.}

{agreed.}

{you guys are such bitches. *huff* man...fuck this place. was a waste of time anyway.}

Bones found himself grinning. This human was already proving themselves to be interesting. She was going to be fun in trials. Every killer knows about the Terror Radius. The warning sound survivors hear when a killer draws near. But no killer could ever hear it...till now and only for her. And the thrilling part was that she probably had no idea of the effect that befell him at her coming closer, which means for him, finding her will be as easy as finding a cat in an empty fish tank.

"heh heh heh...this is going to be fun."

Having seen enough, for now, Bones made his way deeper into the forest and headed out into the dense fog. Now knowing what he did, it was time to return to their territory and go over a plan for this new meat. Perhaps he could make a rare offering to the Entity and ask for a small favor? It's worth a shot.

(UNKNOWN AMOUNT OF TIME LATER)

Time is annoying here. There's no way of knowing what is going on. Is it day? Is it night? Who knows! It's always this weird form of dark but isn't dark. Makes no damn sense. Then there's this good and bad stuff. The good, there's no need to sleep. The bad, trying to sleep because dreaming is awesome is nearly impossible due to assholes in this fucking camp! The good, there's no need to eat. The bad, I would kill for a Big Buford meal from Checker's/Rally's right now. It's a paradox! An evil and twisted hell! Only hell would deny me my favorite food! And to add to all of this...I'm so damn bored! I mean, you can only stare into a fire for so long till it feels like it's burning your very soul away with the power of absolute bullshit! Even when the others come and go, the tireless drain on my mental state remains. The only thing moderately entertaining is David. The guy, when not being a dumb flirt, has no filter when it comes to fucked up stories, that are obviously fake, and I love it.

"I went to this girl's party the week after she beat the shit out of my mate. While everyone was gettin' trashed, I went around puttin' tuna inside all the curtain rods. So weeks go by and they couldn't figure out why the house smelled like festerin' death. I only got caught because this bloke snapped a couple of shots where these guys at the party were singin' while I was in the background with a can of tuna."

"*snickering* Heheh...That story smells fishy. Cast a wider net next time."

David groans.

"Luv...Must you do that?"

"What?"

"Puns aren't funny."

"You sir just aren't sophisticated enough to appreciate the complexity of a well-made pun."

He rolls his eyes.

"Anyway...This one time, my whole class got detention because I drew a penis with a glue stick on the whiteboard. When the teacher went to wipe off the board, all the fluff came off and stuck to the glue. I never got in trouble for it because everyone found it too funny to rat me out."

"Sounds like a sticky situation."

His groan is even louder.

"Wow. Tough crowd."

"Oh? Okay, Luv, why not you give it a go."

"What? You want me to make you laugh, huh?"

"Make me? No. I want you to try."

I glare.

"Oh, you are so on. *ahem* A priest was driving along and saw a nun on the side of the road. He stopped and offered her a lift which she accepted. She got in then crossed her legs, forcing the habit slip to open and reveals some of her legs. The priest looks and nearly has an accident. After shifting gears, he lets his hand slide up her leg. She immediately says, 'Father, remember Psalm: 129'. The priest says sorry and removes his hand but is unable to remove his eyes from her leg. Later on, when he shifts gears again and has ogled at her leg for like the trillionth time, he lets his hand slide up her leg again. The Nun once again says, 'Father, remember Psalm: 129'. Arriving at the convent, the nun gets out and the priest goes on his way. Once he's at his church, he rushes to his trusty bible and looks up Psalm: 129 and it said...GO FORTH AND SEEK, FURTHER UP YOU WILL FIND GLORY!"

He just stares at me. As do some others that were in the range of my overly dramatic finish. It's actually a little embarrassing. But then...He chuckles.

"Heh. Alright, Luv. I'll give you credit, that was funny. Shame I heard somethin' like it before."

My joke pride is dashed.

"Really? Damn."

"Eh, no worries. Better luck next time."

"Oh! I got a good one. So one day this fly is flying over a pond..."

[It is time, little worm. Time to run and hide from the monsters. Do not disappoint The Entity.]

"Luv? You okay?"

Suddenly the air chills. The trees bend as if to look away. And the fog gets so thick around camp that light is inescapable. An unknown impulse beyond my control has me make myself stand. Joining me in this weird stand is Dwight, Meg, and Jake. My comprehension of what is happening is as cloudy as the black smoke that consumes us. And just like that, we are taken from camp to an unknown place.

The transition of this smoke's transportation is one that chokes the very breath out of you. The feeling of these unseen claws skim along exposed flesh and just add this creepy unsettling factor that makes this even more fucked up. Yet just as the cringe factor feels like its approaching hentai levels of uncomfortable, it all stops. The smoke clears and a very Earth looking place in before me. It's bright, cold, and snowing. Things that normally bother me. But honestly...It makes me smile.

"Psst..."

Reality comes back to me in the form of Dwight.

"Get down and follow me."

He crouches and I shrug before doing the same.

"What is this place?"

"Mount Ormond Resort. This is Legion territory. But that doesn't mean it would be the killer though."

"Yeah, I was told it can be random."

He nods and I follow behind while taking in as much of the area that I can soak in. The hollowed summit of Mount Ormond looms over desolate patches of dead trees. The abandoned ski facilities litter the ground among large patches of snow and natural rock clumps with other land bumps. Random snow machines, barrel fires, and a freaking watchtower. There's even an impressive chalet in the center, albeit it's not in good condition as far as I see and we are pretty far from it. The stale air makes the rough winds drape a heavy blanket of isolation over the bleak landscape. Oddly though, the area seems to be fenced in and gives me these dropping mice in a snake tank vibes. Humans being the mice and the snake being the killer monsters. Though seeing this barrier, it doesn't look very difficult to climb. Surely one can simply do so if given the chance. Eh, maybe I'll try it after learning more from Dwighty-boy. We continue to creeping along in tall patches of grass till we reach this weirdly positioned assortment that is almost maze-like but not quite. There are colorful pallets of wood on two sides, this red locker that is conveniently large enough to fit a person, and a hook post that looks like a miniature ski lift pylon with a yellow rubber mat surrounding the lower half. Though he ignores these things to take me to a massive generator that is connected to a light post.

"This is what we need to fix to open the gates and leave. Well...leave without dying."

I just blink in confusion.

"Dude. I don't know about you guys, but I don't know jack shit about mechanical work."

"You don't have to. Take a look."

He moves to one side and I do the same.

"The Entity made these simple. The only thing that needs fixing is the wires. They need to be reconnected to their other half. Just find two that have the same color and splice them back to make the connection. Just be careful not to rush or cross the wrong wires together."

"As dumb as it is to ask...Why?"

"It'll make the gen spark and alert the killer to our location."

"That sucks."

"It does. But not as bad when the killer attacks the gen to undo an amount of progress."

"...Now that's just shit."

"Help me with this one. Repairs go quicker when more than one person in on a gen."

"Fine. Just keep explaining things to me. I don't intend to die here."

He nods as he puts his hands in the generator. I doubt my skills are good here but I at least try and do the same, attempting to repair while keeping watch over his blind spot.

"The goal is to repair the gens to open the gates. But aside from messing up, even repairing the gen can alert the killer."

"Let me guess...The lights?"

I point up.

"Yep. They shine bright enough to be noticed and make a sound when turned on. So...It's best to run and hide when that happens."

"Is that what the locker is for?"

"Yeah, they're good for quick hiding or long-time avoidance."

"That last one sounds like a bitch move to pull."

"...It helps when your team is better than you are and you don't want to get int the way."

Ouch...That actually made me feel bad. Uh...Quick! Change the subject!

"And the pallets?"

"Oh, you use those for a few things. Mostly to block the killer. But if they grabbed someone before they dropped it, you can drop it and make the killer lose their grip and they can escape."

"Neat."

"But the killers can break dropped pallets and there's only a set number in the whole area."

"Damn."

"Other than that, there's not much else we can do. Hide, work on gens, and try not to die."

"Gee. That's depressing. So there's no way of, I don't know, fighting back?"

"Well, there are trunks scatted around that you can find one of four items in at a time."

"What?"

"A med-kit, toolbox, flashlight, or key."

"Wait...So we don't get a weapon?"

"Nope. We can't even use the hatchets that are in the lockers."

"...Say what now?"

"We've tried. They can't be removed by survivors. Only the Huntress can take them. The only 'weapons' we get are the flashlights because it can temporarily blind them, and a shard of glass to stab them with to get out of their grip. That's it. The other items are just to help us get through this."

So wait, if humans are limited that much, then does that mean...?

"...So I take it trying to jump the fence is a no go too?"

"Nea tried that. The Entity raised it higher as a warning. She didn't listen and kept trying. It killed her automatically."

Damn. There goes that plan.

"*sigh* Any other helpful tips you can give me?"

"Keep your eyes peeled and listen out for the killer's Terror Radius."

"The huh?"

"Terror Radius. When the killer starts to get close, your heart will beat loudly. The louder it is, the closer the killer is to you. Thankfully, it's only a sound we can hear. Aside from the sound, beware of the Red Stain. It's a light that shines from their eyes when they target someone."

"I'm starting to see which side the Entity favors more. Is it too late to switch teams?"

We share a small awkward laugh. But I wasn't joking.

*CLANK*

We pause at the sudden sound and notice no added light above us. Scanning the dense further out, a small blip of it is just marginally lighter than the surrounding area.

"That's one down."

"How many do we need to power the gates?"

"Five."

I pale.

"You're joking."

"I wish."

"We have to do five of these things and avoid a killer while being completely helpless? That is the most bullshit of all bullshit I have ever heard!"

"Shhhhh! Keep your voice down."

I take a deep breath to settle down.

"Sorry. It's just I can't handle stupid. Like, no joke. My mind literally can't take it."

"I'm sure you're just..."

"I once put my head through a wall after punching it to avoid hitting someone that was stating the most illogical load of crap like what they were saying was fact."

He just stares at me.

"I'm not a violent person, dude. But when my brain can't comprehend utter lack of sense, it goes primal and demands a way to unload."

"...By hitting things?"

"By hitting things."

"That...doesn't sound healthy."

I merely shrug and connect the last couple of wires on my side.

*CLANK*

Light beams down on us as the generator purrs with life.

"Now we need three more."

"Got it."

"This is where I leave you now."

"Why?"

"Increases the odds of us not being taken down in a bunch."

"...Makes sense."

"Take care, Lynsie."

"Same to you, Dwight."

Dwight crouches off in one direction and I crawl away in the opposite. The misty nature of this place and the snowfall makes for good coverage but also obstruct my sight as well...especially when it flies in your eyes.

*HIGH-PITCH SHIRK*

Unless the killer just ripped the balls off one of the guys, that had to be Meg. What sucks is I feel I should do something. What that something is? Fuck if I know. Maybe if I find one of those chests I can get a med-kit and heal her if she's hurt. Great. Now I have to multitask. Find gens, fix gens, avoid death, and save others. Is it really too late to change sides?

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

The fuck? Nearly no time passed and a second was attacked? This isn't looking so good.

"Nope! Nope! Nope! So much nope!"

Dwight comes rushing this way.

"Dude?"

He speeds past me with a look of "I'm going to wet my pants" and I don't like that one damn bit. His urgency kicks me into "screw this" mode and I bolt. Now the idea of hiding is my only goal. Something I can effectively feel safe in or at. The chalet looks to be three stories, so maybe. The watchtower seems to be missing a ladder, that's never stopped me before. There's a shack that is very out of place. Wait...What did they tell me about that again? Oh, I remember now. And...Nope! Not going there! That's a bad spot. Uh...Fuck it! Going for the trees! I pick one near one of the odd obstacle places and use it to get up to the reachable branches since the trunk is too big around.

lub-dub...lub-dub...

That sound...

lub-dub...lub-dub...

I climb up higher and try to mold into the branch work. Maybe I can think of a plan from here. It's not like the killer can climb up here...right?

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Shit, that's closer. Where is it? What am I even looking for? Just saying "monster" or "killer" doesn't mean I know what it looks like. God, I hate my teammates...except you, Dwight. You actually tell me useful stuff.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

A moving light gets my attention. From the height and angle that I'm at, I see the noticeable sight of a gingered haired maiden speed limping while trying to use a flashlight on someone in a dark blue hoodie. Such a human piece of clothing. A big contrast to the Wraith.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Meg's efforts to shake this killer have her darting around like mad. Soon though she heads my way.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

I watch as she vaults through window arches and withholds from using the pallets until just the right moment. She even smacks the killer over the head with one and she gains some time to get ahead, adding more escape time by blinding the killer when he recovers. What kind of OP flashlight is that?

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Though the killer can still see Meg hobbling away, it for some reason lingers here. Taking small quiet steps.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Why is it still here? Why won't it go after her? It doesn't see me, does it?

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

It approaches a locker and flings it open, only to not find me...but Dwight. Unable to escape, the killer grabs Dwight and the poor guy weakly wriggles on the shoulder of the monster as it carries him over just past this obstacle thing.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

*LOW-PITCH SCREAM*

By how loud that scream is that had to be him going on the hook. Now's my chance to do something helpful! If only the killer would leave! I don't know what it's doing. But the thing won't stop stalking around this damn spot! It's making my heart go nuts!

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

I'm about to lose my shit when suddenly something sparks on the other end of the zone. The killer pauses, looks around, goes over to Dwight and hits him before leaving to check it out. I wait till my heart has stopped racing then slowly make my way back to solid ground and move to Dwight.

"Dude, how's it hanging?"

He cringes with a groan.

"Please don't make fun right now. I'm in a lot of pain."

"I see that. It's just how I deal with things. Now think light thoughts."

I embrace his legs and lift. He on his end pulls up with one hand and move the hook away with the other. The blood falling and the sloshing noise of the nasty hook moving through his shoulder. When freed he slumps down on me and brings us both crashing to the snow.

"*muffled* Mind getting off my head?"

"Sorry."

He rolls off me and I shake the snow from my hair.

"Thanks for the save."

"Anytime. So long as I'm not being chased."

He smiles and picks himself up, holding the gaping wound with his good hand. Doing so makes his extra wound at his side stretch and bleed harshly.

"Say...You wouldn't happen to know where Jake is?"

I shake my head.

"Oh well. Here's hoping I find him or my own med-kit before Legion gets me again."

"That was Legion?"

"One of them. You better get going now. It's not good hanging around a wounded survivor."

"Wait, what do you mean by one of them?"

He limps off, groaning and dripping blood.

*HIGH-PITCH SHRIK*

Sounds like Meg is getting into trouble again. I got to do something. Anything productive. Where's another generator at?

*HIGH-PITCH SCREAM*

Holy shit! Okay, I need to do something. I'm too far judging by that scream. I need to buy them time to save her. I need to...

"LEGION!"

Not yell out the killer's name like a fucking idiot!

lub-dub...lub-dub...

Well, that's to be expected. Time to run now. With basically having painted a "come kill me" target on my dumb ass, I don't hold back on the speed. Rushing as if Legion were right behind me instead of just trailing from somewhere.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Need to duck it. Need to find something to disorient it. In my haste, I grab some snow and ball it before chucking it at a passing pallet. The thud sound it makes should pull its attention.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Unfortunately, it seems I'm not going to be so lucky. It's not falling for this trick.

*CLANK*

That sound means we only need two more generators to power the gates and no one has died that I'm aware of. So far I'd call this a good trial. Scary as fuck, but still good.

lub-dub...lub-dub...

It's going after the others again. I can use this opportunity to find a spot to rest for a bit. My lungs are burning from so much running. The watchtower again seems like a tempting hideaway, but if I try climbing now I'll make too much noise with all the huffing and puffing. The shack is again, something I'm not going near due to basement reasons. So the chalet will be my rest stop for the moment. Sneaking in is easy, what with all the broken spots that anyone can use. The inside is trashed. Giving off the vibes of a place used to crash in to get away from the world. Ah, teenage memories. Sadly such destruction makes some parts of it crippled or just plain blocked by debris. Which sucks because that top area is where I want to go and I'm not in the mood to go parkour crazy.

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

Jake or Dwight just got nailed. The way things are going another hit or hook will happen.

*HIGH-PITCH SHIRK*

Oh, come on!

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

You've got to be kidding me.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Son of a...Not much to go on and needing somewhere to hide, I throw myself behind one of the random couches...only to end up skidding into a downward going set of stairs and I tumble head over heel into a wall.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

I shake away the stars in my eyes and come to find I'm in the one spot I've been trying to avoid. I'm in the basement. But how? I thought they said it shows up in the shed. What kind of retards am I dealing with here?!

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Oh yeah, that's still a thing. Since going back up will get me spotted for sure, I hobble deeper down the steps and find the light seeping through the walls to be very unnerving. The eerie sounds don't help either. The Basement contains four lockers, a chest, and a special set of four hooks hanging all from a center post that looks more wicked than the one's topside.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

With not much time, I slip around one of the spaces in the back and hold my breath.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

The sound of grunts and footsteps get louder from above as they move towards the stairs. The grunts aren't coming from the killer. I know the voice. It's Jake and, much like Dwight, he's struggling to get free from the killer.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

There's some shuffling as the steps get closer and closer.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

*LOW-PITCH SCREAM*

I think everyone's been hooked at least once except for me. Maybe I have some luck about me after all. Now when the killer leaves I can unhook Jake and the last couple of generators will be done with ease.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Wait...Why is the killer's steps getting closer?

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Why isn't it leaving?! What the fuck?!

"here's...legion!"

A dark menacing figure with eyes glowing blue rounds the opening of my little hideaway and I in panic, lack of air, plus pure adrenaline flip the fuck out. Much like the reaction that came from meeting the Wraith, instinct has me utter random shit in hopes of stunning the threat with confusion.

"*loud hiss*"

I don't wait to check if this works. I merely listen to the screaming signals my body is making to charge forward. This move takes the killer and knocks it back a bit as I do the animalistic approach to running for my escape. Sorry Jake. Maybe someone else can get you.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

"this is no place for cowards!"

That voice makes my spine shiver. Though nothing freaks me out more than the rapid sprinting behind me.

"where do you think you're going?"

"Anywhere I can!"

"smartasses get killed. we always see to that."

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Bounding out of the chalet, it keeps chase with me and even vaults the pallets that I leap over.

"we know this place better than anyone. what makes you think you can avoid us?"

"Two words..."

Leaping over another pallet, I return to a bipedal run and grab some snow in my haste. I ball the snow hard and once I lead the killer into a straight line, I turn back then hurl it into its face.

"Snowball's chance!"

The resulting assault stuns/blinds it and I, not knowing how long this will last, rush for the watchtower. Doing what I can to scramble up some of the supports after jumping off a generator by the time it catches up to me and is not happy. Though now that I'm out of reach, I can get a decent look at this killer. He is in a deep blue hooded jacket that's partly zipped, the hood covering his head is black and there's white fur around the collar. His black pants have a white stripe that runs down the side of the legs, the ends have been rolled up near the knee. He has finger-less gray gloves that match his gray socks. He spots black sneakers with blue accents and laces. The limbs of his outfit are battened down with tape like practitioners of parkour which is done to lessen wind resistance. In his hand is a sharp hunting blade-like weapon with a jagged saw back made of bone. Such a thing is fitting since this killer is a living skeleton, the open part of his jacket showing off his ribcage. He has no eyes, just black sockets with blue eye-like lights. Other than some bloodstains here and there, there's this odd dark mark on the right side of his face. Or should I say skull? You know what I mean.

"there's no getting out of this now. we're too good at it. so why don't you be a good girl and come down here, excepting your death with some dignity."

"Hmmm...I don't know. Seems to me I have the high ground. The way I see it, I can just chill out here and be completely fine."

He attempts to climb up to get me. Though his skeletal digits can't get a real grip and he keeps slipping off on the first board. He gives up on climbing in annoyance and growls at me but then snickers.

"we wouldn't be so sure about that. once your twerpy friends get a gate open or we shut the hatch, endgame collapse starts. and if you can't escape within two minutes...regardless of your health or hiding spot, any survivors remaining in the trial grounds will be sacrificed by the entity itself."

I groan and claw my face.

"You assholes don't tell me shit!"

I shout into the air and Legion laughs.

"sucks to be you. shame you can't trust your teammates to even inform you on basic things."

"I know!"

I slump against the cold wood as he positions himself under me. Maybe he'll try to throw his weapon at me to knock me down.

"if you come down now, we might be willing to forgive that snowball thing and kill you quickly."

This is so not my day.

"Any chance we can work out a deal where I don't die?"

"heh...we think not."

What is it with this we stuff? I hate words games. It's just as bad when assholes play the pronoun game when talking about someone.

*CLANK*

Another generator goes off and we both look out to where it alerts.

"shit."

Not sure he meant to say that out loud, but it gets me an idea. An awful idea. A wonderfully evil, awful, and just plain fucked up idea.

"Say there, killer, you look a bit worried."

He glares up at me.

"worried? *scoff* what's to worry about? we can easily take down all of you before that last generator gets popped."

"Care to make a little bargain then?"

He eyes me.

"Hear me out. You want us humans dead, right? But currently, three of them are causing you some annoying trouble."

"three? not counting yourself among them?"

I hook my legs around a beam and swing down to dangle just out of reach.

"With this lot? No. It's like you said, they can't be bothered with helping me...So why don't I help someone else instead?"

This gets a grin to smear his skull.

"okay. we're listening."

I smirk.

"You let me live, and I'll make sure they don't get away from that weapon of yours when you come running. Sound fair?"

He chuckles smugly.

"you think quite highly of yourself for someone in their first trial. what makes you think we need your help?"

"Fine. Risk it. Risk them getting away while I stay here and let the Entity get me."

He flinches.

"Risk not making them scream."

He fidgets a bit.

"Risk not spilling their blood."

He gets more anxious.

"Risk..."

"alright! alright! we get it...we have a deal. but on one condition."

"That is?"

"if this messes up and they getaway, we're going to kill you. yet if this works, we'll let you live...but not without some damage."

Beggars can't be choosers. I don't think I'm getting a better offer than that.

"Deal."

I swing away and drop unsteadily. Part of me thought he'd use the opportunity to stab me the moment I came down. I guess there is some honor among killers...I hope.

"I saw some movement west of here. Not sure if other gens are there, but it's where I'm going."

He shrugs.

"go for it. we'll be lurking behind. we can't have them hearing our terror radius, now can we?"

I nod and sprint away. Not really sure if this is a good idea. Morally speaking this is worth my ass burning in hell for eternity. But in terms of not winding up on a hook or as Entity food, I'll sell out the world if I have to. Especially when they knew shit and didn't bother telling me. Granted, I will feel bad for Dwight as he did help me. But only he has my humanity attached to him. The rest are as good as dead.

Running without the need to be sneaky is a nice little perk in all this. The cold was doing a number on my hands. Taking a moment to pause, I listen for any sounds of movement or repairing.

"What are you doing? Don't run around like an idiot."

Jake moves from behind a clump of large rocks.

"Glad to see you too. Where're the others?"

"Not here, obviously. While you were running distraction, we got another gen done."

"I know. We just need one more, right?"

"Yeah. There are three others available. So we've split up to ensure one gets done."

Crap. This is going to be harder than I thought. I didn't anticipate there being more generators than the required amount. Change of plans.

"Mind if I help?"

He sighs.

"Come on. There's one around here."

I will not regret you dying, asshole. He leads me behind some trees where a generator has a shit placement. A boulder and a tree block two sides of it. I guess it's somewhat helpful. He takes a side and I take the more open side...not that he gave me a choice. He starts to tinker and I begin grabbing wires, picking opposites. I wait a few moments then make bad connections, causing the generator to blow in a loud show of sparks.

"Damn it. Be careful will you?"

"Don't pressure me. I don't do well under pressure."

I repeat this same move. Wait a little bit and then spark explosion!

"Screw this."

He crouches off and I follow in a crawl.

"Go away."

"We're a team, right? We need to stick together."

"I don't need you messing this up. Go run distraction since you're so good at it."

"You sir, need to watch your tone."

*HIGH-PITCH SCREAM*

So Legion either didn't follow me or found Meg along the way.

"There goes Meg."

"See? Go distract the killer so we can get her. That way someone useful can actually help."

That was the straw that breaks me. I tackle him to the ground and slam his head repeatedly.

"*snarling* Do...Not...Ever...Disrespect...Me...You...Stupid...Mother...Fucker...!"

After about the tenth bash, I stop because of the sickly wet sloshing sound of a cranium on slushy snow snaps me to my senses. Jake isn't dead but he is bleeding like crazy and knocked the fuck out. I've never unloaded like that before. It was so primal and yet...so satisfying. Looking around to make sure no one else saw this, I am relieved that nobody did though for some reason I find my eyes locking on to a nearby hooking post.

[Interesting, little worm. You made the meat bleed. Keep going. Do not resist. Offer it to The Entity.]

My head hurts at the whispers invading my mind. I don't like it. I move off of Jake and drag myself from this scene. It's harder than it seems. Something wants me to do it. To finish the job and hook him. It feels sick. I wander around trying to regain myself from the numbness clawing at my brain. The cold is suddenly worse on my hands, only now do I understand the reason why. Jake's blood is on my hands. Literally and figuratively. I frantically try to clean them off in the snow. Less for the reasons of this is a bad "Oh my god, what have I done" thing but more for "I can't let them see this or they'll know something isn't right" thing. Well, that and the longer I see the blood the stronger the messed up impulses get.

*YELP*

The shocked sound gets me back in my normal mindset. Finding the others.

*YELP*

"Dwight, just stop. That's only making it worse."

Meg shoos Dwight from trying to heal her while taking cover in bushes.

"I'm sorry. I get really nervous near endgame."

Poor guy looks so scared.

"Yeah, about that..."

They nearly jump at my arrival.

"So nice of you lot to tell me about endgame collapse. Real helpful. It's almost like you're not telling me shit on purpose so that you'll have better odds. But that would be a massive dick move that only lowlifes would do. And you guys aren't lowlifes...Are you?"

My tone is spiteful. Not caring for whatever the answer that comes.

"It's not like you needed to know right away."

I glare daggers at them.

"We believed you were able to avoid the killer. So we were going to gen rush for a speedy victory. We weren't counting on Legion being so aggressive. Its deep wounds aren't normally so hard to mend."

"What I'm hearing is a lot of crap. One, my so-called team made a plan and didn't let me in on it. Two, said team leaves out useful information on the killer and trial effects. And three, you thought this wasn't going to bite you in the ass."

They look at me confused when suddenly the sky rumbles. Our gaze goes upward as the part of the white clouds turns black and opens to obsidian spider-like appendages reaching down to the ground.

"What the fuck is that?!"

"That's the Entity. But it only comes into trials to claim a sacrifice. Why is it...?"

The spindly claws retract back to wherever the fuck that shit came from, but it's not leaving empty-handed. The shade of Jake is in its grasp. A small glow of cyan in his chest. Once the thing returns to the clouds, the sky returns to normal and I'm speechless.

"It...It took Jake?"

"How? He was only hooked once. If he was hooked again we would've heard him yell."

Unless he was so knocked out that he was completely incapacitated.

"We need to get that last gen."

"But you need to mend. You'll bleed out otherwise."

"I'll do it myself. You two get to a gen. I'll be fine."

Dwight looks worried but he nods and takes my arm.

"Let's hurry before Legion finds us."

I merely follow. Still too dumbstruck to comprehend the thing I just saw.

"Are you okay?"

"Big thing came out of the sky...Head very fuzzy..."

He frowns.

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you everything. We're just...You get so used to things around here that it's easy to forget what it was like in the beginning. Back when this was new and hard to understand. Back when we wished there was someone to teach us what to do. I'm sorry, Lynsie."

Oh no...Not genuine sincerity! How am I supposed to let him die now after all that? God damn evil plans! He finds a generator and he begins to work on it while I pretend to do so. There's already been some progress made on this thing. That's not good. Fuck, I'm conflicted. I can get out of here at the cost of their lives and risk them finding out. Or I can help them escape and risk pissing off Legion who will hunt my ass down for betrayal. I've doomed myself. Like wielding a double-edged sword, no matter which way I swing the damn thing, I'll end up stabbing myself when the backswing returns. Fuck...I've already got Jake killed. Can't puss out now. I slowly begin undoing the connections on my side, effectively making it seem like any progress he's making like it's going nowhere.

"Weird."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm repairing, but nothing is happening."

"Really? You too?"

I'm such scum.

"Hmmm...Maybe the killer is using Hex: Ruin."

I stop and leer at him, making him laugh nervously.

"Um...It's a power that killers can use to affect our ability to repair generators."

"Let me guess...It wasn't worth mentioning at the time that killers have special powers?"

He gulps.

"Have I mentioned that I'm sorry?"

And there goes the guilt that I was having about killing you, Dwighty-boy.

"Come on, dude. Let's find a gen that isn't bugged."

"But..."

*HIGH-PITCH SCREAM*

Dwight jumps.

"Oh no!"

"What?"

"That's Meg's third time being hooked."

"So let's go get her."

"We can't. A third hooking results in instant sacrifice."

Sure enough, the sky does its freaky arcane Hellmouth thing and the talons of the Entity take Meg up into its unknown lair.

"Oh, this is bad. If we can't fix gens then we're done for."

"How many times have you been hooked?"

"Once. If it hooks me now, I'll have to struggle against the Entity as it tries to kill me for sacrifice."

So does that mean if his stamina runs out or he's tired, it'll kill him on the hook?

"We have to get this gen running. It's the only way."

I feel dumb for thing but the question leaves me without much filtering.

"What about the hatch?"

He frowns and shakes his head.

"While it's probably spawned in since we're the last two left...Only one can go through it."

"Oh."

"Unless we had a special key. Then we both could escape so long as we get in within thirty seconds of opening it."

Again? Again with the very important and useful info that could've been told to me way earlier at the damn camp that I'm only hearing about now? Know what...Fuck it! Fuck you! I blatantly connect the wrong wires and the generator blows in loud sparks, freaking Dwight out.

"What are you doing?"

I growl beastly.

"I will not be toyed with by you people."

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

With the threat of running into a killer or dealing with a pissed off woman, Dwight decides the killer is his worst problem and tries to flee past me. Big mistake. I grab the back of his shirt and yank him hard, giving him a choke before he falls back.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

"Are you insane? The killer is..."

"Not your biggest problem."

I smack him so hard that his glasses are knocked off.

"I am not to be fucked with! Not by you. Not by them. Not by anyone! You will learn! You will all learn! You will all learn that your actions have consequences!"

[Yes, little worm. Teach them of their wrongs. Make them learn. Unleash the beast that dwells within.]

A sharp pain grips me. I grab my head and roar out trying to fight this unknown force. My vision is blurring, something is attempting to take control and I fear it might win.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

"Holy crap..."

Dwight, understandably afraid for his life, scrambles to get as far from me as he possibly can. But his efforts and lack of good eyesight have him running right into the blade of the Legion to get a critical deep wound.

*LOW-PITCH YELL*

Dwight goes down and Legion grins to himself.

"too easy."

He goes to pick Dwight up but pauses when it notices me harming myself. My nails are clawing into my arms and I'm ramming my head into some wooden fencing, hoping this trauma will make the force cease its efforts. These actions blind me to his approach and my system gets knocked out of it at this sudden sting in my back.

"don't move."

The feel of his blade leaving me is strangely painless and I can't help the smile that comes to me as things feel so much clearer...even if I drop to my knees.

"stay put. we'll be right back."

He retrieves a futilely crawling away Dwight and goes to hook him somewhere. If I were a more sane individual, I probably would be trying to run away at this moment. But I think that's been proven not to be who I am. What I'm more focused on is figuring out what the hell was happening to me.

*LOW-PITCH SCREAM*

Dwight's on the hook now and no one is around to help him. I know I'm not doing it. I am all out of fucks to give.

lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...lub-dub...

Legion makes his return and I don't blame him for looking shocked that I remained where he left me.

"Surprised to see me?"

"a little bit. normally you humans try to getaway. even when in the dying state."

I look at him funny and he sighs.

"wow. they really don't tell you anything. okay...um...that guy we just hooked..."

"Yeah?"

"remember him being on the floor and only able to crawl? that's the dying state."

"Oh. Kind of a disappointing name."

"well if left alone he would bleed to death."

"Now that makes more sense."

He snickers.

"you are a really weird human."

"As I told Wraith, I prefer quirky."

"quirky doesn't even begin to start with what we'd call you. but it's fine for now."

He huffs a small laugh and closes the distance between us before hiking me over his shoulder. The sky rumbles and we look as the Entity comes once more to claim another victim. With that done, he starts wandering off and I'm amazed that something with no muscle mess whatsoever is this strong. Makes me wonder how his bony body works.

"Can I ask a somewhat personal question?"

"depends."

"Well...and you don't have to answer...But you're a skeleton, right?"

"last we checked."

"But are you completely skeletal?"

He pauses.

"...where are you going with this?"

"I'm just curious is all. I'm not a light girl. For you to pick me up and be walking so comfortably with no muscle is amazing."

He shakes his head in amusement while starting to walk again.

"What? It's a legitimate reason to be curious."

"oh, like you humans are so normal? what with your weak fleshy bodies full of blood and guts."

"I'm not saying it's normal. Normal is overrated."

"then would you be willing to answer one of our questions?"

"Only if you explain this usage of plural terms you've been using."

"we are legion. four killers in one. only one can be in a trial at a time but we're never alone."

"That is fucking cool. So do you all call yourself Legion or...?"

"ah ah ah. you answer our question first."

"Sorry."

"what was happening back there? you know...when you were going nuts?"

My head hurts thinking about that.

"I'm not sure. I got really mad and this creepy voice started talking to me."

"creepy voice you say?"

"I've heard it a few times. But that was the first time...I...Argh, my head is killing me."

"we bet it does. after all, you were hitting it into shit."

"Yeah, but it's fine. I'm thick-skulled."

His body shakes a little with held in mirth. Is he...?

"ah, there's that pesky thing."

Apparently, he's been carrying me this whole time for a reason. He's been listening for this odd and very ominous sound. Funny enough, we find this strange cue at the location of the watchtower where this deal of ours was made. The cause of this sound is the hatch, open and full of dark fog.

"Spooky."

He drops me off of his shoulder roughly near it and then very blatantly gets his weapon out.

"Um...Nice bone you got there."

"thanks. it does its job well."

I am not going to like this.

"you look worried."

"Only because I know what's going to happen next."

His grin is bone-chilling.

"a deal's a deal, human. you held up your end and now it's our turn. the hatch is your way out. but like we told you...you're not leaving unharmed."

He twirls the blade so that it's stabbing end is downward in his grip.

"This is going to hurt like hell, isn't it?"

"only if you struggle. but please do...it's more fun that way!"

He lunges at me, weapon aiming my chest. I panic. My hands come up to grab his wrist but I'm not one that knows how to properly do this in quick time. I do stop the blade from hitting its target. But now the thing is skewering my hands to give them stigmata. The grinding of the blade on bone is nerve shocking. He uses this to grab my wrists and pin them above my head with his free hand before removing the weapon, his lower half pinning my legs with his.

"now this is a tempting moment. we could do just about anything to you and nobody will stop us. the only limit is our imagination."

With the blade, he slices open my shirt and the smugness he has makes my insides churn.

"Dude, don't be a creepy pervert like this."

His grin falters and color faintly comes to his skull. Is he...is he blushing?

"that is not...we are not like that! this is strictly sadistic torture and nothing more!"

"But doesn't that mean you're getting pleasure out of causing pain?"

The blush gets worse.

"quit making this weird!"

The blade comes down into my stomach and the sound of pain I make is guttural. This keeps up for quite a few more stabs done to my side, ribs, shoulders, and this really painful one at the hip.

"no more talking! understood?"

I nod weakly through whimpers and a sense of impending death.

"good. now behave and this will be pleasant for all of us."

Like an artist with a sculpting knife, he takes his blade and slowly begins carving into the top of my chest. There are many things my pain tolerance allows me to handle. Cuts, stabs, falls, blunt force, sprains, piercings, and some other stuff I can't think about at the moment. And that's because it all happens typically very fast or instantly. This? No. This isn't fast. This is slow and painfully delicate. My eyes are drowning in tears and melting snow. My hands claw at the ground. And my heels dig into frozen soil. This reaction doesn't go unnoticed. Legion enjoys it. His smile coming back and growing with each wince the blade brings out of me.

"there we go...just a little bit more...almost done."

I feel a chill as the blade leaves me for a moment and hope fills me that he's done. Only to be shattered with a quick slash that has me roar in anguish.

"perfect. the entity may heal it away but you'll feel it even if it's gone. you'll never fort it. you'll never forget who you belong to now."

He nudged my head up with the hilt of his weapon so that I can see what he's done. He's etched the word "LEGION" into me. He's marked me as his. Well...at least this is over.

"now say it."

I eye him and he quickly stabs my side.

"say who you belong to!"

"Legion! I belong to Legion!"

It almost sobs out of me. My dignity and strong will were turned to dust way back at the start of all this. His delight is written all over his face. A twisted smile and eyes that burn with gratification.

"good girl. now we want one last thing from you before you can go."

"*whimpers* What?"

He leans down and I feel the pressure of his aura. Dark, threatening, and very very heavy.

"show us your soul."

I bite my lip and gulp.

"I...I don't know how."

The bone blade is stabbed right beside my face.

"you're not leaving till we see it. so you can either figure out how to bring it out...or we can have more fun cutting into you like a pumpkin on halloween."

"How am I supposed to...?"

He yanks the weapon from the ground and rears back ready to slam it down wherever on me he sees fit. Visions of any of the possible ways that bone blade can end up sinking into me flash before my eyes. My heart races and times seems to slow down as he brings it down. My eyes shut tight and all I can do is pray. Pray that this isn't the end. Because I don't want to die. I don't want to die!

"heheheh...we knew that would work."

My eyes open to see the tip of his weapon hovering over the colorful heart that springs from my body.

"fear is a motivator like nothing else."

I think I just pissed myself. It's either piss or blood from the stabbings.

"wraith was right. your souls is interesting. so many colors all swirling around like crazy. it's almost what we'd call pretty."

He gives my souls a small teasing touch before he sits up and moves off of me, letting me go.

"you can go now. we've had our fun this trial."

I'm not sure what to do. Part of me knows better and should leave while given this chance. The other part wants to beat the shit out of him. And another part is too broken to do anything.

"hey, we said you can go."

"Give me a moment...I...I'm trying to remember how to move."

He can't help but laugh at me.

"you can't be serious? did we really scare you that bad? your shitty teammates aren't even that easy."

"Hello, I'm new. Sue me for freaking out when a skeleton has a knife aimed at me!"

He just keeps laughing.

"*chuckling* and here we thought we were the ones without guts."

I flinch with recognition.

"Was that...a pun?"

His brow cocks.

"maybe?"

I smirk.

"I hope that wasn't your only one. Because I have a skele-ton of them."

His face blanks and I feel like I may have messed up. Either that or I'm bleeding out to the pint this might be a hallucination. But then...He busts a metaphorical gut in laughter. This is a reaction I'm not used to getting when I pun. It feels nice. And he seems different when he laughs. Like, a guy that you wouldn't think enjoys killing people.

"that...that was a good one."

"Thank you. The idiots at camp don't appreciate them. So I'm glad someone has a working funny bone."

That again cracks him up. But that isn't the only thing cracking. My sides aren't doing so well. It's time to go. Regaining the use of my arms, I press my soul back into me and then pull myself to sit up which I immediately regret what with the amount of coughed up blood that is being forced out of me.

"yeah. you're going to want to go now. not sure how much longer you've got before your body quits on you."

"Probably a good...*coughing* A good...*wheezing* I go now."

Crawling my fucked up form to the hatch, I share one last look with this killer.

"what? there something in our teeth?"

I meekly snicker.

"My name...*gagging* It's...*hack* Lynsie."

He smirks.

"so that's the name of our new plaything? heh...good to know."

He averts his gaze and I move to enter the hatch feet first.

"human..."

He's still not looking at me.

"Y-Yeah?"

"...call me bones."

Something about him telling me his name fills me with this oddly warm feeling. The kind of feeling that makes you smile even when you know you shouldn't.

"Later...*coughing* Bones."

I hope that does something for him. Not sure why or what, but it's something I hope for as I slide into the hatch's dark unknown.

*CLUNK*

The hatch closes and Bones leans back on his hands, an amused grin on his face as the fog of the Entity begins to consume the realm. Time for the world to be reset for the next trial.

"heh...not a bad time. not a bad time at all. the guys are going to get a kick out of this one."

Maybe the Entity won't care that one got away. He did feed it three humans. That should be enough for a decent snack. It's not like one of the other killers can't finish the job of feeding it. He just hoped that after such an exhausting trial that he'd have a chance to rest for a while. The fog rolls over him and takes him away. The world entirely disappearing into the darkness. Now it wouldn't be long before it was to reform as the Entity fed. No matter the reset, the chalet remains and in there so will the Legion.

(AT THE SURVIVOR'S CAMPSITE)

I wake up gasping for breath and gripping my chest. The hatch was an escape of sorts, but the feeling of slipping through the intangible grasp of something I can't even begin to describe is horrifying.

"There she is!"

Jake shouts and my attention is gotten. The others cast judging eyes at me. David not so much. But the others for sure. Thank god my clothes are healed. Otherwise, this would be even more awkward.

"Is it true? Did you attack Jake?"

Bill asks but it doesn't feel like a question. This is not how I wanted to wake up.

"Answer the question, kid."

I glare.

"I don't have to answer shit."

"So you admit it? You cost us the trial!"

Jake shouts and I snarl.

"No! You did that the moment you decided to use me!"

I get off the ground but I'm wobbly as hell. Something isn't right.

"We're the Survivors. We're supposed to help each other make it out alive. But none of you want to help anyone else but yourselves. And I'll be damned if I'll let you get away with trying to use me as a damn distraction for your gain!"

I start seething and Dwight steps forward.

"Please, don't get her mad."

"The hell do we care if she gets mad?"

"You weren't there, Nea. You didn't see what I saw. You didn't see her change."

I settle down out of curiosity but it's not like that helps the others.

"Oh, she changed? Big fucking deal! That doesn't excuse her for attacking Jake in the trial."

"You don't understand. It was the Entity...it was turning her into one of them."

My confusion is shared with the rest of them and Dwight looks at me.

"It's true. Your eyes...Your eyes were making the stain. Only killers make the stain but they can't see it."

This...this makes some sense for what was going on at that moment.

"That explains the voice..."

I think aloud to myself.

"Voice?"

Claudette repeats in puzzlement.

"Talk to us, Luv. What happened back there?"

Not sure if David cares. But he's at least giving me a chance to explain.

"Since I get here, I've been hearing this strange voice sometimes. Calling us meat and other things. During trial..."

Recalling the events makes my head spin and I drop to a kneel, not able to keep balance enough to stand. David and Dwight move to approach but others hold them back till the story is told.

"During the trial, I got so mad. I kept finding out you guys were or had withheld important things from me. It was just building this raw feeling inside. One that boiled over into something...I can't really put it into words. I had these urges..."

I grip my head in pain.

"I wanted to make a point...but IT wanted that point in blood. *groan* Fuck, don't make me remember any more. It hurts."

I feel so weak. Like being here is draining me. I don't understand what's happening to me.

"What do you think? This kind of sounds like your line of work."

Bill asks Ash.

"Hmmm...It does sound something close to possession. Maybe corruption? Influencing her to kill when angered. That's a theory anyway. Anything is possible in this place. Not knowing the Entity's full ability scope or what her soul is capable of really makes this a hard question to answer."

Nea doesn't like this one bit.

"Are you guys for real? It doesn't matter if she's possessed, corrupted, or some other bullshit. The fact is she attacked another survivor. She's a threat and a liability. I say we kick her out of the camp."

Nea is only pissing me off. Not a good thing to do.

"You don't get to make that call, Nea."

Detective Tapp calls her out.

"After all, the same can be said about you when you act so toxic that the killers try to attack us here despite knowing that they can't."

David comes over and kneels with me.

"You alright, Luv?"

"I...I don't know...I don't feel very good..."

"Take it easy. You look like 'ell."

"Legion...had fun with me...lost lots of blood...great sense of humor..."

"'umor? Luv, killers can't make jokes. 'ell, they can't even talk."

But...they can talk. What does he mean that they can't?

"Luv? 'ey, what's wrong? Why aren't you 'ealed?"

My kneeling trembles. I'm getting weaker. My mouth moves but no words come out.

"'ey! Somethin's wrong with her!"

My eyelids are so heavy. It's getting harder to stay conscious. Their bodies look like blobs to me. I don't even know who's coming over to aid David. Everything's getting dark.

[Do not think you can escape, little worm. The beast hungers. It will feed. It is only a matter of time.]

Yay! This got done super fast and I had fun. Now to establish some stuff and clarify things that went down in this chapter.

#1: Killers/Monsters have better relations than the Survivors/Humans...I hinted this one in chapter one, but I think it really shines here. Even if some killers piss off other killers, they still communicate and teach their skills to their allies. Where as the humans share very little and assume others will get good. This leads to toxicity among the survivors and it's not unheard of for survivors to turn on each other. This happens in game too.

#2: The Survivors can't communicate with the Killers...In game, no one talks. All you get are sounds like screams, grunts and other basic noises. For the story, I'm making it so that both sides can speak but the humans can not understand the monsters. This langue barrier keeps tension high and further divides them. All the humans hear are monster sounds. The monster hear English but think the humans are just ignoring them because they're assholes. Lynsie is the exception to this rule and for one reason, which leads into out next point.

#3: The look and feel of Legion/Sans...For this, we turn to this AU's creator punnysideup who has made some awesome pics of our bone boys. Since ffnet won't let me post links, I recommend looking him up on twitter to see all 4 sides to our killer. Though note one thing, I will be changing the look of Dead Eye from what his creator depicts him. It doesn't really fit well, while looking cool, so expect something close to the other 3 in terms of looks.

#4: The Corrupted Survivor...This was a concept I made up for the game and think it makes things a bit more interesting here. Since Lynsie is the anomaly and her soul is all wonky here, the Entity with its crazy powers can influence her into becoming a pseudo-killer. If fully unleashed, this state allows her to hunt and sacrifice like a normal killer, but she still counts as a survivor and there for can be killed by real killers. There are triggers for her entering this state and snapping her out of it. We shall see them done in time.

#5: The Terror Radius...As in here and in game, only survivors can hear the Terror Radius. But...The story has an anomaly that the game doesn't. Due to Lynsie's ties to the Entity and being a pseudo-killer, this gives her a unique radius that only the killers can pick up on...The Tainted Radius. With this, killers can locate her and trigger her into her killer state in trials to terrorize the other survivors.

Other than those points, I can't think of anything else. If there are any questions or if you want to see a certain killer show up in the next chapter, feel free to let me know. Thank you all for reading and I hope you have awesome days/nights. Laters! ^_^

[elementarypolitics]

The Joke of Phoenix Comicfest...

Phoenix Comic Fest* has decided to up the ante from last year and just blatantly say “fuck you fans, we don’t care about you.” So, a quick recap of last year’s insanity. Some lunatic came in with a slew of weapons with the goal of killing the actor who played the Green Power Ranger. Because even at its most lax, Phoenix PD and convention security aren’t unspeakably incompetent, the lunatic didn’t make it very far…but while the powers that be aren’t unspeakably incompetent, they are incompetent. Their genius idea in response to this clearly out of the norm incident was to ban all weapons—real looking, fake looking, wood staffs, plastic blasters, light sabers. That’s really smart because one of them fake plastic lightsabers might be the real physics defying tool of mass destruction and some Sith might decide to just start hacking people apart. It got so bad one of the vendors selling really good collectible lightsabers (still just plexiglass and lights, so not remotely deadly) was escorted off the dealer’s floor. And the company in charge of the event had many contradictory explanations as to why (none of them remotely believable)… because you never know when the plexiglass could magically turn into a stick of deadly plasma hotter than the core of the sun apparently. But it gets better. Every person had to be searched by the woefully understaffed security of the event which meant that people wait in lines…lines that went around the building several times…on Memorial Day…in downtown Phoenix. Yes, more people were harmed from heat stroke last year in line than were harmed by lunatics with weapons in the history of Comicon (I’ll admit I didn’t search every police report, but I did do a search and couldn’t find anything). Also despite the fact that the police requiring this level of security just created a huge mass of stationary targets for any lunatic who did want to hurt people, they also overreacted and instead of realizing the truth that “well we hit the lunatic quota for the decade, probably won’t have any more problems this weekend” as, you know as sane and moderately intelligent person would do, according to several people who spoke off the record, all of SWAT was out on the rooftops ready for action all weekend. As any idiot could have told them before hand, they weren’t needed. Please do remember this is Arizona, where police give contradictory orders and then shoot to kill unarmed people who can’t follow two contradictory orders at the same time…because Arizona police are both stupid and fucking cowards. They also fire gas on people who protest tyranny.** But back to Comicon. In addition to all of this, vendors on the floor also had a lot of trouble breaking even, and I know some aren’t even going this year. So last year was a cluster fuck of epic proportions. But the company in charge thought that they could do better this year!

How you ask? Well in the past most conventions have panels. Lots of panels. They rent huge convention centers and the goal is to fill each and every conference room with as many different panels from open to close to keep the nerds happy. Movies, comics, cosplay, cartoons, games, writing, trivia, dating, blood donation, signups. You name it there was probably a panel for it. Yes, the company running the convention ran through submitted panel ideas, but they accepted anything and everything, let the fans pick the topics, and tried to simply offer as wide a variety of ideas and discussion out there to entertain as many people. It was little more than organized chaos, and it was wonderful because it let the ideas and intellect of geekdom shine in the free flow way the creative process and the love of fandoms relies on. But letting nerds be nerds was apparently not for Phoenix Comic Fest. What do the nerds know, after all? They’re only the people paying the tickets and the ones coming to see all the stuff. Please don’t just take my word for it. Here are the actual words of the Square Egg:

Yes “Themes.” Do they even tell you what those themes are? Nope. They are keeping things so tightly controlled that you need to hold a seance just to know how you goose-step in line with them.

Now I could go off on them…but, the original response to this is so much better than I could ever put it…

    My personal favorite was that one of our panels that was turned down because it didn’t meet with the themes/celebrities of the Con was a panel of the political implication of Star Trek…because Star Trek has nothing to do with a convention whose headline celebrity this year is William Shatner. In the 25th Anniversary year of DS9. At a nerd con where Star Trek is always relevant. If that doesn’t leave you going WTF, I don’t know what would. If you want to say the description of our panel wasn’t interesting, that’s fine. That’s a matter of taste. But to say Star Trek isn’t relevant…I have to assume the people who run this shit show have never actually had anything to do with any fandom ever.

  Now do they have every right to do this? Yes, yes they have every right to do it. They’re fronting the money for the convention center, they’re booking the guests, they’re the one putting all the risk on the line. So, I’m not going to be a petulant child and scream “censorship” because this is not censorship. They’re not stopping me or anyone else from speaking, they’re only saying the podium they paid for isn’t open to everyone. They have every right. But we as fans have every right to say we don’t like what they’re selling. We liked the free exchange of ideas, not a spoon-fed list of topics. We’d like diversity of thought in what to choose from in terms of what panels to go see. We’d like to see our fandoms have a panel even if you couldn’t get a celebrity from that particular show or movie to make it out to the city which is hotter than seventh circle of Hell. So, this is not censorship, censorship only applies when it’s done by the government…this is the free market, and they have the ability to profit or fail (given their incompetence I would bet against profit, but who knows).

    So, if this isn’t censorship, why is any of this important? If you believe that politics isn’t downstream from culture then this isn’t important. I am just a nerd bitching into the darkness because only one of his panels was approved. But if you believe that politics is downstream from culture, then it really matters because it means that culture is becoming more controlled than any time I can think of. Science Fiction, Fantasy, Comics and all the other genres that traditionally go along with conventions of this sort were once the bastion of free thinking ideas, of politically unpopular statements, of the voices on the fringes for good and bad. Star Trek is the first place to show a woman of color in a position of power—it may seem all too trite now where mass media slobbers all over itself to put out one formulaic piece after another with all the main minority and interest group boxes checked—but in its time it was a powerful message. Robert Heinlein and Margaret Atwood’s works warned of the dangers of religiously driven populism. The Twilight Zone and Star Trek offered hope in the future. The science fiction stories of even more traditionally serious writers like E.M. Forester, Kurt Vonnegut, and George Orwell offered us warnings about technology and what government can do with it. This has always been some of the richest ground for the seeds of social change and intellectual freedom. But now Disney through Marvel and Star Wars offers formulaic tripe in the form of explosion joke explosion joke explosion joke tied together with a paper-thin plot…and with Justice League DC jumped on that mindless bandwagon. Star Trek has become a poor imitator of Star Trek on the big screen and a teen dystopian novel on the small screen. And speaking of teen novels, the genre that once gave us Wrinkle in Time gave is now spewing mindless YA novels with characterless protagonists that aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on and would be an insult to kindling to use as fire starter (and the less said about that Wrinkle movie from a writer and director who clearly never read the book the better). The only visions of the future exist somewhere between the Thunderdome and Battle Royale. The optimism in the human spirit in The Twilight Zone and Babylon 5 has been replaced by the bleak pessimism of Orphan Black and Black Mirror. Hell, even The Doctor has become a bitter and cynical shell of its former self. And while the written has fared a little better, the fact that Martin—with his message that humans are all vile disgusting things—has seen major success, doesn’t say much either. And now the conventions are ensuring that this single line of argument continues by ensuring only the topics they want are the ones discussed.

Now I’m not saying that all these new visions of science fiction and fantasy are bad. There has always and SHOULD always be that strain in the deeper levels of these genres. The problem is that there is yin to the yang. The DCEU under Snyder and Nolan with its philosophical richness was the perfect counterpoint to the mindless entertainment of Marvel. If you didn’t like one you had the other. Now they’re both mindless. The thoughtful science fiction of Star Trek which had a vague understanding of science and powerful social commentary was the perfect balance to the fun space opera of Star Wars. Now you just have mindless fun from both. The Twilight Zone countered the Outer Limits, Babylon 5 balanced Stargate, Buffy was not Xena, Dollhouse was for people who wanted more thought than Dark Angel. There used to be balance between hope and cynicism, fun and thoughtfulness, utopian and dystopian visions, substance and style. As there should be. But now we’re just being fed the same cynical, stylistic, fun, and dystopian vision from the content makers and being told by even the fan conventions to march lockstep to their tune. The people selling this crap will respond it’s what the people will buy…but Dennis Miller had a response to this for two decades, it’s for the same reason Eskimos eat whale blubber: it’s the only thing we’re being offered. And the fact is that the Snyder vision of Superman made money, that Whedon pile of trash barely broke even. If you don’t think this both reflects society’s problems and creates those problems, you’re deluded. Phoenix Comic Fest is a symptom, but it’s a big one. Because if you don’t think this is a trend that will continue if not protested that it won’t spread out almost every convention (because if they can control controversy, you know they will because corporations will almost always fall into playing it safe after being in existence long enough). I would of course encourage dealers to boycott (you didn’t make much money last year anyway and you’ll make less this year), fans to boycott, and if you agree with argument, maybe encourage the celebrities you were hoping to see to also cancel. It’s a small thing but so is the start of an avalanche. We need to keep the diversity of thought going. We need to not give into people telling us what to think, read, and enjoy. Because if it starts with what we find entertaining…it will work into what rules we are ruled by. Politics is downstream of culture. This has been true since a Sumerian king embellished tales of his ancestor Gilgamesh to help his own position. It is no less true now. Either we control culture and ensure diversity, or we will deal with all the problem of political conformity (oh wait, we already are).

*It has been renamed from the more traditional Phoenix Comicon because San Diego Comic-con has gone batshit crazy and decided to sue conventions for things that sound like them, as if they have even the slightest shred of intellectual ownership over the word comic or the all too common shortening of convention to con…but how stupid abuse of IP law is getting is a discussion for another time.

**I would really love to support police…but honestly you guys are making the gestapo comparisons just a little too easy. Be the adults in the room, like I pay you to be—grow the fuck up and stop acting worse than the criminals you’re supposed to protect me from. And you good cops out there, your silence in the face of your vile colleagues is not loyalty, it’s to betray to your sworn duty.

[clandestineclairvoyant]

Jungle Law

(Based on an au by @kickingshoes  Where Lucian's are cats, Niflheim's dogs, there's deer and horses and tigers, but most important is Cor Leonis adopting puppy!Prompto)

Summary on AO3;

Cor opened what felt like the hundredth door of the day, and looked down the barrel of a gun.

It wasn’t the first time.

In fact, it was far from the first time, and probably bound to be far from the last. Something about Cor Leonis prompted people to point weapons at him, and if he ever found out why, he had strict standing orders to explain it to Clarus.

In detail.

Niflheim bases were large, sprawling, and confusing.

Cor had spent the past hour since they’d broken through the front gate trying to find the base Commander, or where they kept their project files; Whichever came first.

It was looking as if the base was going to crumble before either happened though, he thought idly, as dust from the concrete ceiling sifted gently down from another distant, rattling boom.

He felt no closer than when he’d started. Cor was more experienced than most, able to decipher most of the written signs on the walls, and easily following the cramped and sterile halls towards where he assumed the command offices were based on the flow of traffic and the upkeep of the hallways. But he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, since a sign that led towards ‘Infantry Research and Development’ certainly didn’t seem like where he’d find the base commander cowering. Possibly the files though.

Another rumble echoed through the base, and Cor adjusted his steps, letting the quaking of the floor rattle itself out. He remained stubbornly on all four paws, glancing at the ceiling to gauge how much time he had left, and whether someone from the Crownsguard would be able to disarm the self-destruct charges before the base Commander got clear and detonated them. If they didn’t, there was a time limit. The latest they could push to before cutting their losses and getting out, empty-handed or not. It was still a victory of a sort, with one less Niflheim base pushing onto the border of Duscae.

But their Infantry could do that. You sent in the Crownsguard for other reasons.

Cor scowled, pushing himself clear of the wall once the shaking stopped to head towards what looked like the door into the next research division, an emergency light blinking sickly over it. He had about another ten minutes, and then he’d have to start sounding the retreat.

Might as well see what the next corner brought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~42 Seconds~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cor opened what felt like the hundredth door of the day, and looked down the barrel of a gun.

It wasn’t the first time.

In fact, it was far from the first time, and probably bound to be far from the last. Something about Cor Leonis prompted people to point weapons at him, and if he ever found out why, he had strict standing orders to explain it to Clarus. In detail.

The scientist with the gun was dressed in familiar Niflheim whites, face covered by a plastic and rubber mask that had misted with quick shallow breaths brought on by panic and desperation. No doubt exacerbated by the fact that black and red blood was dripping freely and tackily from the naked blade in Cor’s hand. The scientists fur was an off white, what Cor could see of it under the white sterile cloaks most of them wore. Some kind of winter canine, a coyote or fox of some sort maybe. Didn’t matter.

He was slightly to the right of the door in front of row of odd containers set into the wall, and behind a bank of computers. They looked like glass and steel boxes set into complicated machinery, with double hinged doors to open them from the front. Cor had passed rooms full of them on his way here, but this one looked like the most recently used. Some if not most of them were dark and dusty with disuse; But the one the scientist was standing next to looked functional, if a little battered. It had lights on the side, indicators flashing indiscriminate red and green and the LED read out scrolling through a complicated array of numbers.

The room was cluttered compared to the rest of the facility, almost hospital-like. Cor had passed many empty and dark rooms with what looked like abandoned equipment and glass casings behind dirty and cracked observation screens. He hadn’t expected to find anything but perhaps some files back here.

And there were, between him and the scientist. Steel computer terminals with small keycodes and fingerprint scanners on them, no doubt holding the documents Cor had been hoping to prevent the magitek-facility employees from destroying. The Crownsguard had taken longer than he’d thought they would cracking the front door and muscling past ranks of MT’s, and he’d been forced on ahead alone to see what intel he could salvage before it was destroyed.

You always got the best stuff that way.

Fortunately, it looked like nothing here had been wiped yet. They might be able to pick apart the function and hierarchy of this particular branch if Cor could only download it onto the thumbdrive he had on his belt. Combined with scans of the base layout, and whatever equipment they could salvage, it could prove a boon to the war effort. Made it almost worth the three week trip.

Unfortunately, the scientist had gotten ahold of a gun, and thought it would stop Cor Leonis of the Crownsguard.

The hand that wasn’t holding a trembling weapon was thrust into the depths of one of the weird machine boxes, tubes and wires that had various liquids dripping from them into its hidden depths. It didn’t look to be opening quite right, and the scientist appeared to be fumbling with something before making a frustrated, guttural sound, and switching his full attention to Cor with both hands on his weapon.

It didn’t cease the shaking of the barrel, Cor noted idly, as the door swung shut behind him with a heavy, final sounding click..

“Back up. I- I have information. I was lead scientist on a multitude of projects here and- I said back up.” The man screamed- Cor guessed by the voice and the breadth of his shoulder it was a man- and jerked his gun pointedly. “Move back or I’ll blow the fucking kids brains out.”

Guessing correctly that Cor would not stop his slow and purposeful walk across the room to remove the man’s head from his shoulders, the scientist whirled to point his gun at the box, and it brought Cor to a surprised, jerking halt as soon as the words penetrated the blood soaked fog in his brain.

He didn’t say anything, trying to parse what he’d heard, and emboldened by the silence the scientist thrust a hand into the box (now that he was looking, Cor supposed it looked almost like a coffin) and this time managed to disentangle the contents, jerking loose a-

Baby.

Cor’s heart sunk. He couldn’t tell on first glance what it was, as he stayed in one spot and stared at the scientist, mind whirling. It could have been feline, a Lucian child. Could have been a canis, an underfed wolf. Could have been a bony sort of wildcat, some sort of prairie animal. The fur was silky, long, and paws slightly oversized, the distance too far to tell the shape.

Didn’t matter, since it was a child. A cub, his brain tried to beat into him, thinking of tiny spots and a disheveled white mane of fur. An instinct in his chest flipped and thrummed to life, like an engine starting, and for the first time in a long time Cor was afraid. His hands remained steady, his gaze unwavering. His heartbeat even remained the same as it ever did, steady and slow.

But he was afraid; And it pissed him off.

Cor’s next thought, as disjointed and aimless as it was with the base rumbling to pieces behind him and shaking the floor, was that it was cold in here. It was no place for a child. The computing power required in a Niflheim base necessitated low temperatures, and even hot-blooded Cor shivered underneath his thick leather coat and body armor, the steel and linoleum flooring ice-cold underneath his paws. He could see from here the pale color of the lips, the bloodlessness under the fingernails. The poor thing was shaking, eyes tight shut.

The scientist pressed the cold circle of metal at the end of his gun to the soft exposed belly of the- of the cub in the paper gown. Cor let the tip of his sword drop, a rumble of a frustrated growl starting somewhere in his chest that was deep enough and loud enough that the son of a bitchstumbled back on skittering paws, startled and tail tucking down between his legs.

The motion jerked the cords and tubes connected to the hostage taut, threatening to snap loose. The man didn’t seem to notice. His limbs shook in fear as the sounds of gunfire blatted out in the distant metal hallways, and if there hadn’t been another life in jeopardy, Cor would have been smug. But as it was he was mostly sick; Nauseous at the sight of one of the IV’s yanking loose, blood staining the gauze that had held it in place on the arm.

The cub was shockingly silent in the meanwhile, even with blood starting to snake its slow way down his arm, eyes screwed shut and paper pale under the heart-breakingly small hospital gown. His hair was light as dandelion fluff the same shade as his fur, paws and tail drawn up to his second heart and belly as if to protect it. Cor thought numbly of how fast he would be able to get there. How fast this paper-pushing scientist could pull a trigger. How fast he could knock the gun loose, how fast he would be able to draw a sword-

How fast a bullet would-

He felt sick, and stopped thinking, raising his hands and letting his sword drop onto the ground.

When the man reached the end of his tether the machinery fell over with a splintering crash of plastic and glass, and he gave a hoarse yelp of alarm; Cor and the cub didn’t even flinch. Cor because his eyes were fixed predatory on the gun, and the cub… The cub because he wasn’t entirely sure the little thing was awake, or aware.

Cor didn’t know why the he didn’t move, didn’t wiggle, but the concern at the shockingly still figure was enough to keep him in one place, to keep him rumbling threateningly, tail lashing in agitation behind him.

He’d faced hostages before, the dregs of society forced to the ends of their tethers and desperate. But never so unexpectedly. Never with such a little victim, and never when the standoff was so short on time. Or with so much on the line, he thought, eyeing the banks of computers. It looked like a program was already running on them, and he knew the longer he took the more files were being deleted.

Shit.

“What the fuck do you have cubs in here for?” Cor demanded hoarsely, stalling and icy still with anger. But the scientist simply kept his eye on him without answering, and slowly backed towards the computer terminal protruding from the wall covered in monitors. The cub was transferred to the crook of his arm, dangling and still curled in on himself, gun held in the free hand as the scientist kicked some debris to the side to access the computer.

If he’d just set the gun down, Cor might chance it. There was plenty at stake, enough to risk the bullet if it was just himself on the line.

But. He had to put something down if he wanted to get rid of the files. The gun, or the kid.

He seemed to realize it soon after Cor had, breath shaky, and staring down at the cub. He made a disgusted noise, and held the kid up by his scruff, the sneer evident in his voice.

“Come here and take him. And don’t even think of trying anything. This is military grade hollowpoint; You’d be dead before the kid hit the ground.”

The scientist jerked his gun pointedly. Cor didn’t reply, lowering his hands slowly and stalking one step forward.

The scientist flinched, but didn’t react, gun held firmly pointed at the kid.

Then one more.

He kept his steps slow and even, loose. Like he was afraid, cowed. Like he wasn’t shaking apart on the inside with anger, just some soldier worried about the kid and in over his head. Like he didn’t feel that familiar choking rage coming up his throat like something physical and hot, prickling the skin of his hands and face and the delicate tracing of veins on the inside of his forelegs. Making his head almost spin without an outlet.

Cor didn’t show a single bit of that. Hands curled slightly in on themselves, tail dragging, and head tilted slightly to the side. Harmless.

The cub was looking at him now, Cor noticed when he let his eyes glance down. His eyes were blue, set slightly wide with almost invisible lashes and his fist stuck firmly up in his mouth, the blood running down towards his elbow. He wasn’t quite a baby, and to Cor’s sinking disappointment he was probably old enough to be afraid. Maybe even old enough that he understood what he was looking at, when he followed the kid’s line of sight, and realized he was looking at the blood splattered across Cor’s front.

A third step, and the gun was trembling, and this close Cor could make out the shape of a face behind the mask, the pale flat line of a mouth pressed too tight and the dark of his eyes. They darted nervously, from forward, to back towards the computer, as if wracked with indecision.

Good.

He never took a fourth step.

The base shook with the strongest explosion yet, and the scientist staggered with the shock of it. The force was powerful enough to knock one of the cabinets over, shattering and sending black viscous liquid oozing out across the linoleum, sparks flying in bright green arcs from equipment shifted loose from it’s moorings. The sound muffled the scientists shout of surprise; Cor only noticed because of his intense focus on the mask, the mist of breath across the visor, and the tension in the scientist’s shoulders. The way he staggered, off balance.

The gun jerked to the side, away from the cub, and the wash of relief Cor felt to be looking down that cavernous barrel was almost obscene. He was already moving, and had never been more grateful to have a gun pointed at him as the cub slipped loose from the man’s grip; Squeaking in shock, and kicking his hindpaws out to knock himself further clear.

And then the gun clicked and Cor saw the hammer go down, the stale impotent sound of a misfire all that happened.

He met the man’s eyes through the visor of his mask, and didn’t smile. But something in his face must have showed, because the man dropped the gun from suddenly nerveless fingers.

Cor never took a fourth step, because he leapt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~9 Hours 23 Minutes~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were only a baker’s dozen of the Crownsguard left, winding their way across the hills.

Sixteen miles they’d crossed already, a smear of dark gray marring the crystal clear glow of the winter skyline behind them where the Niflheim facility still burned, hours after cracking the damned thing.

Luche had what physical evidence they’d managed to gather on his broad blue-gray colored back, shaggy with the cold and tail flicking for balance. Ackers at the back shouldered most of the medical supplies, severely depleted, his ginger fur a bright spot of color on the landscape that made Cor’s eyes twinge when he craned his neck back to check on the troops.

Or maybe that was the dryness.

Cor’s fur wasn’t quite long enough to withstand the weather, and he’d been forced to don a cape to cover his second-shoulders and withers while the others could simply make do with their fur and coats, tail dragging behind him and leaving a long line behind him in the snow. The cape was dark, simple. Factory made and mass-produced. It had been one of the MT snipers, and not so tattered and singed as to be unusable. It was thick enough to do the trick, and fit well enough.

It was crusted with dried fluid, which Cor didn’t inspect too closely. He simply scraped the worst of it off and stuck his sleeves in, and kept a barrier of cloth between the kid and any that might remain.

The landscape stretched out as pale and white as bone around them, ugly protrusions of rock bursting through in a series of ridges and gullies, making it a long difficult climb back towards the pick up. Trees here were tall and thin, bursts of bright emerald green needles capped in snow, that did nothing to break the harsh wind that plucked at their clothes and threatened to bowl over the smallest of the Crownsguard, Pontius. He struggled on hooves cut bloody by the hard packed crust of the ground, propping up Horatia who was limping on a shredded paw.

Cor wasn’t much better, towards the front, gathering his coat tighter around the bundle in his arms and blearily wishing they’d thought to bring more thermal packs. He did a better job of making it over the snow than Pontius’s delicate paws, but his pads did jack shit to block out the cold. Even Luche had done better than he had to grow a winter coat during their six month deployment, all patchy shaggy fur and embarrassed blushes when Monica pointed it out.

Cor had been forced to shoulder capes and blankets, and bed down with whichever of the Crownsguard was amenable enough to share body heat, in order to even get a couple hours sleep during their deployment.

Now, with so few people, it would be hard even to get that.

The cub in his arms snuffled, and Cor idly brought his lapel further up, to cover the small pink hand that had ventured out to rest against his throat, a spot of heat almost lost in the cold. He’d taken every spare bit of clothing he had and bundled the kid up. A linen shirt, a cape, some rags that had almost been used for bandages. Now they wrapped four little paws, where they were tucked against a soft golden belly and bundled in the only blanket the Guard could spare.

Cor had his jacket, and he had a cape thrown over spotted shoulders to cut the worst of the chill out. Beyond that he was just putting one paw in front of the other, hoping that the kid didn’t get sick from the cold, from being hungry.

From whatever the fuck those scientists were doing to cubs out on the borders of Duscae in a facility that was barely even on Niflheim records.

“How’s he doing?”

Monica drew up alongside him, breath pluming out and cheeks rosy with the chill. She was doing unsurprisingly well, serious face set in a determined frown and eyes fixed on the snowy horizon where their train car back to Duscae waited. Her paws were large, far wider than the span of her first hands, and padded across the snow while leaving only the lightest shadows of a divot. Cor tried not to feel jealous at the swathes of thick, mottled fur that snow didn’t even melt on, and grunted noncommittally.

“He’s fine.”

Monica smiled wryly, before settling back into her usual contemplative frown. Her tail was short, bobbed. Didn’t betray anything, and Cor tried not to feel bitter when the anxiety of not knowing what she was going to bring up caused his tail to twitch uncertainly.

“He might not make it you know.”

Cor stiffened, even more than the cold had managed; Monica continued undaunted, always as clear and blunt as her Captain needed. Her eyes were a steely gray, and she didn’t even look at him when she said it, “He was hooked up to a lot of wires. He’s small.” She did look down at the bundle that, while considerable, didn’t make as large of a dent in Cor’s jacket as a cub of his apparent age should. “Too small.”

“I was small too.” Cor grit out, voice hoarse with cold. The kid stirred, as if he could sense them talking about him, and Cor felt the brief thump of a tail wagging sleepily against his ribs before he tightened his grip and jostled his arms soothingly, ignoring the strange look Monica gave him. “He’s just cold, and tired, same as the rest of us. Don’t be so morbid Lieutenant.”

“Sure.” She said agreeably. “Its was just a thought.”

“Yeah well.” A gust of wind whipped across the line of Crownsguard, and Cor grimaced against the sting, as a murmur of disquiet rose up behind them and a couple of heartfelt grumbles. “Keep your thoughts to yourself.” He was being uncharitable, perhaps. She was making a lot of sense. What had possessed him to pick the kid up in the first place, he didn’t know.

But he had, and now he wasn’t sure how to put him down.

They trudged on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~10 Hours 12 Minutes~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One train car, Cor noted wearily. The train car that’d been sent to pick them up made the faintest bump on the horizon, almost indiscernible from the stones and abandoned structures in the war-torn landscape; just as they’d intended. It was almost invisible from the air, and the clear crystal tracks next to impossible to discern from a distance It had taken them two cars to get everyone north.

Now, one was more than enough. Cor tried not to think about it.

His arms were numb with the weight of the cub in his arms, and jacket damp. He wasn’t sure if it were tears, snot, or some sort of terrible mixture of both, but with his shirt serving it’s last duty as a blanket for the kid, he could only pray it didn’t reach his bare chest.

Despite the moisture mysteriously seeping from the kid, there was silence in his arms. No sounds besides the puffs of breath from the Crownsguard around them, the crunch of snow under paws and hooves, and the occasional grunt of pain from their injured or quiet murmur of encouragement.

He knew it was bad, the silence. But Cor couldn’t help but be relieved that on top of everything they didn’t have to deal with a screaming kid.

“Last stop little guy. Then Duscae.” He murmured quietly, guilt prodding him to say something, anything, and lifting the weight in his arms to adjust for the climb up the hill. He’d tried handing him off, tired and hoping that he’d imprint on someone else that wasn’t a completely fucking terrible idea. But every time he tried the little shit would clam up and tense stiff enough that it hurt to feel, all locked limbs and wide dilated eyes. His chest would start to move pitter-patter fast, fists clenched, and Cor would hurriedly take him back murmuring inane niceties. Now, after the entire hike, something like stockholm syndrome had set in and Cor wasn’t sure he could set the little shit down if he even wanted to. The idea of putting the cub down didn’t sit right anymore when he was still tense and behind enemy lines, made his fur prickle and his mouth tense in an uneasy snarl.

His arms would probably fall off if he tried anyway.

No one, in the short time they’d had to evaluate, knew why he wouldn’t cry. Whimper. Do something. Cor had carried this cub through the ruins of a Niflheim base, past dead bodies he’d tried to hide by shoving the small face into the depths of his coat, and humming dumb nonsense songs. Stupid little strings of song he’d heard on the radio, or things he’d heard other parents sing. Tunes that didn’t seem to have much of an effect, but left Cor without a wiggling armful of limbs and a pair of eyes looking shocked up at him.

But still, the kid had hardly made a whimper, besides to yawn wide and suck on his thumb when the shadows started getting long and the sun low. He’d been chilled on one side while Cor had pressed him to his chest during the hike, trying desperately to keep him warm when the cub started fussing. No doubt hungry, or thirsty despite the water Cor managed to drip into his mouth. Kicking fitfully before freezing completely still and stiff again, like he’d gotten scared. Or expected Cor to… Do something. Hurt him.

But he hadn’t cried.

They climbed the last stretch, and Cor finally, finally sat, lying against the icy side of the train car while the more able-bodied Crownsguard clambered up the steps, groaning and giving small whoops of relief when they saw the cots.

The cub wiggled, and Cor untangled him enough to looks down at his face, all bright blue eyes and downy gold hair. His nose and cheeks were flushed, but it appeared he was warm enough tucked into Cor’s coat, judging by the way he blinked up and idly pat his hand up against Cor’s lapel and chest. He was still strangely quiet, still with his free thumb in his mouth. His fur was soft, much softer than a cheetah cub’s, although it was a similar shade of gold without the chaotic tufting white, almost dun colored.

Cor fished a paw out, and felt a flicker of amusement when the cub kicked and tried to chew on his fingers. Pressing on the toes, the claws didn’t retract, and the pads were noticeably black. Canine.

“Well.” Ausker said, coming out from the car after what felt like thirty or so minutes, wiping his hands clean on a spare rag. Cor had spent the few quiet moments just looking down at the little cub while the rest of the team got settled, letting him chew on his grimy knuckles and jostling him every now and then when he tried to kick himself loose from the various blankets and shirts. The sounds of the Crownsguard making idle conversation and clinking gear together was soothing. Much more soothing than the whistle of wind across the snow, or the grind of weaponry. Or the slow implosion of concrete. “Let’s take a look at the little guy.”

For a moment, Cor didn’t want to hand him over. The idea of giving the cub to someone else and having him wiggle in distress, or for fucks sake, cry, was too much to handle. But Ausker held his hands out, patient, and Cor finally gave the kid one last little pat and got wearily to his feet to give him to the Crownsguard medical officer.

Within a few moments they were back inside, and Ausker was distracting the cub- pup, he was a Canis, Cor reminded himself- with an inflated latex glove.

The car started moving while he worked, slowly coughing to a start in the cold air and dragging itself a few feet on the tracks before building momentum. It didn’t whistle, since there was no steam, but did give an impressive moan of cold steel warming under the heat of magik engines.

Cor rocked carefully on his paws, catching himself on the cold strut of metal that came off the wall of the car to form a bench, watching Ausker’s hands as he palpated the kid’s ribs under the thin paper gown that was all he had to wear. It was slowly warming, with the heat of all the Guard and the electric grill radiating warmth through the car from the back corner, but Cor still felt uneasy and tucked a blanket more firmly around his furry lower half.

“Six. Do we have anything for the kid to wear?” He murmured wearily, and the pup’s head jerked to the side at the sound, tail thumping faintly on the seat he’d been perched on as his eyes fixed on Cor, fist firmly against his mouth and working eagerly. It had to have been a coping mechanism of some sort, but Cor couldn’t help but find it endearing. Even cuter was when Ausker checked the reflexes in the kids elbow with the tiniest hammer Cor had ever seen, causing the pup to jump in surprise and give the doctor a betrayed look.

“Probably not, but Pontius is working on it.” Ausker said, and gave the kids head a firm scratch and pet in reward when he didn’t fidget. Pontius waved from his seat at the back of the car, where he was haphazardly sewing something and letting Luche use him as a pillow. The car rocked gently as it sped up, but it only made Pontuis scowl and shove irritably at Luche, who was interfering with his stitches by virtue of his shoulders shoving under his hands. Cor imagined Pontius’s velvet fur was appealing in the cold metal of the train car, all soft ash gray with the feathered tail tossed over Luche’s hooves.

“Hrn. Well, he should work faster.”

Cor stiffened when Ausker pulled out a needle and a phial, but it was pointless. The pup didn’t even flinch, simply watched Ausker with bare interest, then held small hands up to Cor when he was done, looking plaintive. When Ausker gave him a nod, Cor picked him up, tucking the pup back into the crook of his arm and letting the little blonde head snug under his chin.

The smug look Ausker gave him was met with a lift of his lip and a small snarl.

“Relax. He checks out as healthy enough. A little dehydrated, a little malnourished, but it’s only to be expected from what you told me.” Ausker became slightly more serious, frowning, and looking at where the kid had started to fidget. “I can’t imagine what they had infants there for.”

“I can imagine any number of things,” Cor said bluntly, rocking the pup gently in his arms, and ignoring the flinch Ausker gave. “And you can too. Don’t be sentimental.”

Ausker’s mouth thinned to a grim line, giving Cor a dark look which was ignored. He was commanding Officer of the Unit. Not here to baby them. “I’m not being sentimental. But the equipment that wasn’t damaged beyond all repair was too heavy to take with us, and nobody who was qualified was able to take a long enough look. We don’t know what they were doing at that base, besides that it’s somewhere in the chain supply of Niflheim weaponry and they were doing some kind of genetic stem cell research, if their vitatanks are in anyway similar to ours.”

They were. Cor had been deeper in the base than the others, and decided not to mention the smaller vitatanks he’d seen until it was necessary for a brief. The sort of thing he only really told Clarus, or Regis; In the safety of the Citadel and with the safety of miles between him and the sight of the obsolete labels fixed to the front of almost a third of the vitatanks.

“Luckily, I managed to salvage about half the files on the desk terminal in the main vitatank atrium while the team was subduing the security.” The terminals had been on a closed system, all wireless signals snuffed out by a signal jammer that no doubt extended for the whole base, and made downloading it a much lengthier and difficult process than it had to be. What with the pup shaking silently in his arms, and the body of that Niflheim scientist leaking on the floor where Cor had left it. “We’ll hand it over, they can decide for themselves what was going on.”

“Hm. And this little guy?” Ausker wiggled his fingers enticingly at the pup, who looked as surprised at that as he had at anything, head bobbling backwards and looking up at Cor in bewilderment. Cor felt another flicker of amusement, and let him figure it out for himself. “You have a name for him yet? Or are we going by number.” Ausker caught the small hand that wasn’t buried into Cor’s coat front, pulling it gently out and turning it to show the barcode with a string of numbers. The ink was stark black against paper pale skin, and Cor rumbled involuntarily at the idea, tightening his hold and causing Ausker to arch an eyebrow.

“No.” The pup stiffened again, getting that blank look, and Cor made an effort to calm down, loosen his hold, and jostle his armful soothingly. It was jerky, and he frowned, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

He was unused to being gentle. He’d held Gladiolus Amicitia a few times, Clarus laughing fit to burst every time he tricked Cor into holding the baby, all awkward elbows and desperate looks when the tiger cub started to fuss.

This was different. The pup was quieter, stiller, and too watchful. Cor didn’t like it; but since he was the only one who seemed to be able to hold him for now, he figured he was responsible for making it disappear as much as he was able.

“Well, we should call him something. How about something with the snow? It’s cold as hell out. Glacies?”

“Name him after Cor’s favorite thing; Acies!” Pontius called from the corner, drawing a chorus of grumbles from the occupied cots around the swaying train car from the Crownsguard trying to get some sleep.

“No.” Cor thought back to the gun the scientist had held, the one that had whipped from pointing at the kid, to right between Cor’s eyes; A black circle that had gotten larger in micrometers as time slowed down and he’d gotten closer across the room.

Thought of the echoing click, as the piece of shit misfired.

“Prompto.” Cor said, and Prompto looked up at his voice and smiled, the first one he’d seen, even if it was quickly replaced with that startled look he gave as Ausker broke into laughter.

“That shitty handgun model?” He looked down at the pup and grinned, holding his hands up at the defensive glare Cor gave him. “Alright alright, calm down. It’s a great name. Hey Prompto!” Ausker grabbed the little hand in gentle fingers and shook it in a pantomime of a handshake, his own tail curling in delight when Prompto patted it and investigated the gloved fingers curiously. “Nice to meet you little guy. Daddy Cor here will take good care of you. You’re in the safest place in all of Lestallum right now.”

Cor huffed and jerked away, storming over to his own cot to catch some sleep while he could, ignoring the embarrassed blush he could feel creeping up his neck that caused the team close enough to see to break into chuckles. Monica to offered him a small, soft smile from the one cot over. Her paws crossed elegantly in front of her, fur plush looking now that she’d groomed the blood and snow from it, and Cor gave her a brisk nod as he settled in with Prompto.

The pup wiggled into the blankets eagerly when Cor set him down, making a surprised series of noises when Cor climbed in after him, arranging himself in a curl to prevent the pup from falling out. He laid his upper body against the wall, the reassuring rocking of the car soothing even if it was cold as hell. Every motion brought them closer to home, and it made Cor’s tail flick in satisfaction.

After a while Prompto stopped wiggling, snuggling by Cor’s side in the warm fur against his ribcage. He was no doubt exhausted. Cor wasn’t familiar with babies at all, but he suspected they weren’t used to staying awake this long at whatever age Ausker had guessed at Prompto being. Roughly one and a half to two and a half years old was his best guess.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, the small motion of the pup’s tail against Cor’s hind knee slowed to a halt, and eventually was replaced by the small kicks and twitches of a deep sleep. If he concentrated, Cor thought he might be able to feel the little flicker of a heartbeat and the slow expansion of breathing.

He felt a sinking in his chest, at odds with the warm fond feeling that caused his tail to curl up under the blankets and an embarrassed purr to almost free itself from his throat.

Clarus was going to be a pain about this.