#Amos still has a weapon pointed at you but it’s now down

[lickthecowhappy]

Playlist Analysis: #4 - A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square

Return to Main Post

#4. A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square – Vera Lynn

Both.

Overview: 

An obvious choice for this playlist. This is my 1941 song. I chose the Vera Lynn version because I just love her style (and I think it has to be the one they heard first), but the Tori Amos version is great as well. If you like it better or prefer it because it’s the one used in the show, please feel free to swap it out if you’re listening to the playlist. 

This is their song. First published in 1940, it’s a beautiful song about meeting someone, falling head over heels, spending the night together, and dancing home the next morning. I think that up until Crowley said those immortal words, the audience thought that it was their song on a meta level. The book and season 1 both mention it from a third person point of view with no acknowledgement or reference from the characters. But now we know that it was something the two of them found important together. Did something else happen in 1941? (Chomping at the bit for 1941 part 3!) We know something changed their dynamic between 1941 and 1967. We know Aziraphale did the apology dance in 1941. Maybe this is why Aziraphale specifically suggested they dine at the Ritz someday after giving Crowley the holy water. Why would Crowley have said “No nightingales” if it wasn’t something significant between them? Aziraphale’s wounded reaction to those words confirms its significance. The fact is, Crowley weaponized this song in a riposte to Aziraphale’s reactionary petulance. 

Lastly, why was it playing in the Bentley after Aziraphale left? We know the Bentley has been fundamentally changed. It’s no longer Crowley’s car, it’s “Our Car.” I think I remember seeing a quote from Neil along the lines of, “The Bentley would have followed Aziraphale anywhere.” Who was it channeling to play that song? I’ve seen people speculate that Crowley queued it up for their drive to the Ritz, but I don’t buy that. Maybe it was a way of Aziraphale communicating that his heart still sings despite the regrettable things they both said and did. Or maybe it was Crowley’s heart betraying itself – an admission that there is a guarantee that he’ll still be waiting when Aziraphale is ready. Or maybe it’s just the writer wanting to hurt us even more. 

Lyrics: 

That certain night, the night we met There was magic abroad in the air There were angels dining at the Ritz And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

This wasn’t the night they first literally met, but maybe it was the first time they met in a figurative sense: being in the same place emotionally at the same time.

Neil has said that they dine at the Ritz because it was in reference to this song. In the book and season 1, maybe that’s all there was to it. One last clue for anyone who missed all the other indications that their relationship isn’t just platonic. But in season 2, we get the magic show. There was no literal magic in the air because Furfur blocked it, instead all the magic present was of the human variety. Romantic AF. 

I may be right, I may be wrong But I’m perfectly willing to swear That when you turned and smiled at me A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

This sets me up to assume that nothing was spoken in 1941. Nobody confirmed any feelings out loud, due either to the threat they had just confirmed they were under or the habit they were already in, but they both understood how the other felt. "That's what... friends... do." That feeling where you just know the other person feels the same, but can't bring yourself to say it. The willingness to swear an oath that whatever was unspoken by the parties involved was mutual. Maybe sung about by a third party somewhere (The writer? The audience? God?).

The moon that lingered over London Town Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown How could he know we two were so in love The whole darn world seemed upside down

[Please note that this verse is not present in the Tori Amos version]

Up to this point in the lyrics, the interactions between the characters in the song are meeting and looking. No contact, not even words as far as we know. These two have been trying to keep their fraternization a secret for millennia, after all. Anyone watching couldn’t hear the song being shared by the two hearts, but the two hearts sing anyway. A silent, beautiful, and disorienting duet. 

The streets of town were paved with stars It was such a romantic affair And as we kissed and said goodnight A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

The elation of intense romantic feelings has been described poetically since romance was invented (invented by these two, IMO). The description of streets being paved with stars evokes images of fantasy, dreams, vastness, wonder, possibility. It’s romance in a nutshell. Not to mention evoking the Starmaker, himself. I don’t assume that they kissed in 1941, but at the end of the 1941 segment we get in season 2, everything is so gentle and romantic it doesn’t even need a kiss. A figurative act of intimacy, the bullet catch, was observed by someone who could destroy their "de-facto partnership," thus ending their night of magic.

As dawn came stealing up all gold and blue To interrupt our rendezvous I still remember how you smiled and said “Was that a dream or was it true?”

[Please note that this verse is not present in the Tori Amos version]

What fan doesn’t want to live in the 1941 sequence? The assumption that they hadn’t seen each other since 1862, Crowley showing up out of nowhere and at great personal discomfort to save Aziraphale, a little demonic miracle of his own, the way Aziraphale gazes at him the entire sequence, and Crowley’s unconditional support through the entire thing, despite his obvious concerns. What happened that we didn’t see? Just how long did they spend together? What might have happened if Furfur didn’t show up? And what happened afterward? Their rendezvous was interrupted. They had let their guard down and were reminded of the very real danger they face by getting too close.

Our homeward step was just as light As the tapdancing feet of Astaire And like an echo far away A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

[Please note that this verse is not present in the Tori Amos version]

This verse, in this context, has two meanings for me. The intended meaning of the lyrics, implying that the parties involved are still high on the emotions of the evening and are lightly and merrily dancing home as Fred Astaire might. But also a much more tragic meaning. Another time one might be described as having light footsteps is when sneaking around. After being caught, despite knowing the proof had been pilfered, they may have redoubled their efforts to appear as enemies. They realize they still have to sneak around to have any time together. That beautiful nightingale’s song is sadly now only an echo in the distance. 

Return to Main Post

[always-tilting-at-windmills]

From this

To this

[mckinlily]

Idea where the Voltron Paladins start to develop elemental powers from their Lions. Except...not the most obvious ones. 

Shiro can teleport. Well. That’s the most visible aspect of his power. What he actually does is warp the fabric of space-time because of course he does that. You know how Shiro basically fights like gravity is optional? Yeah, that just got 100x worse. Shiro essentially floats and drops and moves however he needs, and now he affects space-time for everyone else, too. You can tell when Shiro’s gotten really pissed because there’s this immense pressure and everything is suddenly heavy. Or in a combat, his enemies who were grounded are now bouncing and floating. And if you think “space”= “no gravity”, you’re forgetting this is the star pilot of the Garrison who certainly knows about orbitals and gravitational assists. He doesn’t need any alien robot-lion bond to calculate multi-body trajectories instantaneously in his head even with changing gravitational fields. Teleportation might be flashy and all, but every member of team Voltron knows that’s the least dangerous thing he can do.

Lance is an empath. At first, he’s disappointed he didn’t get anything cool and flashy like Shiro. Actually, at first, Lance didn’t think he got a power at all. This is just a normal part of forming Voltron, right? Right?? Why is no one else so exhausted from all the feelings? Guess I’m just weak... Lance actually has a near breakdown before the rest of the team clocks it and realizes he’s constantly swimming in everyone’s feelings and yeah, no. No one can handle all that. Allura steps him to teach him how to build boundaries, and still, he has to spend a few days avoiding Keith and Shiro (”What the hell, you two?! Do you guys feel ANYTHING that’s not twenty shades of repressed trauma???”). But with time, Lance learns to control and use his power to help the team. His connection is strongest with the other paladins, and he mostly uses his power to look after them and help them out during the down times. Lance has learned the importance of being a support and takes pride in healing his team when they’re down so they’re ready to kick ass in battle. But he also shines on diplomatic missions. His ability to ping what other people are feeling not only helps him smooth over offenses or fears, but he can pick up on inconsistencies and unseen red flags. Not to mention, Lance can nudge other’s emotions. Normally just slightly, but it’s enough to swing things in their favor. Lance might not be flashy, but that doesn’t make him less powerful. And anyone on the other side of the negotiating table quickly learns that.

Keith has precognition. Think Jedi see-things-just-before-they-happen Force shenanigans. His instincts aren’t just on point--he’s often reacting to things just before they happen. Naturally, this makes him almost impossible to face in combat. Incidentally, this is also part of why Keith is so bad at communicating: he’s often thinking in multiple points of time at once and condensing that down to one point to talk about is just...it doesn’t work like that. But slowly, as Keith learns how to work in a team and, if he can’t quite communicate with words, to let the others in so they sense what he’s sensing, Keith’s precognition stops throwing him out of sync with everyone else and pretty soon Voltron has the same too-fast reflexes as Keith. The others have gotten used to the flashes of Keith-thoughts zipping through the Lion bonds and letting him move them when they do. Now not only are the Lions practically indestructible, but Voltron is nearly impossible to land a hit on in the first place. 

At first Pidge is annoyed about the paladins powers because--Green Lion? Of course she’s going to get plants. And Olkarion might have helped her appreciate the natural world more, but she still thinks plant powers are lame. She’s not Poison Ivy. Give her computers and climate control any day. But then she starts talking to Green as she’s coding, and at first she just figures she’s a genius (which she is, thank you very much) but her programs are like nothing she or anyone else has seen before. Especially the viruses she writes for Galra tech. They grow. She can plant a “seed” on one part of system and later she’ll find that code sinking its roots into an entirely different part of the enemy ship. It creeps like vines, breaking through any firewall, tangling up any kind of security, alive in a way even the best AI isn’t. Pidge doesn’t even really need an access point anymore, just let her loose near some tech and like an invasive species, soon she’s overrun it all. Pidge’s code is like vines, like ivy or tangle weed, and once it’s in there, you can try to root it out. But you won’t succeed. Pidge likes this kind of plant.

And finally Hunk can kind of just...bend reality. Normally it’s little things, like cables that shouldn’t work suddenly don’t need an adaptor, the rust jamming certain gears is magically clean, that fuel cell that’s been on empty for the last three varga is still going strong. Of all the paladins, Hunk appreciates that difference little things can make (for good or for really, really bad. You won’t think changing the rotation rate of that star by half a second would make a difference, but turns out that changes the magnetic fields which create solar flares which...). Hunk’s happy making small, manageable adjustments to reality that he can predict the full consequences of. Mostly. But there’s still definitely been a time that someone’s held a gun to one of his teammate only to find--the gun isn’t there anymore? It never was? There wasn’t even a gun in existence in the first place? And occasionally someone will realize that aren’t really limits to what Hunk can change besides those Hunk sets himself. Those people start to back away very slowly as Hunk talks to himself about whether or not he should turn this rock into space chocolate That’s a pretty big molecular change, not telling what side effects with come with that. But if he took something that was already food, now there’s an idea... Hunk doesn’t use his power in combat that much. Or, at least, not in ways people notice (but isn’t it convenient that with Hunk around, armor lasts longer, equipment runs better, no one’s amo ever runs out...)

All these abilities would be chaos to work with, except that the paladins have grown to develop a low-level mind-meld like they have in the Lions. Normally it’s white noise far in the background, but it can flare up when needed and nothing is quite as disconcerting as when Keith pings something and all of them turn as one to look a second before something happens. Sometimes people swear that even when the paladins are outside of their Lions, doing separate things, they still move unnervingly like part of one unit. And in the Lions--

Gone are the days of inexperienced pilots attempting to survive. Pidge is turning your tech against you. Keith is predicting your every move. Shiro and Hunk are wrecking havoc on reality and all known laws of physics. This in addition to all the bells and whistles and impossible weapons they’ve unlocked in Voltron. And while you’re panicking, trying to figure out how the hell you’re supposed to fight this thing, Lance is there cranking your dread to eleven. Suddenly, it’s no longer surprising that Voltron is the most powerful weapon in the universe.

“Don’t they ever scare you?” ask some planetary leaders after witnessing the might of Voltron. Sure, the paladins are supposed to be the good guys, but... “What if they stop listening to you?”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” says Allura, the woman who has the power to heal and destroy planets in her fingertips. She smiles like her teeth haven’t turned sharp and blinding white in the last minute. 

“I am their Princess.” 

[mikiib]

The Magnus Archives: Alien AU (Part 4)  ( PART 1 )     Georgie runs through the hallways of the ship, bashing the vents to lead the Not Sasha away from Melanie, and succeeding. She pauses when she accidentally runs to a dead end- that being the large item trash shoot. She rushes out quickly just as the alien drops from the vent into said trash shoot. It laughs mockingly, mimicking Sashas voice as it stands. Georgie slams the door shut on it just as it lunges, but that only makes it laugh harder.

   “You really think your feeble human mind can outsmart me? I can just jump right out of this room by the vents again- there’s nothing to stop me. Why don’t we stop this game of tag, and you just give in to your fates?”

   Georgie is punching in a code to allow her to shoot the creature out of the trash shoot, but halts pulling the lever.

   “What fate?”

   “The fate of becoming one of us... I can take your body- devour your mind and meld it with my own. My children could do the same thing as well, just not so convincingly. They are only soldiers after all..”

   Just then the creature's tail shoots out from the small glass window- Georgie barely dodging it in time as her laughter becomes more apparent. Reaching its arm through the opening it tries to scratch at the door handle to open it, but Georgie pulls the levor just as the creature grasps the handle. Immediately she breathes out as the vacuum of space pulls the Not-Sasha out of the room- it’s arm grasping tightly onto the door.

   The alarms for a breach in the hull are going off- detected by the whole through the window. Georgie grabs a large shard of glass and slams it down on the creature's wrist- severing it from its body. The acid blood catches on her own arm but it’s enough to send the creature flying. Just before it can fully be out of reach however it’s tail shoots out, trying to pull itself back. Quick on her feet before the pain gets to her on her arm she closes the trash shoot door- the pressure of the door cutting off a large chunk of its tail as well. Georgie falls down- her body collapsing under the stress momentarily as she tries to collect herself.

   In this time Tim has been getting x rayed by Nikola, as she tries to figure out what the creature is doing to Tim. They know removing it would harm him fully due to the creature's acidic blood, and don’t want to risk it getting inside of his body. Jon and Martin have to wait in silence as they both sit and watch Nikola as she prepares Tim for full examination of the creature's actions inside of him just then Melanie comes into the room, hazy, half blinded, and weak. They let her in immediately and Nikola has to leave Tim to the computer while she tends to Melanie. Melanie has to have her whole eye socket removed and is set to go under when the hand radios go off.

Georgie announces she’s safe, but has to wash her hand in the bathroom to get the acid off her. She says she’s going to try to contact for help from anyone nearby by using the communications com in the Mother base. Jon gives her the code to access the room, and says that he’ll meet up with her as soon as he can, but Martin tries to sway Jon to stay as there's not much either of them can do at this moment- especially when they know there are more face huggers on the ship. Jon nods absently to this, realizing that it's a bigger risk than not, but the guilt eats at him for the fact he can’t do anything to help anyone at this moment.

   It occurs to Martin that to have a bit more of a distance leverage on the creatures he radios Georgie that he has a flare gun under his mattress in the living quarters. Jon is so shocked by this it thankfully lends as a passing time conversation. It turns out Martin has always had a ‘flare’ for weapons. Explosions mainly, but he made the gun himself when he first lived alone. Georgie interrupts them via radio announcing that their  distress signal had been picked up near immediately and an investigation and rescue ship is on route to their location. She says it will be 3 days before they reach them however- and that they still aren’t out of the water yet with the face huggers on board. Just as she says that the face hugger detaches itself from Tim- the monitor beeping at the loss of the creature's detection and running out of the room just as Nikola- covered in blood enters to see what's going on. Jon screams and Nikola runs over to check Tims status. There is now an egg layed in his chest. Jon leaves no room for argument and demands she removes it before it hatches. Nikola at first seems against it- saying it could kill Tim but Jon orders her to do it- not wanting to know that if they didn’t at least try Tim would never forgive them. Jon then leaves Martin to ensure that he watches to make certain Nikola does it as he then runs out to track the face huggers movements to kill it before it could get to Georgie.

   Martin himself is heavily conflicted as he has to guard the room as well as make sure everything with Melanie and Tim are alright- Melanie's removal was quick- but he knew that Time would take much longer. He radios Jon about a half hour in to no reply but sees Georgie approach in the distance. He allows Georgie in the room asking if she had seen Jon on her way back, which she shakes her head. He curses under his breath to that news, and sets her to watch them now as he follows where he knows Jon has likely gone. Georgie doesn’t stop Martin as she goes over to look at Melanie- half her face bandaged from the eye removal as she’s passed out on pain meds. Martin makes it to the living quarters and indeed finds his flare gun to be missing- but not before having a run in with a facehugger that tries to sneak up on him. He quickly killed it with a fire extinguisher before moving on. Eventually he finds that Nikola had left the camera room open- leaving The Admiral nowhere in sight. Cursing he then tries to go to the transmission room- but is stoped short by said cat popping into view and nearly tripping him and almost getting bashed by the fire extinguisher. Instead The Admiral leads Martin to the showers- where he finds Jon passed out on the floor under the running water. Getting closer he sees that his body had been splashed by the alien blood acid- leaving small burns around his face and arms.

   Jon, during that time before Martin had found him, had found Martin's flare gun, and set to hunt the damned face huggers once more. He tries to run around the ship, killing one face hugger with the flare gun before he realized flare guns only work once before they need to be reloaded. Not having any amo and COVERED in the creature's blasted blood he grabs a fire extinguisher and follows it into the showers where he kills it before the pain becomes too much as it eats through his skin. He turns on the showers to try to wash it off but forgets he has the radio on his belt and thoroughly water damages it where the burns didn’t fuck up its casing. Drowsy from pain he passes out on the shower floor, right when the Admiral comes out from the towel racks and watches over him quietly until Martin's footsteps can be heard in the distance.

   Martin picks up The Admiral and Jon and carries them both back to the medbay where they’ve made it their new safe space. Tim is still going under surgery but the egg is successfully removed when he gets back- now however only with a 30% of surviving as she tries to put him back together. They each take shifts sleeping- Melanie going in and out of consciousness and Martin taking care of Jon the best he can for the burns. Eventually Tims finally stitches up but it's a waiting game to see how his body recovers at this point. Martin and Georgie talk to each other, Nikola simply sitting down and monitoring the screen reading Tims vitals.

   They had yet to see any more face huggers, but they noted that of the 7 Jon had seen 4 have been killed, but luckily the Not Sasha was off the ship. Roughly a day and a half in, Tim wakes up while Martin and Georgie together make trips to get food to feed Melanie and Jon who are under too much pain medication to do much of anything still. Happy Tim is awake, they feed him some light foods before he’s set to go under again to make sure he doesn’t tear the stitches. When Tim asks what happened to the egg that had been in his chest before passing out, Nikola says she burned it before throwing it away while the other two were out on their food run. She looks proud of her work that Tim is alive while Jon is nothing but paranoid about everyone else. The Admiral does his best to calm everyone down however, sleeping on Melanie's chest as she sleeps. They wait another day and a half- silence mostly with a few quips between them about what to use on the creatures- Georgie remarking Jon had been arrested for arson once as a college student, entertaining them a bit with that knowledge. 

[a-mole-of-iron]

Short story: “In Broad Daylight“

Living in a solarpunk utopia has got to be not only healthy and prosperous, but also safe, to really count - right? And for the most part, it is. But even in a world where everyone is well-off, communities all around the world live in peace and harmony, and everyone is on first-name basis with nature, there still might be a few rare wrongdoers who stay up nights trying to figure out how to take that away from the world. And to find those, you need the kind of person like Sverrir Haraldsen; a detective of the people.

Genre: solarpunk thriller Content warning: mild violence, and also moderate action

PREFACE

There exists, and has for a long time existed, a common and persistent misconception about utopian fiction. Whenever one brings it up, one can always count on an obstructive response like "but where do we find conflict and plot if everything is already perfect?" This idea, I should clearly state, is false. The term "utopia" itself has a double-meaning, possible to read as "ou-topia" ("no-place") or "eu-topia" ("good-place"), and it's the latter that so many people underestimate the massive literary potential of. When people bring up the idea that "utopian fiction has no room for conflict", they're presuming that a utopian society would not just be a perfect society, but a perfect society filled entirely with perfect people. For some reason, it's difficult for many to imagine that even in a society that's good to live in, people would still be able to have arguments about the different good things that they want, or that they would need to maintain society against the natural wear-and-tear that adds up over time. People don't think too often of all the literary conflict inherent in building a resilient society that won't wear down easily due to factors in the environment, or building social structures where people can "agree to disagree" and still have all the good things their society can give them, or defending those social structures against an occassional bad person or group thereof who are willing to harm others and damage society for their own gain and are deliberately ignoring whatever kindness might still be in their hearts. Those are all fine sources of literary conflict - and this story sets out to show how a particular one can work. It is a utopian, solarpunk thriller: a practical example of the way you can have high-stakes action, danger, and excitement in a society that has achieved peaceful harmony, renounced war, and sees violence as a measure of absolute last resort.

THE STORY

Anxiously pacing back and forth along the embankment, Sverrir tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle. He stopped, his tail swishing from side to side. Try as he might, he couldn't contain his seething dislike of the entire case. He needed a drink of good tea, he needed a day off for gardening, he needed a friendly, fun game of parkour tag with his community at home, he needed a ticket to an in-person concert by the original lineup of Solar Flares. What he had was a coat, a phone, and a badge.

Sverrir was distracted from his annoyed thoughts by a voice coming through his earpiece. "So what do you think, Detective?" the machine intelligence on the other end asked, their synthetic voice resonating through the comms channel.

"Well, Amos... you told me yourself who this is." Sverrir said. "Robert H. Price... knowledge dealer, with a shady reputation and criminal connections, as far as we could find out... and he was shot to death. It's like a small forest of warning flags." He looked around to notice more clues. "Huh."

"What?" Amos asked him.

"I... think the shooters were firing from a boat. There are bullet holes over there, in the advertisement column." he gestured over towards one standing inland. The column's OLED display had several punctures in it, the screen image distorting subtly around them. Sverrir walked up to the display and eyed the bullet holes. "I don't like this, Amos." he said.

As Sverrir looked around, eyeing the local buildings and all the different plant species growing around the area, a crime scene examiner walked up to him with more information. "I think you'll want to see this, Detective." she said, holding up a damaged combat rifle bullet.

"Okay... illegal military weapons... this day just keeps getting better and better." Sverrir groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "On the plus side, now I'm dead-certain that these are our criminals... and more, that they are running out of options. If they went so far as to murder one of their partners in crime, well..." he said with an unpleasant grimace, his speech trailing off.

The detective went over to the community watch car; a light, compact electric vehicle painted white and green that was small enough to park anywhere without blocking people's paths. The interior and trunk were full of forensics equipment, with the one community watch driver having brought in the entire forensics team to the crime scene. Sverrir picked up a solar-powered bullhorn - rather pointless, but indisputably cool - that was resting on the car's back seat, and addressed the half-perplexed, half-scared onlookers. "Attention, citizens!" he said. "If you're from this district, please search through your recordings for potential evidence! Anything, literally anything, might help!"

***

In a few minutes, a small crowd has assembled around Sverrir, sharing information about what they saw and heard and downloading records from their phones and other computing gadgets onto his personal device. The evidence confirmed Sverrir's theory: sonic triangulation from the community's recordings of loud ambient noises, ones designed to measure noise pollution, allowed him to know that shots were fired from about six metres off-shore - and to his horror, the weapons used were fully automatic rifles. Intercepting the contraband weapons shipment they were used to guard, and likely belonged to, was now the absolute topmost priority he had; those kinds of weapons were insanely dangerous and banned worldwide. From the soundscape, he also knew that the shooters made off in an electric-powered speedboat of unknown make and model. However, he had no concrete leads: the sousveillance turned up no video footage, and the witnesses had little information beyond being woken up around 4 AM by what sounded like firecrackers to them. However, when he was already wrapping up, a dopey-looking guy wearing sturdy clothes typical for plumbers and machinists walked up to him.

"Hey, detective!" he said. "I... think I've got something for you!"

"Good." Sverrir said. "Your name for the record, please?"

"Matt. Matt Frohman." the guy responded.

"What do you know?" Sverrir asked.

"Um, I don't actually, but I know someone else - she works a night shift in a diner downstream!" Frohman replied. "She's actually really cute, but the thing is, she may have seen or heard your guys making off from the crime scene!"

"Alright, that's encouraging... what's her name, and where can I find her?" Sverrir asked.

"Oh - Diner Olimpique, a couple of blocks away!" Frohman said. "Her name is Amanda De Vries."

"Thank you, citizen!" Sverrir said. "Who knows, maybe your friend really did see something..."

***

As he stepped off the bus near Diner Olimpique, Sverrir adjusted his coat and looked around. The diner was placed at the base of an old high-rise building, refurbished for supporting garden walls and extra balconies, with one side turned towards the nearby canal. Nearby, people were playing in a community garden, and a flock of city birds passed overhead to nest on the wall of another building further away. With graceful step, the snow leopard walked forwards and into the diner. The interior made good use of green walls, and wooden chairs and tables throughout the hall looked quite stylish, as well.

The old concrete walls were decked with wood plating, or covered in growing lichen, as well, to create a more cozy look to the place. He looked around, seeing a few people who were eating lunch, and then turned to the waiter.

"Excuse me, but where can I find Amanda De Vries?" he asked them.

"Well, she's sleeping after the night shift right now... what exactly do you need from her?" they responded.

Sverrir reached into his pocket and flashed his badge in an inconspicuous manner. "Sverrir Haraldsen, Earth Global Detectives. Amanda may be a witness on an important case." he said quietly.

"Oh..." the waiter said. "She's... not in danger, is she?"

"No, not at all." Sverrir reassured them. "I just need to talk to her."

"I guess you're in luck." the waiter replied. "She lives a couple of buildings away, on the other side of the canal." They pointed to a low-rise apartment block and a bridge leading to it. "Sansevieira Drive 26/3, right over there. Just talk to the concierge."

"Thank you." Sverrir nodded, turning around and walking out of the diner.

***

Walking on over the bridge, Sverrir shook his head fur and straightened the collar of his jacket. Walking into the building 26/3, he looked over the decorations and smiled. The plants were growing all along the walls, reaching towards the upper floors, while the lobby itself had a floor of irregular stones matched close together. He approached the concierge - an older woman wearing a dress gorgeously complex even by latest standards - with a businesslike smile, and said, showing his badge: "Hello. I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, from Earth Global Detectives. I would like to talk with Amanda De Vries."

"Oh dear." the concierge said. "What could possibly be--"

"If I do my job right, you'll see really soon." Sverrir bragged. "Amanda could be a valuable witness, so can I come talk to her?"

"Oh, I suppose so." the concierge told him. "She's living in the left-half apartment on the fourth floor. Most her roommates are off in the city at this hour, too..."

"This is good." Sverrir frowned. "I'm not looking to attract too much attention. Good day to you." he said, leaving for the stairs.

As he made his way up the first two flights of stairs, Sverrir was pleasantly surprised: even in his eco-friendly city, a stairwell with so many plants was a rarity. The climbing vines were stretching up from the ground floor and across the panes of glass that let the light in for the entire stairwell. The walls were festooned with frames that held up a great variety of potted plants, from all around the world. There was even a fun-sized artificial waterfall cascade in one of the corners, much to Sverrir's delight. As he walked upwards, he looked out the stairwell windows as well; they opened to a magnificent garden, its orange trees overhanging a communal area with benches and a small, modest-looking fountain. By the time Sverrir was up to the fourth floor, the tree branches have completely eclipsed the view, and he could even see above them a little, with the city skyline poking out above the trees. Admiring the view for a few quick seconds, he turned to the short corridor that went inwards into the building, and went down it, pressing a doorbell button for the left-hand door. A friendly chime rang out, and after a brief wait, a middle-aged man with red hair, wearing practical but eye-catching kaleidoscopic pants and jacket, opened the door. After a few moments of measuring Sverrir with his eyes, he asked: "Hello... what can I do for you?"

"Hello, ah..." Sverrir started.

"Jan." the man told him in response.

"Jan. Good to meet you." Sverrir said. "Can I talk to Amanda De Vries?"

"Not really, no." Jan said. "She's sleeping after her night shift at the diner right now."

"I'm aware, actually." Sverrir told him. "But it's important. Sverrir Haraldsen, Earth Global Detectives." he said quietly, showing his badge with a gentle motion. "Could we wake her up gently to answer a few questions? I'm searching for dangerous criminals, and she may well be a witness."

"Oh..." Jan replied.

"Don't worry, the entire detective service in the region is on-point." Sverrir said. "We just need a little more information."

"Alright then, I suppose..." Jan said. "Please, come on in."

***

Sverrir walked through the front door, looking over the apartment. The center room was a really neat social pad, with beanbags, chairs, and a massive poofy sofa centered around a coffee table. The windows on one side opened towards the city, providing a great sightline over the treetops, and the partial walls separating the other rooms were all festooned with either bookcases or whole-wall planter arrangements. Sverrir looked over as Jan pulled away a sliding door and went into another room. A good few minutes later, he walked back out, followed by Amanda: she was wearing really impressive floral pattern pajamas with massive bell-shape sleeves.

"Hello there." Sverrir said, waving his hand to greet her.

"Hey." Amanda replied. "Whatever you woke me up for, pal, I hope it's important."

"Important enough, I'd hope." Sverrir said, showing his badge. "Sverrir Haraldsen. I'm from the Earth Global Detectives. I'd like to ask a few questions about the last night at Diner Olimpique. Or to be more precise, the canal outside."

"Funny you should say that..." Amanda told him.

"Why?" Sverrir asked as she took a seat on the sofa.

"There was at least one thing blatantly out of the ordinary tonight... I suspect it's what you are following." Amanda said.

"That's definitely my concern." Sverrir replied, walking over to a nearby bean bag. "May I...?" he asked, pointing at it.

"Sure, go ahead." Amanda responded.

"Alright." Sverrir said, before sitting down and placing his phone on the table, opening a connection to Amos. "Now, would you please state for the record what you have seen?" he asked.

"Okay, sure." Amanda told him. "I noticed one very unusual boat around the break of dawn, so a bit after 4 AM... speeding down the river in violation of all community water traffic rules I could think of. I was thinking it over untill I went to bed."

"How did that boat look like?" Sverrir inquired.

"Bright azure-blue, very narrow and long." Amanda said. "The nose cowling had two parallel humps running front to back, the front of the cabin had a tall wrap-around windshield from what I remember... the back had a very distinctive spoiler sticking up, and I didn't hear any engine noise, so it must've been electric... plus, the boat had a name printed on the side in big bold letters. Could be the builder name. It was... "Smithson", I'm pretty sure... is that a boat manufacturer?"

"It is." Sverrir said. "Thank you; all of this is extremely helpful."

"No problem." Amanda told him, giving him a weary thumbs-up. "I'm pretty sure the idiots breaking the water traffic laws with it were all wearing opti-camo cloaks. They couldn't be any more memorable if they tried."

"Okay, these are definitely the people we're looking for." Amos chimed in. "Thank you for your assistance!"

"Great. Now, I suppose I can go back to bed?" Amanda asked.

***

Sverrir nodded to Amanda with a quiet "uh-huh" and stood up from the couch, picking up his phone in the process. "Well, you heard that, Amos. Smithson Model W-51.6 electric speedboat, azure-blue. Find it!" he told his companion.

Turning to Amanda, he said: "Good day to you. I'm sorry I had to wake you up, but this is of utmost importance. You'll see the results in the news soon enough." He nodded, and walked out at a brisk pace. He made his way downstairs, nodding to the concierge, and walked out of the building. As he stopped and stood at a small plaza with people going to and fro, he heard Amos come back through via his earpiece - with new information.

"Okay, Sveri, listen up." Amos told him. "Have I got something for you..."

"I'm all ears." Sverrir replied.

"I did some looking through local information, especially libraries of things." Amos said. "It'd take too long to round up all the sousveillance, but I found something else. The speedboat matching the description was borrowed in the wharf district a couple of days ago. The person who got it used a stolen borrower's card, but guess what - the idiot used the exact same card to order a dry-erase marker board. And we have an address!"

"Guess we found the weakest link, ain't that right?" Sverrir replied with a smirk. He paused for a second, and asked: "Where to, Amos?"

"Green Lizard Craftshop Annex. That's a few districts over, I'll send you a route." Amos told him.

"Do you think you can convince the local community to give us a search warrant vis-a-vis the stolen identity?" Sverrir asked in a hushed tone.

"I'll give it a shot." Amos replied. "Otherwise you'll have to talk with the craftshop custodians."

"Okay." Sverrir said, pulling out his phone to look at the map and directions. The path that Amos laid out called for him to take a tram, then transfer to a bus route near one of the vertical farm clusters and proceed to the craftshop area where the Green Lizard annex was located. This was entirely fine by Sverrir; he could blend into the crowd and approach unnoticed by the criminals. He walked on by past a couple of local shops, going through an arch between buildings that was overgrown with plants and festooned with low-intensity sun spectrum lights, and emerging into a busy street. He quickly moved into the crowd, at one with his surroundings, and smiled confidently as he walked down the street to the tram stop. It only took two minutes for a tram to arrive; an impressive bubble canopy vehicle with fused quartz windows across all of it supported by brass metalwork. The doors of the tram opened, and Sverrir stepped on board, taking a seat. Now, he thought, he had some time to focus - and work out the plan in his mind for how to go on.

***

When the tram started moving again, Sverrir quietly nodded towards his phone, and texted Amos with a request for the schematics of the craftshop annex and a bulletproof vest delivery to the site. He looked over the plans, and figured out a quiet way inside through a side entrance. With the tram passing busy streets and river canals, the detective thought on the situation. Even one combat rifle in the wrong hands could be destructive; but now, he was chasing after dozens, if not hundreds, of such rifles. If those slipped away and were used to arm the criminal underworld, the public danger would be immeasurable. There was a damn good reason why military weaponry and equipment was banned from use decades ago. Nowadays, it was the provenance of very, very dangerous people - the few that managed to run their criminal dealings in spite of peace and prosperity surrounding them. Thinking on that, Sverrir looked out the tram windows, with the sunspots passing across the interior as the sun was obscured by trees, wall gardens, semi-transparent awnings, and more besides. And if there was one thing he was sure about, it's that he wasn't going to allow those dangerous people to have their victory.

Going over the plan in his head, Sverrir stepped off the tram near the vertical farms, looking upwards briefly to witness the buildings' green-and-glass surfaces and a large banner overhead advertising all the different types of produce it was possible to get in this place in particular. Soon, the bus that the detective needed arrived to the stop, and he stepped aboard, taking a relatively short trip down to the craftshop area he needed. It took him just six minutes to arrive there; as he got off the bus, Sverrir looked the place over. It was a busy market street, with all the people taking up workshop space in the nearby complexes hawking their wares to an interested crowd, all kinds of people mingling with eachother and picking up artisan crafts.  The snow leopard smiled and quietly walked down the street. He reached the green lizard street sign on a large, complex building partially refurbished from the prior eras, and sat down on a nearby bench. He texted Amos, asking "Did you get a warrant?"

"No, you'll have to work otherwise." Amos immediately responded.

"Noted." Sverrir replied. "I hope you did get the bulletproof vest, though."

"Positive." Amos replied. "I've asked the community watch to get you one from class A emergency storage."

Sverrir turned his head, and noticed a plainclothes community sentry with a large suitcase standing near the side entrance to the Craftshop Annex. He walked up to her, saying quietly: "Hey. Sverrir Haraldsen. I believe that this bulletproof vest is for me."

"That it is." the sentry responded. "Nehal Al-Farsi, pleased to meet you."

The two walked into the Craftshop Annex through a side entrance: above-board, but out of sight of the building's windows. Sverrir looked around the side atrium, quietly stepping forwards when he saw the plaque reading "Administration and Occupancy". He slinked over to the door, and gently knocked on it.

"Hello, who is this?" a voice asked from the other side. "Please come in!"

"Hello there." Sverrir said as he and the sentry walked in, closing the door behind them. The person in the administration office was an anthropomorph like him, a badger wearing an impressively-designed vest with a few big pockets and a pair of bright-orange pants. When Sverrir walked in, she was watering the plants near a small circular window. He nodded to her, and said quietly: "Excuse me, but I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, from the Earth Global Detectives." he said, walking up at a gentle pace and showing his badge. "Can you assist us?"

"What with?" the woman said, squinting at him and Nehal. "Global Detectives are a pretty important office, aren't they?"

"I'm following up on a stolen borrower's card." Sverrir told her. "Possibly tied to contraband, murder, and who knows what else; this is an outrageous situation. My partner in service couldn't get me a warrant from the word go, but I hope I can take a look at a suspected workshop with your help, miss..."

"Narangerel." the administrator replied, her expression becoming more troubled by the minute.

"Narangerel, alright." Sverrir said. He showed the administrator his phone, with the evidence about the stolen card - traced information about the borrowings, and a later official complaint to the community watch about the card being stolen. "Will you help me out with the investigation?" he asked.

"Yes... if someone's been stealing borrower's cards, I don't exactly want them to hide away in our building." Narangerel said. "And that's even if the rest won't turn out to be true." She frowned, then muttered: "...though it does all look awfully truthful..."

Nehal made a sarcastic expression, handing Sverrir the suitcase. "Trust me, any detective who lies about evidence doesn't keep their job for long." she smirked. "One time, someone got thrown out of an EGD branch because they accidentally misplaced a spathiphyllum plant that belonged to a witness."

"Huh." Narangerel told her. "Really?"

"Somehow... yes." Nehal shrugged.

Sverrir opened the suitcase, revealing two bulletproof vests. After a moment of silence that lasted while he and Nehal got these vests on, the detective asked: "So, could I take a look at the 25th workshop, with the permission of the building's staff?"

"Hold on a moment." Narangerel replied.

***

Sverrir looked around to find a chair and proceeded to sit down for a moment as Narangerel sent the few other people responsible for the building a message, requesting their presence. In short order, they all showed up: the guy from the reception desk, the janitors and custodians, the tech support chief. Sverrir explained the situation to them, and once he got the permission, he called them to come with him; extra witnesses would help him make his case if he was right. Once they approached the door, Sverrir whispered to them: "It's better for you to keep back for now. I don't know who or what might be on the other side of this door."

"I was doin' some cleanin' there, and I don't think there were booby traps or anythin'... just so you know." one of the janitors said.

"Nevertheless." Sverrir replied. "Narangerel, could I have the key?"

Narangerel nodded, and handed Sverrir the keys. The detective opened the door, him and the sentry quietly walking in. The lights were out, with sunlight from the street streaming in through the windows covered by Venetian blinds. Sverrir turned around, telling Narangerel and others: "You can walk in. I think you should look this over with us."

"Okay." Narangerel said, her and others from the building's staff carefully walking in. As he saw them approach, Sverrir looked around - the workshop didn't seem to be too suspicious from the get-go, with plenty of plants, some computer terminals, algae-sheet paper stacks... and the suspiciously empty whiteboard next to one of the walls.

Looking at the whiteboard, Nehal asked: "So... where is anything? It's just a normal workshop..."

"Hold on, I think I know what this is..." Sverrir said. He took out his UV bulb flashlight - standard equipment for detectives and forensic scientists - and pointed it at the board, lighting it up. Suddenly, an entire map and schedule appeared, written in invisible ink: the criminals made notes about the buyers for weaponry, technical specifications, and the time for when all the weapons would be shipped out from the Wharf Embankment docks... which was in exactly 36 minutes from now. "Gods dammit..." Sverrir muttered. "This is bad! Really bad!"

"You don't say..." Nehal told him in response.

"Quick, call the rest of the local watch!" Sverrir all but yelled, with fire in his eyes. "Lock this place down, get all the evidence you can, and ask the staff to be witnesses! And I'm going to try and stop these gunrunners before it's too late!"

"Okay, will do!" Nehal replied.

Sverrir nodded and pressed his earpiece button. "Amos! Code Wildfire!" he yelled. "Get the officers to Wharf Embankment, Dock 24! We have 36 minutes before the weapon shipment is gone!"

"Got it!" Amos replied.

"Okay, Sverrir, I'll handle things here!" Nehal said "You just--" She was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, her and Sverrir turning immediately to look behind them and seeing one of the gunrunner conspirators looking at them from the workshop's other entrance, keys in hand. Sverrir and the gunrunner looked at eachother for a brief moment - and then he immediately tried to flee with a few loud curses. Sverrir followed, chasing after him with a yell of "Stop! You are under arrest!"

The conspirator just kept on running, reaching into his pocket for what looked like a flashbang grenade. Before he could throw it, Sverrir lunged at him, and the two crashed into another workshop through a garden wall in the corridor, getting slathered in leaves and ivy.

"You!" his opponent yelled at him, trying to grab Sverrir as the two leapt up from the floor.

"Surrender!" Sverrir demanded in reply, trying to get a few more hits in, his opponent dodging all but one. "You've got nowhere to escape!"

The gunrunner just grappled with Sverrir in response, throwing him towards a bookcase - the detective trying to make a roll to cushion the impact as he fell back. He quickly leapt back up and threw himself at the gunrunner again to delay him, yelling "Nehal! Help me out, please!"

"I'm going!" Nehal yelled from down the corridor, Sverrir throwing his opponent to the ground in the meantime. The gunrunner grabbed a bamboo ivy support frame from a nearby workshop table, swinging it aggressively towards Sverrir - but at that moment, Nehal caught up with the two, and now the detective and the sentry tried to flank their opponent to stop him.

"Two against one? How is that fair?" their opponent smirked.

"Fairer than smuggling combat rifles!" Sverrir retorted angrily. "Surrender now!"

"Oh, keep dreaming!" the gunrunner yelled at him, going after Sverrir. The detective dodged most of his swings, parrying the few that did connect, and then delivered a few strikes of his own, trying to get his opponent off-balance. The gunrunner just laughed, asking "So that's the best you can do? Ha!"

Sverrir just grinned in response. "It's not me you should worry about!" he replied - at the exact same moment as Nehal hit the gunrunner with a massive book she grabbed from the bookcase, getting him off-balance and making him drop the ivy frame, and then did a decisive judo throw to get them on the ground for good. The two looked at eachother as they realized their opponent was stunned for a brief moment, then Nehal handcuffed the gunrunner to a nearby wrought-iron table - a good idea to ensure he couldn't just run off. The two went through his pockets, fishing out several flash grenades, and put those way out of reach. Sverrir then breathed out - and quickly told Nehal: "Keep an eye on him, and call in more sentries! You know how to take it from here!"

"Damn right we do!" Nehal replied. "Now go! You've got to get those weapons before they disappear for good!"

"I'll do all I can!" Sverrir replied. "Hope we'll talk later at the debrief!" He nodded, and ran back out. As he passed Narangerel and others in the corridor, he told them without as much as slowing down: "Be careful, keep an eye on the exits! The watch will be here soon!" He didn't even look back to see their reaction; right now, all that was on his mind was the emergency objective.

***

Sverrir double-timed it down the stairs, rushing out onto the pedestrian walkway; the sudden onrush of wind whipped his fur about as he pressed the button on his earpiece, still running.

"Amos!" he yelled. "Borrow me a car! A fast one!"

"Understood - I'm on it." the machine intelligence on the other side replied.

Dashing past the onlookers, Sverrir kept on running. He had to make it to the nearest motorway if he wanted any serious chance to catch up, and they weren't plentiful these days. Highlighting his way on the map, he ran past green embankments, cafes, and crafts stores. In other days, he liked going through the market streets at a respectably slow pace, appreciating the foods and wares from around the world, but now he ignored everything as he made his way to the motorway sector. One moment, he glanced upwards to the vertical gardens and the blue sky, and thought of the stakes at play. The largest contraband weapon shipment in two decades was slipping out of his grasp, but if he ever learned anything from Earth history classes, it's that you never surrender when the stakes are high. Leaping over a high-up guardrail, landing with a roll to cushion the impact, he saw that fortune was on his side: there was the motorway he needed, a large stretch of its parking spaces perfectly clear. Good thing not that many people used motorcars anymore, Sverrir thought.

He raised the phone again, asking "I'm here! Do you have the car, Amos?"

"Affirmative, I have it!" Amos replied.

"So where is it?" he asked.

"Turn to your left, Sveri." the machine mind replied, with what Sverrir imagined would look like a massive self-satisfied grin. He turned as instructed, and saw the approaching car: a solar-powered performance sedan, with some aftermarket improvements that caught his eye and a custom paintjob to boot. The car skidded to a stop next to him, and he leapt over the hood, flinging open the door on the driver's side and quickly getting into the driver's seat. He turned to the person in a passenger seat - a middle-aged man wearing an engineer's apron who seemed slightly perplexed by the urgency.

"Hey, uh..."

"Esteban." the human said.

"Esteban. You currently in charge of this car?" Sverrir asked.

"No, I... erm, I borrowed it from a friend after he did a few new mods... what's, uh--" Esteban continued.

"Okay, where were you going?" Sverrir interrupted him.

"I was going to the Manufactory Glades, but--" Esteban started, only to be interrupted by Sverrir again.

"Good. I'll have to drop you off before everything lights on fire; it won't be too far." Sverrir continued. "Amos, specifications?"

"Full specificaitons will be available in a moment." Amos responded. "For now, you can just floor it."

"Excuse me, but what is happening?!" Esteban reached out to Sverrir. "Is this some kind of emergency?"

"Actually, it is." Sverrir said, flashing his badge. "Earth Global Detectives. I'll tell you everything, personally, as soon as there's time. Now just hang on, this is going to be a fast ride!" he said, flooring the accelerator.

As the car accelerated, Sverrir's phone lit up again, and the distant MI read the specifications of the car. "Kometa-Tri, modified and improved. 110 kilowatts power total, maximum speed 215 kilometres per hour. Drag coefficient 0,17. Maximum battery charge 300 kilowatt-hours, current battery charge 257 kilowatt-hours."

"Good!" Sverrir yelled. "Now give me the optimal path to the Wharf Embankment! Our time is running out!"

***

As Sverrir's car rocketed down the motorway, dodging and weaving to pass the few other cars on there and the occasional bus or truck, the detective tried to figure out a plan of action. He put his phone on the dashboard, and Amos connected to the car's systems, projecting a 3D volumetric map of Dock 24 for him to glance at and tactical information about the docks and the waterfront. Sverrir noticed that the place was fairly secluded, a small landing surrounded by warehouses with plenty of tree cover... and he saw an opening. "Amos, I've got a plan!" he said.

"What have you come up with, detective?" Amos asked.

"I'll explain the details later; now, we need stunner arc-pistols and thermal imagers for the watch, rapid-acting smoke canisters, three or four pollen dusters, and the mobile scrap metal crane from Dock 29 to scoop up the guns!" Sverrir said. "Can you get all of that?"

"I can." Amos replied. "I like your plan, detective."

While Amos was coordinating the preparations, Sverrir focused on the driving, trying to get to the docks as fast as he could. He still needed a couple of minutes to coordinate the plan with the community watch on the spot, but thankfully, the Kometa-Tri he was driving could manage immense speeds, and the motorway was not only grade-separated from the all-encompassing network of pedestrian streets and bike lanes, but also mostly devoid of vehicles. He sped through the Manufactory Glades, an industry and workshop district that was drowning in greenery of century-old trees, but near its edge, where the Wharf Embankment began, he turned to Esteban.

"Esteban, it's better that you get out here." Sverrir said as he slammed on the brakes, the car quickly halting to a complete stop.

"Alright, but I'm still not sure if..." Esteban started, but Sverrir cut him off with "Don't worry, I'll do my best to handle it. And I'm not going to wreck the car. Now go!"

Esteban got out, closing the passenger door, and Sverrir pushed on the accelerator again; in just a minute and a half, he was at the heart of Wharf Embankment. He skidded to a stop over the unoccupied parking spaces - with no time to park carefully, he just left the car as it was, slamming the door shut and running off. He quickly reached the docks, noticing a group of seven bulletproof-vest-wearing sentries with several compact equipment boxes near them, the boxes festooned with warning symbols and class-A weapon safety measures. He ran up to the sentries, who were camped off to the side from the main street, and said: "I'm Sverrir Haraldsen, the guy who called this in! Is the crane in position?"

"Yes, it is!" one of the officers said, pointing to the crane parked inconspicuously between Dock 24 and Dock 25: a clunky, utilitarian eight-wheeled vehicle with powerful fuel cells placed on the cargo bed next to/under the crane assembly. "I hope the arc pistols really are called for, Detective?..." another officer asked.

Sverrir nodded grimly. "Yes - these are the most dangerous criminals I've followed in several years. And they have firearms. I'm going to personally write a full report on the request for stun weapons, but first, we've got to halt the weapons shipment."

With that, Sverrir continued, explaining his plan to the watch officers. It was risky, but if it worked, they would instantly disarm the gunrunner conspirators and their buyers. He grabbed an arc pistol and its holster that were brought for him. With everything ready, the group readied themselves and their equipment: it was now or never.

***

When Sverrir and the community watch were ready to move, the snow leopard told one of the city's machine intelligences whom the group had on the line: "Alright, we spotted their lookouts; deploy the pollen dusters!"

"Done and done!" the machine steward responded.

Sverrir looked up into the sky - and among several unmanned drones hovering in the vicinity, a group of three dashed in with extreme speed, the machine mind in charge expertly piloting them at low altitude. In just a few seconds, they were over the goons guarding the front entrance, dropping their entire stock of pollen in a dense cloud, the lookouts immediately beginning to sneeze and rub their eyes. That's when the team moved in, approaching the front entrance, with two of the officers decking the lookouts to knock them out and quickly pulling the guns from their holsters, then handcuffing them and retreating a few metres back to stand watch, and the others moving into the warehouses. The group quietly fanned out, arc pistols at the ready, and took the high ground, Sverrir and others looking out into the inner yard. In the yard, Sverrir saw no less than nine people, some wielding the combat rifles he was looking to seize, and three in particular making a deal over the several boxes of rifles, three dozen at the very least. He was quietly horrified by how much weaponry was there, ready to slip into the hands of any among the most violent and unscrupulous people around the globe - but he didn't let himself lose composure. He pressed a button on his earpiece, and asked: "Okay, everyone in position?"

The group all replied in the affirmative, and Sverrir nodded quietly - but then, he noticed one of the gunmen run in and pull one of the two dealmakers aside to tell him something, gesticulating wildly. Carefully approaching a warehouse window, Sverrir overheard the conversation... which was about the front gate guards. Reacting quickly,  Sverrir said: "Okay, change of plans! Sentry group, smoke the yard immediately! Amos, get me the crane operator!"

"Got it, Sveri." Amos said. There was a short burst of static, and Sverrir heard the voice of the crane operator hidden behind one of the warehouses - that same moment, the sentries quickly rolled the smoke grenades into the yard, beginning to fill it with dense white smoke.

"Good day, officer, what can I do you for?" she asked.

"No time for details! Extend the crane to the Dock 24 as fast as you can, and slam the magnet to maximum power!" Sverrir told her. "That'll pull the guns right out of their hands!"

"Guns? Oh man oh man..." the operator said as the crane's beam extended over the yard - and at the same moment, much to Sverrir's fear and discontentment, the shooting started. The gunrunners started shooting blindly to try and get back at the sentries who surrounded them, yelling things like "It's an ambush!" and "Everyone retreat!" - but thankfully, the walls were made of old-school clay bricks, more than enough to deflect the bullets even as other shots broke windows and pierced through sheet metal. With his fight-or-flight response kicking in right away as the shooting started, Sverrir yelled into his earpiece: "Everyone, take cover! Amos, give us overhead recon!"

"Affirmative!" Amos told him.

At that same moment, hiding from enemy fire at some distance from the windows, Sverrir looked a bit up - and saw how the crane magnet has lifted and attracted all of the boxes with combat rifles, stuck to it like so much iron scrap. The gunrunners yelled in panic and confusion, noticing the magnet overhead, and ran in different directions to escape before their own weapons were snatched away. But suddenly, the crane operator came back on the radio, asking: "Hey, what's going on?! Is that gunfire?!"

"Yes!" Sverrir replied. "Take cover! Your crane just pulled away most of their firepower!"

"Okay, okay!" the crane operator responded, Sverrir hearing her leap off the crane and run for cover. Changing the radio frequency, he got back to Amos, just in time to hear her make an announcement.

"Attention all sentries!" Amos told the group via radio. "We have three gunrunners in a boat speeding off, four hiding out in the container yard, and three others trying to flee along the dockside embankment!"

"Got it!" Sverrir said back. He looked at the other sentries with him, and tried to come up with a plan. "Okay, we are almost even with them!" he said. "Four people should go after the criminals in the container yard; climb up, smoke the place, and use the height advantage to corner them! Front gate detail, catch up with me and one other sentry! We'll go after the three who are running via embankment!"

"And what about the ones in the speedboat?" one of the sentries asked.

"That won't be a problem!" Sverrir said "Just mobilize the vehicle-pursuit drones, now that they're fleeing from us in broad daylight!"

"I'll get right on that." Amos said via the communications as they got in touch with the drone operators.

***

With four of the sentries splitting off to the container yard, Sverrir and the other sentry ran out of the building, rallying with the other two who were guarding the front gate. They risked by leaving the front gate guards unattended, yes - but it was a necessary risk. More of the community watch were already on the way; this was big, bigger than anything that the city has seen in years. The other watch group came in over Sverrir's radio channel as stray shots rang out among the containers, yelling: "We're in the container yard! Edwards, throw smoke! Fujishima, flank right!" "Got it! Zelenko, I'll cover you!"

Sverrir changed the frequency, contacting Amos again to get fresh recon.

"Amos, where are they on the embankment?" he asked.

"They're approaching a canal drawbridge behind the bend on your right." Amos responded.

"Good! Get the port authority on the horn and raise the bridge! We'll corner them there!"

"Affirmative, on it!" Amos replied.

"Follow me!" Sverrir called to other sentries. "Take cover with every move, these guys will do anything to save themselves!" The snow leopard's eyes narrowed, and he ran off, the sentries barely able to follow him without falling behind. He ran from cover to cover, hearing the drawbridge up ahead creak as he approached the sightline open to the criminals. He finally ran up to a big tree that was growing near the bend - and as soon as he peeked out, he was met with a hail of gunfire directed his way. Sverrir immediately hid back behind the tree, the other sentries forming up with him. "Okay, we need a plan! We've got them cornered now, we just have to take them down without undue harm!" he said.

At that moment, the other group came in via the radio channel again. "We got 'em! I repeat, we got 'em!" one of the sentries reported. "Our group of hostiles is under arrest! Fujishima got injured, but it's nothing serious, the bullet just grazed them!"

"Good! Get them medical attention, stat!" Sverrir said in response, before turning to other sentries. "I'm actually a bit stumped right now - there's no way we can safely fire back..." he admitted.

"I have an idea!" one of the sentries raised her hand. "Why won't we ask for another pollen duster run?" she asked with a smirk.

"That's pretty good! Everyone, arc pistols at the ready!" Sverrir said. "We've got them pretty close, but we need that opening! Amos, get us on the line with our friend, if you will?"

"Right away." Amos responded, patching in the city steward machine mind who helped them earlier.

"Hello again!" Sverrir said. "My friend Amos just gave you the coordinates; can you do another pollen drop for us?"

"Of course! Drop in 45 seconds." the steward replied. Their pollen-duster drones were normally intended for rapid ecological bootstraps - a wildgrass meadow around a finished-up construction site here, a flowerbed of epic proportions there - but now, they flew in like a strike group, dodging all gunfire that was directed at them and dumping a second batch of pollen over the gunrunners. In a few seconds, the sneezing started - and that's when Sverrir and sentries with him popped out from behind the tree, landing several precise arc pistol shots on them. The electric stun made the gunrunners drop their weapons, with Sverrir and the watch closing in... and in a minute, everything was over. The two groups on land have been safely apprehended, and soon afterwards, more of the community watch were there to take them away. Sverrir raised his finger to the earpiece, and asked: "Amos?"

"What is it?" Amos responded.

"Did we get the ones who fled by boat?" Sverrir asked.

"Yes, we have." Amos told him. "They are currently floating on the open water one kilometre away from shore, and the coast guard is coming in to apprehend them."

"Whew. Thank gods." Sverrir said. When one of the criminals walked past Sverrir as the community watch led him away, the snow leopard smirked and winked, with the gunrunner making a grimace of anger and annoyance in response. Sverrir knew one thing for sure; with all criminals apprehended, and all contraband combat rifles accounted for, his mission for the day was accomplished, and he prevented who knows how many calamities from ever taking place. In his line of work, he really couldn't ask for more.

***

For the rest of the workday, Sverrir went down to the local community watch office and did all the busywork that was called for after any case of such magnitude. He compiled evidence, filed reports about his actions, talked with witnesses and local watch officers, and tried to figure where else the Earth Global Detectives may be led by the connections from people they apprehended. But, eventually the workday was over with - and in late afternoon, he took his recess to what constituted his favourite hangout no matter where in the world he was: the Arbor Diner, a chain of restaurant co-ops serving his most preferred selection of food combos from across the world. After locating the nearest one and making his way there, he walked in, finding a nice table near the panoramic windows and looking over the place, with its prolific abundance of plants and wooden drink casks in the back, he figured he could simply let himself relax for a while.

"Hi there, and welcome!" the waiter said. "What will you have today, Detective?"

Sverrir - a person of note among the employees of that particular restaurant chain - gave it a thought, and figured he owed himself a really good snack after all that has transpired today. He turned around to the waiter, nodding to him politely.

"I'll have a double solarized Cheesemonger's Special, extra garden space on top, a dash of Appenines, overdo the mustard, and no rowing boats." Sverrir said.

The waiter just nodded and yelled to the kitchen: "You got that?"

"Yeah!" the fry cook replied, with Sverrir just smiling to the waiter and kicking back in his chair to wait for his order.

[ilguna]

Belamour - Chapter Six (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, murder plot, murder, DEATH IN DETAIL, gore

wc; 8k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games begin!” The words ring through the air, lingering in your head long past their existence.

There’s a sixty second grace period, in which you're allowed to check your surroundings and see what you’re up against. The land, who you’re next to, and what you want to do after the gong sounds. Run away, or run towards the cornucopia? You have to decide quickly. The more daring tributes will head straight towards the cornucopia, and it could end in two ways. Success, or death.

Whoever designed the outfits were right to make the jacket and the shirt thin. You’ve only been above ground for ten seconds and you can already feel the sweat running down your back. It’s weird that it’s so hot already, especially since it’s only ten in the morning. Back home, it would be cooler and much more pleasant outside.

The cornucopia is made out of gold, stretching twenty feet into the air. The mouth is wide, and it thins out towards the back. The tail stretches higher than the mouth, curling in the air like the tail of a scorpion. Inside of the building is everything a tribute could ever wish for. Things that could carry you for days, maybe even weeks.

It’ll all make survival a whole lot easier. Spread out in front of the cornucopia are more goodies. Weapons, food, plastic, firestarters, backpacks, tents, everything you could ever need. The further it is away, the less important it becomes. In front of your feet lies a rope that looks to be six feet long. Not worth it.

To your left is Cass, her dark hair is pulled into a ponytail too. Her eyes are on yours, and the two of you share a nod. Like you’re challenging her to a race to see who will get there first. Her or you? You may be small, but you’ve always been quick. You think she’d have a better chance if she ran away.

Past her is the boy from Six, Amos. Next to Amos is Verda, and beside Verda is Eytelle. Eytelle and you share a knowing look. That as soon as the gong sounds, it’s towards the cornucopia or you’re a coward and forfeit the alliance. You’ve fought hard these past couple of days to get here, and lost a friend along the way. To give up now would be foolish. You’ll see her there.

You can’t see anyone important past Eytelle. To your right is the girl from Ten. She’s weak, small and feeble. You saw how awful she was inside of the Training Center, and she scored an average five. You wonder if it was all a hoax to make people think she was weak. However, you distinctly remember her failing to pick up the swords because of how heavy they were.

Swinging them made her fall. She’s not much of a threat besides the fact that she’s also looking to go to the cornucopia. You’ll have to keep your eyes on her when you get there. To die by her hands would be an embarrassment. 

You see Blaire next to her. He has a kind smile on his face, eyebrows a little raised as he cocks his head towards the woods. Are you going with him? You shake your head no, you’re staying with the careers. You’ve made that decision already, accepting their offer. He’s disappointed, you look past him to see Lennox is also staring. He gives you a hard nod, and you give yourself the last twenty seconds to become accustomed to your surroundings.

This year, the cornucopia sits on sand, something that will be so hard to run on if you’re not experienced. It’s going to spray up everywhere when you run, and it’s going to slow you down. You know you’re quick, but this will slow you down.

There seems to be trees all around you. Behind the cornucopia on the other side, there’s a dense forest. Some are palm, reaching higher into the sky than others. There’s bushes, batches of leaves attached to the ground that you think are wild and could possibly be poison ivy. You can’t be sure how big the arena is, you can only see so far and it’s always a toss up.

Far off to the right is a cliff that looks fairly daunting to climb. Beyond that, you can’t see anything. Behind you is forest too, but you think it’s peculiar that there’s sand all around. You crouch down on the metal plate, being careful not to fall off. You remember the year where a girl had fallen off the plate and it blew her into the sky.

You can see through the trees, now. The trees aren’t as crowded behind you, they’re spread apart. You think you can see water washing up and onto the sand. Yes, there it is, a vast blue body of water. You don’t think you’re in the middle of the ocean, maybe a lake instead. Out there is salt water, the smell is unmistakable. Which only means that somewhere on this island will be a freshwater pond with fairly safe drinking water.

If the arena is an island, it has to be big. The arena’s are hardly ever small, typically they’re gigantic and it takes hours to reach one side of it. There will be plenty of hiding spots here, which means a hard place to explore and find other tributes, unless they’re stupid and pick the obvious spots.

You stand again, realizing that you can’t see Allio or Trink at all. Which just means that they’re too far or they have to be on the other side of the cornucopia, somewhere with Finnick. It’s not your problem, especially not Finnick. They’ll find their way to you.

Your stomach lurches the second before the gone sounds. The race has begun.

You jump off of the metal plate, not liking the way your feet sink into the sand. You take off running, though. It’ll be easier to make the cornucopia yours if you’re one of the first there.

You’re careful to dodge any of the goodies that are laying around in the sand. You don’t want to accidentally get your foot caught in something, and trip and go flying. You dig your boots into the sand toes-first, and use the little divots as leverage to push yourself forward. One foot in front of the other, you know that there’s a spray of sand behind you.

You live fairly close to the coast in District Four. Their beaches aren’t the best, but they’re covered in sand and a pain in the ass to run in. Your brothers always had a way of doing it though, and you’re not sure how. But the more you run, the more you seem to realize you’ve got a pattern down, and focus on that to get you to the cornucopia.

You spare a glance on either side to see that the others are having trouble with the sand, just like you thought. You’re way ahead of the others, the only person that seems to be a runner-up is Lennox. Blaire has made a beeline towards the trees on the far side of the cornucopia. If Finnick were running to the cornucopia too, the both of you would be neck in neck.

Ten more feet and you reach the cornucopia first, out of breath, chest heaving. You reach for the nearest weapon, a sword displayed on the wall. It’s just barely on the inside of the mouth. All the other weapons are too far back into the cornucopia, all displayed just as nicely as this sword. Going back there would mean to trap yourself, though. You don’t bother.

The sword is odd in your hands, heavy. You don’t like it. You can’t throw a sword like you can throw a spear or knife. You turn around, expecting to see you have a few more seconds before the rest of the impact hits, but you’re met face to face with the girl from Ten. In her hands is a sword, which she carries easily. The bitch was faking it.

A loud sting of fear pierces your heart. It’s your first fight, quite possibly your first kill. Despite the fact that you’re a literal threat in front of her, she still seems unsure on what she wants to do. Hesitance at any point during this could cost you your life. You don’t let her decide what she wants to do, and instead you swing as hard and as fast as you can.

She barely blocks you. Realizing that she can’t run, she has no choice but to fight, and she puts up a fight. Every swing you make for an artery or a stab for anything, she deflects you and counters it. You stupidly think of all the times you watched the boys back home pretend to sword fight with sticks on the playground.

Some would use one, others would have two. You remember watching boys and girls throw rocks and tiny sticks, pretending them to be bombs and throwing knives. You never really participated in these faux fights, but there was one time when you did. You hated every moment of it, but you managed to barely make it out.

But that’s all pretend, and this is real life.

Around you, you can hear the panicked shouts and blood curdling screams of others dying. The squelching of blood makes your stomach hurl and you bite back the vomit that is very much rising in your throat. The more you swing the sword, the more tired you grow to be. The two of you are far from the cornucopia, now.

This girl, who has gotten a five on her training score is putting up a fight you’d never had expected from her. You struggle for a moment, trying to figure out a chink in her armor. To see if she favors a leg, or an arm or completely leaves parts of her open. She doesn’t. 

To go from running to fighting has you out of breath and tired.

Without thinking about it, and expecting her to catch it, you fake right but swing left. She misses it completely, and you find your sword lodged in the side of her neck. She coughs, blood spraying onto your white coat. She reaches for the blade, fingers aching to get it out. 

Her eyes are wide, and it’s clear that she’s panicked. She slowly falls to her knees, face twisting. You reach for the hilt again, pulling on it hard, too hard. You fall back, watching the sword come looks and blood spray out of her neck and into the air, landing in the beige-colored sand. 

She watches you, choking. You barely get to your feet, feeling bad for this girl that you’ve just murdered. She’ll never get to go home to her family, she’ll never get to cry and hug them again. But then again, this is her own fault. This girl thought that she’d come out of the bloodbath alive.

You grit your teeth, looking away and towards the rest of the battle as you slam the sword through the side of her skull. There is no canon, and there won’t be one until much later. The gamemakers wait to set them off until the bloodbath is over. It’s hard to keep track of the alive and the dead and it would be a mistake to miss a canon or accidentally put one out when no one had died.

You see Lennox, he’s preying over the boy from Ten, eyes wild and mouth bared to a grin. There’s already blood on his hands, you and him are even at the moment. But he’s going to break the score by killing Ten. You know it won’t be merciful. The moment that Lennox launches himself at Ten, you know that he’s out to make it entertaining.

Trink and Allio have joined you. Both fighting their own mini battles with tributes that you know are going to lose. You can see a few bodies already, but can’t tell who they are. You drag your feet on your way back to the cornucopia, vigilant and wary of anyone who might make a run at you.

You don’t see anyone. You’re quick with leaning your sword against a box, using your foot to keep it upright. You yank off the jacket and tie it around your waist instead. You’ve begun to feel the effects of the heat, and you’d rather not collapse in a useless heap in the already hot sand. On the same box sits a knife that you pick up and tuck into your belt as a safety precaution.

You watch as Ten falls at Lennox’s knees, a sinister smile across his face. A chill goes down your spine as you watch Lennox prepare to kill him execution-style. He raises his sword up, and when he’s gathered enough strength, you flinch at the sight of Ten’s head coming clear off. The head lands face-down in the sand, the body becoming a water fountain of hot, thick blood, before it too, falls in the sand. 

You swallow thickly, and Lennox moves on to his next target. It’s the boy that Trink is having a hard time fighting. From Five, you think. He’s putting up a good fight, and it’s making Trink look bad. You grab your sword, dragging it in the sand behind you as you gather with Lennox.

The boy seems to realize how much danger he is in, now. His eyes darting from Trink to Lennox. When he sees you between them, you think you see hope in his eyes. He must think that you’re there to save him, but you’re not. You’re just here to make his death a whole lot quicker, and that seems to dawn on him.

He’s backing up, away from you guys. Lennox and Trink attack him from the sides, already occupying most of his attention. With you added, he’s working overtime, and he’s fearful. His swings become less calculated and more last-minute and full of fear. All you can think about is how this would’ve been you.

Five deflects Lennox, and then you, and then back to Lennox. It opens up a wide window for Trink, she places her hand on Five’s shoulder. Before he can turn and kill her, she slams the sword through his side, and you watch it come out the other end. You lower your sword, and watch as she slams it in a few mores times.

You turn to survey, hoping that there isn’t much left to do. But there’s a tall tribute, double and a half your height, a scythe in his hands. He’s taller than Eytelle, taller than Laurel. A scream rises in your throat, you reach out to grab Lennox to get his attention, but come across nothing but air.

His dark eyes turn to you. You know who he is now, Horace. Thyme briefly talked about him to Blaire, Verda and Finnick. You didn’t listen to her much, you didn’t care for what she had to say. The only real part that you caught from her was the fact that he’s a butcher’s son, and she’s seen him carry hundred-pound deer like they’re the lightest thing in the world.

She said that her and her friends used to watch him carry much heavier things after school. She said she never saw something he couldn’t carry. 

He scored a ten in training. And you’ve got his attention.

You raise your sword, which seems so useless against his scythe. His is long, and all he’d have to do is extend his arm and he could kill you. One swing of the scythe and your head could come clean off, just like the boy from Ten. One bad move and you’re suddenly a dead body on your way home.

You keep backing up, not wanting him to come close. You don’t even know if you’re the real target, because earlier he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at Trink, but now the two of them are nowhere to be seen. You shuffle your feet back, burying your feet in the sand first.

You need to get around him, behind him somehow. Away from his line of sight, have him focus on someone else again. Not you. 

Before you can move to the right, wanting to make a half circle around him, your feet get caught on something behind you. You think it’s sand, but the moment you’ve fallen, you realize that it’s Five’s dead leg. You go to get up, but Horace has got his scythe too close. Scooting to the side would do nothing, you continue to back up, the sand is resistant.

This is how you die. A child that had played up a show for the Capitol. A girl who had said she would make it home, and made promises that she would along the way. All it would take is one swing to break all those promises.

You release the sword, no longer wanting it to drag you down. Despite this, you’ve still got the knife occasionally digging into your thigh, but never hard enough to break the skin. 

The knife.

You reach for it, pulling it out and holding it in your hand. He doesn’t seem to notice or care. You stop backing up. You can pretend. You’ve been pretending. The sweet girl, you beg; “Please, don’t.” but he doesn’t listen and continues to advance on you. You keep your eyes on the scythe, waiting for the chance and then he raises, clearly preparing to kill you.

You wait a second, and then lunge at his calf the moment he swings. You stab the knife into his calf, yanking it down. The spray of blood is hot against your face. You can hear him yell out, dropping the scythe and instead moving to grab you. You jump again, out of the way and towards the sword that lies only a few feet away.

It’s a race to weapons. You barely scramble to your feet, the sword is warm now because of the sun on the metal, and the blood on your hands makes it slippery between your fingers. You grip it tightly, and then turn to Horace, who still has his back to you, fingers reaching for his scythe.

You raise the sword above your head, feeling the ache in your shoulders at the heaviness of the sword. Just before Horace goes to fight back, you bring the sword down. Like a king to accolade a knight, except the sword lodges in the back of his head instead of a gentle tap against his shoulder.

Another canon. A second person’s life on your hands. You watch as Horace falls forward, and since your hand is still very gripped onto the sword, you’re thrown onto his body. On your knees, you’re face to face with the back of his split-open head. You grit your teeth, the smell of blood is metallic and fills your nose. Tears spring in your eyes, stomach lurching again.

You can’t hold back the gag, or the cough that comes after. In two seconds, you’ve lost your breakfast and the water you drank before you came inside. You’re shakily holding onto the sword, trying to keep yourself upright. There’s vomit in your nose, and tears running down your cheeks.

You struggle to breathe, not wanting a second round. You turn your head away and hum loudly, pulling the sword free of Horace’s head and stumbling back again. You fall onto your hands and knees, next to your knife. You wipe the blood onto your jeans, and then tuck it into your belt. After, you’re struggling to your feet and making your way back towards the others with your sword in hand.

You rub the tears, snot and vomit away. Watching as Trink smears blood across her cheek by accident. Her eyes find you, face twisting. She’s confused, you can tell. She looks around you to see Horace, and suddenly her face is breaking into a grin, “You--wow!”

There’s nothing to say. There’s no more fighting. You didn’t lose a single person in your pack. Everyone who’s dead are outsiders. You regroup inside of the cornucopia with the others.

“What’d she do?” Allio asks, looking over.

“She got that big guy from Eleven.” She claps her hand against your shoulder, “I didn’t even see it!”

There’s a look of jealousy in Allio’s eyes.

“I’m lucky to be alive.” you muse, taking a seat on a box. You take the neck of your shirt and use it to wipe the sweat from your forehead. To them it’s a joke, to you it’s real. You might have been his equal when it came to training score, but that was not going to be a fair fight.

At least your odds have increased, and maybe have gotten a few sponsors in the process. After all, you just killed a man that was bigger, stronger and older than you. He might have had brute strength, but you had outsmarted him. 

You watch and listen to what they have to say about the bloodbath. They say it was fairly easy, and they didn’t have to fight as much as they thought they would. All you can think about is the fact that you threw up a good amount of food that could have lasted you until this evening. Now, it’s just before noon.

At least they didn’t see you lose your breakfast right after killing Horace. You push yourself up from where you were sitting, and head out to check who and how many are dead. There will be canons later, and even a recap of who has died in the sky later tonight, but you can’t wait. You need something to occupy your mind.

Both from District Ten. The boys from Five, Six and Eleven. Both from Nine, Verda, and Cass. You stop above Verda’s body, staring down at the way she’s laid out. She’s not even five feet from her metal plate, and there’s a knife lodged in her forehead. She’s starfished, eyes open. You crouch down, whispering an apology while your back is turned to your friends.

You close her eyes, and then pull the knife out of her skull. It’s a throwing knife, which means that one lucky tribute had made it out with knives. Because no one has them spread out or around them as far as you can see. You note this, and shuffle pass Cass, whose neck is clearly broken.

“Nine dead.” you tell them when you get back to the cornucopia. 

“Nice.” Trink sounds excited.

Five in your alliance, ten out there somewhere. Two of them are Finnick and Blaire. For now, you think that they’re alive. There’s really no way to tell until the canons start blasting and whether or not their faces show up in the sky, indicating their deaths. 

You pack a backpack, preparing to air out of the cornucopia with your alliance. You kick a box open, expecting clothes and useless things but come across a first aid kit and some throwing knives. You pack all of it into your backpack, zip it up and then throw it over your shoulder.

There’s enough food in the backpack to carry you if you get lost or split from your group. There’s a sleeping bag--but you can’t imagine you’ll be needing it anytime soon with this heat--a canteen, some iodine tablets, and a few other useless things. Once the others are ready, you all head off towards the thicker part of the forest, since it’s where you all saw the most tributes fleeing.

The gamemakers waste little to no time picking up the bodies. You’re about a mile into the forest, all spread out in a line, looking for tributes when the canons start. And just as you suspected, it comes out to nine. There haven’t been any extra deaths for now. It’s just a matter of time when there will be.

“So, what would you call the arena this year?” you ask, not wanting to succumb to silence.

“Some sort of island.” Eytelle says.

It’s nice to know they think the same, at least it confirms your thoughts. However, it still makes you wonder if they know about the dangers of an island, just yet. It’s not just dense forest and plenty of trees, it has wild animals.

Allio snuffs, “I’d like to say it’s tropical, but it’s… not.” he says, swatting a branch out of his face, “It’s just your typical wilderness with some curve balls.”

“Tall trees aren’t really curve balls.” Trink says.

Lennox shakes his head, “I think he might be talking about the cliffs.”

And right on cue, all of you look over at the same time. Even through the thick branches of trees, you can see the cliffs. You’re not even that close, but it’s so very obvious how high up in the sky it is. Just leaves a question of whether or not there’s ocean beneath it, or plain ground. Both have a feeling of cement on impact from that kind of height.

“You guys want to take a climb?” Allio asks.

It’s your turn to laugh, “And let everyone know where we are? Do you want them to take from the cornucopia?”

“We’re away from it anyway, so what’s it matter?” Lennox asks, “They have to know because of the bodies being retrieved, right?”

“Maybe.” You say, “Or maybe they think we’re somewhere nearby and we’re going to go right back once they’re gone. And you’re telling me you want to hike up that? What a waste of daylight.”

“What are we even looking for?” Eytelle asks.

“Water.” Trink says just before you can.

And despite your best efforts, you all settle into silence. For about an hour, it’s just walking and keeping an eye out for any hidden tributes. You twist your ring in small circles, trying to keep yourself from biting your nails or anything else that might give off how nervous you are.

You’ve survived the bloodbath, which is possibly the worst part you’ll ever come across in here. Of course, now it’s left to the  unpredictability of other tributes, but you ran straight into the cornucopia and made it out alive. You fought two older troubles, one of them the size of a giant, and came out the winner.

It’s good news to Mags and Anchor, you think. Gets a lot of sponsors to line up after taking them down the way you did. However, you bet they saw your not-so-graceful demise after. Falling on top of Horace and losing your lunch… probably not one of your greatest moments. And honestly, you hope that if you do win, that’ll be cut out of the recap.

There’s no guarantee that it was even shown then, actually. You know that the gamemakers tend to switch the cameras when tributes are having private moments. Which includes an array of things, and you think one of those is puking. Either way, it shouldn’t have turned people away.

If they were to be face to face with something so gruesome and gory, knowing that they’re the ones that caused it, you can almost guarantee that they’d lose their breakfast too. Then they’d probably scream and cry and make it a lot more painful. 

Eventually, Eytelle thinks she’s found water. You all follow behind her, with Lennox taking up the back in case someone were to attack. You don’t really feel like standing guard at the back, anyway. After the two people you killed today, you know that you’ll be able to take the person down. But why would you want to?

If he wants to have blood and murder on his hands, then that’s his deal. With the careers, they’re always after the most kills, anyway. Makes their recap when they win interesting, and they end up getting praised for killing half of the arena. It’s not that way in Four, exactly, but it’s definitely that way in One and Two, since that’s the way they think.

District Four is a unique place. Teetering on the edge of being a ‘real’ career and just a plain district. Your poverty rate is higher than the ones in One and Two combined. It’s all because they’re favored a lot more than you guys, as always. And you wonder why that is.

What makes fish so good, huh? You’ve been around it your entire life, and to be honest it’s awful. The smell, the smell when it’s been baking in the sun all day, the smell when it’s been baking and it’s been around sweaty men. And of course, it’s the cheapest thing on the damn market because you have such a surplus of it.

Needless to say, you’ve eaten a lot of fish in your life. And you’re not really looking forward to eating more when you get home. In fact, you think you’ll take your ass down to the butchers and bakery and finally feel what it’s like to be a rich asshole. Just for one day, before you decide that it’s not worth it.

Eytelle was right about water. It’s a small pond, you crouch down and take off the backpack, pulling out the silver thermos and uncapping it. You disturb the water on the top, and then plunge the bottle in to get the water in the middle. The others don’t really do the same, and you can’t care. They’re going to be the ones drinking it.

They have the sense to drop iodine into the water. You all take a moment to take a break at the water. You strip off the white jacket and use the water to wash off the blood. When you’re done, you work on your arms and face.

You dry your hands on your pants. Then you pull off your shoes and dump out the sand and brush the rest out. Out there, there is no sand, it’s just plain grass and dirt. And it’ll be a lot less distracting and uncomfortable if you get rid of the sand all together.

You tie the laces as tight as you did last time, and then sit back and watch as the others finish cleaning themselves off. The blood on Trink’s face is mostly gone, but there’s now pink streaks down her cheeks. Lennox helps her clean it up.

The water is mostly still, sometimes there’s a ripple. You push yourself to your feet, “I’m gonna walk around the pond.”

“Yell if you need help.” Allio mutters, he’s working with a stuck zipper, “Goddamn.”

You pick up the sword, now realizing that you never traded it out for a spear. At this point, you shouldn’t even bother with a spear. You’ve got the hang of the weight, now. And it’s proved to be useful so far, so what’s the point in making you get used to a spear?

Around the pond are a few bushes, lots of trees. The further you walk, the more you can’t hear your friends. To be fair, they’re not even being that loud. If they were yelling like they were earlier, they’d probably be alerting the whole area of where you are. 

You hum to yourself, watching the way that the pond curves. You can’t find any hiding spots, so far. This would be a nice place to stay. Except for the fact that it’s so close to the cornucopia, and plenty of people are going to use it when they pass through. A dangerous spot, actually. It’s risky.

Nonetheless, you look over it anyway, and you’re satisfied to tell the others that the area should be clean, and you can continue walking. After a quick water break, you all head deeper into the woods, planning to stay the night out here.

It’s more of just wandering and useless talk as the sun begins to set. Allio manages to kill a boar, you’re set on the task of making a fire and the others are forced to argue out who’s staying up late tonight to watch over the others. You and Allio keep quiet, not wanting the attention turned to you guys.

It doesn’t work. Eventually, they’re asking what you and Allio think should happen. Allio says he doesn’t want to do it and thinks he shouldn’t be forced to, because of the boar. Eytelle agrees and says that she found the water, so really it’s just a debate between you, Lennox and Trink.

“If I take it, will I get a pass tomorrow?” You ask, knowing that you’re going to be exhausted tomorrow. But if they insist on walking back to the cornucopia, you’re sure that you can push through.

“Yes.” Trink says.

“Then I’ll do it.” You say, and it settles it easily.

You help cook chunks of the boar, and since you’ve volunteered, you get the first bite. It’s unseasoned, and terribly burnt and nowhere near what you’ve been eating the past couple of days inside of the Capitol, but it’s definitely a wake up call. Slowly but surely, the body is broken down, until it’s left to the more unflattering pieces.

When it’s agreed that none of you are hungry anymore, the pig is thrown away from where you all sit. Almost like a warning, that if you could take down a wild, vicious animal with tusks, then it’s a wonder what you all can do in a fight.

Conversation continues as the fire dies out. The warmth is being sucked away with it, and you watch as the others settle down in the grass. You pull on your jacket, thinking that just in case it does get cold, you’re prepared. You’d much rather be warm, than shiver through the entire night.

The anthem starts to play, and this is when you all look up to the sky to see the tributes faces. It starts with Verda, you can feel the pain begin in your chest. She wasn’t even your ally and you feel bad for her death. It’s all Finnick’s fault, with his damn plan on making you friends with everyone inside of the arena.

After Verda is the boys from Five, then Six. Cass shows up, then both from Nine and Ten, and Horace. Surprisingly, it looks like both of the Twelve tributes have survived. They’re young, twelve and thirteen you think you said. Hardly ever eaten and basically no survival skills. The only reason why they’re alive is because they didn’t run to the cornucopia.

The sky fades to black, and this is when everyone finally decides to call it a night. They all find their respective spots, prepared to spend the night on the ground.

Leaned up against a tree, you count the amount of animals you can hear. Birds, cicadas, you think there’s wolves, crickets. Trink rolls over, curling into a ball. She then uses the jacket as a blanket, draping it over her upper half, rather than just pulling it on. Guess it is cold.

The others don’t move as much. They seem to find a position and stay there for hours. It’s hard to find things to think of to keep you awake. You almost wish you had someone to keep you company. Even if you can’t talk, it would be nice to have another pair of eyes catching anything you might have missed.

It’s a good thing you slept well last night, otherwise you’re sure you’d be delusional and be seeing things. You stare down at the ring for a while, feeling yourself doze but not being able to bring yourself out. You’re just so damn tired.

It would be a shame to fall asleep now. Five careers all asleep around each other. Something would be able to sneak up on you, take out the tribute they want. You’d get in trouble for falling asleep and end up dead, yourself.

With a hefty sigh, you lean your head back up and open your eyes. They’re heavy, and you struggle to keep them open. You rub your eyes to wake yourself up more, and the moment you do, a long, low growl fills the air. You can feel your heart sputter and die in your chest.

You don’t want to move your hands. Moving your hands could set off whatever the creature is. You don’t have much of a choice, you think. You two can’t sit here together in some sort of sick stand off. It’s going to jump eventually. Maybe because Lennox rolls over or Eytelle breathes too loudly.

When you remove your hands from your face, you’re very careful. You can see what you missed before. Just opposite to you, a couple of feet back from Trink, is a tall creature with glowing eyes. You can’t seem to remember any animal that would fit the description. Then it dawns on you, and you can feel the blood drain from your face.

There is only one species that is so flexible to make fantasy come to life. And they’re no creature of nature.

They’re Capitol mutations.

You need a plan. If it’s only one, you think you and the others will be able to fight it. It might be tall, but there’s five of you and it should be possible for you all together to take it down.

Then, the eyes double. Going from one to two to four to eight. 

Fighting it out of the question.

As if you’re a snail, you move over to shake Allio. It takes him a moment, eyes opening and ready to ask you the matter. You press your fingers to your lips and motion upwards. He sits up, a harmony of snarls coming from the beasts. He looks just as pale as you feel.

He gets Lennox up next, and together they get Eytelle and Trink. Trink is by far the worst, with the way that one of them looks over her. She pushes herself backwards and towards you guys. Your fingers fumble in the darkness, finding your sword, slipping your backpack strap over a shoulder. 

The moment it’s free, you all have to run, “Cornucopia.” You whisper.

They seem to get it. There’s a silent, very silent countdown between you all. And then you’re on your feet and running. You’re the lead at first, arms swinging at your sides, backpack jostling at every step. But Trink turns out to be faster because she has no backpack, only her weapon.

Behind you, there’s screaming. Loud and clear, inspiring you to continue to go faster so you’re not the one at the butt end of the group. You’re sure that anyone nearby can hear, and they’re wondering if it’s a tribute getting murdered or something worse. If you were them, you’d be assuming the latter.

Eytelle seems to be at the end, and she’s behind. So long for being able to run faster because of her long legs. They’re no use now. You risk a single look behind you to check on her, and with the help of the moonlight seeping through the trees, you’re able to see what they are.

Pure terror.

When you reach back around, a branch whips at your face, feeling the sting linger and the blood begin to run. It’s not only you who has this problem, the others are struggling to get the branches out of their faces before they hit them.

They slap at your jacket, some get snagged but you keep on running and hope that the thorns come clear off and no rips are forced into the jacket. Most of the branches are low, shoulders and below. Your thighs hurt, you dance around the ones that will get tangled in your feet.

Suddenly, Eytelle is shrieking; “They’re bears!”

And you know. You caught a glimpse. Giant, brown grizzly bears with glowing eyes. They weight more than you, they’re bigger than you. It’s the Horace situation all over again. Except this time, they’re the Capitol’s pets and they won’t stop unless they kill one of you.

Eytelle is the closest, so you think she’ll be the one to die. It’s a sick thought on it’s own, but it worsens when you begin to hope that it’s her. Anyone but you. You can get through.

You slip between a pair of thin trees, the backpack getting caught. You get out of one of the straps, turn the backpack sideways and watch as Eytelle catches up. The backpack still isn’t free by the time she whizzes past you. You hold your breath, frozen in time as you watch all eight bears go past you and right after the others. Two bears to every one tribute.

The snapping of branches and screaming gets further. Once you’re sure that they’re not going to come back for you, you detangle the last of the backpack and take a breather. Sweat is dribbling down your forehead, tickling your skin in irritating ways. You catch a hold of your breath, waiting until you go to catch up with them.

You head right first, and then straight, keeping a distance between you and the path that they should have taken. The jacket is making you feel hot again, but with the cold air blowing through the trees, you can’t be bothered to pull it off. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re cold again.

Just as you begin to slow to a jog again, because you’re so obviously running on fumes at this point. A scream so raw, that you can feel the pain in your own throat, fills the air. It’s enough to make you hesitate on your next step, not wanting to walk in on whatever the hell is happening.

You watch where you step, making sure that there’s no branches or leaves that will crunch. It’s hard to see in the darkness, hard to be sure that every move you make won’t be the last or the cause of your demise. The screaming never stops, never fades into something quieter.

You find yourself getting closer, to your left is the bears. Straight ahead, another half mile it looks like, is the cornucopia. You think you could make it, if you run, not jog. You can’t see the others at all, and telling by the scream, one of them had been caught. The bears might just leave you alone, since they’ve gotten their midnight snack.

Peering through the trees, you’re able to see who it is. Stretched out on a sharp rock is Eytelle. Their hands dig into her limbs, her stomach as they tear her apart. She’s got her head thrown back, mouth open wide in a scream. You almost can’t believe that the animals haven’t shut her up yet. And then, you remember that it’s a show for the Capitol.

It doesn’t have to be, though. If you threw your knife, it would kill her now. Keep her from suffering too, and the others might even appreciate it. To know that you showed a girl you have hardly any knowledge of, mercy. She tries to yell for something, but it’s garbled out in tear-filled sobs that’s eventually interrupted by her own screaming.

Your fingers slip to your belt, pulling the knife out and preparing it in your hand. The distance between the two of you isn’t nearly as long as the spear-throw back inside of the Training Center. In fact, this one should be much easier. 

You wait and wait, looking for a perfect opportunity. Every time you think you have one, they’ll move in front of you. It’s all a game of anticipation. Unpredictable, until you find a pattern. They’re gamemaker controlled, of course. It’s a moving target to keep you on your feet.

The bear moves to the left again, and you throw your knife. You don’t even wait for the canon to go off--which it does--before you take off like a bat out of hell through the trees. You zip up the jacket to your chin, using your sleeves to block your face from the brutal hits of the thin branches that are bound to leave scars.

The roaring is much louder than the screaming. And their running is a lot more ground-shaking than it was the first time around. They’re all pounding against the floor, you can feel the rumble beneath your boots each time they make connection with the grass and dirt.

Before you know it, you can literally feel their hot breath down the back of your neck, feel the spit flying from their mouths during their snarls. One reach and they could grab you and tear you apart, just like they had done to Eytelle before you mercy-killed her. It hasn’t even broken dawn yet, and you’ve gotten your third kill.

You can see where the sand begins, dreading the moment you have to step onto it. In the depths of your chest, you have a feeling that the mutts won’t go further than the trees, and instead will sink right back to either mutilate Eytelle’s body or go back to the circle of hell where they came from.

Your calves and thighs burn, your cheeks flushed and itchy. All these quick breaths have got your mouth dry and throat sore. It’s only a little further, now. It’s right there, you can see it. Feel the free air on your nose. Ten steps, eight, six, four, three, two--

You’re thrown forward, flying over the first few feet of sand before you slam into it. Instantly, you know that something is wrong. And it doesn’t make itself known until you go to push yourself up, and your bag stings painfully. You yelp, tears gathering in your eyes as you give up the idea of saving yourself.

It hurts, even laying here in the sand does nothing but make you twitch. It’s warm, and it feels liquidy. You’re bleeding, and it has to be bad if you can’t even make out a lick of a cold breeze. You grit your teeth, blinking away your tears as you turn your head to the side, looking to the treeline. No bears, no mutts. It’s just you.

“Please.” you beg, you have to pick yourself up. 

The pain alone makes your vision turn black. You have to stop and take a break, using the cornucopia as a crutch to get to your feet. You don’t even know where the backpack or the sword is, anymore. All you can make out through your spotty vision is the vague sense of a campfire light that might be coming from inside of the cornucopia.

You want so badly to reach back and feel the damage, but the second you move your shoulders, you see white and black at the same time. Like heaven and hell clashing together at one, trying their hand at taking you to their paradise. You barely make it around the mouth, startling the hell out of your allies.

Lennox gets to his feet, arms outstretched to you as if you’re a toddler. It’s the same move that you had made to Alyssum when she had begun to walk. Urging her to come to you, and not your brothers. Who might as well be Allio and Trink at this moment.

You don’t want to give up the wall, but reach an arm out to him anyway. The moment you take a step, Lennox catches you.

“She’s gone.” you tell them, “I saved her.”

Two contradicting sentences, but they seem to catch on. You think they’re talking to you, or maybe it’s each other. The words begin to fade, and so does your sense of balance. The world is spinning, the slightest movement of your head has got dizziness stirring in your stomach.

You open your mouth, wanting to ask for help, but getting black vision instead.

[lumiolivier]

The Good Old Days Chapter Fifteen: Say It

A/N: Hi, friends! Look, I don't have a lot of time to talk here. I have the For the Family post to take care of and a little boy coloring on my bedroom floor, so I'm just going to say this. This chapter is fluff as fuck. End of story. K, love you!

ICYMI: Chapter Fourteen: Let Me Take You Home

This wasn’t in the plans. This was supposed to be a quick stop. We would say hi to Mama and take off. I wasn’t expecting to see the Old Man until tonight at the earliest. After I brought Vanessa home. But here he was with my mother. This wasn’t in the plans. I told him she meets Mama first, then, we’d see about him. But by all means, Old Man. Take the option away from us. Thanks. What a buddy, what a pal. Really appreciated.

“Please, Frankie,” the Old Man insisted, “Sit with us.”

“How nice of you to offer,” I didn’t move, “Considering this is my house.”

“Don’t be like that,” he awed, setting my blood to a low simmer.

“Mama,” I demanded, “Blink twice if the Old Man’s holding you hostage.”

“He’s not,” Mama assured me.

Why did I doubt that? No. Because the Old Man has weaponized charm that he won’t hesitate to use. Especially on Mama. And Mama, as sharp as she is, wouldn’t know a thing, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Yep. Mama was totally under his spell. And going by the shit eating grin on his face, he knows it.

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood,” the Old Man played innocent, but I knew bullshit when I stepped in it, “And I thought I’d stop by and see one of the most beautiful women to walk the face of this earth.”

“Stop…” Mama blushed, eating this up. Oh, Old Man…I’ve seen you charm the panties off a few ladies before. I’ll be damned if mi mama ends up on that list. He knows damn well what he does to her. Pisses me off to no end, but…I hate not seeing that smile on Mama’s face. Even if it did come like…this.

“For all of us,” I grumbled, “If that’s all then, we’ll be going.”

“Hold on, Francisco,” Mama stopped me, “You told me I get to meet Vanessa tonight.”

“You already told your mom about me?” Vanessa whispered behind me.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I explained, remembering how high my oldest brother was on my shit list these days, “I did, Mama. I told you that you’d get to meet her. But I told him to wait his turn.”

“Two birds, one stone, Frankie,” the Old Man brushed me off, “It’s not that bad, is it?”

Given that I know this man has the charm of Don Juan and the libido of a rabbit fresh out of solitary, this could go horribly. Mama’s already fallen under his spell and she’s one of the strongest willed people I know. I’d hate to see what he’d do to Vanessa. But I wasn’t the only one involved here. I needed to keep the peace and my promise. Don’t you worry, kariña. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get to you, “Vanessa…”

“Yeah?” she knew. She knew I didn’t want to put her through this. And she wrapped her arm around mine. She’s a good one. I may have been through some shit, but I know a good one when I see her. She’s definitely a good one.

“Is this ok with you?” I kept my voice down, “And don’t be afraid to say no.”

“It’s ok,” Vanessa allowed with a smile on her face, “At the end of the day, family’s family. Blood or not. Besides, it’s not like we’ll be here long, right?”

“Right.” My god, I think I’m in love. The two of us sat down at the table, “Mama, this is Vanessa. Vanessa, this is my mother, Sariña. She is a saint amongst mortals and anyone who says otherwise can enjoy their eternity in hell.”

“Francisco,” Mama awed, “I’m no saint.”

“Still,” Vanessa giggled a bit, “Es un placer conocerte, señora. He escuchado mucho sobre usted.”

“Es un placer conocerte tambien, kariña,” Mama’s heart was an absolute puddle right now. I could guarantee it. Because mine wasn’t too far from it either.

“Since when do you speak Spanish?” I wondered.

“Since I was about twelve,” Vanessa looked at me strange. But she had a certain cockiness in her eyes. I like it. And here I was worried Mama wouldn’t give Vanessa a chance. I didn’t realize she’d have that ace up her sleeve. Ok. Maybe this isn’t going to be such a trainwreck. That’s comforting.

“So, Vanessa,” the Old Man chimed in, “Question. Because Frankie won’t tell me, what’s your last name?”

And I hear the sounds of derailment in the distance, “Scarlotti. Why?”

“Just curious…” The sudden expression of shock on his face and the onset sweating didn’t look like nothing. Oh, shit. Tell me the Old Man doesn’t have ties to Vanessa’s family. God…Please listen. I’m begging you. Don’t let the Old Man have ties to Vanessa’s family, “So, where are you two off to tonight?”

“I’m not sure,” I shook it off, “I figured we’d just wing it.”

“Excuse us,” the Old Man got up from the table and dragged me behind him into our bedroom, “You really are fucking clueless, aren’t you, Frankie?”

“What the fuck, Old Man?” I did my best to not tear him a new asshole, “What did I do?”

“You are fighting way over your weight class here, kid…”

“I know.” He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, “She’s…Fucking perfect.”

“She’s a Scarlotti, Frankie,” the Old Man grabbed me by my shoulders, “She’s practically royalty in this town. The Scarlottis are just above us. Only they’re more legit. But with a girl like her? You’re just going to wing it? I thought I taught you better.”

“She didn’t come off as the uppity type,” I told him, “She’s hella down to earth, Old Man. She’s not…I don’t think she could be the stuck-up princess if she wanted to be. She’s even told me that.”

“Telling you things and acting on them are two totally different things, Frankie,” he sat down, holding his face in his hands, “Dios mio…You need to impress this girl or you can kiss her goodbye.”

I wasn’t nervous going into this date. Not about her. I was more nervous about her meeting Mama and Mama not giving her a chance because of what she comes from. Not once did I think that shoe would be on the other foot. Not like this, “What do I do? I don’t want to lose her, Old Man. I’m starting to fall fast and hard for her and I don’t want to let this one go.”

“Here,” the Old Man slipped a couple hundreds in my pocket, “You take her somewhere nice. I mean, really nice. If you go anywhere within our network, you’ll be treated like a god. She’ll see you as someone with some power. And that’s going to score points in your favor like nothing else. Impress her, but don’t look like you’re trying to impress her. No one likes a try hard. If you take good care of her tonight, she’s yours. And if you can manage to spoil her a little bit in ways she doesn’t get at home, you’re in…Find out who her father is and what their relationship is like.”

“No,” I wasn’t playing into that, “I don’t fuck with someone’s daddy issues like that. That might be a you thing, Old Man, but hard pass for me.”

“You’re fucking adorable, Frankie,” he awed, “You’re trying to do this the old-fashioned way. Alright. Admirable. Stupid on your part, but admirable.”

“Why is it stupid?”

“Because your potential girlfriend comes from aristocracy, Frankie. That might get messy for a little hood rat like you.”

“Hurting my pride here, Old Man…”

“Good,” he gave me a nod, “It knocks you down a peg and puts things into a clearer perspective. It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, kid. You two are cute together. There’s no doubt about that. And she seems like a sweetheart. Pulling out the Spanish on your mama was brilliant. You know how she is about you.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “I brought an Italian girl home that just spoke to Mama in her native language. I don’t think she was doing that to score points.”

“Why else would she be doing it?”

“For the sake of making things easier on Mama,” I figured. Because that’s the kind of girl I brought home. I didn’t bring the aristocratic princess. She’s not like that. When I say Vanessa’s a good girl, she’s a good girl. Beautiful inside and out. Why would I want to throw that away? Maybe impressing her a little won’t hurt.

“You can’t afford to be too naïve, Frankie,” the Old Man warned me, “Her family might be a different story. Hell, your mama might still be a different story.”

“No, no, no,” I shook my head. I knew that one for a fact, “Her family? Yes. With the exception of Veronica. Veronica already loves me. I know this for a fact. I got her on lock. Her parents and her other sister are all I need to worry about. And I’m not that worried. I got this.”

“Well,” he let me go, “Good luck tonight, kid. You might need it. You might not. It’s kind of like when you bring condoms on a first date. Maybe you’ll get laid. Maybe you won’t. But it’s better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.”

“I don’t think we’re having sex tonight, Old Man,” I looked at him strange, “But the well wishes and the analogy are appreciated.”

The two of us walked out of the bedroom and back to the kitchen. My potential girlfriend that I needed to impress tonight was in the middle of a full conversation with my mother with not a single error in her Spanish. Yeah. I got nothing to worry about. Mama and Vanessa seem to be getting along nicely. I’d hate to be the one to fuck this up. So, maybe I could stand to impress Vanessa. Just a little. I hated thinking of her being so shallow, but the Old Man could have a point. It can’t hurt me, right? But still…Just hearing her and Mama together made mi corazon skip a beat.

“Hey…Vanessa?” I cut them off, “You ready?”

“Si,” she nodded, turning her attention back toward Mama, “Necesitamos hacer esto de nuevo, Sariña.”

“No podría estar mas de acuerdo, niña,” Mama awed, “Cuidado esta noche.”

“Seremos, Mama,” I promised, taking Vanessa’s hand and kissing Mama’s cheek, “Te amo.”

“Te amo, cariño…”

And just like that, Vanessa and I took off. That could’ve gone worse. And God bless this angel I’m taking out tonight. Considering how bullshit it was of the Old Man to show up unannounced, that couldn’t have gone any better. Vanessa handled that beautifully. And baby, you deserve the world tonight. Far be it for me not to give it to you. You earned it.

“Hey, Frankie,” Vanessa slipped her hand in mine, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“What is it, Vanessa?”

“I…” her eyes lit up and sparkled in a way I’ve never seen before. But dammit, I need to see it more often, “I absolutely adore your mom.”

“Hey,” I gave her a little nudge, “So do I. We have so much in common.”

“You’re adorable,” she giggled a bit, “I’m serious. I do. I love your mom. She’s so sweet.”

“That’s because you caught Mama on a good day,” I teased, “Catch her on a bad one and you’ll be catching hands.”

“I don’t think she’d ever be like that with me,” Vanessa sighed out, “Not with me. Frankie, she was damn near drawing up our marriage license right then and there. She fucking loves me.”

“You also spoke to her in a way that put her back home,” I pointed out, “We haven’t been back to Spain in a long time.”

“How long has it been?” she wondered, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Probably…” I thought back, “Four…Five years? I might have been a freshman in high school the last time we went home. But I got a feeling we might be back there in the near future. I’m sure you’ve been jet setting over to Europe a time or two. Ever see my mother country?”

“Can’t say I have,” Vanessa admitted, “I’ve always wanted to see Spain, though. It’s the weirdest thing. Because I still have family in Italy and we’ve been there a few times, but we never ventured outside of that.”

“”Necesitas ver España,” I insisted, “Es el lugar más hermoso del mundo…”

“Me encantaría,” she smiled, “On one condition.”

“Name it,” I got the door for her. Let no one ever say I wasn’t a gentleman.

“You show me Spain,” Vanessa squeezed my hand a little tighter, “If that’s not too much to ask.”

Mama might have been onto something when she was already thinking about Vanessa and me getting married. Maybe the first real date might be a little too soon to decide that, but I should already start looking at houses in good school districts, “Me encantaría.”

“Bueno,” she kissed my cheek, “So…Where to? Were you serious when you said you were winging it?”

“No,” I shook my head, “I know a couple places we can go.”

“If you want,” Vanessa decided, “We can go somewhere on your side of the bridge.”

“Na,” I brushed her off, “We can go uptown. That’s not a problem.”

“Are you sure?” Because by the looks of her face, she wasn’t.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “It’s alright. Anywhere you want, it’s yours tonight.”

“Positive?”

“Vanessa,” I settled her, “Not only did you handle my mother tonight, but the Old Man, too. Kind of. Trust me. You earned it. The only thing that would’ve made that worse would be if my brothers didn’t have to work tonight. Fortunately, they left a little over an hour ago, so you don’t have to deal with them.”

“That wouldn’t have been a problem either,” Vanessa rolled her eyes, “Frankie, you forget what line of work I’m going into. You forget that I’ve been playing diplomat for the family since God knows when. I can work someone like it’s nobody’s business. You don’t even realize I’ve been doing that with you since the day we met.”

“Excuse me?” I looked at her strange. No way. She’s a good girl. She wouldn’t use dirty tricks on me.

“It’s all in the art of observation,” she leaned back against a nearby building, “Your mother’s incredibly protective of you, isn’t she?”

“That’s not something she exactly hides,” I giggled a bit.

“But the other one…” Vanessa went on, “He seems familiar. And he didn’t like that my last name is Scarlotti. Which leads me to believe he’s probably mafia. Am I right?”

“Holy shit…” I gasped, keeping my voice down, “How’d you know?”

“My parents have had problems with some people in the underground before,” she softly bit her bottom lip, “Particularly my mother. She tried taking matters into her own hands; something she has a bad habit of doing. And when that happened, someone pointed her in the direction of the man that runs the underground. With the way he carries himself and from what you’ve told me about your line of work, not to mention the fact that your mom told me about your dad, that’s your boss, isn’t it?”

“Damn, you’re good,” I swooned, “Keep telling me more things about me.”

“God,” Vanessa laughed, “That came out a little narcissistic, don’t you think?”

“Kind of,” I joined her, “In hindsight, I guess.”

“You were running a job for him the night we met, weren’t you?”

“Vanessa,” I pulled her into my arms, “You ever have someone tell you that you’d be scary as hell in the wrong hands?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she curled into me. Oh…I like that. I like that a lot.

“So,” I brought it back, “Instead of you reading me like an open book, where would you like to go?”

“Well…” Vanessa thought it over, “There is a place not too terribly far from here. Maybe half hour, if we take the subway. It’s a nice Italian place my parents go to a lot.”

Granted, this is New York. Anyone could throw a rock in a random direction and hit an Italian place. But her description made me a little nervous, “What’s it called?”

“Pearl,” she told me. Fuck…Of course, “Why?”

“No,” I shot her down, “I know I said anywhere, but anywhere except for Pearl. We’re not going there. Not until this town is on its knees for me.”

“Why?”

“I used…” I stopped myself with the Old Man’s voice in my head. Impress her, Frankie. This girl comes from a pedigree. She needs a reason to stick around with a little mutt like you. I shook off my anxious feeling, “I know the owner. He’s a fucking prick. His managerial staff aren’t much different. Anywhere else.”

“You know what sounds good?” Vanessa thought, “You want to just hit a food truck and sit in the park?”

“Really?” That threw me for a loop. I didn’t think someone like Vanessa would give a food truck the time of day. Color me intrigued. She appealed to my commoner sensibilities, “You want to find a food truck?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Don’t get me wrong, upscale is nice, but I’m so fucking sick of being in that chokehold. I don’t want to be like that when I’m with you.”

“So,” I jabbed, “What you’re saying is that when you’re with me, you want to slum it as much as possible?”

“I’m saying I want to be free…” Vanessa wrapped herself around me, “I know I shouldn’t be complaining about my position, but it’s awfully cold and lonely in the ivory tower.”

“Well then…” Who was I to tell her no? I mean…If the princess is looking for a rescue, I’d be more than happy to oblige, “Did you have a particular truck in mind?”

“Not really,” she and I kept walking, “I’m kind of ashamed that when it comes to the local food trucks, I’m absolutely clueless. I know there are a few good ones that some people from school gush about, but because of me being who I am, my mother would be absolutely fucking mortified if she caught me stuffing my face with that garbage. What would it do to your waistline, Vanessa? Or your complexion? That shit’s exhausting. Like I said, don’t make me have to be that tonight.”

I only really frequented one food truck in town. And Abuela was done by nine. Would she be this far up? Maybe. But the Old Man said to impress her. Do I impress her with my knowledge of local food trucks (because I did know quite a few of them) or do I really impress her by saying I don’t eat that garbage? No…If she doesn’t want to be the princess, the debutant…Why would I ever want to force her into that? I knew where to go.

“I got one,” I took her hand, “Come on.”

Please appreciate my humble beginnings, Vanessa. Because Abuela’s food truck was the best in the city. I don’t care who has what artisan bullshit. Abuela was the real deal and a gift from God. Besides, looking for her food truck was always an adventure. Especially when it wasn’t between ten and noon and I wasn’t going to know where she’d be. Fortunately, I know her route. She should be uptown by now. And if we catch her in time, I bet we’d score for free. Not that she wouldn’t see my face in the window and give me free shit anyway.

There she was, sitting on the corner just past the gate to the park. And with only a few minutes to spare. When I still worked the restaurant, nothing would piss me off more than when customers would think it’s ok for them to roll up a few minutes before closing and order a three-course meal. Drove me absolutely fucking nuts. But…Sorry, Abuela. I didn’t want to do this to you, but I don’t have much of a choice. If I’m going to show Vanessa the best, I don’t need to go anywhere else.

“Abuela…!” I knocked on her window, doing my best to catch my breath, “Please don’t go yet!”

“Frankie!” Abuela chirped behind the window. She’s oddly uppity for it being this late. Maybe it’s my fault, “I was just about to close up, cariño. If you would’ve gotten here after I closed up, you know the kind of hell you would’ve caught?”

“I know,” I pulled myself together, “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“For you?” she glanced over my shoulder, “Of course not. Anytime. What can I get for you?”

“What do you want?” I cranked my neck back.

“Enchiladas,” Vanessa ordered, “They’re kind of a weakness.”

“Me, too,” I agreed. People would riot in the streets for Mama’s enchiladas. Or mine, for that matter. It’s good to know Vanessa’s weakness, “Two orders of enchiladas…A big ass lemonade…And an empanada.”

“Two empanadas…” Vanessa corrected me. Alright…I can appreciate a girl with an appetite, “If you think I’m sharing an empanada with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Alright,” Abuela nodded, “Give me a few minutes, ok?”

“Gracias, Abuela,” I melted inside, “You’re the best.”

“I try for you,” she awed, “By the way, Frankie…Who’s the young lady you have with you?”

“This is Vanessa,” I introduced her, “She’s…a special friend of mine.”

“She’s cute, cariño,” Abuela gushed, “She looks like the little one you were with the other day.”

“That’s her sister,” I explained.

“This is that food truck?” Vanessa gasped, “When Veronica said she bumped into the guy from the club, she said she was at a food truck with the greatest Mexican food she’s ever eaten. That’s this one?”

“That’d be the one,” I confirmed, “Abuela knows what she’s doing.”

“Aqui, niño,” Abuela passed our food through the window, “Hasta mañana.”

“Hasta mañana,” I waved behind us.

“Thank you!” Vanessa chimed in, “She’s sweet.”

“She’s been good to us over the years.” Abuela has cured many a hangover from my brothers and me. And sometimes Mama when she decides to let loose after a long week.

“I figured,” Vanessa thought, “Especially when it’s to the point where you’re calling her Abuela.”

“She’s always been Abuela,” I admitted, “She’s the best.”

“Come here,” she led me through the dark, “I know a spot.”

It’s a good thing it’s nice out tonight. I didn’t feel like freezing my ass off tonight. Granted, it’d be an excuse for Vanessa to get a little closer, but I think we’re good there. We found a spot near the fountain and I watched as Vanessa indulged herself in the wonderful world of food truck cuisine. This is no exaggeration when I say I think I saw her eyes roll all the way back into her head, Exorcist style. Shit was creepy, but I think I may have made a believer out of her.

“Veronica wasn’t shitting me,” Vanessa swooned, “That’s magical.”

“Abuela’s truck sits on the corner by my apartment building every day,” I told her, “She opens there at ten o’clock. You’re more than welcome to help yourself to it.”

“I might have to take you up on that offer,” she thought, “If my mother could see me now, she’d be pissed, but it’s not about her tonight.”

“Nope,” I put an arm around her, “Just you and me.”

“You know…” Vanessa stared up into the night sky, “It’s nights like this where I wish we could be up on my roof.”

“You hang out on your roof?” I wondered.

“It’s my quiet happy place,” she nodded, “When my parents are throwing a party or family dinner got to be a little too much for me to handle, I’d always go up on the roof until I felt good enough to come back inside. Usually, I go to bed from there, but yeah. I like my roof.”

“Your roof sounds like my fire escape,” I chuckled a bit.

“I like high places,” Vanessa shrugged, “Sue me.”

“I feel like if I were to sue you,” I joked darkly, “I’d be feeling it until my great grandchildren went to college.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” she promised, “Frankie…Can you do me a huge favor?”

“Of course.” Like I’d say no to her, “What is it?”

“I don’t want you to ever try to impress me,” Vanessa laid her head on my shoulder, “Ever. I’m not with you to be impressed. I want that to come naturally. Honestly…Right now, all you’d have to do is say I’m yours.”

“Hold on…” I sat up a little more, “What?”

“Yeah,” she smiled softly, “I like you. Without you even trying. Frankie, you saved my sister’s life. You’re saving me from what everyone else wants me to be and from a life long sentence I’m sick of serving. Do you know what I got asked to do tonight, but instead I had plans with you?”

“What?”

“My parents and my sister are at the Met tonight,” Vanessa groaned, “And that’s never any fun. It’s a bunch of pain in the ass, stuck up dicks and I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather be here with you…Say the word, Frankie. And I’m yours.”

I think I might throw up. But in a good way. In the best way. I knew she was my girl. I knew she wasn’t what the Old Man thought. I knew she was a good one. I pulled her a little closer, kissing her deeper than I ever had before. And I never wanted them to end. But I couldn’t wipe a smile off my face if I wanted to, “Word…”

[forlornmelody]

Traitor, Martyr, Spy Chapter 8: Goodbye

Rating: Explicit (some chapters have smut)

Ship: Miranda Lawson x Femshep

AO3 Link: Here

Summary:  Miranda and Artemis doing some catching up in the end of all things.

Notes: Get your tissues ready. Also, making sense of the Synthesis Ending is hard. Hope the result is interesting. 

-*-

Miranda feels strange standing in an Alliance boardroom without her hands in cuffs, but war has a way of making strange bedfellows. Not that Miranda ever really considered the Alliance to be her own personal enemy--she saw them more as red tape in a galaxy full of red tape. She saw herself as a scientist, first a foremost. Sometimes she had to lie or shoot someone to get the materials and conditions she needed for an experiment, but Miranda never saw herself as a criminal, let alone a terrorist. 

The way the eyes of the Alliance officers seated at the table track her every move suggests they feel differently. Military types. Maybe Jacob could explain it in a way that made things less obnoxious. He’d say soldiers, especially their officers, like their banners, and their team loyalties. These people will probably never see Miranda as anything but a Cerberus operative. They probably never will enjoy working with Miranda. But right now, they have no choice. ‘

“Our time is short, so I won’t waste yours.” Miranda pulls out her omni-tool, feeling the eyes of the guard behind her boring into her shoulders. She can feel the steam rising from the heat sink ejectors on his rifle, and part of her wonders why he would’ve had to fire it anywhere near this station. Part of her desperately wants to never find out. 

A chorus of chimes ring out from the omni-tools belonging to the people sitting in front of her, followed by a series of gasps. Each alliance officer looks up at Miranda, all of them wide-eyed, and several with their jaws dropped. 

“You’ve all just received files documenting all known Cerberus facilities, operative locations, sympathizer identities, and supply caches. I’m sure you’ll find them useful.” Miranda braces her hands on the table, leaning forward much like the way Artemis does when outlining a battleplan, and says, “In return I ask for your cooperation and assistance in taking out these targets.”

An old man, a major by the looks of it, “And why would we give these to a former Cerberus spy?”

The middle-aged woman next to him, a colonel, nods. “Why wouldn’t we just arrest you?”

Miranda Lawson’s known for her carefully placed control, but her voice shakes with fury as she replies, “You can’t afford to.”

Only the hum of the space station answers her. 

“You’re already fighting one war against the Reapers, spending far more resources than you can replenish.” Miranda argues. “Do you honestly think you have time to fight one against Cerberus?”

“We already have a spectre--”

“Commander Shepard has her hands full and could use a bloody break.” Colonel Sandberg blanches at the mention of Artemis’s name. Honestly, did they really think the hero’s exploits were secret? She’s probably gone too far, but Miranda isn’t used to being told no. “Send me after them and you’ll win personnel, strategic bases of operations, intel, and resources you won’t find anywhere else.” If only Artemis could see her now. 

“Fine. But one wrong move and we’re sending you to the highest security prison we have to offer.”

Miranda’s omni-tool chimes with the security clearance she requested, regardless, and she smiles. “You wouldn’t be able to catch me.” Her heel clicks echo as she walks out. 

----

The Cerberus assault trooper forgets how to fire. “Miranda?” One of his fellow operatives shouts at him to shoot or to get out of the way. 

“That’s Miss Lawson to you, asshole.” Miranda shoots him in the head. Whoever he was, he drops backward like a felled tree. 

“Friend of yours?” Wong sidesteps the body, eyeing Miranda warily.

“Former coworker. Is this going to be a problem?” Miranda ducks into cover, firing at their remaining enemies. 

“Shooting people? No ma’am.”

“Miss Lawson. And I meant my former association with Cerberus.”

“Can I answer this when we’re not dodging bullets ma--Miss Lawson?”

“Fine, fine.” Miranda leads them deeper into the base, using her biotics and her pistol to clear the way. Per usual, Cerberus has hidden the data in a random corner, meaning they must clear out the goons one by one until the building’s empty. Most of the time, the soldiers have control chips embedded in their brains, aiding the indoctrination (Miranda grimaces at the thought), and preventing them from ever turning on their employer. By the time they’re done Miranda will have too much blood on her uniform and not enough amo.

“No wait! Don’t shoot!” But there are exceptions. 

Underneath a row of desks, Miranda finds a scientist, still in her lab coat, shaking and staring up at her with dark circles under her eyes. Cerberus always pushed its employees hard, but this? “You alright?”

“Don’t hurt me!” The scientist backs up further, but not much, as the desk backing blocks her escape. 

Miranda blinks, wondering at her reaction, then Wong coughs and elbows her side. Oh, right. Pistol--still pointed at her face. Lowering her gun, Miranda kneels, whispering softly. “We’re not here to hurt you. We could use your help. I’m Miranda Lawson.”

Instead of calming at the mention of her name, the scientist’s voice shakes as she replies. “The Illusive Man sent you after me?”

“What? No! I don’t work for him anymore.” The scientist doesn’t move, so Miranda steps back, gesturing at the soldiers accompanying her. “I’m working with the Alliance.”

Studying each of them slowly, the scientist pokes her head out from under the desk. “Dr. Lana Palmer.”

“Alliance Special Forces, 103rd Division, 1st and 2nd Lieutenants Molina and Mendez, at your service, ma’am.”

Dr. Palmer takes Mendez’s hand and stands up, wobbling on her stiff legs. “What on earth do you need my help for?”

“We need the information Cerberus has stored on their servers here. Can you lead us to it?”

She eyes each of them in turn. “Can you get me off this rock?” 

Before the soldiers can answer, Miranda asks “How many of you are there?”

Dr. Palmer rolls her eyes, “Do you see anyone else here?”

Miranda almost comments on her attitude, but then she realizes she’s talking to a mirror of herself two years prior. Of course, Miranda wouldn’t be the one hiding under a desk--too easy to get trapped in there. Apparently, Dr. Palmer doesn’t get much enemy interference in her lab, as she gets in Miranda’s way more often than not. 

“Get down!” Miranda has to stop herself from pulling Dr. Palmer down biotically. It wouldn’t serve to bruise or break her knees. She shoves her down instead, with one hand, while firing her pistol with the other. Whatever this base contains, Cerberus deems it important enough to fill the place with goons. 

Her stomach growls and her muscles ache by the time they reach the terminal they seek. Dr. Palmer keys in her handprint and scans her retinae, murmuring that Cerberus will kill her anyway. Miranda assures her that won’t happen, but she stands behind Palmer and scans her for explosive implants just in case. 

The file’s still encrypted, but Miranda can hack into anything. Wong whistles, his breath on Miranda’s shoulder. 

Cerberus cells operate independently, with no knowledge of each other. Or, at least, they used to. 

But it seems The Reapers have had more influence on the Illusive Man’s operations than he’s willing to admit. 

On the terminal, the three of them see a distress beacon--a signal sent to all connected cells. Of course, the sender wouldn’t know which cells would see it or where, but Miranda and her team can trace it back to the sender. 

The message itself comes as no surprise to Miranda. Nor do the repeated messages from the other cells. 

Shepard’s close to victory. The entire Reaper hive mind can sense it. 

----

It’s when they’re back in the shuttle, on the way back to the frigate that houses them on this mission, that Miranda gets a ping on her omni-tool. This particular tone means only one thing:

A vid call from Commander Artemis Gaia Shepard. 

Artemis never calls Miranda unannounced. As the heads turn around her to watch the flashing light, Miranda does her best to compose herself. You’re overreacting, Miranda. It’s probably nothing. Taking a deep breath, Miranda answers the call. 

Her lover’s grave expression does nothing to sooth her fears. “Miranda.”

“Shepard,” Miranda says quickly. “This isn’t a private call.” A secure channel, the most secure aside from quantum entanglement, but she can’t do anything to block out the listening ears. At least they pretend to look at their own omni tools, clear their weapons, or attend to their wounds. No one is fooled by their charade. “Could I call you back?”

Artemis shakes her head, and Miranda’s poor heart beats that much faster. “There’s no time.”

Miranda’s voice wavers despite itself, and she drops all professional pretense. “Artemis.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Shepard’s lips move several times, but no words come out. The look tells Miranda everything she needs to know before Shepard can voice it. “We made it to Earth.”

Heat flares through Miranda’s chest. “Don’t you dare tell me this is goodbye. You’ve survived more than one suicide mission. Hell, Artemis. You beat a reaper on foot.”

It’s hard to tell through the com link, but it looks like water brims at the edge of Artemis’s eyes. “This is different.” Miranda barely hears her over the roar of gun fire and soldiers shouting. “I want you to be prepared.”

Saying goodbye isn’t the worst part--it’s seeing Artemis trying to hold it together and failing horribly. It’s not being able to reach through that projection and give her a hug. The twenty-second century can go to hell--goodbyes weren’t meant to be delivered this way. 

Miranda’s so furious at their circumstances, she can’t say a word. Artemis continues for her. “I need you to be strong, Miranda. Oriana needs you.”

“I love you, Artemis.” Miranda whispers, finally, just as the com link starts to cut out. “Please don’t give up. Not yet.”

----

The silence that follows the green flash fills Miranda with dread. Almost immediately she asks the universe, What did you do, Shepard? As if she already knows Artemis is involved, somehow. Any thoughts as to why Miranda knows? Not possible. Her brain feels like someone shut it down and rebooted it in safe mode. It takes all day just to eat, bathe, and sleep. 

On the third day, Miranda asks herself in the shower, Is this what it feels like to be indoctrinated? 

It’s not just Miranda’s own thoughts that answer her question. It’s the entire galaxy speaking in her mind. 

Miranda’s knees crumble with the brunt of it, and she hits her head on the shower stall on her way down. What in bloody hell. 

You too, huh? 

The voice, male, exhausted, and likely Turian, answers her. It’s not anyone Miranda knows. That’s for certain. She isn’t sure whether that’s a good thing or not. 

Get out of my head, she snaps as her body threatens to spew the bile from her empty stomach. 

I’d tell you the same thing, but it’s not possible. 

Then their conversation is drowned out by the sound of a billion midnight alarms--as the power goes out and comes back on all at once. But neither Miranda nor her Turian mind-mate hear them through their ears. The sound comes from within. Miranda hears hours of screams inside her brain, overwhelmed minds with no chance of escape. If only Miranda knew how to shut it off. If only it were a formula she could solve. 

Holy hell. 

The numbers, letters, and symbols unfurl inside Miranda’s mind, as if they’re floating in the air in front of her. She solves the formulas one by one, and the alarms, screams, and other alerts slowly die off. Miranda spends hours solving them until she passes out. 

Days, weeks, if not months, pass like this, and slowly Miranda and some of the others teach themselves binary code. This isn’t strange at all to her, until she realizes she’s communicating with computers, the Geth, the bloody Reapers without a translator. Or maybe she unlocked a translation program?

Do organics not eat? One unit asks her when she heaves in frustration. The geth unit has a point. Miranda can’t remember the last time she’s eaten. Apparently, her body’s been screaming at her for hours, if not days, but who can eat when the entire galaxy is up for the sensing? 

Your sensors are malfunctioning. We recommend caloric intake. Organic lifeforms require caloric intake. After Miranda rummages around in the frigate’s fridge, she finds something that has not rotted in the aftermath of The Green Light. 

Does it taste high in value?

Miranda blinks. It’s yogurt. 

The unit parses the information, still struggling to find the appropriate word. Does it result in positive value?

“You’re asking if the yogurt tastes good?”

Good. The platform, and its neighboring platforms parse over the word good several times in milliseconds, processing this new byte of data. We accept your inquiry. But we do not know the solution. 

Miranda laughs to herself. If only Artemis were here to see this. The pain hits her like a clench in the chest. In all the voices Miranda has heard since The Green Light, she has not heard the one belonging to her lover. 

Given name, Artemis? Surname? 

“Shepard,” Miranda says automatically. 

We have five results. Narrow search?

Miranda’s heart hammers in her chest. Middle name Gaia.

1 result. 

Forgetting how to breath, Miranda whispers. Where?

Error. Platform Artemis Gaia Shepard not available. 

“What do you mean, not available?” Miranda snaps. Wong and the others turn and look at her in annoyance, for the first time since it happened. Apparently, her outburst interfered with whatever they had been silently computing for the past…whatever. Time seems irrelevant when she’s connected to so many minds, except for the mind she wants. 

“Is Artemis Gaia Shepard alive?” Miranda asks, fearing the answer.

Error. 

“What do you mean, ‘error?’ Either she’s alive or she isn’t.”

Her brain doesn’t parse the kilobytes of data that flurry in her brain, but something about the messy pattern suggests the Geth equivalent of profanity. Establish parameters for “life.”

Miranda reels at that notion. Funny, considering defining viability defined much of her work in the Lazarus Project. She seeks the same detachment when she asks her next question, but Miranda can’t help but notice the tremor in her voice. Shepard means so much more to her now. “Does Artemis Gaia Shepard have a pulse?”

Negative.

“Then how in bloody hell is she alive, by any definition of the word?”

Organics and synthetics define life differently, Miranda Lawson.

“So, she’s alive according to a synthetic definition, but not an organic one.” Miranda says the words out loud, but they make carry no meaning. No meaning that makes any sense. 

Affirmative. 

But what is the synthetic definition of life? The answer hits Miranda like a ton of bricks. 

What distinguishes virtual and artificial intelligence? Consciousness. 

Miranda finds it difficult to breathe, but she manages to ask, “And where may I find the consciousness of Artemis Gaia Shepard?”

[voidselfshipp]

Jealous

Tw mentions of guns,slightly suggestive,mentions image issues.

Ok to rb

--i hate her--jerico said feeding her black cat,who was standing on her shoulder;The cat hissed,and Ate the sunflower seed cookie--and shes going to spend a whole day here?near sniper?MY sniper?

The car mewoed,and she rolled her eyes-- its not that I have something to envy her, vica,its just that, well, just compare the two damn things, like, she can fend off for herself.

Her familiar jumped to the floor,and rubbed their head on her legs,purring.

--I guess youre right--she grabbed her backpack and went outside the van, vica jumps on her shoulder then jumps again, transforming Into their crow form--I still dont wanna see her...

Jer jumps as soon as she steps foot in the shooting range. The loud bang scaring the living daylights out of her.

--La concha de tu madre!--she screams out of the sudden as the gun bangs again.

--Thats enough amelie--an aussie accent said,Jeri then felt a pair of arms hugging her--You alroight Sheila?

--Yeah im okay, it did scare me though, I thought you had put silencer on that rifle

--Yeah I did,Amelie did not ,anyway what are you doing here?

--just wanted to check up on you thats all

The french woman sunk a bit as jericos glares daggers at her, to then sit nearby them with her crow friend cawing.

Both snipers kept on practicing,Jers leg bounced rapidly, seeing how concentrated both were.

Her familiar pecked her cheek with their beak when they caught her picking at her skin,and as a way of saying 'dont be silly'.

Then they flew on her lap and transformed back into a black cat,gaining some scratching under their chin from her.

--Splendid shot sniper--the peace jeri had for a moment vanished as she saw Widow hand squeeze the aussies shoulder.

Vica hissed,widowmaker had a damn deatwish.

Though the old demons heart ached for their niece,insecurities got the best of her, and they did get it.

Someone as widow,skillfully trained,great sharpshooter,and a nice voice and accent, and a nice physique.

They did understand where it came from.

They sighed and stood up in two legs almost hugging jerico,who caressed their back.

She was also wonderful in her own way.

--Alroight--sniper said-lets take a breather--we're going to Grab somethin ta eat,you comin jerico?

--im alright dont worry

Jer saw him leave with widow behind him, and looked at the old weapons crate some centemeters away from where she was.

When was the last time she used that damn thing?.

Vica hissed, and shook their head--Ya dont need to go through all that trouble to show off--their british accent was a breeze of cold air, they've barely spoken these days-- if ya wanna use that rifle use it,but you dont have to show off, he still loves ya

Jer put her familiar aside and kicked Open the crate,taking her own custom rifle out, engie had built for her as a way of self denfese..

She held her breath and sighed,calming down the palpitations of her heart.

--Just like dad taught me....

One by one ,and fairly quickly the targets were shot down by her.

Feeling satisfied she put her rifle out, turning around at the sensation of being watched, and slightly jumping when she sees both sniper and WIDOWMAKER on the door.

--Oh you guys are back--she put the safety on the gun and put it back in the crate.

--yeah--sniper said-- anyway, enough slacking off

Both sharpshooters resumed their training.

Vica nibbled at jeris hem of her pants, she then grabbed her and her backpack,muttering a poor excuse of a goodbye wich wasnt heard by neither of her companions.

--i dont fucking get it!--Jerico said while punching the punching bag at the gym--what does she have that I dont?!--her Fist Landed two more punches and a couple of kicks by her legs--i get the fact that hes teaching her but fuck!

Vicas fur stands up as jer hits the bag with such sudden surge of magic that it sends it flying.

--Okay champ calm down--vica stretched,and in a cloud of dark they transformed into their human form,taking off their plague doctor mask.

--Im not calming down shes just!--jer is about to hit thin air when vica stops her.

--Just what?

--Shes just better than me!okay?! She has a nicer body!better skills than me!shes just...way better than me!

Tears started to form in the corner of her eyes, frustration,sadness? Maybe both.

Vica hugged her,caressing her hair--Jerico,dont say that!ya have way more skills than 'er,and by gods sake, jerico youre so pretty, you dont need to have her body to be pretty,do ya really think Mick would be into that?no! Hes into you ya idiot

They could still feel her rage seething,so she grabbed her hands and pressed them togheter--Youre Burning up

--Its not funny

--no,look at the floor,youre leaving burnt marks on the floor, I need ya to calm down

Jer sighed, exhaling a handfull of smoke,toning down her temperature.

--See? Good!

The rest of the day jerico stayed away,knowing that maybe she should take some distance, she didnt want to burn down the whole base because her feelings were running wild.

Sparring worked wonders for her.

--Can you Belive that shit?--sniper asked to widow--jerico pinned down a Man twice her size, how in gods name!

The french woman looked at poor soldier, who was headlocked into place.

--quite impressive, oui.

Jer sighed stretching her arms as she let soldier free--thanks for the practice soldier

--Dont mention It cupcake! You fight like a true american

Though sniper knew soldier wasnt interested in jerico at all it made his blood boil,suddenly he got up on the ring,vest off along with his hat.

--mick? What are you...?

--oi bet I can kick soldiers ass

Jer snorted,walking to him-- okay calm down, you Jelly snipes?

She felt like a hipocrite acting as if she wasnt jealous herself.

--'M not--

Jer smashed her lips against his, pinning Him against one of the rings corners, where his vest and hat were resting.

She then grabbed his hat and shoved it on his face.

He thanked the lord for that,his cheeks were Burning red.

--you little rascal!--He muttered under his breath as he saw jer get out of the ring with a proud smile, that was more directed to amelie than him.

When the day was almost ending,sniper invited jer to the shooting range,and dared her to make more points than amelie.

Both aussie and french woman knew it was rigged.

Widow was going to loose so jerico could get a peace of mind over the whole situation and leave her alone.

But boy.

Both, Specially sniper who has seen jerico shooting a gun less than five times, did not expect for her aim to be that good.

And he did not expect the growl she let out when she hit the moving target twenty meters from her,neither his cheeks turning even more red, as she drew her weapon,smiled showing those sharp canines, and growling.

--Mas suerte para la próxima,amelie...--she handed him his weapon and pat his back--so I win

--y yeah you do

Eventually widow left,and jerico is now sitting on the bases roof, playing her guitar with both of her familiars resting nearby.

Her digits pressed the notes on the neck of the guitar, her other hand strumming the strings.

Mick peeked through the trapdoor,softly walking towards her,enamored as her sweet voice sang a cheesy love song.

--H hey--he awkwardly says sitting besides her as jeri leaves her guitar aside, her hands now resting on her lap.

--Hey Mick..Whats up?

Sniper looked away--w were ya jealous of amelie earlier today?

She sighed,recoiling in herself--Yeah...sorry if it annoyed you..

Sniper snorted--didnt'cha see how red ya got me?, id ask ye to get jealous more often

Jer looked at him surprised before breaking into a fit of giggles, launching at him.

One of his hands grabbed his hat tight as he fell back first on the roof, his other hand holding her waist.

Her lips smashed against his, and her hands went under his shirt just to mess with him.

His cheeks turn bright red, and he starts to stutter.

--Payback!--jerico smiled smugly.

He hid his face with his hat and tried to make a coherent sentence.

He then heard her chuckle, and kiss his chin--te amo,Mick

--wot?

--i love you

--I love ye too jerico

She smiled helping him sit up,both staring at the other longinly, his arms hug her waist while her hands grip to his shirt, and he kisses her.

He May need to make her jealous more often if it meant theyd end up like that every time.

[redcrownroses]

Confession: Javier Escuella x Reader

Summary: Javier flirts with Tilly and reader gets jealous and runs off. Javier finds them crying and that’s where reader confesses they like him and you kiss for the first time.

Category: fluff

Word count: 2183

A/N: Another fic here but this time with my Mexican king Javier! The song he sings is called Por eso te amo by Rio Roma. This probably has some mistakes but I’ll go back and proofread later on. Hope you enjoy this!

                                         —🌹—

You watched as Javier strummed his guitar from where he sat by the fireplace. The crooner was singing softly, a love song in his native spanish tongue. You couldn’t help but admire him from where you were sitting across the camp.

As you continue gazing at him, arms resting on top of the wooden table, you couldn’t help the soft sigh that passed through your lips. You understood every word he sang, having studied spanish on your own, and you wished he was serenading you at the moment.

But it seemed that he was serenading Tilly instead.

You didn’t notice when she sat across from him with a cup of coffee, swaying side to side to the music. It was when Javier lifted his gaze towards her when you finally realized.  And it truly felt like those words were being directed towards her.

“ Porque cuando le pedí al cielo que mandara un ángel Me llevó hasta ti y antes de pensar en alguien Pienso en ti primero incluso antes de mí Porque atrapas mi atención, eres mi aventura Mi emoción y mi inspiración. ”

Your heart sank at that moment. A deep frown began settling on your lips and you wanted to look away but found that you couldn’t as Javier continued singing and strumming all while staring at Tilly. Did he have feelings for her all along?

It could have been a coincidence since she began spectating not that long ago and Javier, being the good friend and gentleman, had regarded her presence.

And yet another part of you doubted that. You’d seen how he sat down next to her and played his guitar all while she washed the clothes at her tent. And then there were the instances of their playful bantering. The feeling you always got when you witnessed that was the same one you were experiencing right now. Jealousy.

But there was something else too. A sinking feeling of hopelessness. Sorrow. And it was threatening to erupt in the form of tears soon after Javier finished the song. You just sat there as you heard him start shamelessly flirting with the other.

You didn’t hear the rest of it before you’re standing up suddenly, not bearing to hear any more. It was as if your body was in command now and you soon found yourself bounding towards the edge of the camp. Towards the woods.

You didn’t stop as soon as you were surrounded by the thicket. Instead you kept your pace and traveled further into the woods. The moonlight peered through the canopy of trees, barely giving you sight of where you were stepping. Not that that was your concern right now, the tight feeling in your chest and thick knot in your throat was evidence of that.

Finally, you let out a strangled sob. You covered your mouth, afraid that some of the others back at camp would hear you, though that was hardly plausible given the fact that you’ve been trekking through the woods for quite a while now.

At last you stopped in your tracks and looked around, sniffling softly as you brought a hand up to brush your tear stained cheek. It was silent save for the chirping of crickets and the hooting of an owl. You sniffled some more but you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing and soon enough you broke out into a sob as soon as you remembered the events from earlier.

You felt stupid. But you couldn’t stop.

Then that’s when you heard him calling your name. You immediately clamped a hand over your mouth to silence yourself. You heard him call out to you again and before you knew it, you were moving forward once again though this time with a much quicker pace.

Javier seemed to have caught up because you heard him again and this time along with the sounds of his footsteps pounding on the ground. You were practically running now. You didn’t want him to see you in the state you were in, your eyes surely swollen from the crying session.

As you kept running deeper into the thicket of trees you noticed how much darker your surroundings had become. The moon was barely visible. Not only that but the ongoing tears were also obstructing your view. You knew you had to stop at this point but you were stubborn as always.

So when your foot got caught in some twisted branches on the ground you weren't all that much surprised about it. You came tumbling down with a loud yelp, and the wind was immediately knocked out of you. You didn’t even bother to get up and instead began sobbing quietly as the pain continued surging through your stomach. 

You felt a pair of hands on you as they carefully lifted you off the ground. You whimpered and Javier immediately lifted his lantern to inspect you. “Are you alright?” He gently lifted your chin with his fingers and noticed your tears. He immediately wiped them away with the pad of his thumb with such gentleness it made you want to melt. You simply nodded as you sniveled and looked away, embarrassed. “Shh it’s alright. Don’t cry.” He continued whispering soothing words at you as he rubbed circles on your back. You could only sniffle as your eyes traveled around your surroundings, clearly avoiding his eyes.

He guided you forward and you didn’t protest. It wasn't until you two finally reached the edge of the woods and out into the clearing that you realized how far you’ve gone off. “Why did you run away from me earlier? Better yet why did you go into the woods like that?” He questioned, wiping a stray tear from one of your cheeks. You closed your eyes and shrugged. As much as you were enjoying the attention he was giving you at the moment you couldn’t help but think back at his interaction by the campfire earlier. You sniffled and shook your head before looking away.

“Please Y/N, just look at me and tell me why. I got really worried when you ran off into the woods like that, especially when I noticed you weren’t carrying any weapons with you. What’s gotten into you, hm?”

You finally looked at him. You could see him clearer now thanks to the moonlight and his lantern light that washed over his sharp features. His eyes were pleading but they were also soft and filled with concern and care. It wasn’t the best time to do so but there was no helping it. Admiring his handsome features was the only thing that you found yourself doing when around him, especially in this proximity.

“I—” you paused as your chin began to quiver. Javier nodded as to encourage you to continue speaking. “Oh this is so stupid,” you sputtered and wiped at your cheeks. Why were you still crying? You felt like an utter fool. Especially now that you had Javier in front of you.

You can already picture it, him looking at you with heavy sadness as you confess your feelings to him knowing fully well that they weren’t reciprocated. He doesn’t and never will have feelings for someone like yourself. It was only in your dreams and dreams don’t come true.

You knew that.

You heaved a deep sigh before mustering up the courage to speak again. You hoped your voice didn’t falter. You felt a few more tears trailing down your cheeks before you finally spoke up. “I saw you flirting with Tilly. At the campfire.”

Javier’s eyes widened at the sudden realization. “Oh no…” He whispered. You held back a choking sob as you quickly looked away, that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach returning. You knew what was coming next. The apologies. The sympathetic looks. You decided that you just simply couldn’t take that.

So instead you opted for the best thing. Leaving. “You don’t have to say anything. I know where your feelings stand.” You quickly turn to leave but instead you were stopped. His fingers were now curled around your wrist and he pulled you back towards him. “You don’t know where my feelings stand…”

You were face to face with him now. His stare became intense and all you could do was swallow thickly. Even if you wanted to tear your eyes away from him you couldn’t. Finally, you spoke. “W-what do you mean?” Your brows were knitted together as you two continued to stare intently at each other. It was Javier's turn to swallow thickly before speaking up again.

“I don’t have feelings for Tilly.”

You blinked at that. “But you two are always flirting I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” he cut you off. “That was just playful banter. Didn’t mean—”

“What if it weren’t for Tilly huh? What if she thought you actually liked her?” You bit back, anger now infusing your voice as you narrowed your eyes. “Leading her on like that? That ain’t right.”

Javier remained quiet. His fingers were still curled around your wrist but you made no attempt to rid yourself of his hold on you. “I guess… I guess you have a point,” he spoke quietly. He looked away for a moment. “Truth is I always liked you. After our first meeting I couldn’t keep my mind off of you.”

You raised your brows, jaw nearly dropping but you forced it not to.

Javier had liked you all along. Were you dreaming? “Y-you did?” You looked away and dropped your gaze to the ground momentarily. You couldn’t believe what you just heard.

“Yes. I just thought that you didn’t share the same feelings as me. You always did express how good of a friend I was.” You nodded, remembering the times you did call him that. Truthfully you never did express anything beyond that. You didn’t appear interested in him, mostly because you were quite reserved.

“You kept it well hidden huh?” There was a slight playful tone to his words then, and you couldn’t help the smile twitching on the corners of your lips.

“I guess I did. But I could say the same thing about you.”

“Hey I couldn’t risk losing your friendship.”

You laughed softly. The hand that was around your wrist was now working its way down to your own hand before finally intertwining together. And it was like they were made for one another, fitting perfectly into each other like puzzle pieces.

“I waited a long time for this moment.” Javier almost whispered, smiling gently at you as he stepped closer to you. You stared up at him, completely in awe and star-struck. You didn’t even notice when he dropped his lantern onto the ground.

He leaned down and when his lips touched yours you swore you never felt more alive than in that moment. He snaked an arm around your waist and brought his other hand up to your face and cupped your jaw. You hooked your arms behind his neck, one hand caressing the base of his neck just underneath his small ponytail. You had a strong urge to pull his hair tie off then but you held back.

Javier's hold around your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss. You hummed against his lips as you kissed him back fervently. His other hand was now making its way down your side, tracing the curve of your shoulder and waist until it joined his other one just above your butt. It was then that he began to tease you with his tongue, swirling it over your lips before it slowly made its grand entrance. And when it finally reached its destination and began to make work with your own you feIt as if your legs might just buck underneath you. His continuous tongue work drew out a series of moans from you, prompting Javier’s hands to travel down even further below your back until they settled quite comfortably on your bottom, squeezing them a bit, as he ravished your mouth with his.

It was official. No other man had ever kissed you as passionately as Javier did. You both drew back to catch some air, breathing heavily as the both of you rested your foreheads against one another’s. You pulled back slightly then, gaze flickering between his eyes and his swollen lips, and he mirrored you. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Javi.”

“Will you be mine, corazón?”

“Always.”

This time you initiated the kiss that was just as fervent as the previous one. It felt like a dream. Except that it wasn’t anymore. This was real. You loved him as much as he loved you. And as he backed you up towards the woods, you knew this was what you wanted. There was no mistake in that. No second thoughts. No doubts. Not even after you two began undressing each other. Instead, each discarded article of clothing solidified both of your feelings for one another. This was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You were very sure of it.

[draken049]

Godzilla King of The Monsters Review

So...the other day I went and finally seen Godzilla King of The Monsters and holy balls was it amazing. I have not been filled with so many different emotions from any Godzilla film before this one. Shin came close but King of The Monster?

...It was beautiful. The whole movie is beautiful. The story is simple, the message is clear and standard for the franchise, the characters both human and monster were amazing. The score was heart wrenching and it makes any fan feel like they are watching a pride and true Godzilla film from the homeland of Japan.

I was sitting in a theater room with only six other people, three couples, all of which had an affection for the franchise and the character of Godzilla. By the time the credits rolled, all of us were clapping and even some, myself included, were crying. IT’S ABSOLUTELY CRIMINAL THAT THIS MOVIE IS DOING POORLY...though...it’s not the movies fault...no. In fact, this is really on the hands of Hollywood and the blatant pacing issue it has. This movie is by definition a definitive summer blockbuster but thanks to Avengers Endgame...-grumble grumble grumble- another awesome movie...-grumble grumble grumble- being THE box office monster that it’s been, there just wasn’t any spare change for the film that is undoubtedly the better film for summer. Then of course there was also Detective Pikachu and John Wick Chapter 3 and Aladdin...just too many large named movies coming out within such a short span. There’s no room to breathe, at all and I believe that among these large movies, they all could have benefit if they were not released on the heels of Avengers Endgame.

Now with my two cents being said, I would absolutely love to point out that this is NOT, I repeat, IS NOT your typical Hollywood movie. It just isn’t and you’d be lying to yourself if you said otherwise. What I saw was a movie made by a devout fan of Godzilla, made for the people who LOVE and CHERISH each film in the franchise. This is a movie that was fun filming, fun creating and it made itself known that this IS a Godzilla movie. If you say that the characters are trash, the plot is trash, or the monsterverse is trash...then I’m sorry, you should just stop watching these movies all together or go back and watch the older movies. Yea, you can have your opinions but they’re wrong, they straight up just are. 

Non-Spoiler Territory Ahead

There’s so much this film does right and none that I can see that would make it deserve ill-wanted words. The tone of the movie is excellent. It provides us as viewers with an ever escalating landscape. There’s much more to lose here than there was in Godzilla (2014), that if something isn’t done, we’re going to be in for a world of hurt. The world is affected by the actions of Jonah and his eco-terrorism group to the point that even they would be affected if the source of the problem wasn’t dealt with. 

The character dynamics between Emma, Madison and Mark are simplified but nonetheless strong. It’s your typical family member lost, dad becomes a spiraling drunk, mom isolates herself and arguably loses her sanity and the daughter is left with the fallout from both but is forced to be by moms side. There’s much talk and allusion to redemption which is strongly paid off by two parties, even though I think one was less deserving than the other. Jonah has a motive that is much larger than just some action film bad guy and it needs to be known that he only partially succeeds but never fully gets what he wants. This gives him every reason to be the dark human element of Godzilla vs. Kong. Even by the time the credits rolled, you could tell exactly that he was planning something far more dangerous than what we were given. Dr. Serizawa is a penultimate character that is the yin to Godzilla’s yang. We see that he is still a devout believer that Godzilla is the key to balance among the Titans. His interaction and care for the large deity is something to really behold and it absolutely tugs your heart when it comes to giving the big lovable guy a good kick in the nuclear tank. 

The monsters themselves are all unique despite only seeing like what? Four new titans? The behemoth(????), the octo-spiderboi, a second female muto, and the large mountainboi. They are each dynamic in a way that they almost encapsulate a piece of cinematic history in the areas if which they appeared which I really wouldn’t put past Michael Dougherty because he is a horror anthology guru. However, the four that really shine above the rest are Rodan, Ghidorah, Godzilla and Mothra. 

Rodan; The Fire Demon...such a badass moniker. His initial appearance really draws on his Showa portrayals, being associated with the volcanos that both take and giveth his life. His design is MUAH, perfection. The mix of traditional reptile skin and possible fire feathers really give Rodan a naturalistic but also a unique look for the world of the Monsterverse. I really think he is the most animalistic of the four titular Titans, his actions reflective to that of an eagle or hawk but also as an aggressive bird when Ghidorah finally enters Rodans airspace. 

Godzilla; King of the Monsters...a much deserving title for the apex super predator. I was well and truly shocked when it’s revealed that Godzilla is or was worshiped by ancient peoples of an advanced civilization. His mannerisms, animalistic display intelligence and cunning flesh him out to be this thinking creature. His reservations about humanity is just but he develops an inherent trust of humanity thanks to Dr. Serizawa. It’s this trust that makes Godzilla feel like this unsung and much needed hero of the world. His leadership and stature among the worlds Titans seems akin to Aaragorns position when he finally takes up the mantle of king in Lord of the Rings. They both now have lives to look over and keep in line, to be the order and balance that the title of king implies. I want to point out that with the revelation that Godzilla has an actual home and was worshiped, that this is inspired from the Heisei Gamera films where an advanced civilization create Gamera in order to defend them from the Gyoas. All Alpha models of Gamera were sunk to the bottom of the ocean floor, creating this vast landscape of ancient bodies. The feeling there feels identical to the feeling you get when entering Godzilla’s domain. 

Ghidorah...The One Who Is Many...Sweet baby Zilla...All I can say is that this Ghidorah, this false king, is by far the most intricate, the most developed and the most critically thinking version of Ghidorah in the history of the franchise. He is not one creature but three and feels like three creatures with one body. Each head thinks and acts independently, the right is the follower but hyper aggressive, more so than the middle head. The right will do what is needed by the middle while the middle head is actively the leader. This one is unique because it looks like he is the one pulling the strings, the one actively strategizing and the one getting things done. The left head, I think is adorable...is liiiike just there it feels like. He’s a crucial part to Ghidorah sure but he seems like that one dog who’s hell bent on barking at you but gets distracted when he sees a squirrel and then all of his attention is on that one squirrel. I love it. I really do because it just solidifies that this Ghidorah has independent thought for each head, allowing it different personalities. His roar is genuinely terrifying but also sounds pretty damn close to the his Toho counterpart in the same way Rodan and Godzilla sound similar to their Toho counter parts. 

Mothra...my mothra...GOD WHY IS SHE SO FREAKING PERFECT!?!?!?!?!?! Mothra; The Queen of the Monsters...She is so beautiful, so majestic and hands down THE best monster of the movie for me. What makes her stand out from her Toho incarnations is that this gorgeous lady is actively searching for Godzilla. She doesn’t wish to fight him and as the film suggests, the two have a symbiotic relationship. To me, I believe that the Mosura and Gojira species actively fight together or at the very least come to the aid of one another. Her hovering over the location of Godzilla’s home seems to be odd at best if she were just looking to fight. Now that doesn’t mean I think the two go for booty calls with one another like Barnes thinks. Though, I do feel like this Mothra is highly sentient if not overly tied to the notion of her species naturally fighting alongside Godzilla’s species. She is also a reaallllll scrapper, even though most of her time was spent fighting Rodan. I would have loved loved LOVED to see her fight against Ghidorah at full strength. Her song also plays which is a newly created version of her 1961 musical composition. Any time that she’s on screen and that music plays, I will cry cry cry CRY!!! It’s beautiful in every sense of the word. Her devotion to Godzilla is admirable and her assistance is amazing. 

The climactic battle is a sensation of fighting, roars, destruction’s galore, and a visual spectacle. By the end and Godzilla standing tall, your heart will be filled bliss. However, stand tall until the after credits scene!

LITTLE RANT

So I’m not gonna say what’s at the end for the after credits scene, or at least not until I make a Spoiler Ridden Review but I see so many people claim that mechas or a Mecha-Godzilla type weapon will come to fruition. Yea, okay it’d be cool but where the bloody hell are you going to get that much finite resources let alone a power source strong enough to run the damn thing? Just because the military has a flying super carrier doesn’t mean that a Super X weapons system or a Mecha-Godzilla is going to come to the monsterverse any time soon. When this franchise began (the Monsterverse), it was clear that these movies are grounded in a reality where our resources are not unlimited. You have to stop and think about just how much it’d be to cost for these kinds of weapons let alone if it’s going to work. The amount of metals and other resources you need, it’s just unruly. Maybe if we found a way to harvest resources from stars or planets then sure but in the reality of the Monsterverse, that’s just not going to happen.

FINAL VERDICT: 10000000/10 MUST SEEE!!!!

[thewanderingknight]

Aside the Outlaws, Ch. 3

Life with your newfound family among the Van der Linde Gang is pretty rough and tumble, but your modest skill of riding sidesaddle could benefit the gang while infiltrating a wealthy Lemoyne estate.

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

The day of the con looms closer and closer. Your family helps you stay calm as you prepare to step over the threshold as a true outlaw. 

Arthur Morgan & Reader Warnings: too many kisses! Word Count: 2,497. A big boi.  Notes at the end!

A sticky slow morning kissed your eyes awake, warm sunlight making the tent canvas glow. Your chemise was damp with sweat. Arthur groaned next to you, “it’s too goddamn hot.” You hummed your agreement, voiced hardening as you stretched out, shoulders and hips popping.

Arthur guffawed, “what was that!”

You laughed and sat up, sprawling across his chest, head tilted up. “Oh, you know all too well, mister!” His chuckle rumbled your chest. “If I’m showin’ my age it only means I’m catchin’ up to you,” you muffled into his chin.

“Serves you right, fallin fer an old bastard,” he barked a laugh, and let it slide into a sigh.

“Hmm,” you considered him for a moment, dragging your nose over his cheekbone, “I fell alright. Handsome bastard swept me off my feet. Can you blame me?”

Arthur scoffed, peeked an eye open to gaze at you from under gauzy lashes, “For someone like you, he better’ve pulled out all the stops.”

Your smile widened at his jest; you cupped his cheek with your palm and continued your sleepy roving. “Oh, yes. He knew exactly what to do. Musta been his experience comin’ from old age,” you mused, making sure he saw you return an impish stare. He rolled his eyes closed again and groaned, tightening his arm looped over your waist.

“Only cos you deserve it, darlin’.”

“And so does he,” you whispered back, placing a deliberate peck straight on his lips. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t protest.

The growing warmth lent no rush to disturb the sheets that had been kicked off feet during the night. You continued your slow sweep across his face, peppering featherlight kisses. Nose, cheek, scar, forehead, brow, covered by your lips.

“You mind this at all?” You paused between gentle pecks. Arthur remained still, one hand resting on his stomach, the other limply hanging on your hip.

“Mm, no. ‘S’nice,” he mumbled.  A small smile lifted his lips; if he hadn’t responded, you might have assumed he was still asleep.

“Jus’ checkin’. Can’t help myself sometimes.” You shyly pressed your smile to the corner of his mouth. He opened both eyes to stare at you, and you tilted your head in return. He lifted his hand to bring your forehead to his, holding it for a moment before shifting his body.

“Alright, time to get dressed, sweetheart. I’m fixin’ to take you shootin’ today.”

“Why? I know how to shoot.”

“Will you just give yer old man some peace of mind an’ accompany him today?”

“Yes, sir,” you groaned as you rolled over him to climb out of the cot, whining into his neck. He gave your ass a playful slap. You squeaked and stumbled out of the cot. You reached back to grab hold of his hand, laughing, “let’s go, you handsome bastard. Up you get.”

After a cup or two of coffee, you sat with Dutch and Hosea, hunched over notes and maps of the Pilot Plantation, and your role in the repossession of bonds that belong to a one Amos Pilot.

You were to ride up on Godiva and enter the party, mingling and riding with the other guests. Trelawney was working on providing an invitation for you. Javier, Bill, John, and Sean would be slowly riding along the road that snaked just next to the property line, keeping an eye on the party. Arthur and Micah were to stay back in the treeline across the way, with a sniper rifle for a closer view, should any problems arise. When night fell, you were to sneak into the house, locate the bonds, and carry as much as you could, signaling to the boys to follow you in and help should you need it. You would be covered on all sides, and Mr. Pilot would be none the wiser, according to Hosea.

“There’s no need for you to carry a weapon,” Dutch had said, slowly reaching his arm around your shoulders and guiding you away from his tent, “If somethin’ should happen, and people see a lady of society with a gun in her hand, well, they’ll know she ain’t workin’ alone. It’s all to protect the camp. We don’t want more people lookin’ for us, even if they don’t know it’s us they’re lookin’ for. Understand?” He gently pushed you towards Arthur’s tent and started in the opposite direction before you could voice your concern.

You blinked down at Arthur, perched on the edge of the cot, oiling his revolver.

“You hear that?” your voice pinched, pointing with your thumb over your shoulder.

“I did,” he spoke camly, arranging his piece and sliding it into the holster. “‘Bout time we get some practice in. C’mon.”

“But, Arthur--”

“I know,” he turned on his heel, searched your eyes. “Let’s get on outta here for a bit. Okay?”

You sighed, hands on your hips. “I getchu, Arthur.”

“Atta girl,” he smiled, lifting your hat off the table and tossing it your way. You grab it and press it on your head, following Arthur to the horses.

Godiva and Arthur’s mare, Britomartis, were grazing on the other side of camp by the wagon. Godiva lifted her head at your approach, ears perked forward, and lazily stepped towards you and Arthur. Her silhouette almost looked unfamiliar in the late afternoon sun. The curved leaping pommel looked too bulky compared to your old McClelland, that was now horn-down at the foot of your cot. He reached out and gave her a sturdy pat on her neck, then handed you the reins. He went to fetch Brit as you tightened Godiva’s girth. Arthur led Brit over, then wordlessly knelt down to help lift you into the saddle.

“How’s it feelin’?” He asked as he walked around to tighten his own girth and swing into the saddle.

“Like I’ve been ridin’ like this all my life, if’n I’m being honest,” you replied, adjusting the reins. Your right leg no longer stiffened when bending Godiva through turns, and you were getting better at rollbacks. You idly wondered about riding like this after the heist was over as you smoothed your cotton skirt over your legs.

Arthur jerked his head and started for the trail. You weaved through Lemoyne with Arthur, letting the wind fill your ears as you rocked with Godiva’s swelling canter and stared at the fringes of the lake you could see from the road. Arthur’s whistle caught you, and you followed him off the trail and over a gentle knoll, stopping by a crop of young oak trees.

“What’s got you?” Arthur asked, walking around to Godiva’s side.

You stared back at the road, then turned to him, brow furrowed.

Why’s Dutch sayin’ I don’t have to carry a weapon? It’s not like they’d be checkin’ me for chissakes. This ain’t Saint Denis.”

Arthur sighed, resting a hand on your knee. “I’m sure he’s got his reasons…”

“Well I’d love fer him to share. Arthur, I told him I would carry one, when I volunteered for this. I don’t get it. I’ll still be safe, right? Don’t he care?”

“I do.”

“‘Course the Van Der Linde enforcer cares!” Arthur threw you a stare. “Oh, I know you do. But what about him? Them? How many times has Dutch said he’d walk into hell itself knowin’ you’re watchin’ over him? But it ain’t him at this party, Arthur. It doesn’t feel right. What if somethin’ happens? What if I can’t protect myself?”

“I always do my best to keep them safe. You know that.” Arthur lifted his arms to help you dismount Godiva. You lifted your right leg over the pommel and reached your hands down, pressing on his shoulders. He caught you round the waist and put you down. You lifted your hat and let it rest on the leaping pommel.

��Arthur-” you started, catching him in the eyes, arms still reaching held out for each other. “I hear how Dutch speaks to you, don’t think I don’t. I know how heavy it must feel, his guard dog affection for you,” he lowered his eyes. “I hope...I will try not to be a burden to protect. I won’t let you down.”

His eyes flicked back to you. “Darlin’,” he pulled you closer, weaving his fingers at the small of your back. The edge of his hat tapped your forehead. You lifted it off his head and held it behind his back, arms loosely hanging off his shoulders. “You will never be a burden, I can promise you that. I can’t see you lettin’ me down, neither. And Dutch, well, don’t you worry ‘bout him. Someone’s gotta look after these fools. But you? You’re my girl. I’ll always protect you.”

Your chest tigthened. You leaned closer. “Say that again?”

“My girl,” he rumbled, closing the spaces between your lips. His simple declaration had you yearning for more, pressing your face as close as you could. Arthur’s muffled chuckle had you pull away, looking down and breathing out a shy laugh.

“Let’s focus first, darlin,” he said, reaching into his saddle bag and presenting you with a sawed-off shotgun, stock-first. “Yer gonna practice with this. Can’t be too careful. An’ we’re not gonna tell Dutch about it. He don’t need to know.”

“He doesn’t?” You tilted the gun down, opening the barrel and checking the ammo.

“No.”

“He doesn’t need to know as in, he won’t know this is what I’ll be hidin’ under my skirt?”

“Yes.”

“Well okay, then.” you smiled at him, grasping the polished wood, feeling its weight in your hands.

*****

At dusk, the two of you made your way back to camp. Noise and motion stirred around the fire. Arthur offered to water and grain the horses, and led Godiva towards the lake. You gave her rump an affection pat as she walked away.

“She’s a real good mare, that one.”

You turned to see Kieran walking from the scout campfire. “Oh, thanks, Kieran. She’s definitely taken a shine to you. You’re good with her.”

He keened, “oh it ain’t nothin, miss. Here,” he handed you a small bottle. “I made this tincture for Godiva. Should keep her spirits up, day of the mission.”

“Thank you, Kieran! You didn’t have to do this, you do a lot for her as it is.” You walked towards the shore and settled on a large log, and he followed. Cain trotted over and settled next to you.

“As I say, it’s really not that much. I like bein’ with the horses.” He eyed you for a moment. “Say, Miss, where’d you learn to ride like that, anyway?”

You paused a moment, gave him a half-smile. “My pa. He raised cart horses when I was a little girl. Shires, Suffolks, you name it. Even carriage horses for the families in Saint Denis and up north. That’s how he met my mother, selling carriage horses to her family. They both taught me, really.” You paused. Cain sighed as Kieran sat up straighter. “Then, everything just... fell apart. I know it’s the same with most of these folk, but... you always feel yours. The barn caught fire and--” you wavered, “I weren’t too young to not understand. I remember it all. Remember all that was left when Godiva an’ me rode up and… we could smell…” You sniffed, steadying yourself. “My folks. All them horses. The damn dog and cats. Gone.” you gently thumbed Cain’s ear.

“My uncle took me in, but that didn’t last very long. He took to drinkin’, and one morning I walked into the barn and Godiva weren’t there. Said he sold her for a case of moonshine. I tracked her down, galloped her right outta that stable, fast as I could. Nearly trampled Hosea. That’s how I ended up here. Never looked back after that. Godiva’s more family to me that my own rotten uncle ever was...And all you asked me was how I learned to ride side saddle.” You breathed out a laugh and turned away, quickly swatting away threatening tears.

Kieran shifted a little in his seat, unsure, a smile falling on his face. “Does, does Arthur know?”

“Yeah, he does. All too well.” You sighed, not knowing how many times you’ve woken him up, startled awake by nightmares. “Anyway, you seem to have a gift with horses, Kieran. I admire that, like my Pa. It’s invaluable.

“Oh, it’s nothin’, Miss.”

“Stop sayin’ that. It ain’t.”

He paused for a moment. “You can tell a lot about a man in how he keeps his horse. A horse has gotta have a lotta trust in his rider, see? It’s all about trust, ‘bout taking care of one another. If you ride ‘em hard, that’s all he’s gonna think about every time you get on. But if you tend to him, he’ll push til he’s hobblin’ into the ground, just for you. It’s trust, and loyalty, and maybe a bit of faith, too.”

You laughed, “that sounds like Dutch.”

“I guess it all connects, ma’am,” he smiled. “Guess that’s why I put up with them all bullyin’ me. Callin’ me O’Driscoll. I just get this feelin’ that’s why Mister Arthur does it. They just need time to trust, like the horses do. At least, I hope.”

“I know that’s why Arthur does it,” you reassured him, “That man’s stubborn as a mule, but he means no harm.” “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Trust me. Don’t tell him I told you, but he’ll always prefer to bark instead of bite,” you whispered.

“O’Driscoll!” Arthur’s voice boomed from the edge of camp. “You botherin’ my lady?”

“Speak of the devil!” You cried back, getting up from your spot on the log. “No, love, I was pesterin’ him,” you stopped in front of him and placed a hand on his chest. You spoke softly, “He’s taking care of Godiva, and she takes care of me. Be kind.” He rolled his eyes and sighed but squeezed your arm before you moved around him and back towards your tent.

You stood for a time, arms wrapped around yourself as you thought back on your past. But that’s all it was now. Just the past. You heard Arthur duck into the tent, and turned to him, wrapping your arms across his waist and pressing the side of your face into his warm chest. He pulled you in close, laying a heavy hand on your head.

“Hey,” he whispered. You lifted your head to his call. His eyes searched yours.

Of everything on your mind, the only thing you could speak clearly was, “It’s silly. I just like bein’ close to you, is all.” You smiled and pushed your face into his chest, lightly squeezing him in your arms before pulling away. “Okay. I’ll see to fetchin’ some dinner.”

“Darlin’--” He started, and you turned around halfway through the tent flap. “Don’t you be embarrassed by nothin’ with me, understand?”

Your eyes met his. “I do, Arthur.”

Notes: I tend to imagine a slightly *older* reader. Late 20s, but a bit younger than Arthur. 

This chapter is definitely an exercise in having a few pieces previously written, and then writing around them to make them fit, and I am too lazy/too in love with what I had already written to alter them, lol! 

Thank you for reading! 

[afishlearningpoetry]

Looking Closer at How The Abominable Bride Foreshadowed and Can Be Used to Chronologically Decode Series 4:

In TAB, shortly after the main case of the episode begins, Mary receives a telegram from Mycroft asking her to report immediately, describing the incident as her helping a friend in need, or “England”. This is reference to the end of HLV, where Mycroft phones Sherlock to say “England” needs his help now that Moriarty has returned. Throughout the episode, Mary is working as a spy for Mycroft, closely following Sherlock’s investigation into Emelia Ricoletti. This eventually leads to Mary uncovering the conspiracy, as Sherlock admits he didn’t realize what she was capable of. Back in the present, Mary and Mycroft clash.

In TST, shortly after the main case of the episode begins, Sherlock starts experiencing visions and anxieties over Moriarty being behind every step of his investigation. After discovering that the trail was actually following Mary and her past, Sherlock learns that when Mary was in AGRA she used to work freelance for the British government, as an extension of Mycroft to a certain degree. This eventually leads to uncovering an incident with AGRA that went terribly wrong, due to being manipulated by external forces.

[Continue below the cut for more ➤]

See also: Shout out to M-Theory... The Unfinished Act of Series 4, 10 Revealing Things From The Six Thatchers That Haunt You Late At Night, 10 Revealing Things From The Lying Detective That Haunt You Late At Night, and 10 Revealing Things From The Final Problem That Haunt You Late At Night.

Bonus: Love as a weapon for John and Mary.

There are several ways in which Mary is linked to Moriarty in Sherlock’s subconscious on display in TAB, but one of the ways in dialog is near the end of the episode inside the church basement, when Sherlock has been surprised by Moriarty as Moriarty tells him, “You’re dreaming,” and Mary right after asks, “Is he dreaming?” As Sherlock is being pulled between his dream in the past and the present, his mind is quite literally making the connection between them as Mary is in front of his comatose body on the plane.

Similarly, when Mycroft has broadcasted and hacked himself into every screen in England, and Sherlock imagines Mary saying “England” to Mrs. Hudson, we’re also meant to hear Mary echoing Moriarty.

But Sherlock is being torn between the events of HLV and the future with Moriarty’s return, meaning he’s still processing everything he went through in series 3 and doesn’t consciously realize this yet. In conjunction with this, Sherlock theorizes the possibility of Mary working for Mycroft; he understands she’s a highly skilled intelligence agent, and he suspects as shown in his dream, that she has an agenda with creating a facade and entering a relationship with John. However, anxious as Sherlock is to doubt and blame himself for not noticing Mary’s true nature sooner before HLV, as he tells himself he noticed “Only now, I’m afraid,” he’s also very quick to blame himself for being shot. Sherlock is imagining the idea that Mycroft hired Mary to protect John and Sherlock, following his investigation proving crucial to solving his case, after imagining a scene earlier in the episode where Mary felt left out from his adventures with John. Sherlock describes himself as an “unsavory companion of dubious morals.” He feels guilty about taking John away from Mary. Sherlock is desperate to imagine that Mary, while dangerous before, which is why Sherlock convinced John to stay with her by lying about what happened in Magnussen’s office, is still ultimately a force of good. Above all else, Sherlock also wants John to be happy.

On a surface level, this is carried over into series 4; it turns out that Mary really did work for Mycroft, albeit freelance and indirectly under Lady Smallwood’s direction, proving Sherlock’s theory correct. This is, however, a faulty theory; what we can take away from the rest of the episode is that Mary actually turning out to work for Mycroft is a false catharsis of plot points leading over from HLV. This is a running theme with all of series 4; the collection of three episodes is a false catharsis of built-up character arcs and plot threads that only seem to resolve leftover questions from earlier series on the most basic and expected level.

These are the things we were told to expect: In TAB, Sherlock imagined Sir Eustace as a stand-in for Mary, being a figure being haunted by their past and not being able to outrun it, while putting his spouse Lady Carmichael (John) in danger, who Sherlock made a vow with to protect Eustace (Mary). In TST, Mary is being haunted by her past and isn’t able to outrun it, causing Sherlock to break the vow he made in TSOT. In TAB, Mary is working for Mycroft. In TST, Mary worked for Mycroft in the past.

But when thinking about these resolved plot points, they beg further questions; Also in TAB, while Mary is working for Mycroft, Sherlock leaves several subconscious signals to himself that there’s some connection between Mary and Moriarty (the dress, shared dialog, etc.). Sherlock imagines that Lady Carmichael (John) is the one that killed her spouse Sir Eustace (Mary). While running through the Carmichael manor on the night of the bride’s attack, Sherlock comes across Lady Carmichael standing in front of a pool of blood, and discovers Sir Eustace stabbed in the heart shortly after. Sherlock knows that Mary’s past is going to catch up with her, and her understands that she deserves it, and even subconsciously knows that John hasn’t actually taken her back for honest reasons; he’s planning on taking her down.

Which is what actually happens in TST. Series 4 is about the coverup and fallout of Mary’s murder. The episode opens with doctored footage of someone being murdered by a trigger-happy fall man instead of Sherlock –– the episode ends with doctored footage of someone being murdered by a trigger-happy fall man instead of John (though of course, Mary isn’t dead –– she is Death).

There are certain things that can’t be explained by Mary being a retired agent, most prominently her agenda in creating a facade and entering a relationship with John, which is why (combined with his own self doubt) Sherlock jumps to her working for Mycroft. But while Sherlock’s subconscious is busy building a connection between Mary and Moriarty, he’s suddenly deflecting all that subtext onto the surface text of some imagined connection Mary and Mycroft... because Mycroft is also being forced to work with Moriarty. Mycroft and Moriarty is the other subconscious connection that Sherlock is building in TAB. M-Theory then continues all the way through the subtext of series 4, and goes another level deeper; in covering up Mary’s real past, who was the real traitor in AGRA (it wasn’t Smallwood or the invented Vivian Norbury), and in covering up Mary working with Moriarty, John instead writes a story where Mary worked with Mycroft and she was perfect and a good mercenary assassin who killed for money and made being easy look “perfect”, so it would look like John had no reason to kill her in retaliation against her real agenda with Moriarty.

It’s the ultimate deflection and purposefully false resolution of everything about M-Theory and Mary in series 3 and TAB, and it’s also believable for that exact reason on a surface-level reading or for general audiences precisely because Sherlock made this false connection between Mary and Mycroft, while the truth lies in the two subtextual relationships that surround the relationship Sherlock falsely assumes in denial of the terror of what the other two mean. The danger and manipulation they present to him, and more importantly, to John. Sherlock is chasing Moriarty’s ghost, but is in denial that he’s actually back when his body was never recovered, all because he’s so afraid for John and of the mistake he made in TRF by allowing Moriarty to nearly destroy their relationship like he’s still planning to.

In TAB, in the only screentime Mycroft and Mary have shared together, it’s quickly established after Sherlock first wakes up that Mary has no respect for Mycroft and that Mycroft immediately hates her. This set-up, thorny dynamic never comes up in TST for the same reason John’s own biases, perspectives, insecurities, anxieties, and jealousy don’t either; because the account of how Mary disappeared has to be cleaned up. At the aquarium scene, Mycroft simply stands around like an alibi witness while exchanging neither a line or even a glance with Mary.

Similar to Sherlock’s dream, while John provides surface level answers, deeper explanations await, since John as the author of series 4 can’t help but let himself slip out in the story. He writes Mary as interpreting “Amo” to be “ammunition”, or that love is a weapon to be used. This is precisely how the real Mary thinks and behaves in series 3, and how John actually views her, telling us more about the real reasons why he took her back. Meanwhile, Sherlock is the one who eventually realizes that “Amo”, or “Love”, needs to be understood correctly.

And yet, John still has to make Mary look good; when John and Sherlock catch up to her globe-trotting, Mary tells John the truth about her name and her work in AGRA, and she apologizes for lying to him, again. But the real Mary never apologized in HLV or TAB; she never apologized afterwards for manipulating both of them or for shooting Sherlock (she only said so while shooting Sherlock). Not once, not even close. She offers no information of her own and simply rides Sherlock’s coattails as he makes up a false account of what happened in Magnussen’s office to make her look better so she doesn’t kill both of them right then and there. Here, she’s suddenly offering the right explanation, albeit after being chased around the world, another potential insight into what really happened in series 4 and how John views her.

Sherlock imagines Mary working as a spy because he subconsciously is aware of her being a spy for Moriarty, but deflects it onto working for Mycroft instead, incidentally moving closer to the truth of Moriarty blackmailing Mycroft and M-Theory. John writes Mary working as a redeemable mercenary because he has to lie about what really happened, deflecting it onto Mary working indirectly for Mycroft and being tricked by an external force, the true meaning being her working for Moriarty.

In TAB, Mary effortlessly infiltrates MI-5′s security with ease. In TST, having been present for that conversation, John writes Lady Smallwood being denied security privileges because an external force, in the guise of his own writer-character self-insert and fall man Vivian Norbury, manipulated and evaded everyone, including Mycroft, but the true form of the threat and Mary’s agenda lies with Moriarty.

“So many lies. And I don’t just mean you,” John writes himself saying to Mary. John is creating a cheating storyline to absolve himself of what happened to Mary, but he’s actually telling the truth about her while revealing something about himself. John and Sherlock are beginning to understand what the endgame is and what’s really going on between Mary, Moriarty, and Mycroft, and they’re already making moves against them, and they’re already facing the consequences.

[firesidevisions]

Schadenfreude

by Stephen Amos

James Banner surveyed the crowd in front of him and smiled. They were ready. They were warmed up, he could see it in their eyes, in the way they seemed to lean forward to listen to him. It was time for the finale of his speech, a speech many of them had heard before on TV if not in person. 

‘So, let me ask you this…’ he boomed. It wasn’t a shout, he just projected and his voice was heard. This made any subtleties he needed to convey easier to get across. Although today was not a day for subtleties, it was a day for well-worn and effective points. They had, so far, helped propel him to the limelight of politics and the cusp of something greater - power.  

It was what he craved. It was what he knew he would soon achieve. 

‘Do you earn enough money?’ he asked the crowd in front of him, their eyes watching him expectantly. 

‘No!’ they returned. Not everyone yet, but he knew that soon they would all be singing from the same hymn sheet. 

He raised his voice a little more: ‘Are there enough decent jobs?’ 

‘No!’ Louder this time, they were more into it, willing to take part in the growing mass hysteria. 

‘Are you earning enough to live?’ 

‘No!’ 

‘Are there enough opportunities for our young people?’ 

‘No!’    

‘Are our services adequate?’ 

‘No!’ 

‘Our NHS! Our Schools! The Police?’ 

‘No, No, No!’. The crowd was truly with him now, he could feel it. This was why he was here; he loved this moment when he was one with the crowd, or to be more accurate, they were one with him. This wasn’t why he was a politician, but it was what he loved and what he craved. 

‘And who has let us down? Who has let each and every one of us down? Who has failed us?’ 

He paused, leaning back on his lectern, then, after a beat, he came forward again and in a loud savage whisper he said: 

 ‘This government has let us down. This Prime Minister has failed us, the opposition has forgotten us! These people who are so desperate to be loved by those faceless bureaucrats of the European Union-’ 

He said these last two words with withering contempt. 

‘-that they open our borders to all who want to enter. They. Are. To. Blame!’ 

The crowd roared in approval. Banner nodded in satisfaction. 

‘Last year almost four hundred thousand immigrants entered the UK. That’s almost half a million! The government deny this figure. They claim we are plucking it out of thin air, like we can really hide half a million refugees! And that’s only the ones we know! How many others are coming in? We don’t know. Either the government can't tell us or won’t! Frankly, I can’t decide which is worse – that they are incompetent or a bunch of liars! 

‘And what are these immigrants doing? They are taking our jobs! They are driving down wages!  Think about it, if an employer has two choices, to pay a British worker a decent wage or to pay an immigrant the minimum wage, what is he going to do? This drives wages down, this drives living standards down, this drives the amount of tax the government collects down, which, in turn, drives our services down, down! Down!’ 

The crowd booed. Some threw their hands in the air. Their faces flush with anger. 

And that's when he saw the old man. At the front of the crowd. Unmoved and still, the man stood with a wry smile on his face. His hands were crossed as if he was judging Banner as if he wasn't here for the speech.  

Not to worry, Banner thought. There's always one who didn’t feel the buzz, who was a little slow on the uptake.  

'Now I know what I'm saying is controversial and not something the liberal media thinks I should say. Has anyone seen the newspapers today? Watched the news this morning? Apparently, I want to gas all immigrants; apparently, I am advocating the use of concentration camps...'  

The crowd grew quiet. He knew the reason there were so many people here today was because of the comments he had made, of the coverage he was getting, but that was fine by him.  

'They don't seem to get it, though. I don’t want to put them in concentration camps! I’m not a monster! You are not monsters! We just don’t want them in this country in the first place! 

‘What they want to do is disrupt a movement! What they want to do is discredit the voice of the people. What I am saying is not just what I think, it’s what the people want! I am not just the leader of a movement, I am one voice in this movement. I am privileged that I can stand here and speak, but my words are not just mine, they are yours! Don’t let the mainstreamers, the liberalers, the eliters, the politicians, stop you from speaking the truth; don’t let them quash your movement, your revolution!’ 

The crowd was cheering again, he knew what they wanted to believe, what they wanted to hear, and he was more than willing to speak for them. He was, after all, one of them! This wasn’t just rhetoric. He believed it all. 

‘So, don’t believe the liars in the press, look around you and see the truth. In three weeks, there is another election, and you will have the opportunity to shove it to the elitists who run your country. Will you do it?'

The crowd erupted in a cry of ‘Yes!’ 

‘Will you do it?’ 

‘Yes!’ 

‘Will you do it?’ 

‘YES!!!’ 

 *

James Banner could feel the sweat trickle down his back as he was led off the stage and away from the roars of the crowd. He knew they loved him, they were his people and he believed that from the very pit of his soul. 

His assistant, Jeanine Jeffreys, was yapping in his ears about something or other, the next engagement, maybe? His invitation to appear on Question Time on the weekend? That was going to make a big impact he’d been told, although he doubted whether the voters he was cultivating would ever watch that tired old nonsense. He wasn’t really listening, the details were up to Jeanine and they could discuss it in more detail later when he calmed down. Right now, his heart was pounding with adrenaline which throbbed pleasurably in his temples and gave him an almighty erection that pushed at his trousers and pulsed in rhythm to the same beat. He loved this feeling; who needed artificial drugs like cocaine or Viagra when your body could replicate the same awesome effects naturally if you knew how to access them.

He pushed through the crowd of well-wishers, people shouting his name, calling him, chanting one of his mantras: ‘Who’s to blame! Who’s to Blame!’. This is what the career politicians didn’t get. It didn’t matter what your policies were or what you really believed in, all you needed was a few catchy slogans, a few mantras for people to chant, and they would follow you. They didn’t want details, they wanted simplicity. They wanted something to believe in without having to get into details. They didn’t want to think, they wanted to know. That was his job, to tell them what they wanted and assure them it was what they needed. 

‘James!’ 

His assistant pulled on his arm, taking him out of his reverie. 

‘What?’ he replied indignantly. 

‘Have you not been listening to a word I said! I think you should speak to him. It might not lead to anything but if it does it could be beneficial to the campaign.’ 

‘What? Who?’ 

Jeanine sighed. ‘I don’t know why I’m here sometimes; you don’t seem to want to listen.’ 

James turned to her and took a deep breath. ‘What are you talking about?’ 

Jeanine smiled but there was no humour there, just a hint of exasperation. She had been his assistant for three years now, right from the beginning of his campaign. She was organised, committed and a good lay, especially when the times had been hard and the stress had been too much. He would pull her to the side, find a quiet room, whip it out, and release every knot in his body. She took it without question, never asking for more, accepting what was given. He had occasionally wondered if he was using her or vice versa, which riled him sometimes, but who cared. He got what he wanted so he could return home to his wife a little bit more relaxed and avoid a tongue lashing there. 

 ‘OK, let’s start from the beginning. There’s a scientist here who would like to speak to you. He says he has followed you and thinks he could help you and the campaign.’ 

‘Who is he? Who does he work for? 

‘His name is Matt Hastings and he works for the ITR.’ 

‘Never heard of them,’ James said. ‘Why should I speak to him?’ 

They were nearing the car now and the crowd was getting thinner. There were still a lot of people trying to get his attention, but they were being held back by the security guards. 

‘As I said,’ Jeanine continued. ‘It might not lead to anything but, even if he belongs to some crappy institute that has absolutely no power or influence, at least you’ll be able to say you’ve got a bunch of scientists backing you.’ 

James shook his head. ‘I don’t know, I haven’t got time for this.’ 

‘Five minutes in the car, that is all he wants. We could be on the road by noon and your next appearance isn’t until two. There’s plenty of time and, if he turns out to be some crackpot, you can just shake his hand and tell him to go on his merry way.’ 

‘What if he’s dangerous?’ 

‘He’s an old man and he would have been checked for weapons before he gets in the car.’ 

Banner could sense the sarcasm in her voice. He ignored it. ‘OK. Five minutes.’ 

 *

‘Mr Banner?’ 

The car door opened, and Banner looked up from the report he was reading. Standing there was the old man he had seen in the crowd, this time with a wide friendly smile on his face. 

‘Yes,’ He put on his most welcoming and gracious smile, all very professional. ‘Please, come in’. 

The old man stiffly entered the car and flopped down into the seat. He took a moment to adjust his clothes to make his posture more comfortable. Finally satisfied, he smiled then turned to Banner. 

‘Thank you for seeing me Mr Banner, I have been following you for some time now.’ 

‘No, Thank you Mr…’ 

The old man’s smile grew large, lighting up his eyes. His whole face spoke of a grandfatherly benevolence that Banner quickly warmed to. 

‘Dr Matt Hastings.’ The old man replied. 

‘Dr Hastings. How can I help you?’ 

Hastings gave a short laugh. ‘No Mr Banner. The question is - how can I help you?’ 

‘OK,’ Banner said, adjusting his seating position to face the doctor. 

‘I am a member of a government scientific research department, the ITR.’ 

‘ITR? I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with it.’  

‘Nor should you be, Mr Banner. At least not yet. We enjoy a certain level of security and those who have heard of us tend to be on the, shall we say, “need to know”.’ 

Banner was intrigued. Why would a secret government research department want to speak to him? 

‘Are you breaking any laws speaking to me, Doctor?’ 

‘Oh yes, several.’ The doctor waved his hands as if it wasn’t important. ‘However, we feel that whilst we will never have to worry about funding, we should worry about how the government is run and who runs it.'  

‘…ok’ Banner replied. He was getting the feeling he was on shaky ground here and had better be careful. 

‘As I indicated, I - or perhaps I should say, we – have been watching you for some time and, I must say, you have made an impression.’ 

‘A good impression I hope’. 

‘Oh absolutely. Absolutely. We at the ITR have been very impressed by you so far.’ 

‘What exactly do you do? What is the ITR?'

The doctor’s eyes seemed to glow at the question. This was obviously a subject he was very happy to speak about. His cheeks, red with the cold, seemed to push up his glasses as his smile broadened even further. 

‘The Institute for Temporal Research. We, erm, investigate time.’ 

‘Time? As in clocks or time travel?’ Banner gave a short laugh at his little joke. 

Hastings paused for a second and his face grew momentarily serious. Then he smiled again and seemed to come to some decision. 

‘Before we continue Mr Banner, can you tell me exactly what you meant with your…um…Hitler comments yesterday?’ 

Banner frowned. ‘Dr Hastings, please do not believe everything you read in the Newspapers or hear on the BBC. They don’t like what -’ 

‘Please, Mr Banner,’ Hasting interjected. ‘Whether I continue to speak to you today, whether we at the ITR help you with your campaign or not, depends greatly - no, absolutely - on the truthfulness of your response. I have been given full authorisation by my colleagues to either continue talking and in the long run helping you, or, alternatively, to get out of the car and you’ll never see me or hear from us – or, I might add – hear about us, ever again.’ 

Banner froze for a moment, considering what exactly he needed to do. What did they want him to say? This was his strength, working out exactly what people wanted to hear and giving it to them. 

‘Mr Banner,’ Hastings continued. ‘We know what you said about refugees and concentration camps, and the application of Hitler’s final solution. Please, tell me, how would you apply it?’ 

Banner thought for a moment then came to a decision. He would tell the truth. There was something in the doctor's manner, the wording of the question, told him they wanted the truth. Besides, if he was wrong, what was the worst thing that could happen? He would lose the endorsement of someone he had never heard of until five minutes ago. 

‘I believe that a final solution, for lack of a better term, is not something we need to consider. As I said in my speech, why would I want to build concentration camps in the UK for immigrants I am determined to expel? And expel them I will. Every last one of them, and I don’t really care if they were born here or not. We don’t want them here and I am certainly not going to spend precious tax money on building them accommodation.’ 

He smiled. That was the truth, and, if any of his severest critics were to be honest, he didn’t think they could argue with it. 

‘Very good, Mr Banner, very good. However, what you said, I believe, was that Hitler’s Final solution was acceptable?’ 

Banner paused again to think things through. He didn’t like being drilled like this, but if this doctor and his colleagues wanted the truth, then he was willing to give it to them. 

‘Doctor Hastings. I am going to be honest with you. I have always admired Adolf Hitler. Not everything he did, I think taking Europe and the world to war was stupid. He should have concentrated on Germany and left it to that. Over the years I think that other European countries would have followed his lead and formed similar governments to his own, negating the need to go to war…’ 

‘However?’ Hastings prompted. 

‘However, Germany had issues, especially with regards to racial and ethnic groups which were undermining their sovereignty.’ 

‘The Jews?’ 

‘Yes, principally it was the Jews but there were others too – gypsies, the blacks and other undesirables. Germany didn’t have the advantage we have, being an island, and so his immigration problem was more acute. His solution was concentration camps. I think that immigrants and ethnic minorities should have been allowed to leave, which they were in the 30s, but then, for those who refused, Hitler had little choice.'  

Hastings nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, yes, I can see your point,’ he said. 

‘I agree that the final solution was drastic and, if Hitler hadn't insisted on going to war, I don't think it would have been required, however, he acted based on the opportunities and the possibilities he had in front of him. I may sound harsh, but I don't think he had much choice.'

‘No, no. I don’t think you are being harsh, I think you may be correct.’ 

The doctor rubbed his hands together and then clapped them. ‘I think, Mr Banner, we can help you!’ 

Banner smiled and realised how tense he had been. It was almost as if he had wanted to win this old doctor’s approval. Maybe it was the gran-fatherly demeanour, possibly the infectious enthusiasm that radiated from him, but it was no denying, this Dr Hastings was having an effect on him. 

‘Mr Banner. Earlier I believe you thought your comment about time travel was a nice little joke. A witticism, shall we say. But you can rest assured that the Institute for Temporal Research does not make clocks, we make time itself.'

‘Time itself?’ 

‘Yes. I suppose you could call us Time Travellers, after all.’ 

Banner almost snorted. Perhaps he had wasted the last five minutes after all.  ‘Time Traveller? Are you telling me you have come from the past? Or the future?’ 

‘Oh, dear me no.’ The doctor laughed with a fair deal of merriment. ‘I’m not a time traveller in that sense at all, and even if I could be, I wouldn’t be able to speak to you like this. Time travel seems limited to observations only. There seems to be a few rules and that is one of them. Paradoxes and all, you understand. No, the IRT are not time travellers per se, although many of us have tried it. No, you could say we are facilitators of time travel. We have the technology and the knowledge. We make it happen, Mr Banner.’ 

‘You’re serious?’ Banner was flabbergasted. This is not what he had envisioned a few moments ago. 

‘Quite serious. And we have been so impressed with you that we thought…um… you might want to have a go.’ 

Banner couldn't help but smile, although whether it was because of the incredulity of the situation, or if it was because he believed it and, well, could go time travelling, he didn’t know.  

Hastings adjusted his coat once more and moved toward the door. 'Now, I know you are busy, but do you think you could arrange to be at the Institute one night, next Wednesday, for example? Hopefully, that will give you enough time to arrange an evening off.'

'Wednesday will be fine,' Banner replied. 'Where do I go? I take it I can't google you.' 

Hastings laughed. 'Of course, how remiss of me. You know, my colleagues often compare me with those scientists in those science fiction films from the 1950s. You know, white coats, bumbling but not aware of the outside world or what is really going on around them.' 

He reached into his coat pocket and brought out a card.  

'Here's the address. It may seem like you are driving into the middle of nowhere and it doesn't really look like much on the outside, but inside.... well, you'll see when you get there.' 

Banner took the card and looked at it. It was just plain white with the letters ITR on the top and a postcode beneath it. 

'Just put that postcode into your SatNav and it'll take you there. Oh, and make sure you drive your own car. All cars in the area are monitored and if your registration is not recognised you will be turned away.' 

'Oh, should I write my number plate down for you?' 

Hastings reached over to the door and opened it. 

'No need,' he said. 'We already know it.' 

Banner frowned. 'Are you watching me?' 

Hastings smiled. 'Of course, my lad. Of course.' 

Before Banner could reply Hastings got out of the car and, without another word, he was gone. 

Banner sat alone for a minute. Did he feel a little paranoid? Probably. Excited? He didn't know. He was certainly intrigued and, although there was more than a little doubt in his mind, he did like the idea. Where could he go? What would he see? Who would he see? It was like one of those silly dinner party hypotheticals that people played: if you could go back in time and visit one place or witness one event, what would it be? Would he even have a choice? 

'Well, that took longer than I thought.'

Banner's reverie was interrupted as Jeanine got into the car beside him. The driver's door opened at the same time and John, Banner’s driver since the start of the campaign, also entered. 

'I was just about to knock the window and tell you to hurry it up,' Jeanine continued. 'What was that about?' 

Banner didn't know quite what to say. He couldn't tell her the truth; he still wasn't sure if he believed it. 

'I've been invited to a dinner party with some of his colleagues. Next Wednesday, 9pm.' 

'But that's the night of...' 

'I don't care, whatever is on my schedule, cancel it. I'm going.' 

'Then I'll have to get my old little black number out then.' 

'No,' Banner said, his voices laced with finality. 'I'm going alone.' 

 *

The Institute was situated about five miles across the border and into Wales. Doctor Hastings was right, it was in the middle of nowhere. He had crossed at Hereford, passed the book town of Hay-On-Wye and then continued down a road that was little more than a lane. The night was dark and his lights illuminated the trees given them a ghostly quality which seemed to add to his mood of anticipation and apprehension. It wasn’t dread he was feeling, he was far too excited to be scared, but he would be fooling himself if he pretended not to be nervous. 

His radio had difficulty picking up a decent signal and he didn't want to flick through channels hoping to find something decent in fear of missing a turn on this most snakelike of roads. There was only silence in the car. The road was so long that not even the SatNav voice had spoken for almost twenty-five minutes. 

He could see he was getting close though, the countdown on the Sat Nav display informing him that he only had a few minutes left on his journey. 

He wondered when he would hit security. Hastings had seemed to suggest that the security would be extensive and, if this institute really did house a time machine, then you would think there would be armed guards everywhere. OK, so they may try and be a bit discreet but so far, he was sure there had been nothing. 

What was he really getting himself into? he thought. 

'Right Turn ahead, 100 yards.' 

The normally soothing Aussie accented SatNav voice broke through the silence and his reverie, startling him to the point that he almost jumped in his seat. That didn’t help either. He didn't really know what he was letting himself in for. He didn't know anything about these people, he had tried to make some quiet enquiries but no one seems that have ever heard of the ITR. It was almost as if they didn't exist. What if they were a bunch of lunatics? What if it was just some elaborate prank, make him drive for hours away from home into the night, keep him away from a potentially valuable evening with donors? He wasn't even in England anymore for god sake! Did he want this to be true so much he was willing to face humiliation? 

Ultimately, he thought, he was. The idea was so intriguing that, if his friends had gotten together to make fun of his misguided devotion, then yes, he would take it on the chin and join them for a drink. Then, he would plot against each and every one of the bastards until they paid for their stupid trick. 

He saw the turning and steered the car right. It was another narrow lane but this time there were only a few corners before he saw the lights of an old stately home. His stomach twitched. OK, there were a lot of government departments situated in buildings like this but where was this security? How could anyone turn him away if there was no one here?  

He parked in front of the main doors and turned off the engine. He could see several other cars parked in the front, all of them very nice – BMWs, Mercedes and even a Bentley. There were also a few white vans all with the Logo ITR Home Improvements. Banner shock his head. Maybe he should drive away now before it was too late.

'Mr Banner!' A voice rang out. 'So glad you could make it. 

'Oh, well,' Banner thought. 'It is too late now.' 

He opened the door and stepped out of his car. Dr Hastings seemed to jog towards him, a brilliant and quite infectious smile on his face. He held his hands out and quickly cupped them around Banner's hands.  

'So great that you were able to make it,' the doctor said. 'We had a discussion earlier today about whether you would or not. I'm so glad I was right!' 

'It's a lovely place you have here' Banner said trying to find something to say. 'You were waiting for me at the door? I hope you weren't there too long.' 

'No, no, no. We knew what time you would arrive. We were watching you on the CCTV.' 

'Oh, I didn't see any cameras on the way here.' 

'Of course not. The greatest security is secrecy.' 

Banner point to the Vans. 'ITR Home Improvements?' 

Hasting chortled. He put his hand behind Banner's back and started to guide him towards the door. 

'Well, we couldn’t really advertise ITR Time Travelers, could we?' His laugh was hearty and warm. 'No, this way we can drive around without anyone asking questions. And if anyone phones the number on the Van's they are told we're a bit busy at the moment but here are some local workmen who come highly praised. It's a nice little idea.'  

Banner nodded.  

He was led through the front doors to a reception area. There, near the front desk, were two men and two women, all in white coats, each with wide smiles on their faces. 

Dr Hastings paused, his chest seemed to grow and the pride on his face was undeniable. 

'Mr Banner, may I introduce you to the men and women responsible for this remarkable feat of science we have achieved here at the institute. This is Dr Fellows...' 

The first man stepped forward. He was a small man with what seemed like a smaller face. It was as if his head was too large. Banner tried to make sure his smile was magnanimous. He reached out his hand and took the doctor's hand to shake it. 

'Doctor...' He said. 

'Dr Michael Dixon.’ 

The second man stepped forward and shook Banner’s hand. He was a black man with what Banner assumed as either a half-grown afro or a badly cut one. Banner felt the urge to laugh and had to fight not to stare. 

'Dr Amy Dixon,'  

A woman stepped forward. A little mousy but with what looked like very large breasts pushing at the white coat. Banner focused on her eyes, rather dull but part of a pleasant face, and away from the attractions below. 

'Dr Dixon? Any relative?' Banner asked. 

'Yes,' Dixon said. 'We're married.' 

'Oh, of course.' Banner had to admit to himself he hadn't thought of that. He wondered how they managed to work together and remain married. He couldn't imagine working with his wife, Silvia, every day. It would mean divorce courts before the end of the first week. 

Finally, he introduced another woman. This one was pretty stunning in Banner's eyes. She was in her mid-30s and had long flowing red hair, a few soft freckles on her small button nose. Her eyes were a striking green, like precious emeralds. She had the look of a model, not a scientist. With her small designer glasses and her long white lab coat, Banner imagined her as a cliché of a porn star pretending to be intelligent. His first thoughts were how he was going to get some moments alone with her. He glanced back quickly to Amy Dixon, her large breasts pushing forward beneath her lab coat and he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to sleep with two scientists.  

(‘Why Doctors, what lovely Petri dishes you have. Of course, you can play with my Bunsen burner.) 

'And speaking of workplace relationships, can I introduce you to my wife Dr Carys Hastings.' Hastings said proudly. 

This time Banner couldn't hide his surprise. What was this gorgeous beauty doing with a dork like Hastings? Had he developed a formula for bedding beauties? He must have been 30 years older than her, if not more. If so, they would definitely be talking later. 

'Oh,' he said. 'I...' he blustered. Hastings gave a small friendly laugh but as Banner looked at Mrs Hastings, he thought he saw the briefest sneer pass across her face, before being replaced by that smiled again.  

'I know,' she said. 'A lot of people wonder how I managed to bag someone as brilliant as Matt.' 

She reached over to Banner and grabbed his arm. 'Come,' she said. 'Let us show you the lab.' 

*

'Oh,' Banner said.  He looked around the room and felt vaguely disappointed. He had imagined something bigger, more technical, more, well, sciencey. At the one end was a series of desks in front of large chalkboards covered with equations. He had no idea what any of it meant but he hadn't realised it would be so old fashioned. There were computers across one wall but they too looked very simple. They were no different to his computer at home. They probably had a server room somewhere he surmised. Everywhere there was paper, covering the desks, piled next to the computers, falling out of the three printers he could see. It looked quite chaotic. 

'This is our home away from home.' Hastings proclaimed. 'Please, come in.' 

Dr Amy Dixon cleared away a chair and indicated for him to sit down. Banner sat, wondering exactly what was going to happen next. His stomach was tight with anticipation. 

'How long have you been here?' he asked. 

'Ahh, Hastings answered. The others had moved to various workstations and suddenly it was as if the office had come alive. Hastings stood in front of him, obviously enjoying holding the floor. 

'Our founder was Huw Morgan, a physicist who worked on the Manhattan Project with Oppenheimer.' 

'The nuclear bomb guy?' 

'That's right,' Hastings replied with a smile. 'Apparently, at night Huw, Oppenheimer and some of the other guys used to discuss the existence of Einstein-Rosen bridges, wormholes. These discussions could get pretty detailed and, even though they spent the day doing math, at night they would just do more math to relax.' 

Hastings chuckled to himself. Banner smiled although in truth he couldn't think of anything worse than doing math. 

'Anyway, when the war ended, Huw returned here to his home and bought this building and set up the institute. Initially, it was solely for theory however Huw always said that he knew, categorically, that one day we would achieve time travel.' 

Hastings chuckled to himself again. Banner got the impression that the scientist had told the story many times and enjoyed telling it immensely. 

'He knew it would work the day we met, not because he saw anything special in me, but because, once when giving a lecture at the science museum in London many years before we had met and he had seen me. I was much older, he said, less hair and much greyer than I was then, but it was me. 

'Unfortunately, Huw died in 1988 and we didn't crack it until 2007. I made my first trip back in 2011 and I didn't really feel like I had much choice as to where to go.' That self-satisfying chuckle again. ' I stood at the back of the room and watched my mentor and hero as a young man, talk about things that wouldn't be realised for almost fifty years. At one point he looked straight at me and I couldn't resist, I just had to smile and give him a wink. I think he knew even then and when I first joined him as a young man in 1975, he knew for certain. 

'I don't believe in destiny or fate but I do believe in the science and for Huw, it predicted the future.' 

Banner nodded. He now wanted to get on with it. The thought of going back in time, of witnessing history, or being there as it happened, was filling him with excitement. He accepted that this was real, that these crazy scientists had achieved one of the greatest breakthroughs in history. And he was on the cusp of taking part in it. 

'And all this is real? No messing?' 

Hastings shook his head eagerly. 

'No Messing. That could be our logo.' 

'So, what happens now?' 

Hastings scanned the room as each of the others gave him a nod.  

'Come,' the doctor whispered. 'This way.' 

 Banner stood and followed Hastings as they crossed the room to a small door. 

'This door acts as the wormhole. We made it like this because it is more comforting than stepping through a void in the middle of a room or a field. Your mind can process the act of stepping through a door and expecting something on the other side. It is easier for the modern mind to process.' 

'I just walk through that door?' 

'Yes.' Hastings passed a small device to Banner.  

'This is a tracker,' he said. 'Keep it with you at all times, don't lose it, I can't stress that enough. The red button will bring you back immediately, wherever you are.' 

Banner held it in his hand. It was the size of a small phone, smooth surface with an LCD display and one red button on the side. 

'The display will keep track of how long you are gone. The device is timed for 5 minutes and you will automatically return.' 

'Where am I going?' 

Hastings patted the politician on the back. 

'As we have already discussed. You want to see the history of your movement. How does the 5th of September 1938 sound?' 

Banner’s eyes grew wide. When he spoke, it was little more than a croak. 

'Nuremberg? The rallies?' 

Hastings nodded. 'None of us have been back to there yet so you'll be the first. We'd like a full report, however, I have the feeling you'll be so overwhelmed by the experience you'll have to return a few times before you'll be able to be subjective and report back fully. In the meantime, try and concentrate on the atmosphere, the people around you and, of course, the speaker.' 

Banner nodded. 'When can I go?' 

'Now, my good man. Now. Just open the door and step into history.' 

'And this is real?'  

Hastings laughed heartily. 'See for yourself,' he said softly. 

Banner nodded. 'Ok, I'm going to do this before I shit myself.' 

'Don't worry. It's a little disorienting at first, especially as you'll be going into a crowd but it'll soon pass. See you in five minutes.' 

Banner was shaking, he could feel it right down to his bone marrow. Yet instinctively this had to be done, he knew it. He was completely convinced that it was true, that he was going to witness history as it happened.  

As it fucking happened. 

'One last thing,' Hasting said, handing him an envelope. 'Once you get there read this, it's a translation of the address that the Fuhrer gives, I'm assuming you can't speak German?' 

'No,' Banner was almost giddy. He took the envelope and stuffed it into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. 'Are my clothes ok?' 

'Don't worry about them, you're only going for five minutes. If there are any issues, press the button quickly.' 

Banner held the device in his pocket. He held it tightly, believing it could save him. 

'Ok,' he said finally. 'Let's do this.' 

Hastings reached for the door handle and pushed it open. The other side was completely black. Banner had thought that maybe he would have had a glimpse at whatever or whenever it was on the other side but there was nothing. And yet, from somewhere he could hear a noise. A crowd perhaps? 

'See you in five minutes, Mr Banner, ' Hastings said. He put his hand on the small of Banner's back and pushed with the subtlest amounts of pressure. 

'OK, let's do it.' 

With a deep breath, pushing aside any worries about what will happen or if it was indeed real in the first place, Mr James Banner stepped through the door and into the darkness. 

* 

The first thing that Banner was aware of was the smell. Before there was light, before the sound became loud enough to interpret, the stench hit him. It was foul, a slaughterhouse of sweat and pain and hurt. It had substance and physicality to it which was nauseating, a rancidness which burned at his nostrils causing him to fight down the bile rising in his throat. 

The motion came next, he became aware that he was rocking, ever so slightly. Almost rhythmically but with the occasional bump that was almost jarring. He was moving, he realised.  

Then came the noise; the movement was given sound. It wasn't pleasant and it certainly wasn't unfamiliar. There was something to it that he knew, that triggered a memory. Something he had heard before. A loud mechanical cacophony that made him wince. Beneath it, there was also something else - crying, moaning, like animals near death capable of making only the most instinctive of groans. 

Finally, he could see. It was dark but flashes of light shone through wooden slats to his left. He looked around, squinting in the darkness and he could see he was surrounded by people, lots of people crammed together, standing still yet moving slightly with the rhythm of the... what? 

The train? 

That was it, he thought. I'm on a train. This made no sense to him. He should have been in a crowd, in an open area full of people all worshipping the sight of their leader, their Fuhrer. Instead, he was... 

He was standing in a corner leaning on the wooden slats of a train carriage. Not a passenger carriage despite the people who were around him. It was a cargo carriage, he thought. Then, no it wasn't for cargo, it was for livestock? 

He turned to the man next to him. He was gaunt, his face drawn and his eye sockets were dark as if they were withdrawing into his skull to avoid experiencing his surroundings. The man stared at Banner without interest or recognition. He wore what looked to Banner like pyjamas, striped black and white. They looked dirty and old and were clearly several sizes too large for the man.  

The smell was atrocious, overbearing. There was sweat, shit, piss, vomit, all ingredients in some revolting recipe. He looked to his shoes and could see he was standing in a swamp of faeces, wet, degrading and unhealthy. The man next to him wore no shoes or socks and the shit was clinging to his toes. Banner took an involuntary step backwards but there was nowhere to go. Some leaked out of a gap in the wooden slats but most was trodden into the carriage floor by his feet and those of people surrounding him. 

'What is this place?' Banner croaked. His voice struggled to assert itself, coming out like a croak. 

The man just stared, there wasn't even any recognition that Banner had spoken. 

'What am I doing here?'  

His voice had started to rise as he could feel the tightness of panic grip his stomach; his larynx twisted and his lungs seemed to empty of oxygen. He could feel bile beginning to thrash inside his gut. 

Several people turned to him but they all had the same disinterested expression. It wasn't disdain, he realised. It was worse. It was as if they had withdrawn from the world and he was an unwelcome interloper, reminding them of the filth they were part of and the desperate lives they now lived. 

'Please?' Banner grabbed the nearest man by his lapels. The man pushed Banner back with the minimum of force but with what seemed the maximum of effort. 

As tears began to fall from his eyes, he remembered the device in his pocket. With trembling hands, he took the device out of his pocket quickly and for one brief moment thought he was going to drop it in his eagerness. A manic laugh escaped him and he started to hyperventilate. 

He grabbed it tightly in time, then held it close to his chest. He tried to control his breathing, to get to grips with his emotion but this just made him more aware of the stench around him. He then opened his hand delicately and held it up to the light from the open slats.  

On the screen there appeared to be a counter indicating that it had been only 90 seconds since he arrived. Just one and a half minutes. Could that be true? Surely it was more than that. It seemed like a small lifetime instead of a mere 90-second interlude of a much longer life. Those bastards at the Institute would pay for this he thought. He would make them fucking pay for this fuck-up. He would release a shitstorm down upon them so great they would be digging themselves out of manure for the rest of their fucking lives. What sick lesson were they trying to teach him? Well, he would teach them. 

This made him feel better, it gave him purpose, it gave him something to fix on. His breath slowed as he sucked it in through his teeth, imagining what he was going to do to that prick Hastings. He would start by raping his whore wife in front of him, ensuring that the doctor saw every last detail.  He would do the same to the Dixon woman too. Maybe he would even do them together. Then, when he was elected, he would use his power to bring down the institute. If there was a future for time travel, he thought, savouring the irony, it would be his to control. 

He moved his thumb over the red button and with one last sneer at the nasty, wretched filth he was surrounded by, he pressed it. 

Nothing happened. He pressed again, this time in panic.  

Nothing. 

Again, and again, and again. 

Still nothing. He became aware that he had begun moaning, loudly. He could feel the tears falling down his face, stinging his eyes just as the recognition of the truth of his situation fully dawned on him. 

He threw to device onto the ground and stomped on it. Its plastic body lay there in pieces beneath his feet. His shoes were unrecognisable, they were caked with crap which was so deep, it soaked his socks. 

He then realised what he had done. He stooped down and picked up the pieces realising the futility of it all. The device was gone, just a lump of plastic covered in shit and piss and vomit. He was stuck. He was trapped. He was here in this stinking train, surrounded by the dredges of civilisation, and there was no way out. 

Deep down he knew who these people were, what they were. Deep down he realised what those fucking doctors had done to him. 

Then he remembered the envelope. 

He reached into his breast pocket and took it out. He held it to the light and ripped it open. Inside was one piece of folded paper. He tore it out with trembling hands and held it to the light. He had to wipe the tears from his eyes before he could read it, the drops falling onto the paper, staining it like a pathetic wax seal. 

He read. 

 *

Dear Mr Banner. 

As you will now realise, you are not at the Nuremberg Rallies. You are not going to witness the spectacle of your hero as he bombastically spreads his creed of hatred. I am sorry for our dishonesty but there was nothing else we could do. 

You see, we have followed you for some time. Your career has been very interesting and there have been many parallels with your hero, I'm sure you will be happy to note. We have followed your rise and recognised the horror that a man like you could unleash. It has, as you know, happened before.  

There are several limits to Time Travel as we have discussed. You can observe but you can't change. We couldn't go back to the '20s and assassinate Hitler because what has happened is fixed. There is no changing. We can't go forward either as this is not fixed so we can't be sure that you would actually become if everything went as you have planned. 

So instead we decided to take the lessons of the past and apply them to the present. You are the present. 

I think it is a fitting irony that the way we decided to dispatch you is the very way your hero dispatched so many others. Some great men and women slaughtered because they were guilty of being Jewish. Something they had no choice about, yet they were condemned. Men, women and children. Yes, children.  

So, we decided that your last journey should be with these very people. We can't save them but we can ask you to share their fate so that, in the last few hours, days or weeks of your life, you would be confronted with who you really are. We are not without humanity though. As you look around you, you will see some very desperate people whom humanity has abandoned. Many have lost their own humanity and the only hope they have is for death to come and rescue them. One of the fundamentals of humanity is the desire to live, to survive. To be stripped of this is the cruellest of atrocities and to hope for it in others, the cruellest of evils. We are not evil and though we have condemned you to this ghastly fate, we pray that the ending comes before what little humanity you possess is taken from you. 

So, I bid you adieu. I can't say it was a pleasure knowing you but we can take great pleasure in what we have done to you. There have been many discussions as to how we can make a difference with our wonderful invention. Please take some comfort in the fact that whilst you are the first, we hope you are not the last. 

Yours 

Drs Hastings, Hastings, Dixon, Dixon & Fellows. 

* 

Banner felt a stab in his heart. He let the paper fall from his hands and disappear into the sludge on the carriage floor.  Outside the train passed through a gap beneath a cold, red stone tower. Banner knew this place. He knew the history; he knew why it was built and he knew the words fashioned in metal over the main gates. 

Arbeit Macht Frei 

Work will set you free. 

[septembriseur]

The scene in which we meet Detective Joe Miller establishes two things about the character in quick succession: first, he’s a “badge,” a cop on Ceres Station; second, he’s a “welwala,” a Belter who is, as Miller puts it, “a traitor to [his] people”— who serves Earth. As we follow Miller, we see that this is a pretty apt description. On a practical level it’s true: the security firm he works for, Star Helix, nominally exists to stop crime and keep the peace on the station, but more often works to keep low-level gangsters from siphoning water from the Earther government’s gardens, to take bribes, and to put down incipient political threats. On a deeper level, Miller also seems to have crafted his self-presentation to reflect this identity. He has a carefully neutral accent, rather than the heavy lilt of most Belters, and though he is fluent in Belter Creole, he almost never employs it unsarcastically— in contrast to other Belter characters, who pepper their speech with kes, keahs, and yas, and toast each other with yam seng. He also dresses like an Earther, as his partner, Dmitri Havelock, points out. When Havelock asks why Miller wears a hat, Miller replies, “It keeps the rain off my head”— a fraught response given that the lack of weather on Ceres means that Miller, born and raised there, has never experienced rain.

Miller’s voice and appearance reflect what is quickly exposed as an internalized resentment of Belters. When a barroom confrontation early in the show’s first episode leads to a sharp reminder from a Belter that “even if he disguises himself, [Miller] is “just like [him],” Miller spits, “I am nothing like you,” and tells the speaker to “take [his] [political] bullshit down to the Medina and wait for the revolution along with the rest of the victims,” implying an ideology that sees claiming victimhood as a way of excusing personal inadequacy. The same scene sees him caught slightly off-guard when, after he points out to his partner the physical deformities by which the Belters in the bar around them can be recognized (baggy skin, shaky muscles, height), Havelock asks him, “What about you?” “What about me?” Miller returns. When Havelock asks, “What’s your tell?” Miller looks uncomfortable at the idea that he too belongs to the category of people whose bodies can be discussed with such casual disregard. The ease with which his “tell” is exposed— a passing Belter jerks back the collar of his shirt and jacket to reveal the bone spurs that run up the top of his spine, explaining that they’re from getting “cheap bone density juice” as a low-gravity child— enrages him, and he drags the Belter off under arrest.

Perhaps even more tellingly, in the fifth episode, while stuck on a transport pod during a power outage, Miller seemingly hallucinates Belter voices describing him as an “Earther’s pet” and commenting darkly that he “doesn’t deserve to breathe the Beltalowda air.” The takeaway here seems to be that Miller loathes himself for being a “welwala” as much as he loathes himself for being a Belter. His response to this unresolvable tension seems to be to regard everything and everyone around him with the same bitter and painful cynicism— an attitude that, however, falls away as the first season of The Expanse approaches its conclusion and Miller evinces a growing sense of Belter identity.

The show seems to suggest that Miller’s evolution is linked to his wistful, one-sided affection for the presumed-dead Julie Mao, who threw away her Earther privilege and wealth in order to save the lives of Belters. Belter political leader Anderson Dawes tells Miller that Miller is “everything [Julie] despised: a Belter who preys on his own kind,” and Miller’s realization that this is the case— that Julie was not only a committed activist for radical Belter political faction the OPA but, in fact, “died for the Belt,” trying to prevent her father’s corporation from testing a bioweapon on Belters— is positioned as a significant step in his personal journey.

The fact that Julie died for the Belt and, moreover, died as a Belter— her body treated as nothing more than material for biological experimentation— is undoubtedly important to Miller. Yet this revelation is inseparable from an experience that I would argue is more important: Miller’s firsthand encounter with the brutality of Protogen’s experiment on Eros, and his resulting awareness that “Belter” is neither a political identity nor a claim of victimhood, but instead a situation of bodily vulnerability that is imposed by systems of power outside of one’s control.

The first hint that something in Miller’s mind is changing comes after he and Holden have been irradiated during the early stages of the experiment on Eros, and have witnessed a shelter full of Belters being deliberately cooked by lethal doses of radiation. Eluding the guards responsible for controlling the experiment, the two duck into an abandoned pachinko parlor. Holden thinks they’ll find a place to hide; Miller responds by saying, “Optimism is for assholes and Earthers. And Belters? We know what’s up. We know the game is rigged. It’s been rigged from the start. Always has been.” It’s one of the few times he has identified himself as a Belter, and comes as he reveals that he was a street rat who became a cop because a friend asked him if he wanted to be an ass or a boot— the one getting kicked, in other words, or the one doing the kicking. “Which one are you now?” Holden asks, and an hallucination of Julie Mao repeats the question, eyeing Miller knowingly. Miller can’t answer the question, perhaps caught in the realization that his current situation demonstrates the falseness of the dichotomy. For Belters, there is no option to not be the oppressed, and believing that one has escaped or can escape this position is a form of self-delusion. (A later scene, in which the Belter guards are refused transport off the station, seems to confirm that “Inners” see no difference between Belters who wield the boot against their own people and those who don’t.)

It’s shortly after this that Miller and Holden encounter a transport pod filled with dying Belters infected by the growing alien protomolecule, and realize the full nature of what’s happening on Eros. The scientists in charge will “watch a hundred thousand people die,” Miller says, “just like bugs in a dish. That’s why they picked Eros. They don’t even consider these people human.” These people are, of course, his people. These people are him. Holden doesn’t seem to really be listening to what Miller says, more preoccupied with the broad political implications of what’s happening: “Mars will accuse Earth of using a bioweapon. Earth will claim it was Mars. The Belt will blame the other two.” He recognizes the tremendous suffering and injustice that are taking place on Eros, but it lacks the full force of the immediacy it has for Miller.

In a curious scene, as Miller and Holden try to reach Holden’s ship, Miller devises a plan to cross the Eros docks by pretending to be a guard and inciting the other guards to revolt. In order to do so, he mimics the radical Belter rhetoric we’ve seen him mock and put down on Ceres: “We’re just meat for their machine… just like all them other Belters back there, ya? …Blood’s on the wall, beratnas! Milowda na animals! [We’re not animals!]” This is play-acting, down to the affected Belter accent. Yet at the same time, perhaps an element of it is not. Blood is literally on the wall, and he has realized that he is just like all the other Belters— seen as no better than an animal, in spite of his willingness to sell himself to Earth. “See, they picked Eros to test their weapon on,” he reiterates to Holden in episode 2x01, “because they knew nobody gives a shit about a hundred thousand Belters.” When Holden insists that the people who carried out the experiment will pay for it, Miller asks, “You still believe that? After everything you saw?”

Miller and Holden escape Eros, and journey to Tycho, where Miller promptly signs on to a Belter mission aimed at taking out the scientists behind the Protogen experiment, despite having no experience in space. When a young Belter gangster whom Miller had previously busted on Ceres expresses astonishment that Miller would be involved in such a thing, Miller says simply, “I was on Eros.” The experience has clearly altered something in him. 

But the most striking example of how much has changed comes after the Tycho mission, when Fred Johnson (the Earther who leads a faction of the OPA) and Holden are interrogating Protogen’s lead scientist. The scientist, Dresden, makes the case that his work is about saving and advancing humanity. “Eros is hardly a rounding error,” Dresden says, in comparison with the lives that other great men in history have taken. He wants to be allowed to continue his work. 

Miller is the only Belter in the room, and throughout the conversation, his eyes track not the scientist, but the reactions of the two Earthers. And when the scientist has finished talking, and Johnson has agreed to work with him, Miller shoots Dresden dead.

The reaction of Johnson and, especially, Holden is one of fury and shock. In fact, they have Miller put in cuffs and treated as a prisoner. The assumption is, as Amos Burton (also an Earther) later says, that Miller shot Dresden as revenge for the death of Julie Mao. Miller wearily attempts to explain that this isn’t the case, but no one seems to buy this. It’s not surprising that the only central character to express agreement with his choice is Naomi Nagata (a Belter), who tells Holden that Holden “can’t understand,” and that Miller “cared about all of us,” demanding to know if Holden really wanted to work out a deal with a man “who casually murdered countless Belters.” (Two Belters who adopt Miller on Tycho— “You one of us now,” they insist— say that they wanted to space all the Protogen prisoners, but that Johnson refused. “Earther,” one of the Belters says, as an explanation.)

Perhaps the most significant scene in Miller’s journey takes place in the tiny Tycho apartment of Diogo, a low-life street kid turned OPA soldier. Miller, shirtless and with his Belter bone spurs visible— a previous scene in which he acknowledged a shared Belter identity with Naomi also saw him shirtless and with the back of his neck exposed— responds to Diogo’s desire for the Belt to rule the system by saying, “System rules you, kid.” (There is a deliberate ambiguity here as to whether Miller is referencing the solar system or some other kind.) Miller continues, regarding himself in the mirror:

“You don’t choose anything. You’re born into it, man. One side or the other. You play it out. When those Inners, they figure out what’s on Eros, they’ll kill every last one of us to get it.”

“Us?” Diogo asks.

“Belters,” Millers says, the camera shooting him from behind so that his malformed spine can be seen. He hesitates for a long moment before clarifying quietly, “Us Belters.”

Diogo stands and goes to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Beltalowda,” he says, with uncharacteristic solemnity— an agreement, or an affirmation, or perhaps simply the only word that can really express what Miller is gesturing towards, which is a solidarity born from the situation that he’s just described. 

The situation of being Beltalowda is not just that of sharing a place or condition of birth, the accident of having been raised on a station in low gravity, but is instead a response to having a body that is excluded from the strictest definition of the human body, being a kind of life that can be extinguished at low cost. To be a Belter is not a choice: Fred Johnson is an Earther who has chosen the Belt as his home and his cause, as Julie Mao also did, but neither of them is subject to the extreme vulnerability of the Belter whose very body (marked by its brittle bones, its inability to tolerate what Chrisjen Avasarala describes as “the gravity of a real planet,” its multiple other physical debilities) participates in dehumanizing assemblages that position Belters as always outside of the whole and universal “human.”

Beltalowda, as a concept, takes this shared vulnerability and transforms it into a defiant kinship. In the scene between Diogo and Miller, Diogo is playing the newest dance track, which he describes as “fresh out of Eros”— a “mad OPA pirate” has hacked the encrypted data stream of sounds emanating from Eros and remixed it with dance beats, creating what Diogo describes as “our anthem,” a “call to war.” The suffering of other Belters has been seized on and made loud, made powerful, and made into something that drives their fellow people. In a sense, though Miller is initially disturbed by the idea of the song, this is exactly what he has experienced: the suffering he saw on Eros has forced him to confront his own dehumanization, which he has tried to escape and always feared, and through that confrontation and the realization that he is a Belter (that he was “born into it,” and being a “boot” (or a badge) will not keep him from being of the ones who get crushed) he has come to an understanding of what it means to be part of Beltalowda, and found unanticipated meaning in it.

It’s this that inspires him to cook up an extreme plan to destroy Eros before the Inners, as he predicted, try to seize it— a plan that he doesn’t seem overly surprised to learn will probably cost him his life. Ultimately, whether it does or it doesn’t is an unusually complicated question, and at the very least, he is united with Julie Mao. But it would be a mistake to assume that his mission is about Julie. Miller is dying, like she did, for the Belt.

[mercybees]

Expanse Fic: and I am coming to you

My prompt fill for @helpless-squeals for the Expanse Fandom Exchange (organized by @the-roci), who asked for Naomi/Drummer, hurt/comfort, related to Drummer's injury. 

This went in a different direction than I thought it would so I hope you still enjoy it. I wanted to try to capture the feeling of waiting and not knowing that comes when someone you love is in danger and you can't be there. I hope I did it justice.

Warnings for canon-typical violence, lots of Belter swearing, and a very brief and non-specific reference to past abuse. 

Spoilers for Season 3

Wordcount: 1243

Read it on AO3 or below the cut. 

Naomi knows. She knows the minute Diogo pulls a gun. Camina wouldn’t have gone with that, too blunt, too obvious. Camina would know, pulling a gun on Naomi’s boys won’t make her compliant, it’ll make her angry. So Camina isn’t in charge anymore. The only question is whether she’s locked up with Holden or if Naomi’s too late and her body’s floating somewhere in space.

‘Drop it Amos,’ she says. She’s loath to give up any advantage with Ashford apparently running this rustbucket but she needs to know what happened here, to find out the truth.

Amos drops his weapon too easily. On anyone one else, she’d say it was a bluff. She’s lost touch with him and she just prays that it isn’t too late to salvage their relationship.

She’s yanked out of her thoughts by Diogo. ‘You’re coming with us,’ he says.

Amos has a gun— not the some one— pointed at Diogo’s stupid head before he’s done speaking. ‘She’s not going anywhere.’

‘She’s a deserter sasa ke? She’s ours by rights.’

Amos might not trust her right now but he’ll still rip out Diogo’s throat and get them all killed.

‘She’s ours,’ snaps Alex, ‘As much as she is anybody’s.’

‘Stay out of our business, pomang,’ says one of the rowdier men by Diogo’s side.

Amos growls and swings the gun at the one who had spoken.

Naomi hovers between annoyance and blind terror. ‘That’s enough boys. No need to get excited. I’ll go.’

‘Like hell you will,’ says Amos.

‘Naomi!’ Alex exclaims at the same time.

She feels like screaming. She doesn’t. ‘Amos put the gun down. I’m going and that’s final.’ Amos looks at her like she can’t be trusted with herself and it makes her even angrier. She grits her teeth and walks slowly over to Diogo’s side of the little stand-off.

Alex looks back and forth between Naomi and Amos like he can’t tell who’s crazier.

‘Cuff her,’ Diogo says to the man who had spoken before.

Who needs to worry about the ring when these idiots are going to get them all killed right here. ‘Mi kom. To na wanya ando nakangepensa.’

Diogo puffs out his chest. ‘Keting sasa to, welwala? ’

Something inside of her snaps. She closes the distance between them in less than a breath. ‘Here is what’s going to happen, sabakawala. You are going to take me to Ashford and the grownups are going to talk or, you can start a bloodbath here and loose more beltalowda for nothing but your pride.’

Diogo’s face turns an interesting shade of red and he tenses as if he wants to hit her but he backs off at the last moment. ‘You answer to da bossmeng, deserter.’

Satisfied she’s out of immediate danger from that quarter, Naomi turns to her boys. ‘I’ll be back with information,’ she says.

Alex looks unhappy but resigned. Amos looks angry but that doesn’t mean much coming from him. They don’t like it but they aren’t going to get themselves killed over it. She turns back to Diogo. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Naomi Nagata,’ Ashford sounds slimy as ever.

‘What happened to Drummer?’ she demands. Did you lock her up? Hurt her? Space her?

‘She was injured during the deceleration,’ he says. It’s too casual, almost dismissive. There is something she’s missing here.

‘Injured how? I want to see her.’

Ashford waves his hand. ‘She is in a healing coma, recovering from surgery and we will not waste an engineer over sentimentality. You will work.’

‘I will work when I see her,’ says Naomi, ‘and Jim Holden.’

‘We have had trouble with our grid and it persists. Fix it and you are free to see whoever you wish.’

‘Is it true am under arrest then?’ she demands.

‘Nothing so crude,’ says Ashford. ‘But you will fix this ship.’

Naomi imagines Camina laying still and pale on a medic’s table. Her blood boils. She should be there. ‘Show me the grid,’ she snarls.

‘This way sesata,’ says a pale skinny man a tattoo that reached across the bridge of his nose.

In time, she thinks. The second they look away I’m coming Camina.

Naomi flings the third door open but it’s just another store room. Where are you Camina? I don’t have much time. She had shorted a circuit and slipped away in the resulting chaos, muttering something about tools as a slapdash cover. It won’t buy her much time. The second someone realizes she’s gone, Diogo and his posse will be looking for her. She tries to put it out of her mind and focus on the search.

Her hand is on the keypad of door number four when she hears a crash and muffled noise of pain from within. ‘Camina?’

The door slides open. ‘What are you doing here?’ The words are bitter and filling with barely controlled pain.

Naomi rushes forward. The other woman’s face is set in hard lines, from pain, or anger, or both. She lays on her back, legs stretched out in front of her, cot propped up a few inches, with a mess of metal and tools on her lap. ‘Camina! Ashford said you were in a coma!’

‘I don’t abandon those who need me.’ Camina won’t look up.

Naomi’s eyes sting but she pushes it aside. ‘What happened? What are you doing?’

Camina finally looks up and her eyes are full of angry tears. Naomi watches her blink them back in numb shock. She’s never seen Camina cry. ‘I crushed half my spine to dust. Ashford, da pashengwala, got me to the medics while you chased after your inyabaratna.’

‘Camina, you know I didn’t leave you,’ says Naomi. She’s crying for real now. She could have lost this woman and not known until too late. But if she had stayed, her boys would be dead. She feels sick.

‘You did,’ Camina is almost shouting now. ‘You left. You walked away for them, just as you promised me you wouldn’t.’

Anger sparks inside Naomi. ‘I had to know you would let me leave. I’m not a thing to be kept locked up Camina.’

‘Are you mine or aren’t you?’ demands Camina.

‘I love you, but you know I’m mine first,’ says Naomi. If anyone should understand this, it’s her.

‘And what am I then?’

‘Mi amolof,’ Naomi manages to say. ‘Tell me what you are doing to yourself?’

Camina’s face goes blank and she hands Naomi a power-cell. ‘Fix this.’

Power-cell . Suddenly it’s clear. ‘If you do this, they probably won't be able to repair the damage organically.’

‘This a war. Mi du keting mi mowteng.’

Naomi grabs a screwdriver and bites her lip. ‘Can I sit?’

‘I can’t stop you.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

Camina gestures for her her sit on the end of the narrow cot. ‘You left.’

‘I came back,’ says Naomi. She takes a screwdriver from Camina’s pile and begins to unscrew the cap. ‘I didn’t leave you.’

After a beat of silence Camina’s hand slips over her own. ‘Kowltim kom bek Naomi.’

‘Always, I will always come back to you.’ She slips the power cell into place and the pile of metal makes a whirring sound.

‘Help me?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Help me and we will walk to Jim Holden’s cell, set him loose, march to the bridge and take back our ship. You and me together.’

‘Kowltim,’ says Naomi. She lays her hand on top of Camina’s. ‘Together.’