#He exposed himself to staff and they still didn't kick him out?

[coochiequeens]

Planet Fitness was allowing and excusing a wanted sex offender because they wanted to respect his so called ‘rights.'” She continued: “Planet Fitness invites children to work out for free in the summer as well as allows pedophiles to use the women’s bathroom…"

By Jennifer Gingrich. September 21, 2023

A man has been arrested for exposing himself to a 15-year-old girl in the locker room of a Planet Fitness gym in Monroe, Georgia. Despite being aware that the man had a history of indecent exposure, Planet Fitness employees reportedly stated the man had a “right” to use the women’s facilities as per the gym’s gender self-identification policy.

JaKorbie Dixon, 25, was arrested on September 14 following a brief manhunt by Monroe Police. Dixon was charged with multiple counts of indecent exposure, all related to incidents at a local Planet Fitness gym. In addition to exposing himself to a 15-year-old girl, Dixon is also alleged to have exposed himself to a 19-year-old female gym employee.

According to the 15-year-old girl’s aunt, Alexis Dempsey-Peel, the teen had been standing near the showers in the women’s locker room when a man pulled back the curtain and stood in front of her, naked.

Dempsey-Peel says her niece had been “shocked and startled” and quickly started to leave the room. Dixon reportedly called out to the girl that she could stay and continued speaking to her as she hastily exited.

Peel said that she and the girl’s mother went to the gym the next day and spoke to the management about the incident.

Although staff told her that they were aware of several other complaints about the man and knew who he was, they insisted he had a right to use the women’s locker room. Staff also promised to warn him not to expose himself to other people.

In a Facebook post, Dempsey-Peel says that her sister left the gym and went immediately to the Monroe County Police Department to file a report. The investigating officer revealed that Dixon had registered at Planet Fitness under a false name.

After discovering his real name, Peel says that the police officer told them Dixon had a warrant out for his arrest in another county for the same crime. Records reviewed by Reduxx show that Dixon was booked into DeKalb County jail on September 14 on a charge of public indecency, but released on September 16. 

In addition, police told the family that Dixon allegedly exposed himself to a 19-year-old female employee of the Monroe Planet Fitness on two separate occasions. He called the front desk in March of this year and asked for a particular employee to come to the women’s locker room. When she arrived, he was naked and attempted to speak to her, asking her to call in another employee, as well.

Weeks before the most recent incident, Dixon again exposed himself to the same female employee in the women’s locker room. She reported that he was also naked during that incident and that “his penis was fully erect.” Police have charged him with indecent exposure for both incidents.

Attorney Bart Benton announced on September 15 that his law firm, Benton & Benton, will be representing the 15-year-old victim’s family in a lawsuit against Planet Fitness.

“We are committed to holding Planet Fitness accountable for its actions,” Benton said. “Our early investigation has revealed that Planet Fitness knew and was on notice of this type of behavior from the perpetrator, but chose to ignore his prior conduct of exposing himself to females in the women’s locker room because he ‘identified’ as a female. This type of behavior is completely unacceptable, and we will fight for justice for our client and make sure that Planet Fitness takes steps to prevent this from happening again.”  

Although Dixon’s LinkedIn profile lists him as a Sensor Operator in the US Air Force, military court records show that he received a Bad Conduct discharge in 2019. The designation came after Dixon was convicted in a court martial of breaking into the dorm room of a female cadet and threatening her.

The female cadet had a male partner in her room, against regulations, and Dixon used a master key card to enter her locked room while she and her male partner were sleeping. He left a note threatening to report her to their sergeant unless she sent the word “yes” to him in a group chat the next day to indicate that she was “willing to cooperate” with him.

In addition to his discharge, he was sentenced to a year in jail for the crime. 

While Planet Fitness has not confirmed that Dixon identified himself to them as transgender, a “Member Gender identity Non-Discrimination Policy” on their website states: “All members, including transgender members, may use Planet Fitness locker room facilities and programs based on their self-reported gender identity; these facilities include bathrooms, showers, and all other facilities separated by sex.”

The policy continues: “Some members may feel uncomfortable with a transgender member using the same locker room facilities, bathrooms, showers, or other facilities/programs separated by sex. This discomfort is not a reason to deny access to the transgender member. Planet Fitness staff should work with members and employees to address this discomfort and to foster a climate of understanding consistent with the judgement-free character of Planet Fitness.“

The policy does acknowledge the possibility that some members might take advantage of these rules and falsely claim to identify as transgender merely to use the facilities of the opposite sex, and outlines a procedure in which a staff member “who has been trained on Planet Fitness policy and practices with regard to transgender members” may speak to a member who is suspected of lying and “in rare cases,” request documentation that supports the member’s stated gender identity.

On Facebook, Peel expressed her outrage that Planet Fitness had continued to allow Dixon to use the women’s facilities even after he had exposed himself to their employee, writing: “Planet Fitness was allowing and excusing a wanted sex offender because they wanted to respect his so called ‘rights.'”

She continued: “Planet Fitness invites children to work out for free in the summer as well as allows pedophiles to use the women’s bathroom… it’s like they are creating an environment for these perverts to come and just enjoy themselves. I canceled my membership, and so has my sister!”

[general-cyno]

ehh it's just me musing but. I do find it a little curious that (depending on who likes whom I guess) cora is usually either seen as some saintly flawless goofy figure or a brainwashed cop who got killed because he refused to try and save his brother. I do think his character is not exactly easy to pinpoint, considering he appears for a very short time and in a flashback nonetheless, plus the fact that he's dead means no further fleshing out of his character - broadly speaking - outside of the people who knew him and are willing to provide insight on what he was like, though that'd still be kinda biased.

however I believe there's actually a bunch of things that were straight up shown and some that can be pieced together from what little panel/screen time he had: ie how he's seemingly more bad tempered, impulsive and violent than he's portrayed as in fanon at times, albeit motivated by his own priorities at the moment (trying to kick the shit out of law to stop him from exposing cora to doflamingo) + his sense of what's right and wrong and to whom it applies (punching medical staff and setting hospitals on fire for mistreating law, whom he'd been trying to help).

specifically about the navy and doflamingo part... it irks me a little, tbh. partly because it removes what little agency cora had during the flashbacks and sort of waters down his motivation to stop his brother. it's not just whatever crimes doflamingo was committing or planning to back then and the navy wanting to put a stop to that - the thing is that cora was influenced, at least to an extent, to oppose doflamingo based on their childhood experiences with (ofc) the more negative ones, which include doffy murdering their father right in front of him, overshadowing anything else. as he tells law, cora can't fathom how their kind parents could've borne someone as evil as his brother. and yet. that's the other thing. cora was very much a child, and younger than doflamingo at that, when the elder DQs chose to leave marijoa and all that it entailed after. between all the traumatic events he lived through and later being raised by a marine (sengoku of all people), I'll be the first to say his perception of those events, of their parents and doffy himself is not really the most unbiased or reliable. we don't see him questioning the existence of celestial dragons (beyond warning law he's in danger when cora finds out about the D) nor the nature of the WG/the marines and the antagonistic role they play in OP's universe. we didn't have him long enough for those things to be put to question deeply anyway, especially not wrt to doflamingo, so imo it makes sense that his focus wasn't on "saving" but stopping him.

that said... he does witness the worst of it, kind of. through law. law is the very reason why I don't agree with the idea of cora being simply a brainwashed cop. this guy watched how people (those who should care) mistreated, dehumanized and demonized a sick child over prejudices caused by the lies the nobles and WG itself relied on to sweep their own corruption under the rug. he saw first hand how all those doctors ran to call the WG to kill the child and how they answered to do that. and what did he do? he lied and betrayed the organization he'd been part of (presumably for more than the years he spent undercover) and the man who'd raised him like a son just to save the kid that everyone, even the so called justice, had turned his back on and would've gotten rid of if given the chance. heck, when he first brought up the topic of law with sengoku, the man basically told him not to favor him too much for it could jeopardize his mission.

but perhaps the biggest proof is that he lied to law about being a marine when the latter directly asked if cora was one. as he later admits, cora lied to him about this because he didn't want law to hate him - and knowing all law lived through (flevance), seeing some of it himself (their hospital shenanigans) and what law told him as well, cora knew he had plenty of understandable and justified reasons to hate anyone ever slightly associated with the marines or the WG, including cora. to me, someone who's completely blinded by the navy/WG propaganda and follows their every order to the letter without thought wouldn't have denied his own affiliation nor been so determined to ditch being a marine and make an enemy out of those institutions (even if that also meant betraying his father figure) just to save, protect and do right by a child who'd been clearly failed by them. at no point did cora ever try to argue that Not All Marines, much less express any other sentiments of that sort to law.

on a similar vein, despite insisting doflamingo was evil and an agent of destruction - law is also the proof cora was somewhat aware that his brother (and people like doflamingo) normally don't pop out of nowhere and do Terrible Things just because. that maybe in other (better) circumstances, doffy might've become someone different and/or made different choices. after all, cora is the one who points out the similarities between doflamingo and law, and eventually does his best to turn law's life around so that he won't follow the same path. should he have tried to save doflamingo as well? when? how? would it have worked? who knows. and if you ask me, regardless of their similarities at that moment in time, doffy was already a grown ass man compared to law and cora himself was just an even younger kid when shit hit the fan in their childhood. I'm not sure doflamingo (as an adult) would've been particularly receptive of "help" either, considering his disdain for the kindness in cora and their father that he saw as a weakness. not to mention waaay too many other factors that come into play also (trebol and co's grooming and influence for example). still, one of them did pull the literal trigger in the end and it wasn't cora, so there's that.

all in all, for a character with such a short lived amount of time in the story - cora is quite the complex one and so very compelling. characterizing him as just strictly one thing or the other can be a little reductive but the fact that his character can be explored beyond that in the first place (once more, despite his lil bit of alive and onscreen moments) is what's fun and says a lot about the writing itself.

[akingdomscrypt]

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Four

Pairing; König x male!reader (slow burn)

Word Count; 11.7k (I almost died editing this)

Warnings; dehumanization (of reader), drowning (nightmare?), slight panic, mentions of past torture (of reader), implied human trafficking (of reader)

A/n; Was going to have both chapters out on Halloween buuuuut this one ended up far longer than originally anticipated.

--- "trojan horse" ---

Lights out was over several hours ago. And yet here König was. Watching. Straining his ears to catch every small hitch in your breath, every twitch of your exposed fingers.

Making sure you didn't suddenly die off, really.

That would be inconvenient.

Going through all this trouble catching you just to have you die under his supervision? That would be all of the team's–all of his–time washed down the drain. And he couldn't have that, now could he?

Which is why he had dealt with your antics this morning. You had refused to eat, refused to even drink in front of him. He had assumed it to be the mask–a gross, filthy thing you still haven't removed–that kept you from putting valuable nutrients in your body. König could understand that, he wasn't the most enthusiastic about barring his deformities to strangers either.

Would it aid in the healing of your various wounds right now and probably lessen the time he had to spend categorizing every out-of-place movement you made? An obvious yes. But he wasn't your friend here, he wasn't in charge of making sure you were 'comfortable'. König was here to make sure you didn't kill anyone, yourself, or escape.

Besides–though probably sped up with how much of a beating your body had sustained–you could most likely go for another day or two without it before starvation kicked in. So he dropped the subject and let you sleep some more.

He was regretting that decision now. Somewhere after 1400, you had succumbed to one of the worst fevers he'd seen in his time. Panting like a dog and sweating buckets despite the cool air of the compound. Eyes glazed over and unfocused, you didn't even respond to your name. Not unless he shouted it in your face and snapped his fingers.

Even that was shoddy at best.

It was now somewhere between 0000 and 0100. König had decided to wait until morning to see if your fever lessened, or at the very least improved. Sure, you were a subject of interest, high interest even, but he wasn't about to rouse Colonel Vargas's medical staff for something that ended up not being an emergency.

His hesitation definitely had nothing to do with how terrified you'd looked yesterday when he had first mentioned it.

The sun had risen and you hadn't. Fever broken? Not yet. Though you were.. semi-conscious. You had been switching between mumbling words under your breath that he didn't understand–and was pretty sure was a language he didn't know–to looking like fresh roadkill; cold, limp, and staring blankly at the ceiling.

He thought you had died a handful of times. You'd even halted breathing once or twice. Then, like magic, as soon as he'd go to page Price about your near comatose state, you'd go back to drawing in deep, exaggerated breaths–if a little wheezy on the exhale.

König had decided to give you until noon before he finally called someone in to check on you.

It would be pointless, he reminds himself, if he brought someone in just for you to snap out of it when they arrived.

So he took to treating your wounds every other hour. The source of your fever, he determined, was likely infection. Surprised? Not at all. König had gotten a front-row seat to how downright filthy your injuries were when he stitched them up.

Each fresh bandage would come away just as soiled as the last when he switched them out. Coated in specks of blood here and there, yes, but an overwhelming majority was yellowish-green goo. After he'd gotten that to be somewhat manageable, König had started to apply an antiseptic over the sloppy sutures after each cleaning.

So far, under his own wishes, no one else had come into the room. He's pretty sure at some point one of the team had come by with breakfast.

König hadn't opened the door.

He, himself, wouldn't be too fond of enemies visiting him while he was so vulnerable, so why should he subject you to that? Because you are the enemy here. Because your comfort shouldn't matter.

König had only left the room a handful of times since they brought you in. Mostly to fetch a quick snack or just stretch his limbs–to get away from the stagnant, suffocating air of the room. It was, technically, his job at the moment, and wasn't at all surprising no one had come to drag him away. Which meant less time spent around crowds of soldiers he was unfamiliar with, so he wasn't complaining.

It's not until just before dusk, on the third day, that your fever finally breaks. König notes how you've stopped shivering so excessively, how the bandages he just disposed of were considerably less full of gunk. Still an angry reddish color, still a little swollen, but much less than it had been.

Another hour passes before you regain consciousness. Your words are still a bit slurred and there's a certain haze of confusion consuming your eyes, but it's much better than you've looked since they found you.

He doesn't rush to your side, doesn't make any move to assist you in figuring out where you are, or help you orientate yourself. No. He sits in the chair he's been stuck in for a little over three days and waits for you to notice him.

He doesn't coddle you when panic flashes through your irises or try to explain who he is. He doesn't even speak.

König simply stands up and makes his way to the small, en-suite bathroom and fills up the same paper cup he's offered you multiple times over. By the time he is at your side and offering the cup, he picks up on the recognition now replacing that fear.

And a hint of apprehension, but that's not his problem.

"Drink." When you give that firm shake of your head once again, he's not exactly overflowing with shock. Not even a little miffed. König just urges the flimsy cup closer and repeats himself, though a little more firm this time, "drink."

You–finally, for fuck's sake–take the cup, shaky hands and all. Then proceed to do that weird squint of your eyes at him that he's come to associate as something you do before spouting your typical bullshit. It had happened when he'd interrogated you. Then again when you pulled that little stunt in front of Price–König had still yet to deal with all of that.

Some would call it avoidance, König preferred to call it self-preservation.

And that is why this time König cuts you off before you even open your mouth.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Maus. Drink." Too friendly. "You're of no use to me if you are delirious from dehydration. Drink."

This would all be much easier to deal with if you would just stop looking at him like that.

"What. What is it?" König grits out, letting the irritation that's been welling up inside him since day one finally seep into his tone. He hasn't even gotten more than maybe a few hours of sleep because of you! He's tired, and, yes, maybe he's a little more on edge than usual. But if you could just- stop looking at him like that.

"My bag." It takes König a little longer than he'd like to admit to realize you were even speaking. A little more to decipher what you just said. It sounded more like 'ma bach' to him.

"And? What about it?" König vaguely remembers you dropping an overstuffed duffle when he'd restrained you in that rundown complex.

"Need it." Again, it sounded more like 'ned ehh' to his ears.

"For what?" What could you possibly do with that? The team had not left it behind. Had brought it with them in case there was some decent evidence in there. Something to incriminate you with so they could keep you longer. There wasn't. "To drink?"

A nod. Alright. That's progress. He can do that.

"Wait here." Ha.

It's funny.

Because you can't leave.

König thinks he's hilarious.

It takes very little convincing on König's part to get Soap to hand it over to him. After all, they had not found anything to convict you with inside the bag. All that was required was the removal of many, many sharp objects, both hidden and not–seriously, how did that even fit there?–, before Price gave the okay and Soap handed it over.

Not before their charming Scotsman made a snide comment of, "what, he think ye poisoned it or somethin'?" But that was irrelevant.

With nothing more than a shrug, König was on his way back to you.

You sit up when the door opens then clicks shut again, lightly panting behind your mask. The little cup of water had been abandoned on the floor beside the cot. Useless to you at the moment.

You don't look up at the other man until the heavy bag is placed at the foot of the bed and, subsequently, your legs. You send him a brief glare before reaching down to pull the duffle into your lap.

While you rummage around through the mess they had made of your bag–praying to a god you don't believe in that they didn't take it out, that would be extremely inconvenient right now–König retrieves the water.

"You know," he says at the same time that white paper cup enters your peripheral. "Would be a lot easier if you just took that off. It's filthy."

You look up with your eyes only, narrowing them as your fingers finally wrap around the cool piece of metal you'd been searching for–not even close to the little pocket you'd left it in.

You don't take your eyes off of him as you pull it out–a thin, reusable straw–other hand reaching up to take the cup. Placing the metal straw inside, adjusting the height of it so it doesn't fit inside too awkwardly.

You would take the damn thing off if you could.

One hand holding the cup, the other deftly keeps the straw in place as you bring it to your face. Slipping it under the small slit in your mask, just below your mouth.

There was only one problem.

You can't.

The cloth was filthy; coated in mud and plant matter, bodily fluids and the sort. You'd give anything to have it removed.

Removed.

Because you couldn't simply take the damn thing off. Couldn't replace the ratty old thing. Not unless you paid a visit to your home base, and you'd rather fucking die than do anything of the sort.

You could tell him. König would probably remove it, or have someone else take it off for you. Not because he was interested in your comfort, no, but because it would be beneficial to his cause.

Something inside you, some mental blockade, keeps you from uttering those words. Keeps that freeing phrase lodged in your throat.

Besides, it wasn't always this dirty. You cleaned it.. sometimes. Whenever you could. It was awkward and involved a lot of water being sprayed at your face–and after nearly waterboarding yourself the last time, you weren't too eager to do it again.

"Thanks." You mumble when you finish off the small cup. You mean it; the cool water was refreshing after being deprived of it for so long. Soothing your sore throat and filling your empty stomach.

"More?" König asks, reaching out a gloved hand–bloodied, worn glove. Your blood.

All you can do is nod and pass it back to him; you are parched. It would take a lot more than a tiny cup to make up for days without proper hydration.

You end up having König refill the cup a few more times before you finally just place it on the ground again. Then you fold up the straw into a smaller stick, tuck it into your pocket, and lean back against the wall.

You're hit with a wave of exhaustion as you do so, muscles still sore and injuries aching. Distantly so, your shoulder burning, thigh throbbing, but infinitely better. You made sure to make a conscious effort to keep your previously relocated shoulder in place; still feeling a dull pain where the bones interlocked.

Being pretty experienced in the realm of having your body manipulated and pushed to its limits, you knew keeping the joint as immobile as possible was your best bet for a speedy recovery.

You just wanted to get some fucking sleep.

Having been surviving off an hour or two of sleep every other day, your body was fully prepared to take advantage of the lack of action. To finally catch up on all the rest you'd been missing out on.

Sleep deprivation was nothing new to you, you were built and molded to withstand far worse–you just didn't want to. Not if you could finally take a moment to yourself; even if that meant spending it in enemy territory.

König would probably let you sleep; more about keeping you in a decent enough shape. A part of you resisted the idea still–even if another insisted you should take advantage of healing as much as you could before torture was inevitably introduced. Your mind is just barely present enough to keep you from letting your guard down anymore than you already had.

Vaguely, you recall the other man hovering over you once in a while while you were delirious from the fever. The memories drift in and out of your half-conscious mind, just barely out of reach, but you get the impression König was tending to your wounds as you slept. Keeping you alive and in just barely good enough shape for whatever he and his crew of misfits wanted from you.

Hell, you couldn't care about that right now. Couldn't muster any part of you to give a single fuck about what they wanted you for; when you'd offered yourself up it had been out of anger. Desperation. Wanting to get some petty revenge on your handler. Now you were.. not necessarily regretting it, but you weren't fond of it anymore either.

"Should get some sleep." König's voice breaks your quickly spiraling thoughts. Looking up, you notice the man is still standing. If you didn't know any better, you'd almost said the behemoth of a man appeared nervous. Standing there, hovering by the door, bright blue eyes locked on you, bloody, gloved fingers twitching now and again.

You only give a soft hum of acknowledgment, keeping your own gaze pinned on his. You notice how the literal giant mass of muscle and cloth shifts his weight now and again. Anxious, you'd say, awkward.

"It's late, and you need to heal." König continues when you don't say anything. You'd find it funny–seeing the intimidating pillar of a man acting so skittish–if you weren't so fucking tired. "I'll leave you to it then."

And with that, König leaves. You had half a mind to call out to him, to ask him to stay. That, for once in your life, you didn't really want to be alone.

That this room too closely resembled the one that haunted you still, even after all these years. Too cold, too dull, too sterile.

But that would ruin whatever picture of you he held in his mind. Would look too much like cowardice. Because you should be able to handle it, you shouldn't be so damn terrified when confined within four walls. Should be better than this.

So you don't raise your voice, don't ask him to stay. Can't force the vibration into your vocal cords, can't help but feel that doing so would make you look weak. Instead, you watch as König turns on his heel and opens the door, shutting and locking it firmly behind him with a dull click.

At least König had left the light on. You're almost certain you would've spiraled if he hadn't.

Silence ate at you when alone. Only indoors, though. When you were outside and could smell the fresh air through your mask, the wind against your exposed skin, and hear the crunch of leaves and foliage under your boots; that was a whole other story.

Tolerable. Comforting, even. Not this. Never this.

It is better, when you take a look at the bigger picture. Better than that smaller, dark room. Pitch black, unable to even see your own hands in front of you. Can reach out an arm but only extend it halfway on either side before your fingers brush cold metal.

Better than the water.

Frigid liquid starts in a slow trickle from the four corners of the box–The Box–and gradually fills it up. Until you're drowning. Until you're forced to take that final breath, bitter, freezing water–was it even water??–leaking into your mouth. Staining your tongue; having to choose between risking spitting it out, taking the chance of more replacing what is dispelled, or holding it in your mouth until you're free again. But not swallow, never swallow.

You can hear her. Hear all of them. Talking, whispering, laughing. Not the other Predators, not them, not the ones like you.

Her. You've never seen her. It's her and a few of her associates, then your handler. Your handler doesn't laugh. She's silent. But you know she's watching, know she's counting down each second until your release.

Your chest is seizing, trying desperately to force you to take a breath, to draw in air. You have to ignore it, ignore the impulse, even as your chest screams, your lungs burn, as your brain begins to grow fuzzy from lack of oxygen.

You can hear every vile word spoken, every taunt and joke made at your expense. The implants permanently placed into your skull allowing you to hear every rustle of clothing, every dehumanizing spat. No matter how badly you'd like to tune it all out.

They know you can hear them. Can hear the whisper of her adding more time, the surprise that you haven't fainted yet, the mutterings calling you it, the scribbling of pen on paper.

They know you can hear. And that's exactly why they do it. Why they call you it, a thing, nothing more than a tool. An object. A product made to be contracted, be rented out to greedy generals, but not a person. Never a person.

Only a thing.

Made to be used. To be trained. To take orders without question. Like a dog–like a mutt.

You're failing. You can feel it. The lack of oxygen to your brain is starting to affect you, exhaustion weighing heavily on your submerged body. Your limbs have long since lost feeling, numb where they lay somewhere in The Box.

You can't hear them anymore. Only your own hazy mind, your own pounding heart. You're failing, falling, giving out.. can't last,

Slow heartbeat, dull, harsh thuds in your ribcage,

Numb, tingling limbs,

Soaked body, soaked mind, soaked and heavy clothes,

Weighing you down,

down,

down,

down.

You wake with a start, sucking in a sharp lungful of air, eyelids snapping open. Adjusting to a bright, bright room.

You're not in The Box. You're here. Where exactly here is, you have no idea.

You don't even remember falling asleep.

The first thing König does when he leaves you is take a shower. He's absolutely filthy. Or at least that's how he feels after not having the chance to wash away the sweat and blood from the day of your capture. For almost a week.

He feels gross and sticky in his own body, and König finds himself even more relieved than usual that he hadn't had to interact with many people. Didn't quite feel like burning their sense of smell out for good.

Sure, he was a soldier. Sure, there were times when he had to go a few days without a proper shower. That didn't make it any better.

His mother had taught him good hygiene, amongst other important things, and he'd be damned if he didn't listen to her. Even from across the globe.

The water–though lukewarm and lacking pressure–feels good on his unwashed skin. König had to duck down a bit to clean his shaggy, russet hair and upper torso, but that wasn't anything new. Majority if not all showers and other everyday things were often too small for him.

With the exception of the one in his mother's home. The two of them had broken down and reconstructed his small, personal bathroom in ninth year, when he hit a sudden growth spurt and it was clear he wasn't stopping anytime soon.

König had always been a tall, lanky child. This fact had been the source of his insecurity since he started school–the other kids latching onto this fact and using it against him. He stood out, and that, coupled with his chronic social anxiety, only made him an easy target.

He had been ashamed of his height then–often hunching in on himself in a vain attempt to seem smaller than he was–, but that was not the case now. König's height was an advantage in his line of work, something he had grown to be proud of over the years. Especially now that he put so much time and effort into turning his body into the perfect fighting machine through bulky muscle and healthy fat.

König still didn't particularly enjoy standing out, but it was better when what was once an insecurity for him was met with a healthy dose of fear and awe.

Thankfully, no one was there but him. The majority of the other people on the base are most likely having dinner around this time.

So he secures a towel around his waist and, feeling thoroughly refreshed and almost like a new man after his shower, he steps out of the tiny, curtained-off room and into the main part of the communal locker room.

Having no one else around gave König the opportunity to pull out a clean, sharp knife and delicately carve away the scruffy stubble along his jaw and upper lip–the hairs always poked through the layers of fabric on his face and it bothered him.

König's work was quick and efficient, much like most of the things he did. Running the smooth blade over and between the rises and dips of his skin. Scar tissue didn't grow hair, obviously, but the annoying spaces in between marred flesh did, so that's what König was shaving off.

Seeing his own face didn't bother him, despite what most would probably think. König sometimes thought the scars were cool; it really added to his scare factor. Then again, so did the hood he wore.

He didn't wear the fabric draped over his face because he was insecure or ashamed of his scarring–König actually considered himself a pretty average-looking man, minus the scars. It was more for anonymity and he really, really didn't feel like dealing with all the stares it would garner everywhere he went. It also helped König with his social anxiety to have that thin cloth separating him from everyone else. And he'd be damned if he was going to let his scars become the new target instead of his height.

It's still too early to return to you or go to bed himself when König finishes. He ends up throwing on the fresh clothes he'd brought with him, tugging on a more everyday mask in place of the hood, and pulling his still-damp hair into a loose low ponytail. Keeping the wild, wavy strands out of his face–the ends of it just barely brushing his shoulders.

Then König gathers up his filthy clothes and gear and makes his way into the hall. This facility isn't exactly new to him, had been here a few times with the rest of the team, but that didn't make it any less confusing to be in. Still a bit foreign to him.

Even so, he manages to find his way back to the room he'd left you in, drop off his clothes–and hide his gear somewhere he knew you couldn't reach–, then to where his teammates sat chatting in the common room.

Ghost sat on one side of the room, the furthest end of the couch, with Soap squeezed in right next to him. The two communicating in low rumbles and small chuckles. Rudy sat on the other end of that same couch; talking in soft mutterings to the man sitting in the chair to his left.

Gaz was, surprisingly, not currently present, but Price was. Sitting tense and deep in thought in one corner of the sofa opposite the other, scrolling through something on his phone.

Shit. Price. He doubted the captain would bring up that little stunt you pulled a few days ago in front of Alejandro and Rudy, but König couldn't be too certain.

He's about to back out of the room when Soap calls out his name–damn him. Not really, but König was hoping to leave undetected. A little difficult for a man of his size, but still.

"König! There ye are, haven't seen ye in ages."

König freezes in his tracks, sending the Scot a small, professional smile from behind his mask.

"You saw me this afternoon, Soap."

"Righ', righ'." Soap waves off, giving König a more playful grin than the taller man had put on. "S' wha' the lad need with the damn thin' anyhow? He pull out somethin' 'tae test it or..?"

König, resigning himself to his fate, walks over to take a seat on the same couch as Price. On the furthest end from their captain.

"A straw."

This gets Ghost's attention. "'M guessin' he didn't take the mask off for ya then?"

"Didn't expect him to." Price looks up from his phone then, all three of the other men giving him a deadpan stare.

"Do not look at me like that." König grumbles, attention tuning in to the approaching footsteps.

"Don't look at who like what?" Gaz says as he enters the room, several random snacks in hand, giving them all a curious look. When his gaze lands on König, Gaz gives a small, half-grin and chucks one of the snacks at him. "What are you guys on about?"

König fumbles a bit, but catches what looks to be some type of protein bar? He gives Gaz an appreciative nod and replies,

"Nothing important."

At the same time, Soap says,

"König's wee fixation."

König sends Soap a glare, tearing open the package. Gaz shrugs, walking over to seat himself between König and Price. Nonchalant, as if none of this is new to him. He throws a few snacks at the other men as well as he sits.

"It is not a fixation." König grumbles, sounding more like a petulant child than the grown-ass man he is. He spares a glance towards Rudy, who seems amused by the whole thing, then Alejandro, who is now tapping away on his phone. Neither of them seem to be paying any special attention to him specifically, so König decides to tug the mask down.

He's hungry, dammit, and, out of all people, this little group right here were the last ones König would expect to make jabs at his scars.

"Oh, it's not?" Price. The man looks a little amused. König is not. "Then what would ya call him, hm?"

"A subject of interest." The first bite of the protein bar unlocks a ravenous hunger in König that the man hadn't been anticipating. Made sense, really, considering he hadn't been taking the greatest care of himself while watching over you these past few days–had a habit of forgetting when he got involved in something. Food included.

As König had expected, no one even bats an eye at his revealed face, and König feels as though a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Much like Ghost, the others had all seen him before–Price especially, the man had his file after all–and still didn't look at König differently. Which had also been a great relief, knowing he didn't have to hide his disfigured skin from what had become his, fairly close, teammates.

"Riiight." Soap drawls, opening the small bag Gaz had thrown at him. "Tha's what we're callin' this then?"

"There is no this, Soap." König says after he swallows his last bite, crumbling up the wrapper and shoving it into his pocket to throw out later. He was still practically starving, but he figured he could find something else later. He pulls the mask back up.

"He is needed to further our investigation."

"An' tha's why ye stayed with 'im fur several days?"

"Without once leavin', I might add." Ghost tacks on, a slight crinkling in the corners of his eyes that tells König the man also finds his suffering humorous.

It's not entirely true. König had left. Once and a while when you seemed mostly stable. Not that the others would know this considering he never crossed paths with them.

"Had to make sure he didn't die."

"Speaking of the him in question," Alejandro–the fucking saint that he is–interrupts, flicking his eyes around the room and pocketing his phone. "Just who exactly did you guys bring onto my base?"

"Yeah," Rudy tacks on. "Into our country, no less."

König, a little more than surprised Price hadn't informed the two men who were currently housing them and their prisoner, sends Price a look that says just as much.

"I was going to have this discussion a lot sooner," Price rumbles, "but I was waiting for you to join us, König."

König frowns at this, a slight pull on his eyebrows as he observes his Captain.

"Waiting for me?"

"Ye did kinda ignore us fur the past few days."

"Too occupied with his, mm, subject of interest, 't join us." Ghost adds, still not out of his playful mood, it seemed.

Gaz sends König a brief, amused glance before turning away again.

König ignores the two bastards on the other side of the room and keeps his own gaze on Price instead.

"Why did you need me, Captain?" König really was a little confused.. he had only been with the bunch for almost a year. During the tail end of the team's hunt for literal missiles and so on. He wasn't exactly a.. to put it bluntly, a vital part of the team.

"You shared a few words with him before we came here." Oh no. This now felt more like an intervention than anything. "I need to know what those were."

Alejandro looks between the two with a puzzled expression of his own. "Were you not with them, Captain?"

"I was," Price doesn't take his eyes off König. König suddenly finds a spot on the floor very interesting. "They weren't speakin' in a language I could understand."

This only confuses the two men further, both of whom share a quick glance. A silent conversation between them. Then König feels both of their eyes on him.

His skin crawls, he feels exposed, he shouldn't have come out here, he should've worn the hood.

König's words suddenly feel stuck in his throat, and he clears it subtly.

"It wasn't relevant to the mission, sir." He mumbles, still refusing to tear his gaze away and look over at his captain.

"So you say." Price replies easily. "And yet you still won't tell me."

"He.." König hesitates, starting up a nervous bounce of his knee. "He asked me if I had considered his- his.. offer."

"His offer?" Price asks at the same time Gaz says, "Did you?"

"He is here, isn't he?"

"Is there anything you all know about the stranger you've brought into my home?" Alejandro says, drawing the conversation back onto its track.

There's a small, tense pause before anyone speaks up.

"We, uh.. we know he was abandoned..?" Gaz says, turning to Price. "..right?"

"As far as we know, yes."

König takes that moment to glance up, catching the slight widening of Rudy's eyes.

"Is that all you know?"

Another silence.

"I'd ask if he's dangerous, but I feel that much is obvious." Alejandro deadpans, sighing before continuing, "How long have you been on his tail? Do you have a file?"

"Yes."

"..is there much in it?"

"..no."

Another sigh, Rudy this time, before the same man asks,

"What exactly did you all expect to gain by keeping him?"

Soap lands a very pointed stare on König.

"Don't you dare, Soap." König mutters quickly. "It is not a.. fixation, it's a-"

"A subject of interest, right." Ghost huffs, mood dimmed a little more back to his usual self to König's great relief.

"He said he could help-"

"Yes, an' help with what exactly-"

"-d'ye think he'd-"

"-pretty sure he'd be able to if we asked him-"

"Ay!" Rudy barks out, snapping the other men's focus towards him. "Does this guy even have a name?"

Oh. Right.

"Mouse." They all say in unison, sans Price, before returning to their conversation.

"Mouse?" Alejandro muses. Then he turns and mutters a few quick words to Rudy in Spanish, the other man snickering in turn.

König couldn't blame him, they'd all been pretty amused by it when they first heard it, too. Made only more entertaining once one noticed how small you were. Not just when compared to König, but all of them.

König was pretty certain he'd seen literal children much taller than you.

"Strange name and what-ifs aside," Price sighs, then looks over at König. "Is he stable?"

"Yes."

"Alive, stable, or able to do a quick run with us, stable?"

".. I would give him a few days more," König answers, taking a second to think it over first. "Then he should be able to walk straight."

Pride nods. A tad confused, König asks,

"Did we get a hit, sir, is that what this is about?"

"We do have.. something."

"And?" Ghost this time, their tiny conversation having drawn the attention of all the other men in the room.

"And." Price emphasizes. "Laswell and her fiends of informants have given us an approximate 't the bomber's possible location."

"Here?" Alejandro says at the same time Soap says, "where?"

"It is nearby..ish," Price says. "A border city. I don't have any of the specifics right now, but we will know more within the week."

He then gives König a pointed look, "A few days from now. That should be plenty 'a time for Mouse to recover, yes?"

"Ja," König agrees, not knowing if it was true but, well, they just needed you to not pass out every other minute and be able to walk on your own. "Can I ask what we need him for?"

"You said it yourself he wanted to help." There were two types of Price smiles; warm and welcoming or deceivingly threatening. This time was one of the latter. "I say we bring him along as a sort of.. test. See if his story holds up under pressure."

"Not to overstep, Captain, but couldn't you use.. other tactics to get the truth from him?" Alejandro asks. "If you want, I'm sure I could get some of my men to-"

"No." König cuts in before Price can respond, the former giving the Colonel what could only be described as a death stare.

"Why not? Certainly, it would help speed things along-"

"I appreciate the offer, Colonel, but there is a sort of.." Price narrows his gaze at König, silently conveying a clear command for the other man to shut his mouth. König huffs, looking away. "An unspoken agreement against using the more traditional methods of gathering information."

"Cannae be harmin' König's wee fixation, now ken we?" Soap's light jab dissolves the slight tension that had been building in the room.

And, for once, König finds himself grateful for the tease. Though he still gives a bemoaned,

"It is not a fixation!"

You're tense, König can tell. He also gets the feel it has more to do with something other than the fact you were.. well, not in a cell. But a confined room. Definitely not the same thing.

König visited you less often now that you weren't at risk of bleeding out or dying of infection in your sleep. The man had assumed you'd be, maybe not ecstatic, but relieved that he wasn't around as often. It appeared that his absence had caused the opposite effect.

You ate.. some, and when he wasn't around. Drank, too, whenever you felt like it. Your injuries were healing spectacularly as well; no longer open, leaking wounds, but instead slightly irritated, closed lines. Would definitely scar, but König knew that was probably the least of your worries.

It frustrated him to no end that he couldn't figure out what was wrong with you–it wasn't physical, that much was obvious. You were a puzzle he couldn't decipher, and that left an unpleasant taste in König's mouth.

He was about ready to burst after two days of dealing with your attitude–not at all playful like it usually was–and bitter mood. Mentally preparing himself to just ask you straight out–even though it wasn't at all guaranteed he'd get an answer–when it all came to a head on day three.

You are about ready to combust when the door clicks open; breathing quick, heavy gulps of air while you pace the length of the small room. Having pulled on your gloves–finding an extra pair in your bag–for the first time in over a week, you were now using the familiar feel of rough fabric to ground yourself. Rubbing it over the skin of your forearms in quick, aborted motions.

Why did she leave? She abandoned you. The full weight of your situation was just now hitting you– she abandoned you.

Were you really that much of a fucking problem? You tried, you really did, tried not to be too much of a drag on her–but you had a habit of racking up stacks of paperwork like they were trophies.

You had always been her most problematic subject; having the blood of one of your own squad mates on your hands didn't help either. But you tried, you tried so hard to make up for it–that's one of the main reasons you had gone on this years-long solo operation.

To take a bit of the weight, the workload that was simply you, off your handlers' shoulders.

When did you become too much? When had she decided she didn't want you anymore?

Was it the murder? The attempted escape–a foolish thing really, you'd never felt so stupid–, the snarky attitude? The way you pushed and pushed and pushed and never let up?

What were you even supposed to do now? You'd never been without that voice in your ear, telling you what to do and when to do it–you didn't know what to do with yourself without it.

"Maus?" Shit. Right. You'd forgotten König was there.

"What." You grit, not even bothering to look up as you continue to pace. Back and forth, back and forth- Repetition, now that was something you knew.

"Sit down. All this pacing is.. stressing me out."

You pause, feet anchoring to the ground as you lock onto the other man.

"Oh?" You huff, feeling the panic begin to morph into the more familiar, welcomed burn of anger. "You are stressed?"

"Ja," he deadpans, giving you that familiar blank stare you'd come to associate with the other man. Irritation, arrogance, boredom– or all three. "I am. Because of you."

"Well my sincerest apologies for the inconvenience." You say, plastering on a fake smile beneath your mask; sarcasm oozing through every word. "But you're not the one who got fucking abandoned, are you? Zasraný bastard!" (Fucking bastard!)

You spat the last part, seething as you turn the rest of your body to face König head on. Slowly, you stalk closer until you're within touching distance. So close you have to nearly snap your neck in half to look up at the giant.

"You do not understand, do you? You arrogant fuck." Your tone is considerably low considering the harsh words spilling from your mouth. All the emotions that had been building up inside you since that day everything went to shit finally breaking free. Manifesting as misdirected anger–or maybe justifiable, according to you. "You and your rag-tag group of fuckin' misfits do not know the first thing of me. Know only what you are told."

This is probably the most you've spoken since your capture. When you were loopy from blood loss.

"So do not come in here, come to me and tell me that I am the problem. That it is me causing the stress." You're too wound up to care about reading whatever fucking emotions flashes through König's eyes. Too pissed off to worry about deciphering his unnecessarily complicated feelings. "You are not the one who was left. Left by the person who has been with you for your entire life. I am not weak, I am not your pet, so do not talk to me like I am- kurva, a damn idiot." (Fuck.)

"Maus."

"What."

His tone is a lot calmer than you had been expecting. You have half a mind to curse him out about not listening to a damn word you have to say–then you remember who you're talking to and quickly bite your tongue.

In lieu of saying anything, König simply reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. A piece of paper. Then he holds it out to you, you recognize the worn parchment and stains.

Oh.

The paper.

You don't take it, flicking your eyes between the folded note and the other's gaze. Anger quickly melts away into confusion.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"Scheiß. Und er nennt mich den Idioten." König mutters under his breath. The words spoken too fast for you to pick up on much more than the familiar curse.

"Take it." König brings the paper closer, pressing it to your chest and giving a light shove. "And read it again."

With an annoyed huff and a glare, you take a step back, distancing yourself, and snatch the folded note from his hand.

Carefully–not wanting to accidentally tear the poor thing that had already lost the majority of its structural integrity–you unfold it.

Holding the fragile thing between gloved, delicate fingers, you squint. Trying to see past the mud stains and water marks. After more than a little staring, you finally catch the vague, washed-out red.

At first, you assume it's blood–your blood, more specifically. Then, upon closer inspection, you realize that the color is just slightly off. Even watered-down blood would retain some of its darker undertones–would turn a brownish color instead of pink.

The words are too blurred to make sense of- but you know that red. None of that hot, burning anger flows through you now. Molten lava converting into frigid, paralyzing recognition.

König seems to take your silence as a good thing and murmurs a triumphant, "I will go inform Captain Price that you are ready, see you later, Maus."

And just like that, König leaves you with another little fact that shatters your entire worldview.

Only it's not the clue he probably thinks it is.

An hour. That is how long you are given before one of the only two men whose name you didn't know comes to collect you–short hair, dark brown skin.

You are given a set of less dirty clothes to slip into–not a shower though, irritatingly enough–then you're being corralled down multiple twists and turns until you are forced into a meeting room of some sort.

There are several men and women you don't recognize seated around and standing near a long, rectangular table. The man who had brought you here urges you into a seat near the center of a row of chairs, Ghost–you had heard the name in passing when König was rambling to your semi-conscious body–and the other man whose name you did not know stood directly behind you.

The man who'd brought you here sits on your right.

All eyes are on you, you can feel it, burning holes into your mask. You chose to ignore them, keeping your gaze locked firmly on the metal table in front of you. Analyzing and taking note of every flaw and imperfection; man-made and not. Natural wear from years of use and manufacturer error.

Much to your relief, it's not too long before König and the captain enter the room; followed by two men who, surprise surprise, you also don't know.

One taller than the other, tanned skin and dark hair. One with scruffy facial hair and the other clean-shaven.

The shorter one instantly locks onto you, doing a quick once over of your hunched form before trapping your gaze with his own.

After what feels like an eternity, the man's eyes flick from you, over to König, then back to you. He frowns, then turns away.

Only a few seconds have passed and now Price and the two new ones are seated at the head of the table. König takes his place on your left.

Then the meeting begins.

A loyalty test. That's what the captain calls it. Gaze locked on yours when the others, apart from the little crew surrounding you, leave the meeting room.

And now you're here, unarmed and on the outskirts of a strange city you didn't even know existed until now.

The buildings are tall and tightly clustered together. Streets empty and windows–at least the ones not shattered–boarded or blackened out. Not a single ounce of movement or sound besides the rustle of wind now and then; blowing around loose papers and other trash.

The whole thing is eerie; every nerve in your body is alert, muscles tense and ready to spring into action at any notion of a threat.

Movement flashes in your peripheral somewhere to your immediate right and your hand instinctively reaches for the knife you keep stashed on your hip. Only your fingers curl around nothing, hand coming up empty when you bring it back up. You frown slightly at the lack of weapon in your gloved palm.

"Relax, Mouse." Gaz–you had finally been properly introduced to everyone, learning new names and confirming the ones you'd already known–, having been the source of the disturbance, says. "It's just me."

A small grunt of acknowledgment is your only response, returning your attention to the city looming ahead. Gaz's words weren't exactly comforting–and likely weren't meant to be. You were still their prisoner. They were your enemy just as much as whoever lay within the limits of this city was.

Which is why your nerves are not only shot to high hell for whatever the fuck was going on in the city, but also keenly analyzing and tracking every minuscule twitch of the team around you.

"Alright, boys," Price speaks up, coming into view on your right, standing beside Gaz. "Just like we discussed. Soap and Ghost on me, Gaz, you're with König. We'll split, clearing out each side, and regroup in the middle."

He completely disregards you. As if you were nothing but an accessory.

"Keep your eyes peeled for anythin' out of place. Intel says target should be in center building, sixth floor, but we shouldn't rule out possible interference. Living or not. Expect resistance, 'specially as we get further in."

Being a passive object in an operation was nothing new to you.

Ghost and Soap come to stand off to your left and König is an unmistakable presence behind you.

"RV 'round back, Nik'll be waiting for us. And, Gaz?"

"Yes, Cap'?"

Price's eyes flick to you, then behind you to König. The captain gives a small, pointed tilt of his head to Gaz.

"Keep an eye on the cargo, will ya?"

"'Course, sir. I'll make sure 't keep the," now it's Gaz's turn to spare a glance to the man looming behind you, a small pull at the corner of his mouth. Gone in an instant. "Subject of interest in clear view."

You bristle slightly at the choice words, it felt like you were missing out on something. An inside joke, perhaps? About you?

"Alright then, let's get on with it."

There's a chorus of 'yes sirs' around the group, sans you, and then a nod from Price. Ghost, Soap, and the captain split off to head off to the right, using the blanket of night as their only cover.

You turn away as soon as they're out of sight, redirecting your attention to the other two men now on either side of you.

"You heard the captain," Gaz says. "On with it."

You find yourself wishing you doned the original gear given to you when you became a Predator. The hooded cowl, full black outfit, and, of course, all your weapons and tools, would be extremely useful right now. Perfect for this little mission you lot were on; would let you blend into the dark of night much more seamlessly than the oversized clothing you'd been given.

There was that, and then there was the only piece of equipment you were handed. A throat mic; a snug piece of elastic that was always on, listening to every breath you took and every word you didn't say. You wouldn't be surprised if there were a tracker inside it as well.

A collar, ironic, really, but fitting. Adorning you just like the dog object you had always been. It was nothing new to you.

As a Hatchling, when on any operation, solo or not, you had been made to wear something similar. Only it had more of a.. bite to it. Sewn into the nape of your neck and would emit a stinging shock if whoever was overseeing your progress deemed you uncooperative.

This was an upgrade in comparison.

The clothes, however, were not, and you were glad you'd been able to keep the boots you'd been captured in.

König, the giant bastard–you had no clue why he had given you that note, was there a more malicious intent behind the act?–, was surprisingly good at keeping a low profile. Moving through the shadows with a kind of efficiency some second-year Hatchlings couldn't even manage–they'd have to do better if they wanted to survive.

Then again, the only lighting was the waning gibbous of a moon in the sky, an array of stars, and the dim, flickering street lights.

So, really, not that difficult of a feat.

It also wasn't hard to be silent with one's strides when only sand was underfoot, so you couldn't give props to König for that either.

Oh, now look at that, your little trio had finally made it to the first building. It's about damn time.

Slow, the two of them. Like sloths.

That was an insult to sloths around the globe.

The side door is jammed shut, not budging under either of the two's weight, and the idea of kicking it in was quickly abandoned; that wouldn't help at all with keeping a low profile.

Instead, you all have to resort to slowly yet efficiently peeling the piece of cloth nailed into the window frame to get in. Only after that are you three able to climb through the window and into the first building. König radios in your all's progress and is met with a similar update from Soap.

There is a quick sweep of the ground floor before Gaz splits off to investigate the room on the left, König dragging you to one that veers off to the right.

You three regroup at the base of the stairway and slowly work up to the next floor, Gaz leading and König keeping up the back, squishing you between the two.

It doesn't take long to clear out the first building–three floors total and a roof–, having been met with zero resistance, and soon enough your group is infiltrating building two.

The city is so closely knit, each alley only about a meter apart, that the transition time from one building to another may as well be non-existent. The amount of floors on each varies, but the layouts of each are pretty much the same. This makes for an even faster clearing time.

The three of you continue the same method of sweeping each floor and building–Gaz going solo on one side of a hallway, you and König working through the other–for the next few buildings and soon enough you all are halfway through.

"Bravo Six 't Gaz, how's it on your end?"

You're on a transition between another grouping of buildings, working on breaching the next. Gaz doesn't look away from where you and König are meticulously picking at another window covering when he radios back.

"Dead silent, sir."

There's a brief moment of static before the captain's voice cuts through again.

"Keep pushing, there's gotta be something here. Out."

"It has been very quiet." König speaks up as the last shreds of cloth are peeled back.

"Too quiet." Gaz agrees.

Then you three are climbing through the vacant window frame, rubber soles landing soundlessly against another tiled floor.

The immediate atmosphere is.. different from the other buildings you all had combed through. Stagnant and full of dust? Yes. Though it was the underlying energy of the structure that sent your nerves alight, a sense of foreboding crawling up your spine.

You can tell the others had registered the change in ambiance just as you had; a tension in König's broad shoulders and a deep frown settling on Gaz's lips.

The search of the first floor comes up empty; the small half bath, living space, kitchenette, and tiny closet not hiding anything spectacular within their walls.

The second floor yields the same results, this time with two minimalist bedrooms and another half bath.

Gaz sends König a look, having a silent conversation with the taller man, then the two of them turn to you. Gaz steps away from the stairway, eyes flicking over to you now.

"Maus," König says, voice low as he breaks the heavy silence. "How 'bout you take point?"

You know it's not a question but an order, a test to see if you'll follow any command given; even with the unsettling undercurrent of the atmosphere. If you'll take it in stride or cower behind like the mutt you are.

You briefly analyze the two with a look of your own before nodding and quietly stepping to the front.

It's not until you're halfway up the stairs that you hear the ticking. A faint, almost unintelligible sound you probably wouldn't be able to catch if not for your enhanced hearing.

You pause, holding up a hand for the others behind you.

"What's wrong?" Gaz whispers.

You bring that same hand down to tap your forefinger against your ear instead, still not taking your eyes off the entrance of the third floor that looms ahead. You hear König mutter something to Gaz, likely transmitting your actions to the other man.

A passive thought passes through you; that the others most likely didn't have the same enhancements you did. Couldn't see in the dark or hear the chitters of mice from a mile away like you could.

This, though, this wasn't mice.

You knew deep down, really, what it was. You still found yourself hoping you were wrong.

When you don't move Gaz speaks again.

"I don't hear anything." Well I do, you think bitterly.

Still, you push yourself to move again, forcing each foot in front of the other as you climb up the remaining half of the steps.

You don't even have to look in the other rooms to see it.

"Scheiß." König breathes out from behind you.

The two now standing beside you could probably only see the vague outline of it, the flashing of red bulbs on top, but you.. you can see the whole thing.

You don't follow Gaz as the man steps forward, bringing his flashlight over the literal ticking time bomb. A mess of wires and tubes, crisscrossing over the faded shades of grey of what is clearly some type of explosive.

Many explosives, wrapped up tightly together into one mega bomb by duct tape and wires.

"Told you I heard something." You grumble.

"Yeah, but how-" Gaz shakes his head, sighing. "Nevermind."

Then Gaz brings his hand up to the radio strapped to his vest, holding down the small button.

"Captain," he says, voice stiff. "We have a problem."

There's a brief opening and closing of the other line, a short wave of static, and Gaz takes this as a sign to keep going.

"Explosives. Sixth building, third floor."

It only takes a few seconds before a response comes through. "Say again?"

"They've got fuckin' bombs, sir."

There's another pause, brief chatter, then Soap speaks over the radio waves next.

"Seems we've both got tha' problem."

Your own feet stay rooted to the ground as the two others investigate the bomb, trading clipped words with the other half of their team. Trying to figure out how to defuse it–if it can even be defused. Soap says it's possible, but there's an edge to his tone and you can hear exactly as to why.

The ticking, the underlying buzz of energy snaking through the wires, is steadily speeding up.

You don't have time.

In a split second, you make a decision, turning on your heel and charging out of the room. Down to the bottom floor, through the side door, and ramming into the next building. It doesn't matter if you make noise now, whoever set these explosives up obviously knew someone was coming.

Heavy footfalls behind you–reminiscent of your days' capture–, you know you're being followed. You don't care, you have to be sure.

The ticking is louder this time, you barely make it halfway to the second floor before that rhythmic beat is making itself known.

Identical to the one before, in the center of the building, the center of the room.

"Mouse, what the hell- oh."

You turn again, rushing out of the room and down the stairs once more. Passing a startled König halfway down who hurries to turn and catch up with you.

"Captain, we've got another-" Gaz is still upstairs, now making his way down, and you hear him as clearly as you would if you were standing right beside him.

By the fourth confirmed bomb, only a singular building out from where all six of you were supposed to meet up, everything is starting to add up.

Why the building you all had swept through had been completely empty, abandoned even by its invasive occupants. You wouldn't be surprised if the target wasn't here at all–only their lackeys to set up the charges.

Whoever had informed Price had received either incorrect or intentionally deceiving intel.

A trap, and now all six of you were stuck in it.

"König, Gaz, forget the damn explosives an' get the hell out of there-!" Price shouts over the comms and you hear it before you feel it.

A low hum, faint ticking, a final, louder click before the noise stops altogether.

The three of you are at the bottom of the last building you'd investigated, the ground rumbles beneath you, accompanied by an ear-splitting crash and boom of the bomb going off.

The first only sets off a chain reaction, beginning from the one above you and working backward from where you came–leaving no option but to continue on forward.

Shouts and panicked voices continue to crackle over the radios attached to König and Gaz, that is the least of your concerns when the walls around you are starting to crack and crumble beneath their own weight.

Running purely on instinct, on nothing but the need to get out and survive, you don't look back. Leaving the two nobodies behind as you leap and crash through the nearest window. Charging through empty streets and weaving between the debris that rains from above.

You think you hear someone calling your name but it's drowned out by the overwhelming sounds of falling buildings, brick against cement. Shattering glass in the few windows that still had them, metal support beams narrowly missing you by a hair's width.

A yelp, a sound foreign to you, rips from your throat as something snags on your pant leg, tripping you over your own feet and sending you tumbling.

You're up again and rolling for cover just in time before a large chunk of concrete slams into the ground in the exact spot you had been mere seconds ago.

There's no time to catch your breath, no time to check behind you or look for your captors–you have to go.

And go you do, until you're unsure which way is left and right, up and down; lost in a maze of broken streets and the remnants of fallen structures.

Dust and other particle debris have created a dense fog over the wreckage, clouding even your enhanced vision and you once again find yourself grateful for the cloth that tethers you–protecting you, even if just temporarily, from the polluted air.

Methodically, you find the wherewithal to analyze and catalog every inch of your person. A small bit of relief soothes your frantic mind as you find no new injuries–only a burning in the older ones from the strain of being on your feet for so long.

You find an odd comfort in those, the ache in your thigh, the throb of your arm, they remind you that you're still here. That you're alive.

You let your weight drop heavy against the broken half wall behind you, tipping your head up towards the blocked-out sky and panting.

They're probably wondering where you are, if you're even alive- then it hits you,

What if you just.. didn't go back?

They wouldn't know if you were alive or dead, if you had run away or gotten trapped under the fallen scraps of cement.

This was the perfect opportunity. The perfect time to get up and shamble away. Find a way out of what remains of this city, out of this damn country–whichever one it was–and..

And what? Where would you go?

Viktória–your handler–had made it clear you weren't welcomed back when she left you to rot in enemy hands. She likely assumed you were dead anyway.

Even if you resented her, even if she'd been the cause of your suffering over the expanse of your life–twenty-two years and counting–; you still couldn't find it in yourself to.. hate her.

She was the one to tend to your wounds after a particularly bad session, to be the one to call off ones that went too far. The ones that pushed you to the point of blacking out.

The blare of a phone cuts off your internal monologue, causing you to flinch against the sudden spike in the beginnings of a budding migraine.

A phone? You didn't.. you don't have a phone. Have nothing more than the strap around your throat–the tracker around your throat.

It takes your overstimulated ears a prolonged moment to pinpoint the source, and when you find it your confusion only grows.

Slowly, you push yourself up to a half crawl, half walk, making your way for the incessant ring of a payphone.

Dirt-encrusted gloves grapple for the handset of the worn phone, other hand stabilizing yourself on the plastic lip of the box.

Not really expecting a response, and clueless on how the damned thing even survived the explosion, you hold the receiver to your ear, muttering a scratchy, "hello?"

"Myš." Comes the voice in the other line, sounding almost.. relieved?

Your muscles immediately tense up at the sound of your handlers' voice, fingers gripping the phone tightly.

"Vik." You force out, words stilted. "What do y'want?"

"You're still alive." She states the obvious and you know better than to read the surprise in her voice as anything more than it is. "Good."

You consider revisiting that shouting match from the day you'd been captured, feeling that warm anger bubbling just beneath your skin.

You don't.

"I see you've gotten well acquainted with your targets. They trust you, yes?"

"Not quite." Where the fuck is this going? She abandoned you, so why is she acting as if nothing happened?

"I trust you can rectify that."

"What do you want, Vik?"

"Predator-107, that is what you are," She starts, a familiar resolve in her tone. "And I am here to properly debrief your current ongoing assignment."

"So.. you meant for me to get caught?"

"That we did. Had to make it believable, make those men think they had the upper hand. Any injuries you sustained were a necessary sacrifice, to cement the idea that you were helpless."

The clinical, logic-based words sunk their claws deep into you–a certain calm drowning out your previously panicked thoughts. This was something you knew, could latch onto, this you could handle.

An assignment. You hadn't been abandoned after all.

"What do you need from me?"

"Intel. Gather it. We need every scrap of information you can dig up on these soldiers. I want every word they speak, every action they make, transcribed and sent to me."

"May I ask why?"

"You may not." Is her immediate response. "But I will tell you."

"These men who call themselves heroes, who claim to be the ones to make the enemy scared of the dark, have been.. causing problems." And problems required immediate pruning, that was lesson number one. "Tailing us. Getting far too close for comfort, one could say. She wants them gone, but we need to know them from the inside out first. All previous attempts have only encouraged them."

"And that's where I come in?"

"Yes, 107, that is where you come in.."

Looks like you wouldn't be making a run for it after all.

"We need you to collect data, do anything you can to gain their trust. Infiltrate and collect, that is your assignment."

"Got it." A pause, then you ask, "how did you know I'd be here anyway?"

"We didn't." Ah, so it was purely luck-based. Lovely. "We always have your location on hand, it wasn't difficult to devise a method of contact after that."

They were still tracking you? After all these years, you really shouldn't be surprised.

The note König had given back to weights heavily in your pocket, burning a hole into your thigh. You neglect to mention it.

"Received." You mutter. "I better get back before they think of me dead."

Or, worse, that you left.

"On the other side, 107." Then the line goes dead, not even static or a dial tone. Completely severed now that it had served its purpose.

Just like you'd be one day.

The trek to find the others is long and exhausting and you're a bit surprised to see them there, waiting for you. König pacing about while Price talks in a hushed voice to a man you'd never seen before.

You suppose this must be the fabled Nikolai you'd heard so much about. Namely by Gaz.

Soap is the first to spot you, perking up and elbowing Ghost who stands beside him.

The two of them turn to look at you in a synchronized flick of their eyes, Ghost muttering something that sounds like a call for attention under his breath.

"Mouse." Price says when you get within, what the other man probably assumes is, hearing distance.

"Ay." You breathe, regarding each of them with a tired glance and tilting your head in greeting towards the presumed Nikolai.

"Thought you'd bailed on us." Price continues.

You can do nothing but give a small shrug of your shoulders, grunting. "Not like I got anywhere else to go."

You catch König's eyes doing a quick once over of your worn body, searching for any new injuries. When he comes up empty he gives you a brief nod.

"This is the new one, then?" Nikolai asks. The familiar, distinct Russian accent that tinged his words freezes you where you stand.

You drag your gaze back up to him, forcing the rigidness out of your body one muscle at a time.

"Mouse." You say in lieu of a formal introduction.

"Nikolai." He parrots back. There's a tense moment where you two regard one another and you briefly consider him a possible spy to make sure you stay on task. Doing a mental catalog of all the people you've met before and coming up blank, to which you immediately drop the idea.

He looks at you like there's something recognizable in your voice–no matter how much effort you put in to keep it as neutral as possible.

You turn away first, walking over to take your place beside Gaz and your assigned babysitter, König. Price and Nikolai exchange a few more words before the captain waves a hand and turns, the man's words drowned out by your turbulent thoughts.

The flight is quick and uninterrupted, the subsequent landing much the same. When addressed you merely respond in clipped words and hums of acknowledgment, strangely enough, wanting nothing more than to return to your unofficial cell.

The debrief is postponed in favor of treating the few injuries sustained by the others and soon enough König is escorting you back to said room.

On direct orders himself to get checked out after securing you in your cell, König leaves. Locking the door behind him.

His absence isn't the drag it usually is and you immediately beeline for the tiny desk pushed up against the far right of the room, nestled into the corner of the same wall shared by the door.

Sitting down in the creaky chair you shove a hand into your pocket, gloved fingers curling around the flimsy paper you've looked over many times before.

You unfold it, reading the same unintelligible red once again. Just to be sure.

Viktória hadn't mentioned the note, so neither had you. Now that you thought about it, the paper was likely intentionally left blank. To make you assume the worst; make you think you'd been left behind–which you had.

The washed-out red, nearly pink now, is familiar. A color you've come to associate with your handlers' usual messages.

The handwriting, however, doesn't belong to her–far too jagged compared to the neat, curved lines you were used to.

___

One | Two | Three | Masterpost | Next

___

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog @gloma08 @mikahrh @in-down @hauntedapplefarm @mello-life69 @unkn0wnd3ad @tayaisback @starre-eyes @ravage-reposts @suhmie @lazyrel

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments!

[princessfbi]

Hi!

For the subtle prompts, if it’s okay to send something other than on the list I’d like to request “If I could, I’d keep you here forever” or “I wish I could keep you here forever”

If not, I’d also love to see “Shh. There’s people in the other room.”

Thank you! 😁

There was something so soft about Eddie when he slept. It made him look younger even as the slackness of his soft, perfect mouth would dip into a frown since he was cursed with the perpetual resting bitch face. Buck supposed there was a price that came with Eddie's beauty and for Eddie he had to pay the RBF tax of answering, "yes, I'm fine!" to anyone concerned.

But he had other quirks in his sleep too. His nose would scrunch up in annoyance if Buck moved around too much; his arm would tighten around Buck’s waist to pull him closer. Eddie would tuck his face in the curve of Buck’s throat and bully him into a position that let Eddie put the weight of his chest onto Buck’s shoulder.

It was like a heavy softness that Buck didn’t know how to hold. Not without ruining it for good. But he couldn’t pull away. Not when the storm outside was enough to rumble the whole building awake but Eddie didn’t even stir. Instead the heat of his breath escaped from his mouth like the tide, back and forth and back and forth on Buck’s throat until his pulse was hammering in anticipation of feeling it again.

Because Eddie felt safe with Buck. That's what he had said. And Buck's world was still being rocked by that confession.

Eddie’s scar was almost faded into his shoulder. You wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t know where to look but Buck had its location scorched into his memory since the moment Eddie got it.

His face went soft and slack then too; in surprise rather than sleep before it tightened with fear and pain that had Buck scrambling across the concrete to try and soothe away.

Lightning flashed and Buck caught a free leg of Eddie’s kicking off the blankets, exposing Eddie’s skin. His Achilles’ tendon, his calf, the back of his knee he swore wasn’t ticklish but always nearly breaks Buck’s nose whenever he kisses it. The slope of his ass, the dip into his back, and the miles and miles of muscles dotted by freckles and rose and fell with every REM cycle breath. All of that clung to Buck, either holding onto him or pressing against him that he was always within reach if Buck needed him; wanted him.

Buck didn’t know when Eddie would start to believe that Buck wanted him. He always wanted him. He just didn’t know that Eddie had wanted him too and now that they had each other, Buck didn’t want to let go. And how much he wanted Eddie made all the clingy voices of doubt in his head run wild.

Buck dropped his hand down to the possessive arm that always seemed to wrap around him no matter what position Eddie ended up falling asleep. He trailed his fingers up and down the forearm. It was a hypnotic motion that had sent Eddie straight to sleep after two and half rounds of intense making out and even more intense fucking. The kind that made Buck cry of desperation and Eddie’s voice got that husky hoarse sound to it that demanded the half part.

And maybe the reason Buck loved this Eddie, the one drooling on his collarbone and clinging like a koala even in his sleep, was because this was the Eddie he loved the most. Not that Buck had gotten around to saying that. He would rather eat glass than rush this, thanks.

But this Eddie, quiet, soft sleeping Eddie was just... Eddie. Not Staff Sergeant Diaz. Not Firefighter Diaz. Not Mr. Diaz. Not Edmundo or Eddie go help so and so.

He was just Eddie.

Soft, loving Eddie that let himself be a little selfish by hogging the bed and Buck without restraint.

"I wish I could keep you here for forever," Buck whispered into his hair.

Eddie just breathed out a sound and pressed impossibly closer to Buck's side. He was a searing line of heat where Buck could feel every inch of him and Buck didn't want to move.

But sleep was pulling him under and making every blink heavier than the next.

So, Buck pressed a kiss to Eddie's hair and soaked in the sight of him as the lightning outside flashed with a rumbled thunder clap that said the storm was moving away. Buck extracted himself from under Eddie's weight and rolled, smiling to himself as Eddie unconsciously rolled with him and pressed up into his back. That same possessive arm slung across his waist and Eddie's nose sought out the hollow curve of Buck's throat. Back to chest. Knee to knee. Closer than possible and just the two of them.

Someday soon he'd say those words.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E3; Chapter Three, Holly, Jolly - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘠/𝘯, 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤��� 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘈 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳.

|| 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Hopper pulls up to the library, thankful to get a spot up front. He steps out of the vehicle and makes his way inside, Powell behind him.

Hopper takes off his hat as he enters the building, making sure to send a big smile to the librarian.

"Hey, Marissa. How you doin'?"

The disapproving look on Marissa's face never left as she spoke.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here."

"What?"

"You could have at least called, said, 'Marissa! Hey, it's not gonna work out. Sorry, I wasted your time. I'm a dick.'"

Powell was unsure of what to do; he looked from Marissa to Hopper, waiting.

Hopper only stares ahead for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, with a subtle smirk, he mutters,

"Yep."

She looks to him, shaking her head expectantly. He seemed at a loss for words again as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Uh... Maybe we could go out again next week?" He offers, hoping for the best. She slowly turns her head to Powell and gives him a 'is he for real?' look. In turn, Powell slowly looks over to Hopper awkwardly. Hopper, already knowing he chose his words poorly, visibly cringed, and was eager to change the subject.

"Newspapers? You guys got newspapers around here?"

Marissa had shown them over to the filing cabinet and started pulling out drawers, naming the selections.

"We have the New York Times, the Post, all the big ones. Organized by year and topic. You can find the corresponding microfiche in the reading room." She briefly gestures behind her.

"Okay, we're looking for anything on the Hawkins National Laboratory."

"Well, shouldn't you be looking for that missing kid?"

"Yeah." He states as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We are."

She nods her head, suspicious.

"Uh, so, why don't you start with the Times, and we'll check out the Post."

Marissa scoffs and looks behind her to Powell, unsure if he's serious. She turns back to Hopper and lets out a soft 'hmph!' before strutting away. Powell steps forward and lowers his voice in a questioning tone.

"The librarian?"

Hopper shrugs wildly before diving into the drawers of files.

The two men had gathered a handful of files and set to work in the other room. Each at their own microfiche, reading every column.

Hopper scanned another column that caught his attention.

'ALLEGED EXPERIMENTS, ABUSE' by T. Bridges.

"Terry Ives' legal case against embattled research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner suffered another setback today when the district attorney's office formally refused to press criminal charges against Brenner, his fellow researchers, assistants, or the project's sponsors, citing lack of evidence. Local law enforcement executed a search..."

Next column.

'MKULTRA EXPOSED' by T. Bridges

"The trust of the American people has been shaken to its core as a special inquiry into a covert CIA operation, code-named MK ULTRA, has exposed the extensive details about that which has been haunting the nation for the past decade. Six subjects have come forward..."

This particular column was accompanied by a negative of seven people. Five of which were slightly disheveled, in hospital gowns. A man in a turtleneck and blazer stood obediently in the back. A man in a fancy suit and tie, holding a clipboard stood front and center. A man with whom Hopper guessed to be Brenner.

Next slide.

'DR. MARTIN BRENNER NAMED IN LAWSUIT' by A. Ward - Staff Writer

"Senior researcher Doctor Martin Brenner and seven other staff researchers have been named in a new lawsuit filed today on behalf of former federal research study participant, Terry Ives. Dr. Brenner's attorney in conjunction with the Department of Energy has asked the circuit court to seal the details of the lawsuit until the attorney general's office can determine that no federal..."

Hopper found himself more engrossed and confused as he read.

"...her newborn daughter for scientific research. Following an investigation, the district attorney has already declined to press criminal kidnapping charges against the research facility and staff, citing lack of evidence. Dr. Brenner's attorney called Ms. Ives' allegations baseless and tragic, citing Dr. Brenner's excellent reputation, his twenty recent peer-reviewed scientific papers..."

The next slide was a short column with another accompanying photo. Although the picture was small and blurry, it wasn't hard to see the grief-stricken features on the young woman.

TERRY IVES SUING - 'They took my daughter' by Benjamin Buck

"After the district attorney's office declined to press criminal charges citing lack of evidence, local resident Terry Ives is not giving up her search for justice for herself and her daughter, and this morning filed a lawsuit against research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner and his staff.

Ms. Ives' suit seeks unspecified damages against Dr. Brenner and his facility, alleging physical abuse, sleep deprivation, malnourishment, and multiple allegations of kidnapping; both attempted and successful..."

Hopper sighed, trying his best to swallow all of this new information.

'What the hell has been happening in this damn town?'

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Three. One. Five. The numbers on the strange new bracelet read three one five.

Thankfully, El was able to find her way back outside by the large telephone pole where Mike told her to meet them. But El was still nervous. She just hoped no one had spotted her.

El couldn't find it in her ability to stay still. She couldn't stop pacing and she was subconsciously shaking out her hands, her nerves shot.

'What if someone saw her?'

She eagerly checked the bracelet, muttering aloud to herself.

"Three-one-five. Three-one-five. Three-one-five..." her voice turned soft as her confidence wavered. The only thing that was able to take her attention away from the bracelet was the familiar sound of meowing next to her.

Shocked, she looked over to see a scrawny orange cat staring at her from the other side of the fence. It began to meow again and panic and guilt crashed over her as once again another terrible memory resurfaced.

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

The white cat in the cage before Eleven let out a terrible hiss at her. Her head began to shake as she strained her ability. The combination of the cat growling and hissing and the frantic beeping of the machines was enough to push her even further.

She didn't want to. She never wanted to hurt this poor creature. But she knew that if she didn't, she would have to face the consequences. She would have to go back there. The cat gave out another deep growl and Eleven tried to the best of her ability not to cry. Not to break.

The cat began snarling, and it quickly turned to whimpers of pain. Eleven was freely crying now as she looked between the frightened cat and Papa. She gave one final look at the cat before yanking the wires off her head in defeat.

No. She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She looked at Papa defeated. She shook her head in defiance, though her sobbing gave away her true feelings. He only stared at her in disapproval.

"No! No!" She struggled and kicked. She fought back with all her might while Papa stood at the end of the hallway. Doing nothing.

"Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa!" She screamed her throat raw as the men dragged her away, yet as always Papa only watched it happen.

"No!" Her shrieks grew more violent as she neared the room.

She couldn't go back in there.

She couldn't.

The men tossed her inside and began closing the door.

She wouldn't.

Eleven stood to her feet and before they could close the steel door, she threw it open in a fit of rage, her attention quickly shifting to one of the men doing this her. In the very next instant, his back was thrown into the ceramic just behind him. His limp body slipped to the floor, leaving a large hole in the tile.

The second man spared a second to look before turning to her to try and restrain her.

Before he could even step foot in the room, he was dead on the floor, his neck snapped. All with the flick of her head.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, she collapsed against the wall, her nose and ears bleeding.

Papa appeared. He took one look at the cracked wall, to the collapsed man, and then at Eleven. Yet she couldn't move. She was completely drained, all she could do was stare at him. He slowly stepped towards her, staring at her.

She looked up at him in fear of what would happen next, and what did was not something she could have anticipated. He slowly reached his hands out, cupping her face. Sobs wracked her body, and he stared at her in awe.

"Incredible."

He reached down, hooking an arm under her legs, th arried her like an infant. He carried her out of the room and down the hallway, staring at her sobbing form as if he hadn't been the one to cause it.

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"El!"

El turned her head to see Mike, Y/n, Lucas and Dustin. They were walking their bikes across the muddy grass in her direction.

Mike looked to her concerned as he, as well as the others, turned their bikes around.

"You okay?"

Relieved to see her friends, she nodded her head.

Mike gave the seat of his bike a few pats.

"Hop on. We only have a few hours."

Hesitantly, she walked forward. But she complied nonetheless and got on Mike's bike, and the five of them peddled off.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

The five us were walking our bikes through the woods. Dustin and Lucas were in the back, while Mike and El were just a few steps in front of me. El was looking around as she walked and suddenly I felt her eyes on me. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my cut.

I got it to stop bleeding eventually, but I don't know how I will ever explain this to Mom. She worries so easily. And, I don't think I have ever had a cut this big but I'll survive. My thoughts are cut short when I become very aware of the fact that El had fallen back next to me and was now looking at me with concern.

"Why did they hurt you?" Her voice came out very soft but was laced with concern.

"Huh?" I asked surprised.

El extended her arm out and pointed to my chin. I looked down, upset with how things went today.

"Oh, that. I uh, well... I was tripped. By this mouth breather, Troy."

Her face scrunched up in confusion.

"'Mouth breather?'"

"Yeah. You know, a dumb person,"

I suddenly grew quiet, and El noticed.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

I paused. "Yeah. Yeah, it'll be ok." I said.

I knew what she meant but I didn't think it was noteworthy to bring up how I was feeling.

"Y/n." I turn to look at her and she is giving me a knowing look. "Friends tell the truth."

I began to fight tears that were stinging my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall.

"I just... I just miss him. Will, I mean. And the things Troy was saying..." I began feeling myself get worked up again at the mere thought of it. "They were awful. Truly awful, and I just... I'm tired. And worried. And I just want to find my friend."

There was suddenly a somber silence over the group that was quickly broken by El's soothing tone.

"Y/n," she said sternly, pulling my eyes to her. There was a soft demand behind her eyes, willing my gaurd down. "I understand."

I looked at her, a grateful smile on my features and my voice came out in a weak whisper.

"Thank you, El."

She gave me a warm smile in return. It very much resembled the one I gave her the first night we met. It was at this moment I knew. I had just found myself a very unique and powerful friendship; one that stood out from my friendship with the party.

El and I have a lot more in common than I thought.

[little-dragon-stories]

Forever linked

Part 10: bullshit related

After a hurtful breakup she didn’t see coming, y/n is back in her country. But soon, she discovers that the man she has to forget is now linked to her, forever.

W.C 2554

Warning: some bad words

It was all over the tabloids, the social media and even on the news. You didn’t have to search at all, as soon as you opened the internet, you knew exactly what Jiyong was talking about 2 seconds ago via texts.

"A close source to the singer is very scared for Bigbang’s leader G-Dragon, his mental health and the future of Bigbang. According to that person, Kwon Jiyong has been in a toxic relationship for several years with this pregnant woman you can see on those pictures taken yesterday, she was also caught on camera a few times in the past but her “staff member” pass has made the rumors stopped fast among the fans. Apparently, she was G-Dragon girlfriend for the past 4 or 5 years”.

There were pictures of you and Daesung everywhere you looked. Those pictures have been taken yesterday as the two of you went out to buy some food at the grocery store. Although you don’t hold hands or kissed on the pictures, for someone who doesn’t know your real relation with Dae, you might look like a young couple.

« Our anonymous source says that for the last month of her relation with GD, she was having an affair with Daesung. Now she’s pregnant as you can see on the pictures and nobody knows who the real father is. This could explain why G-Dragon was seen in differents clubs for the last few weeks, often drunk, he must feel doubly betrayed by his own girlfriend and one of his best friend. Apparently he broke up with her, not able to trust her anymore.

What the hell? You needed to stop the video you were watching, taking your breath.

“Apparently, GD is denying paternity, he’s not ready to be a father and he agreed that Daesung would raise the child like his own even though nobody knows who the father is as I said earlier”.

Pictures of you and Daesung were displaying in the background while the commentator was talking. On all of those pictures, you looked like a cute little couple doing domestic things: carrying grocery bags, entering the pastry with your arms under his, getting out of there with a cake in a box smiling brightly, entering Dae’s building apartment. They have chosen the ones where you looked “close” to Dae.

On one picture, he has a hand on your belly, trying to feel your daughter’s movements. You remember what he was telling you then, it’s still crystal clear in your memory. He was laughing, talking about all the things he will do with her when she will be older. He was happy to have a little niece, telling you that you should give Jiyong a second chance. Nothing even close to what they said on the news.

«According to that person close to the band, this woman on the pictures is manipulative and constantly craving for attention, money and luxurious gifts. She even used psychological violence against both of the boys, threatening them several times. If that contact talked to the medias, it’s because she wants to help GD and Daesung before their constant fight force Bigbang to dismembered.»

You didn’t even know how to react to this crap. Are you going to cry or laugh? You would like to do both at the same time. You decided that it was enough for today, you have read enough bad things about yourself, you can’t take it any longer. Regardless of all that bad stuff that they said about you, what scared you the most is what your daughter will think about you, when she can read those articles a few years from now. Will she believe those atrocity? Will she think you tried to trap her father for his money? That you were a bad girlfriend to him? A bad friend for her godfather?

You heard Jiyong entered Dae’s house. As soon as he came in the living room, he kneel down in front of you, he obviously cried before he came in. With his hands on his face to hide himself from your sight, he even placed his forehead direct on the floor. The only thing you could hear him say was «I’m so sorry Kkul, please forgive me». You sat on the floor in front of him and as soon as he lift up his torso, you encircled his waist before you nuzzled your nose in the crook of his neck. That sensation, that feeling you have to be against him is so comforting, you could cry right now. You missed those cuddles so much, that proximity with him. With Ji by your side, you know you can face it all but that’s the thing, he’s not “really” by your side. You are apart now, dismembered from that wonderful duo you once formed.

«Jiyong, you didn’t call the media, it’s not your fault»

«It’s my fault, I chose to be with that girl, please forgive me Kkulie, please». It was difficult to say otherwise so you just stay silent, holding him closely in your arms.

«What have I done to deserve you Kkulie? How on earth are you not mad at me, are you an angel”?

“I am mad at your ex, I’m so fucking mad at her, I could scratch her eyes out and peeled her alive. You didn’t call the journalist yourself, Ji. You made a mistake, you chose a bad person to sleep with. That’s your only fault”.

“I don’t deserve you Kkul. I think I’m going crazy. I keep making mistakes one after the other since I broke up with you. I’m fucked up”.

You thighter your arms around him, dragging him closer to you. You can tell, he lost a lot of weight since you last saw him. Suddenly, his mood changed completely. He slided an arm between you and placed his palm on your tummy, cupping your little bump very softly, caressing your exposed bare skin.

“Hello my mermaid princess” he inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to collected himself. He was shocked by the news and overwhelmed to feel his little girl once again. Happier than he would have expected from a simple indirect contact with that little human growing up inside of you.

“Appa hasn’t take good life decisions recently but for you, I will always do my best, I promise you that. I won’t be selfish when it comes to you. And I want to be a better person for your wonderful mother as well. You know, your mother is the best you could have, right? I’m sure you know it already. Hey, you want to move for me my princess? You want to kick my hand?”

“Ji, she’s moving right now, like every time she hears your voice, I feel her, do you?” You placed his hand a little more on the left and applied a light pression where you felt the movement.

“No… I don’t feel her at all.” He was concentrate. “You still made her hear my voice, even when you were mad at me?”

“At least twice a day. I want her to know you, you want to be present for her so I made her listened to you. Thanks to your fans, she can hear your asmr”. He smiled and caressed your cheek softly before he placed a light kiss on your forehead.

‘Kkulie… Tell me what that monster told you, please. I’m begging you”.

You will tell him because he needs to know how she really is. You stood up and sit down on the couch, followed by him. Side by side, with his and your hand on your tummy you remained silent for a few minutes. He let you time to put your ideas in order. He has to know how mean she is, her real personality. There’s no doubt in your mind, everything she told you is crap, Jiyong could never said those words. What you shared with him was too precious, he wouldn’t talk shit on your back to her, a perfect stranger.

“She told me you were not happy with me, that you were feeling trapped, that I was not good in bed and you were not satisfied, she…”

“What the hell, you didn't believe those words right? You couldn’t believed this bullshit”.

“Well Ji, yes and no… you always had a more intense sexual drive than me…”

“Kkulie, it’s not even true, sometimes you were the one with the biggest drive, sometimes it was me. I was more than satisfied, we were having…”

“Jiyong, I know, I was there too. I know we had good sex. What I'm saying is maybe you wanted it more often or more... I don’t know. Let’s not discuss our past sexual life please, it makes me uncomfortable”.

“Kkulie, we couldn’t stop touching each other, sexually or not. You and me, it really worked, proof we had sex after our break-up because we were craving each other’s magic touch. Never doubt that, well unless you were not satisfied”.

“I was, you know it Ji. But thanks for comforting me. Also… the worst part. She called our baby a fucking ugly fetus and said that you don’t want her or me in your life, that you have no choice, shit like that”.

That’s when his tears fell down on his cheeks. Jiyong is a very discrete man when it comes to sadness, he usually doesn’t cry in front of other people. You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen him shedding tears. But now, it seemed like he’s not able to contain himself at all.

“Y/n, you don’t believe it don’t you? Is this the reason why you didn’t want to talk to me anymore”?

“I was protecting myself Jiyong. Even if I know you are happy about my pregnancy, the truth is you are still trapped with me even though you broke up. Your ultimate goal to be free, long time gone. You wanted your freedom and I accidently trapped you with the biggest responsibility you will ever have”.

He was about to answered when Daesung entered the living room with his girlfriend, sweating after a long jogging together. They were so cute, laughing and teasing each other, obviously non aware of the drama they were involved in.

“Ji, what a good surprise. You will eat diner with us?”

He came and replaced your hand with his on your belly, to feel your little girl.

“Hello princess, it’s uncle Dae. You must be happy your mom and dad are talking right? Kick if you agree”.

He probably didn’t open his phone at all. He doesn’t know the drama.

“Guys, there was a journalist outside that asked me if I was happy to be a father soon” he said smiling.

Jiyong stood up suddenly, making you jump out of fear.

“What have you said?” Ji was nervous, he placed both of his hands on Dae’s shoulders and looked at him in the eyes.

“What have you answered Dae, it’s important”.

“Well, I laughed and said I was not gonna a be a father soon. I said they must have seen me with my best friend and drummer teacher but she was pregnant from another man than me, but I told them I will be the godfather so you have no choice now but to name me he said, proud of himself.

Just like that, without knowing the drama that was playing in the medias, Dae had almost solved the whole problem. Ji was so happy, he hugged his friend and kissed him on the cheeks.

“You must have turned off your phone, open it now. I’m sure your voicemail is full. Also, look at this…”

He and his girlfriend laughed so bad, they were grabbing their stomach, crying from so much laughter. You couldn’t tell what was so funny, Jiyong either. You and looked at each other in disbelief.

“Well, forget all this Jiyong hyung, in 2 days it will be over”.

“I don’t agree Dae, it’s another fucking scandal, your country is very good at creating scandal where it would be just a little gossip in mine”.

“I agree with Kkul”, Jiyong add.

You really want to believe it, you wish Dae is right but you are scared it won’t be that easy.

“That’s the reason why there were journalist in front of the building, now I understand. Let me handle this please hyung. I’m having so much fun, please…”

“No, we need to elaborate a strategy with the compagny”, Ji said.

“Ji, maybe Dae is right. His attitude is so refreshing, people won’t doubt his sincerity. You are too tense, you wouldn’t be credible on camera. I think you should let Dae handle this”.

“Y/n… no. I’m not sure”.

“Hyung, trust me. I will make it better for the two of you, may I, please it’s too funny”

“Kang Daesung, the things they said about my girl aren’t funny at all, they dismissed her, they talked shit about her. We should told them we will sue all the media for the serious damage of her reputation.

“We might, if the thing goes on. For now, we should just try to act cool about it all, pretending like we don’t care. Otherwise, they will dig the story endlessly”.

“Jiyong, I think Dae is right. Let him act cool about it. We’ll see how things goes after that”.

And just like that, with his bright smile, Dae pretended to get out of his building and “oh, surprise there are journalists”. He and his girl had take a shower and dressed up for the night, blinking at you before they left for a night out, telling you you have a few hours to make things up between you and Ji, that you should use that precious time intelligently.

Dae laughed when the journalists asked him about the paternity, Jiyong and you. From a question to another, if you read his answers all together, it would look like this:

“No, I’m not the father of my friend’s child, the woman on the pictures you saw today is my best friend and drum teacher and she’s pregnant from another man. She lives here with me for a few weeks, by the time their apartment is ready. No, there is no doubt about who the father and it’s not me. I’m not going to tell you if she’s Jiyong hyung ex-girlfriend since it’s not my story to tell but hers. No, she’s not manipulative at all, she’s kind and caring and I will be the proud godfather of her child so please stop saying bad things about her, you will end up hurting my little princess as well. Jiyong and I are absolutely not fighting, he’s one of my best friend in this world and I like to believe that none of us would betrayed our friendship like that. Please, make sure you tell everybody that my friend is an angel, not the violent person you described on the news. If you see me and her together, please respect our privacy, she and her baby doen’t need to suffered from bigbang’s popularity now please, I have to go. Have a good evening”.

Just like that, with help from Daesung, the story started to fade away, little by little.

[goldngguk]

red // 05

part one of trilogy series

warnings // fluffy cuteness, jealous kookie

word count // 2.3k

trilogy masterlist

Don't do it. It won't end well, you know that. You can't let this happen. But then again, maybe there's no point in trying. Maybe this is all inevitable. Maybe you don't have a choice. Do we ever?

She was startled awake to the sound of loud vibrations against her bedside table. The wood trembled from the sensations of her phone as it received a new message. She groaned, rolling over and stretching for the device.

She laid her head against her pillow trying to recall what her dream had been about. It didn't really even feel like a dream. It was more like the voice in her head speaking to her through the darkness. But what was it talking about? Too exhausted to think or get up, she set her phone down only to watch it vibrate again when a new message popped up.

《???:》 Y/n?

She blinked at the unknown number for a few seconds before remembering who it was. She had given him her number at the café the day before during their conversation. She immediately added the number to a new contact.

Jungkook sat on a couch in his dorm room pleading with himself not to sound so cringeworthy. Forcing a conversation with her was something he did not want to do, especially if it was about something as unimportant as her obviously messed up sleep schedule.

He chuckled at the message causing Yoongi to look up from the burrito of blankets he had wrapped himself with. "What's so funny?"

Jungkook glanced up at his older roommate before shaking his head. "It's nothing, hyung. Go back to your nap."

"It's okay. I should be getting up now anyway. They'll call us down soon." Yoongi rolled out of bed and Jungkook's eyes went back to his phone.

-

After showering and finishing her hair and makeup, Y/n headed for the filming room.

"Hey, Y/n!"

Jimin jogged up beside her. "How are you today?"

"I'm good, thanks. I'm ready to get to work."

Jimin giggled. "Me too. I don't like to sit for too long." Y/n smiled and the two walked together to meet the group.

"Oh, look who's late," Jungkook said when Jimin entered the room.

"I am not late!"

"Everyone else is already here though," he smirked. Hobi laughed and punched him in the arm.

"You haven't even started yet! Besides, Y/n came with me!"

Jungkook's eyes flickered towards hers as she followed Jimin into the room. He felt his stomach drop. Why is she with him? Were they together? What were they doing? He watched the questions consume his mind. I don't like it.

Y/n took a seat next to him, immediately making his negative thoughts disappear. "Hi," she smiled.

"Hello." He tried to choke back the next sentence, but it seemed he couldn't help himself; it just slipped out. "You look pretty."

"Oh, thanks," she replied before turning her attention towards the staff who would be directing the episode.

Jungkook nodded and looked down to play with his thumbs. I can't believe I just said that. It seemed like all of his confidence from the night before flew right out the window when he saw her come in with Jimin. Of course, he wouldn't be a problem for Jungkook; the golden maknae who could do anything. At least he hoped not. He really hoped not.

The staff finished putting the set together and began to record. The first episode of the second season (ep. 21) of Run would be a relaxed episode, saving the more intense games and plots for later. Today would be a board game competition. “You will split up into two teams of six and play two out of three games. The third game will be all vs. all. If the winner of the third game is from the losing team of the first two games, the team can avoid the punishment picked by the staff.” The members nodded and began to decide their teams. The first group included Jimin, Yoongi, Taehyung, Hayden, Hobi, and Maya. The opposing team was made up of Jin, Mason, Namjoon, Y/n, Jungkook, and Cyrus. “Now that the teams are made, we will discuss the first game. It's water beads. There is a piece of filter paper placed on a hollow stand. Each of you will drop a bead or a drop of water onto the paper. The person to make the beads break and fall through the paper is the loser.”

Each team took turns adding beads until the overconfident Kim Seokjin decided to push his luck and dump a straw full of water onto the paper. Needless to say, the paper broke and Jin's team lost the first game. “Well that didn't go as planned,” he shook his head as Jungkook slapped his shoulder.

The second game was a test for the BTS members to see how many English words they could memorize on a card in ten seconds without the help of Culture. Jin recited five of his six words, while Namjoon got all of his. “Dog, dinosaur, duck, jello, jam, jerk, cracker, crocodile…”

Jimin snickered before attempting to mock him. “Crocodoll,” he said with a roll of his tongue. Hobi joined his fun, giggling, “Crocodiiiile.”

Jungkook went last. He looked up in thought before remembering his words. “Stream, strong, streamer, rabbit, ring, rocket. Was that it? I think that's all I have.” Everyone praised him for his memory and dialect.

“That was really good, Jungkook!” Y/n said, patting him on the back. His cheeks turned rosey and he smiled back at her. After watching the other team crash and burn, it was decided that Jungkook's team was the winner of the second game.

The third game which would be played individually was Uno. Within a few times around the circle, Y/n was the first to go out. She jumped from her spot and took a seat on the couch behind them. Taehyung seemed to not fully understand the concept of the game. “Tae,” Joon said, slapping him on the knee. “You didn't say uno. You have to draw four cards.” This went on for a while until the members made a game out of it.

“Okay guys, he gets it. You have to let him say it when he lays his card down.” Without even realizing how it happened, Taehyung went out and got second place. Hobi was right behind him.

After a few more rounds, Y/n laid her hand on Jungkook's shoulder and discreetly held up a 1 until he realized. “UNO!” He gasped. “Uno, uno, uno, uno!” He flung his final card across the room causing everyone to bust out in a fit of laughter. Only a minute later did he play the card and get fourth place.

“You would have lost if I hadn't told you,” she giggled as Jungkook held up his hand for a high five.

“They didn't even notice!” They both laughed as they watched the game continue until it was just Jimin and Yoongi left. In order to save time, the boys decided they would draw cards. Whoever held the highest card would be the last winner. Jimin drew a green eight while Yoongi played a red reverse.

“What is that worth? Did we even establish this card?”

Jimin waved his hand at him. “It's okay, hyung. I'll allow it. You can redraw.”

“Awww,” Y/n cooed. “Jimin, that's so sweet.”

Jungkook's gaze shot between Jimin and Y/n. Sweet? What is that supposed to mean? Does she like him? He could feel his face heat up for the hundredth time that week and his fists clenched into balls-- not that Jimin was any threat to him. He couldn't possibly be.

Yoongi drew a draw 4 card, making Jimin the loser despite his good sportsmanship. “That's okay, Chim. You're still the best sport here.” At this point, Jungkook's blood was boiling. Jimin was stealing all of her attention. He needed to do something, anything that would bring her back to him. He noticed the way she leaned on the couch, exposing her hand on the cushion next to him. He slowly crept his hand closer until his fingers feathered over hers. She immediately looked up at him, but she didn't withdraw due to the considerable amount of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. What is he doing?

He mentally celebrated his success before pulling his hand away. Jimin who?

The twelvesome wrapped the shoot and the staff declared dinner would be ready soon. The punishment for Jimin's team was to clean up afterward.

“Hey, Y/n. C'mere for a sec.”

Hayden and Maya were still standing in the middle of the room. She turned in her heels dramatically and made her way to them.

“Yeah?”

“So, Maya's been filling me in on a few things-”

“Oh good god, Maya what did you tell him?” She asked her sternly.

“Just what he needs to know. I'll be going now.” She winked at Y/n and left the room with a swing in her step.

“I swear that girl gets on my nerves sometimes.”

“Don't change the subject. As your very best friend, I demand to know what's going on between you and Jungkook.”

“Hayden, nothing is going on between us! We literally met three days ago, and you know Maya! She's always trying to hook me up with random people. This is no different.”

Hayden nodded his head, staring at her suspiciously. “So you would tell me if something was going on?”

“Of course! What about me do you not know?”

“Okay, Y/n. I believe you. I just think Jungkook might have an eye for you.”

“Good grief.”

“That's all I'm saying. He's showing signs and I think we've all noticed.”

“Kay Sherlock, I'll be sure to keep you posted. Can we go eat now? I'm starving.”

“Yeah yeah, let's eat. But seriously-”

“Hayden!”

-

After an uneventful dinner, everyone turned in for the night. When arriving at their dorm, Y/n shoved Maya inside and kicked the door shut behind her. “Why would you talk to Hayden? We talked about this. It's nothing and I don't understand why you keep insisting that it is.”

“I'm sorry, Y/nickname. I didn't think you'd be that pressed about it.” Y/n followed her into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

“I'm not pressed, Maya. I'm tired. You always do this. Every time I interact with a male that isn't in our band, you blow it out of proportion. I don't want a boyfriend. If I did, I would have one. But I don't. I thought that after everything I went through with Luke that you would understand that.”

“I know. You're right. I just get so excited when you loosen up. You work so hard all the time and I care about your feelings. I want you to be happy.” Exiting the bathroom, the two sat on their mattresses to face each other. Maya looked into Y/n's eyes, reading her like an open book. “I know you're lonely,” she spoke softly.

“I'm not lonely, My. I have the greatest friends in the world to share my life with. And I know you care.”

“That's not what I meant,” she said tilting her head endearingly.

“I know what you meant. But I don't have time for that kind of thing. In our career, you have to decide what you want; love or success. You can't have both. Between the touring, the practice and recording, red carpets and events, press following around every corner; it can be too much for some people to understand.”

“I think there's someone who understands that perfectly.”

“Which only means double the time apart.”

“So celebrities and normal people alike are both no-nos.”

“Now you're getting it.”

“Okay! Okay, I'll leave you alone. Just- at least think about it. I really think having a little fun could be good for you right now.”

“If it will make you feel better, then fine. I will. Now go to sleep.” The girls each climbed into their beds-Maya almost immediately drifting off. Before Y/n could shut her eyes, she heard her phone vibrating.

a.n. // DO NOT PAY ATTENTION TO THE TIMES IN THE TEXTS. THEY ARE NOT CORRESPONDENT TO THE STORY. Oooh, who's Luke? And what does he have to do with you?

taglist // @darkdragonskies @kalisica

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E3; Chapter Three, Holly, Jolly - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Gender Neutral!Reader Series

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘠/𝘯, 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘈 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

Hopper pulls up to the library, thankful to get a spot up front. He steps out of the vehicle and makes his way inside, Powell behind him.

Hopper takes off his hat as he enters the building, making sure to send a big smile to the librarian.

"Hey, Marissa. How you doin'?"

The disapproving look on Marissa's face never left as she spoke.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here."

"What?"

"You could have at least called, said, 'Marissa! Hey, it's not gonna work out. Sorry, I wasted your time. I'm a dick.'"

Powell was unsure of what to do; he looked from Marissa to Hopper, waiting.

Hopper only stares ahead for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, with a subtle smirk, he mutters,

"Yep."

She looks to him, shaking her head expectantly. He seemed at a loss for words again as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Uh... Maybe we could go out again next week?" He offers, hoping for the best. She slowly turns her head to Powell and gives him a 'is he for real?' look. In turn, Powell slowly looks over to Hopper awkwardly. Hopper, already knowing he chose his words poorly, visibly cringed, and was eager to change the subject.

"Newspapers? You guys got newspapers around here?"

Marissa had shown them over to the filing cabinet and started pulling out drawers, naming the selections.

"We have the New York Times, the Post, all the big ones. Organized by year and topic. You can find the corresponding microfiche in the reading room." She briefly gestures behind her.

"Okay, we're looking for anything on the Hawkins National Laboratory."

"Well, shouldn't you be looking for that missing kid?"

"Yeah." He states as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We are."

She nods her head, suspicious.

"Uh, so, why don't you start with the Times, and we'll check out the Post."

Marissa scoffs and looks behind her to Powell, unsure if he's serious. She turns back to Hopper and lets out a soft 'hmph!' before strutting away. Powell steps forward and lowers his voice in a questioning tone.

"The librarian?"

Hopper shrugs wildly before diving into the drawers of files.

The two men had gathered a handful of files and set to work in the other room. Each at their own microfiche, reading every column.

Hopper scanned another column that caught his attention.

'ALLEGED EXPERIMENTS, ABUSE' by T. Bridges.

"Terry Ives' legal case against embattled research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner suffered another setback today when the district attorney's office formally refused to press criminal charges against Brenner, his fellow researchers, assistants, or the project's sponsors, citing lack of evidence. Local law enforcement executed a search..."

Next column.

'MKULTRA EXPOSED' by T. Bridges

"The trust of the American people has been shaken to its core as a special inquiry into a covert CIA operation, code-named MK ULTRA, has exposed the extensive details about that which has been haunting the nation for the past decade. Six subjects have come forward..."

This particular column was accompanied by a negative of seven people. Five of which were slightly disheveled, in hospital gowns. A man in a turtleneck and blazer stood obediently in the back. A man in a fancy suit and tie, holding a clipboard stood front and center. A man with whom Hopper guessed to be Brenner.

Next slide.

'DR. MARTIN BRENNER NAMED IN LAWSUIT' by A. Ward - Staff Writer

"Senior researcher Doctor Martin Brenner and seven other staff researchers have been named in a new lawsuit filed today on behalf of former federal research study participant, Terry Ives. Dr. Brenner's attorney in conjunction with the Department of Energy has asked the circuit court to seal the details of the lawsuit until the attorney general's office can determine that no federal..."

Hopper found himself more engrossed and confused as he read.

"...her newborn daughter for scientific research. Following an investigation, the district attorney has already declined to press criminal kidnapping charges against the research facility and staff, citing lack of evidence. Dr. Brenner's attorney called Ms. Ives' allegations baseless and tragic, citing Dr. Brenner's excellent reputation, his twenty recent peer-reviewed scientific papers..."

The next slide was a short column with another accompanying photo. Although the picture was small and blurry, it wasn't hard to see the grief-stricken features on the young woman.

TERRY IVES SUING - 'They took my daughter' by Benjamin Buck

"After the district attorney's office declined to press criminal charges citing lack of evidence, local resident Terry Ives is not giving up her search for justice for herself and her daughter, and this morning filed a lawsuit against research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner and his staff.

Ms. Ives' suit seeks unspecified damages against Dr. Brenner and his facility, alleging physical abuse, sleep deprivation, malnourishment, and multiple allegations of kidnapping; both attempted and successful..."

Hopper sighed, trying his best to swallow all of this new information.

'What the hell has been happening in this damn town?'

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Three. One. Five. The numbers on the strange new bracelet read three one five.

Thankfully, El was able to find her way back outside by the large telephone pole where Mike told her to meet them. But El was still nervous. She just hoped no one had spotted her.

El couldn't find it in her ability to stay still. She couldn't stop pacing and she was subconsciously shaking out her hands, her nerves shot.

'What if someone saw her?'

She eagerly checked the bracelet, muttering aloud to herself.

"Three-one-five. Three-one-five. Three-one-five..." her voice turned soft as her confidence wavered. The only thing that was able to take her attention away from the bracelet was the familiar sound of meowing next to her.

Shocked, she looked over to see a scrawny orange cat staring at her from the other side of the fence. It began to meow again and panic and guilt crashed over her as once again another terrible memory resurfaced.

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

The white cat in the cage before Eleven let out a terrible hiss at her. Her head began to shake as she strained her ability. The combination of the cat growling and hissing and the frantic beeping of the machines was enough to push her even further.

She didn't want to. She never wanted to hurt this poor creature. But she knew that if she didn't, she would have to face the consequences. She would have to go back there. The cat gave out another deep growl and Eleven tried to the best of her ability not to cry. Not to break.

The cat began snarling, and it quickly turned to whimpers of pain. Eleven was freely crying now as she looked between the frightened cat and Papa. She gave one final look at the cat before yanking the wires off her head in defeat.

No. She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She looked at Papa defeated. She shook her head in defiance, though her sobbing gave away her true feelings. He only stared at her in disapproval.

"No! No!" She struggled and kicked. She fought back with all her might while Papa stood at the end of the hallway. Doing nothing.

"Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa!" She screamed her throat raw as the men dragged her away, yet as always Papa only watched it happen.

"No!" Her shrieks grew more violent as she neared the room.

She couldn't go back in there.

She couldn't.

The men tossed her inside and began closing the door.

She wouldn't.

Eleven stood to her feet and before they could close the steel door, she threw it open in a fit of rage, her attention quickly shifting to one of the men doing this her. In the very next instant, his back was thrown into the ceramic just behind him. His limp body slipped to the floor, leaving a large hole in the tile.

The second man spared a second to look before turning to her to try and restrain her.

Before he could even step foot in the room, he was dead on the floor, his neck snapped. All with the flick of her head.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, she collapsed against the wall, her nose and ears bleeding.

Papa appeared. He took one look at the cracked wall, to the collapsed man, and then at Eleven. Yet she couldn't move. She was completely drained, all she could do was stare at him. He slowly stepped towards her, staring at her.

She looked up at him in fear of what would happen next, and what did was not something she could have anticipated. He slowly reached his hands out, cupping her face. Sobs wracked her body, and he stared at her in awe.

"Incredible."

He reached down, scooping her into his arms. He carried her out of the room and down the hallway, staring at her sobbing form as if he hadn't been the one to cause it.

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"El!"

El turned her head to see Mike, Y/n, Lucas and Dustin. They were walking their bikes across the muddy grass in her direction.

Mike looked to her concerned as he, as well as the others, turned their bikes around.

"You okay?"

Relieved to see her friends, she nodded her head.

Mike gave the seat of his bike a few pats.

"Hop on. We only have a few hours."

Hesitantly, she walked forward. But she complied nonetheless and got on Mike's bike, and the five of them peddled off.

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

The five us were walking our bikes through the woods. Dustin and Lucas were in the back, while Mike and El were just a few steps in front of me. El was looking around as she walked and suddenly I felt her eyes on me. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my cut.

I got it to stop bleeding eventually, but I don't know how I will ever explain this to Mom. She worries so easily. And, I don't think I have ever had a cut this big but I'll survive. My thoughts are cut short when I become very aware of the fact that El had fallen back next to me and was now looking at me with concern.

"Why did they hurt you?" Her voice came out very soft but was laced with concern.

"Huh?" I asked surprised.

El extended her arm out and pointed to my chin. I looked down, upset with how things went today.

"Oh, that. I uh, well... I was tripped. By this mouth breather, Troy."

Her face scrunched up in confusion.

"'Mouth breather?'"

"Yeah. You know, a dumb person,"

I suddenly grew quiet, and El noticed.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

I paused. "Yeah. Yeah, it'll be ok." I said.

I knew what she meant but I didn't think it was noteworthy to bring up how I was feeling.

"Y/n." I turn to look at her and she is giving me a knowing look. "Friends tell the truth."

I began to fight tears that were stinging my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall.

"I just... I just miss him. Will, I mean. And the things Troy was saying..." I began feeling myself get worked up again at the mere thought of it. "They were awful. Truly awful, and I just... I'm tired. And worried. And I just want to find my friend."

There was suddenly a somber silence over the group that was quickly broken by El's soothing tone.

"Y/n," she said sternly, pulling my eyes to her. There was a soft demand behind her eyes, willing my gaurd down. "I understand."

I looked at her, a grateful smile on my features and my voice came out in a weak whisper.

"Thank you, El."

She gave me a warm smile in return. It very much resembled the one I gave her the first night we met. It was at this moment I knew. I had just found myself a very unique and powerful friendship; one that stood out from my friendship with the party.

El and I have a lot more in common than I thought.