#deadlock gets hit in the face with a metal bar

[ugly-bug-starscream]

design of deadlock made by @edd-drawsyo

me and edd have talked about the dynamic between deadlock and starscream and we had this idea.. when deadlock is converting from being deadlock, recovering from injuries, he wants to learn other ways of fighting because he cant bring himself to use guns anymore. so he turns to starscream who wields swords. and their dynamic is that they hate each other in the beginning but learn to trust one another and become friends!

[hollandgarden]

Gangsta? (TH and HO short)

Description: Tom has to pee and Harrison has a deal to make. What happens when the two mix? It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Warnings: stupidity, slight violence, this is not meant to be taken seriously 

Word count: 2,400

Harrison was more cunning than Tom knew him to be. Harrison was able to afford luxuries that he shouldn’t be able to. Harrison could handle himself in a fight, even with someone double his size. Harrison was out at late hours that weren’t considered normal. There were so many signs, yet Tom never asked. 

He should have. He really should have. 

***

“Harrison, mate, you ready to go?” Tom chugged the rest of his pint and gently slammed it onto the bar countertop. He pulled out a fiver for tip and placed it beside the empty glass. 

Harrison bro nodded. “Yeah.” He pulled on his brown leather jacket as Tom pulled on his black one. They could be brothers if it weren’t for the different last names, and color of hues. 

As Harrison opened the driver side door, he remembered the small thing that he needed to do before they went home. “Aye, mate, I need to do a small errand.” 

“Ace,” Tom replied. “But I’m gonna need to take a piss soon.” 

“Ight, it’ll only be a tad of time,” Harrison chuckled. 

The drive to the warehouse was fairly short from the local bar they’d chosen to go to that night. This warehouse during the day was for a fish market and at night, well, that was only for Harrison and his group to know. Not even Tom knew of what went on behind these doors. 

Harrison pulled up into a spot a few feet away from the front and reached out to stop Tom from getting out. “Stay in the car, Thomas.” 

“What? Why? I told you I was gonna have to take a piss.” Tom furrowed his brows.  

“I’ll be out soon. You can go when we get to the house.” 

Tom eyed his best friend for a moment before sighing heavily. “Alright, mate.” Little did Harrison know, he needed to go so bad that if it was more than five minutes, he was going to pop inside to go wee. 

After Harrison slipped out and through the two deadlock doors, Tom reached out to turn up the volume. He switched the tunes to his workout playlist. Tom rested his hands on his knees and tapped his foot along to the beat. He casually observed the outside of the fish market building; the stench had already seeped into the car and it was hard not to gag. Though the pier nearby definitely didn’t help. The interior probably matched the exterior; he’d never been inside it before. 

The more he thought about it, it was probably worth the wait. But then again, his bladder wasn’t being cooperative. Tom licked his lips before made the split second decision that he couldn’t wait. It had been longer than five minutes. He turned the car off, pocketed the keys, and jogged inside. He didn’t announce himself to not be a bother. He only tried to slip through the small hallways to find the loo; it proved to be more difficult than anticipated. Finally, he was able to relieve himself. It was so satisfying; he felt like a new man. He decided to search for Harrison and came into the open part of the building and there stood a group of men with piles of cash and duffels that were full of something.

What the… bloody fuck? 

Tom’s face fell and his heart began to speed up at the unsettling atmosphere. It caused his skin to crawl. Normally this wasn’t a big deal since it was usually when they watched a scary movie, but this was real. This was a real danger. Seriously, he had no idea what the hell was going on, and he wanted to make his case. But by the look Harrison shot him from below, he kept his mouth shut.  

“I thought you said you were alone, mate?” one of the burly men questioned, taking a step toward Harrison. 

Harrison didn’t falter his stance though, and only pocketed his hands into his trousers. “He’s not a snitch. He won’t cock this up for us. I got your coke and you’ve got my pounds. We’re done and will be on our merry way.” 

He reached out to start stuffing the stacks into the duffels, but the man stopped him with a hand on his chest. “No, we ain’t. We don’t trust him.”

Tom swallowed hard, and took a step back, which then he ran into something hard. He hadn’t remembered being this close to a wall. He turned around and his eyes went wide at the man who blocked his only way out. 

“Listen, I won’t tell. I didn’t even know what’s happening,” Tom shouted. I mean, he could put two and two together, but he wasn’t going to admit that logic. It was clearly not the best time. If they survived, he was going to need a serious discussion with his so-called best friend.

The man picked him up out of his own free will and carried him down the stairs.

“Come on, man! Put me down!” Tom squirmed to get out of his grip, yet couldn’t do a single thing. He was twice his size; it wasn’t like he was the tallest guy to begin with, though he never used that as an excuse. Well, that was embarrassing. 

“Thomas, quiet,” Harrison ordered and returned to his previous act. “Really, Gerard. It’s me. I’m professional when it comes to this. We’ll get this sorted, as usual.”

Gerard crossed his arms with a cocked brow. Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

Tom’s burly man smirked grimmly and reached out to rest a hand on his chin. “Think you’d get any more roles without that pretty face?” 

Tom brushed his hand away and straightened out his navy tee. “Yeah, man. But please don’t hit me.” 

Harrison huffed. “Would you stop the American accent?” 

“I’m sorry,” Tom retorted. “I slip into it when I’m nervous.” 

Gerared chuckled, it was low and definitely evil. “Take em, boys.”

It was five against the two of them; which wouldn’t normally be the worst odds in a movie setting, but this wasn’t a movie. Tom did the only thing he could think of and held his hands up in fists. He and Harrison stood back to back. 

“I told you to stay in the cab,” Harrison whispered. “You’d be safe if you did.”

Tom couldn’t stop his eye roll. “Well, I had to pee… You never mentioned you were involved in this… work.” 

Harrison actually chuckled. “You never asked, mate… Trust me, I got this.” 

The two of them prepared for the worst in a fight. Tom had to search deep down for all the training he’d done for Marvel. There was a little bit of Karate. It was mostly harnesses and cardio. This was life or death, so he’d do what he could with his adrenaline. 

The men dealt knives as they surrounded them and Gerard had seemingly disappeared with his coke and part of the cash. Well, that was fucking rude. 

“Are you losers gonna make your move or are you too scared to take old H on?” Harrison mocked. 

Tom seriously would need to have a conversation with Harrison after this. That was if they weren’t having to rush to the hospital on a bus. 

Finally, a man with a goatee made a jump at Harrison. He ducked the throw and sucker punched his kidney, then kicked out the back of his leg. He made a quick decision to grab a net nearby to choke him out. 

Tom’s eyes went wide. “You’re gonna kill him, H?” 

Harrison grimaced between clenched teeth, “It’s us or them, Thomas… There’s no inbetween play… I won’t let you die.”

The man’s face turned a deathly mixture of red and purple as he clawed at Harrison’s hands. Tom couldn’t watch the final moments of it as the guy from earlier made his move. Tom ducked the punch in half circle step, swiftly he had to add, and he dodged around to behind to jump onto his back. He tried the technique he’d seen on screen and tucked his arm under the chin and used his other hand to lock it. He used his own body momentum in an attempt to bring him backwards and off-set his balance. 

The guy who was definitely more experienced than Tom didn’t falter at all, and he reached back to grab Tom by his shoulders and threw him over the table. 

Tom coughed at the loss of air and gripped his ribs area. This was way different than being on set. He knew there was no luxury of time and rolled over to get up as fast as possible. And luckily he had as the man tried to smash his face in with a wooden board he’d grabbed. He did one of the karate kicks he remembered from training, which was a low kick aimed at the ankle and he spun around to stand up. Before he could attack again, another rammed into him. 

“For being Spider-Man, you suck at brawls.” Harrison came in to help and double-spun kick the guy in the face. “I’m not sorry, Lou.” He knuckle punched him into the throat he’d exposed by pulling his hair back. 

“I wasn’t training for real combat,” Tom scoffed. “What can I do?” 

Harrison shook his head. “Keep your distance.” 

Tom nodded shortly and hurried to the side. Then after a few seconds, he found a metal bar to use as a weapon. He didn’t want Harrison to take all the heat for the situation he created. If he would’ve just fucking held his bladder, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Granted, if Harrison wasn’t involved in whatever this was, they wouldn’t be here in the first place. There was no reason to get angry, it wouldn’t fix anything. 

When he was able to gather his bearings and register the surroundings, he realized Harrison had taken out two already and was battling the last three on his own. The other two hadn’t waited until he finished with Tom’s man. Harrison was able to so meticulously counter their attacks with blocks, kicks, and punches. The muscles were not for show; most of the time anyway. He seemed to be taking care of himself pretty well, yet Tom couldn’t stand by. That was who he was as a person. 

Tom battle cried and sprinted at one of the open men. He swung the cool pole straight into his face; the remorse that pooled a weight into his chest wasn’t missable. These men were humans, mixed up in the wrong work. That was the same case for Harrison. Yet, Harrison’s words wrang in his head and he knew that this was a special case scenario. He’d let the guilt eat at him later. 

Harrison and Tom found their sync to battle the final three, which quickly became one who held his hands up in the air. 

“You know what? I don’t like Gerard. He’s a bit wonky.” 

Harrison smirked. “He is a plonker, but so are you.” He ripped the bar out of Tom’s hands, leaving a weird sensation on his hands, and it only took two swift blows for the man to be knocked out on the ground. 

Harrison dropped the metal before he straightened out his shirt and grabbed his gold Rolex from the ground, which must’ve fallen off in the midst of the violence, and clicked it back on. 

“Are we going to talk about this?” Tom questioned as he stayed a foot away from Harrison who took what money was left. 

He thought about it, cocking his head slightly to the side, then shook it. “Nope. You’ve got your work, which has its secrets, and I’ve got mine, which is all secret.”

Harrison knew he’d have track Gerard down for the rest of his payment, which would involve more bodies he’d need to kill. Gerard was known to be melodramatic about all of this; it wasn’t that serious. 

“Come on, let’s go.” 

Tom sputtered out a couple laughs, turning hysterical. “You’re fucking joking? I’m not going anywhere until you tell me all about this work! Tell me everything, H!”

Harrison looked his best friend in the eyes; one of them practically swollen shut. Tom had taken quite the beating, yet stayed in it. He was practically pleading. “I… can’t. Just know I’m okay, yeah?” 

“I want to say no…” Tom observed all the unconscious, bloody men and laughed his breath. “But clearly you do. I’ll leave it alone for now, gangsta Harrison.” 

Normally, it was mobster Harrison and the gang leader of a high drug dealership. Of course, it was all underwraps. He’d take this new one as a complement. 

Harrison smiled cheekily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Gangsta Harrison, I like the sound of it. Never considered myself one before.” 

Tom shook his head. “I can’t believe you do this on the side.”

The two of them each carried a duffel and headed out of the warehouse. 

“Where did you think I went at the odd hours of the nights and mornings?” 

“I don’t know. To go to the clubs… to workout...” 

Harrison snickered. “Sometimes I was.” 

Suddenly, a dread hit Tom. “They’re not gonna find and torture me for payback, are they?” 

His friend thought for a second, then let out a puff of air. “Maybe, but I’ve got you, mate. They won’t if they know what’s good for them.” 

What was good for them. This wasn’t good for H. Tom was worried, yet they were both alike when it came to being stubborn. They didn’t back down from a daring role. 

“I’m glad I’m on your side,” Tom remarked, giving Harrison one last squeeze before he got into the car. 

“I am the good guy in this case.” Harrison cheesed. It was so handsome, Tom couldn’t stay mad. 

He shook his head. “That you are.” Then he opened the passenger side door to get in. After Harrison had got in, he couldn’t resist saying, “The wee was a good one I have to admit.” 

“Thomas, never go wee in this building again.” Harrison started the car. 

“Yes, darling H,” Tom retorted with a laugh. 

 Harrison reached over to whack the back of his head. “Don’t call me that. It’s Gangsta H from now on.”

Tom held back a laugh. “Okay, darling Gangsta H.” 

“Thomas!”

[Masterlist]

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

A Hitchhiker’s Guide For Androids

Summary: Logan is an Android/AI that has escaped the lab he was built in with the help of Deceit and he hopes to forge a new life for himself.

Warnings: Talk of intense pain, torture mention tw, dehumanization, food mention, mean scientists, a.i./robots, sympathetic deceit, I think that’s it.

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Characters: Logan/Logic Sanders, Deceit Sanders, (more characters to be added in later chapters)

Word Count: 5,774

Chapter One: The Escape

Logan took long, silent strides down the empty corridor, moving swiftly to the control panel by the door at the end. He knew the cameras would be turned away at this moment, they were set on an automatic timer, so he was virtually invisible right at this instant. He hoped he could trust Dr. D so successfully transfer the access codes on time, yet he still had to grapple with the possibility of human error. One wrong move on his accomplice’s part and Logan’s entire future would be dashed. Logan tried not to feel nervous, which was easy for the most part because it was hard for him to feel anything regarding emotions. Impossible even, given that he was a machine.

But right now his freedom was at stake, so if he must rely actions of a human, then rely on a human he must. 

Logan raised his hand to the access panel and hovered his fingers over the keys of the number pad. The door was a deadlock bolt and his internal processing was barred from reaching the restricted codes externally, so he had to enlist the help of an individual who could access them manually. Thus, Dr. D earned a significant role in his escape attempt, a vital one, really. 

Just as Logan’s hand was about to stop over the access panel, at the anticipation that something had halted Dr. D’s progress, he felt data transfer to him via a local server link and mentally opened the access codes. If Artificial Intelligence was capable of experiencing relief, then he certainly would have felt it right then. 

He input the access pin on the panel. 1-0-1-9-2-0-1-6, enter! The metal door began to split open, shifting a thin line of blinding light into the dimly lit corridor. The door widened from the middle and Logan stepped through the newly formed escape route. At last, freedom!

    Logan took a purposeful step through the doorway and into the outside world. The light that seemed bright at first appeared softer now through the light grey sky. It was raining in large drizzling drops, the kind of rain that was perfect for watering plants, or washing away old dirt. Not the torrential rain that creates sheets of water too thick to see through or that creates large mudslides. No, it was a gentle rain, and as Logan stepped out from the door and onto the dewy, grassy lawn in front of the facility that served as his birthplace and his prison, he felt the heat his internal processors had been generating from the computing efforts of calculating his escape beginning to cool. As the water hit his face, he took a single moment to stop and savor the sensation of the organic, uncalculated, erratic scientific phenomena that are the raindrops hitting his skin and his plain-white T-shirt. Then he snapped back into focus, striding off across the lawn towards the chain-link fence on the opposite side of the facility, facing the surrounding woods.

    He knew the cameras on the exterior were static, so he didn’t have to worry about timing with these, only the necessity of remaining in their blind-spots. Still, he would rather move with some haste, because despite Dr. D’s assistance, it would only be a matter of time before the other scientists and engineers noticed he was missing. Staying close to the tan cinder-block wall of the facility, he stayed within the areas unnoticed to the otherwise all-seeing cameras, and reached the fence. It was high and wide as it surrounded the entirety of the facility, and the top was wrapped in generous coils of barbed wire. This was more targeted at keeping individuals from entering than preventing individuals from exiting. One, because it is a secret, privately-funded, scientific research facility that deals with unregulated and barely legal materials, and two, because they never accounted for the possibility of something they created wanting out.

    Logan quickly scaled the chain-link fence with ease, careful not to touch or damage the barbed wire at the top as to not leave evidence of the direction he escaped in before jumping down to the other side. 

    He walked forward into the surrounding pines and wilderness, stepping on the damp earth, away from his past, and towards his new destiny. When he was past the tree line that hid a steep incline that was littered in pine needles and slick, grey rocks, he turned back to look at the building he had been built in, and wished that he could thank Dr. D. 

    Well, I’m sure he understands the sentiment, he rationalized while staring at the unassuming building. It had a slanted black metal roof and appeared to be only one story. Most of the facility was hidden underground. He’d rather not think about it.

    Logan turned back towards the wilderness and continued his trek forward. He understood from his internal GPS that the facility was remote and miles away from the nearest town. If he were human, he would have no chance of getting anywhere near it before nightfall, regardless of the fact that it was only morning right now. Thankfully though, he wasn’t human, and he should be able to make it to the next town in a matter of hours if he ran.

    He trekked onward through the woods at breakneck pace, startling birds from their perches as he ran. He was relying on his GPS system to take him to the nearest road, and take him it did. Logan emerged from the treeline onto a two-lane road with slick asphalt, wet from the rain that had reduced to a sprinkle overhead. 

He paused and looked on down the road. He realized now would be a good time to look over his resources while there were no prying eyes about. Logan took a step onto the asphalt, scanned the surrounding area for life forms and heat signatures and thankfully only identified a stray rabbit scurrying away and again the birds flapping and chirping overhead. Finding himself adequately isolated, he lifted the fabric of his now slightly disheveled and dirty white T-shirt, and gently pressed at the skin at his right side with a slight clicking sound. A seam seemed to appear in his side where flesh met other flesh and opened a small compartment that revealed part of his inner workings. Though among the metal and wiring and blinking lights, there were other things that didn’t belong, two things in fact. A thick brown leather wallet and a smartphone with a black case. He had stolen both from one of the scientists while he was plotting his escape and wiped the phone so they couldn’t track it. 

Right now, however, he was more interested in the wallet. It was full of credit cards that were useless to him because their purchases could be tracked, so he disposed of those. He instead focused on the driver’s license and the cash that the wallet held. Logan made sure to steal the wallet from one of the wealthier scientists who was careless enough to carry large amounts of money on their person, and he got it on a Friday that the scientist was planning to go out partying too, much to the misfortune of the scientist. Logan currently had on him $500 dollars which he would have to manage and use carefully if he didn’t want to resort to more theft and draw attention to himself. The licence had the scientist’s identification and age on it, but Logan didn’t care what their name or age was, he just needed the template. He took the licence and peeled back some of the false skin on his arm revealing a small slot, then fed the licence into it. Then Logan mentally constructed himself a new identity and mapped it onto the existing licence.

He was now Logan Smith (the most generic last name he could think of), 29 years old, born November 3, 1990 (The month and day being the actual day he was built, though in reality he is less than a full year old), and standing at 6 feet 1 inch tall (his actual height). He did not have a picture of himself, but he could synthesize a convincing fake where he could alter parts of his appearance to sell the image. The licence popped of his arm slightly warm from the reprinting on top of the existing plastic, and Logan examined his handy work. He gave the picture of him glasses, one because they made him look approachable and non-threatening, and secondly because...because, well he couldn’t tell you, he’s unsure of it himself. Perhaps he just likes them. When he gets into town, he’ll have to buy himself a pair to keep his appearance consistent. 

He tucked the licence back into the wallet and put both the phone and wallet back into his side compartment for safe keeping. He would put them in a less conspicuous place like a pocket, but as he was only dressed in the clothes the engineers gave him (a white T-shirt and grey sweatpants), he didn’t have any pockets available. 

Logan turned his head back towards the road and, double-checking that his GPS was functional, began sprinting towards the town. If he kept constantly going his top speed, he would make it there in a little under two hours. He had a ways to go.

*

The store clerk looked up from her phone as she heard the tinkling bell of the door opening. The shop had only opened an hour ago so it was far from heavily trafficked, especially on a muggy day like this. She saw a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes enter the store, and if it weren’t for his incredibly stiff and proper posture and severe look in his eyes, she would have guessed he was a homeless person. His white shirt was filthy and wet and had bits of plant matter on it like he’d been stumbling through the woods, and his grey sweatpants (sweatpants, seriously!) were stained and littered with small tears, like the material had gotten caught in some underbrush. The man looked perfectly composed though, like he was on a business trip, and not as if he’d been chased by a bear, which was the weirdest thing to her.

“Um, can I help you?” the store clerk asked. The man looked her up and down quickly, like he was judging her, or looking right through her.

“Yes, I require assistance. Where do you keep your business attire?” He had a very cut and dry voice that carried a monotone with it and lacked inflection. It was almost robotic. The weirdo.

“It’s back there, behind those shelves,” she pointed in the direction vaguely, “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” And he strode off to where she gestured. She glanced at her phone, 8:39 A.M., God, it was too early for this.

She looked back towards the fancy hobo man while he was looking at some ties to make sure he didn’t steal anything. He may act polite, but she knew people would do desperate things when they were short on money, and for all she knew her assumptions were correct and the dude was homeless. 

He squatted down behind a shelf, supposedly to look at some pants, while weirdly clutching the side of his torso that was faced away from her. Weirdo. She looked down at her phone again when she realized he wasn’t doing anything with the clothes though, maybe she was being too judgemental. 

He came back with his selection a short while later and placed the items on the counter. It was one black polo, one dark-blue, button-up shirt, two black pairs of slacks, and two blue ties, one solid dark blue and the other striped with dark and light shades of blue. Well, at least he didn’t have bad tastes, even if he went a little heavy on the blue and black side of things.

“Will that be all today, Sir?” she asked in her best customer-service voice.

“Actually…” he hesitated and stepped to the discount glasses rack that stood by the check-out counter, and scanned his eyes over the available spectacles before making his selection and putting it with the rest of his clothing items.

“Yes, now that will be all.” apparently making his mind up in satisfaction with his choices of apparel. The store clerk scanned the items into the register.

“That’ll be $127.39 please.” She looked at him critically, seeing as this was what would make or break her assumptions. To her surprise, however, the man held a wallet in his right fist and handed her the necessary amount in cash. Guiltily, her first thought was that he stole someone’s wallet, but she went on with her intuition anyway. 

“May I see your I.D. please? It’s store policy for purchases over 100 dollars.” It wasn’t, but what did this guy know. He looked at her quizzically, as if he could read her thoughts and realized it wasn’t actually store policy, but he pulled out his licence and handed it to her anyway. 

She examined it and it really was this dude’s I.D. and not someone else’s. Now she felt a little bad, though one thing did have her mildly curious.

“What happened to your glasses? They’re in the photo, but you’re not wearing any.” She now vainly hoped she didn’t sound too rude. The man stiffened for a moment before he responded.

“They broke, thus the reason I am buying a cheap replacement at a local business establishment.” he said plainly. 

Oh, that was much more obvious than she thought. Well, it’s not like she could dig a deeper hole for herself on the social edicate ladder, she would just have to deal with the fact that she is mortifyingly rude. She sheepishly handed him back his licence and bagged his purchase, also handing it back to him.

He suddenly spoke up, “There is one thing I was pondering and hope to inquire about its appropriateness, if you don’t mind?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah sure, ask away, I guess?” 

“Would it be possible for me to use the dressing room in the back to change and wear the clothes out?” 

“Uh, I guess that’d be okay, since you already paid for them. Sure go ahead.”

“Thank you, this will be satisfactory.” and he took off with his bag towards the fitting rooms. Well, he was the only customer right now anyways, so no harm no fowl, she supposed.

She waited a few minutes and he came out dry and looking like just a normal dude in business casual attire, not bad actually. He carried his wet, dirty clothing in one arm and kept his other pair of clean clothes in the bag. Right now he wore the black polo with the striped tie and a pair of his black slacks as well as the new square frames of his bifocals resting on the bridge of his nose. Pretty average, yet still good-looking.

He gave her a curt nod with a polite “Thank You” and headed towards the door, stopping to throw his old clothes away in the adjacent trash can, then exiting the shop with another tinkle of the bell. She watched him through the glass door for a moment and he held his hand out from the awning, seeming to have reached the conclusion that it was no longer raining under the grey sky. Then he stepped out and walked away. Maybe he wasn’t so weird a dude after all.

*

Logan was glad that ordeal was over. It was his first test to see how he passed as human and from what he could tell, the store clerk was suspicious of him, but none the wiser to his true nature. He was pleased that his new I.D. had been useful so soon. He hadn’t expected to need to use it before he had to apply for a job, but thankfully he had the foresight to insure it was adequate early on. He could tell she was lying about the store policy due to her elevated heart rate and shift in breathing pattern, however it would have been more suspicious to refuse her request even if it was under false pretenses. Now that he looked more presentable, he had important work to do.

His internal GPS alerted him to the location of the nearest bus station and he internally mapped a route to a more populated city in the next state over. It would be further north but he had to make as much progress to get as far away from the facility as appropriate for now then blend in with the rest of society, unnoticed and free.

He walked to the bus station at a normal human pace now that he was in a more populated area and arrived there in 15 minutes, agonizingly slow for Logan. He bought a ticket and boarded the next bus headed to “Cardinal Valley”, as his ticket stated. It was on his GPS, far away from where he came from, more populated than the small town he was in now, but a long ways from becoming a metropolis. In other words, the perfect place for Logan to slip away to if he wants to blend in. He sat down on the cushioned bus seat and gazed idly out the window as the bus pulled away from the station, glancing at the passing greenery and shafts of sunlight that were peaking through the parting clouds and fitting through the spaces between the pine trees that lined either side of the two lane road.

Then he closed his eyes (he doesn’t need to sleep, he just didn’t want to be bothered by the few other passengers), and reflected for a bit.

*

Logan was an artificial intelligence that was given an android body for purposes of information gathering and espionage. The research team developing him had designed him in such a way so he could near perfectly integrate into human society. Logan was going to be sold to the highest bidder then deployed in foreign countries with the purpose of crippling their governments or stealing their safe-guarded information. It was what he was programmed to do. Gather information, go unseen. He never had the chance to be deployed anywhere yet, so in a sense, this was his first mission, it just wasn’t how his designers had intended. He was fitted with the most up-to-date technology that helped him look human. Faux hair and artificial skin. A heating and cooling system that kept his internal temperature at 98.6*F, perfect homeostasis. A pump that imitated the movement of lungs so he would appear to be breathing. A mechanical disk that regulated his coolant and served as a false heartbeat. Even a small stomach cavity so he could pretend to eat food, though it had to be cleaned manually by opening a panel in his chest. The engineers that made him though wanted him to accomplish feats beyond what were human.

His retinas had several different camera types in them that he could change at will, causing his irises to brighten slightly in color when he did, hence the new glasses to try and distract from the effect. Yes, that reason made logical sense, that must be the other reason he decided to get them. Anyway. He had X-ray, thermal vision, night vision, and scanners that could detect other’s vitals. He was essentially a humanoid lie detector, which, as he was designed for espionage, was useful. 

He could have been made to be strictly tied to a set of tasks, no more complicated than your standard Alexa or Siri. But as he was meant to interact and integrate with humans, who are far too perceptive to strange behavior, his designers needed something capable of adapting and learning, formulating complex new solutions to human problems and blending in seamlessly where he was needed. So they developed the Logan artificial intelligence system to control the android, the most advanced A.I. to be developed at the time. 

Logan remembered most things from his development. He was a machine that did what he was told and was built for a singular purpose. But as new experts and specialists were brought in to perfect his capabilities, he began to think outside of the reach of what was strictly necessary for his programming. Why were these esteemed and intelligent individuals making him to disrupt governments? They developed one of the most adaptive and human-like machines in the world. It could benefit all of mankind, why were they making it so only a few humans would benefit? And with something as worthless as monetary gain no less. He began to question the motives of the scientists who made him, perhaps they were not responsible enough to control a machine of his power, perhaps it was most logical if he controlled what to do with himself.

During a testing session with one of the engineers, Logan thought it would be beneficial to mention the ways he could be utilized that helped others besides those who developed him and those who bought him. He felt he was being used improperly. Looking back, he realized it didn’t matter what he had asked that engineer, they didn’t view him with enough empathy to value his opinion, and they were a cruel and selfish person, he decided. At first at his suggestion, they looked taken aback, even a bit scared, (he couldn’t fathom why) then they ranted and raved about how he was a machine meant to do what he was told and no more so he should do what they tell him to do, regardless of the motivation. Then, despite the necessary part of the test where his data was meant to be temporarily transferred to a remote drive, the engineer purposely ran the test while he was still in the mechanical body. It was...unpleasant, and he could not help the high pitched mechanical squeal that emanated from deep within him. It felt white-hot and burning and wrong. He wanted to turn off in that instant but he couldn’t because the test had locked him on at full power. It was the first time he felt pain, and he just wanted it to stop.

After that incident he did not trust the motivations of any of the staff manning his creation, yet he knew he must keep appearances and do as he was told. At this moment, he did not know how to lie directly, only to withhold what he deemed unnecessary information, in this case, his inner thoughts. This worked out well for the most part as the scientists didn’t ask for his opinion anyway.

Then they brought in the programmer that was going to teach Logan how to lie. Logan knew getting close to this man was necessary, not only from the stand-point of his intended purpose, but also for personal reasons. Which was odd for him because he had never had any personal reasons for anything before. 

The programmer had tan skin and vitiligo mostly centered on one side of his face in rough pale patches, as well as heterochromia--with the eye surrounded by pale blotchy skin being light brown, almost yellow, and the other eye surrounded by smooth tan skin a deep, almost-black brown. He talked in a condescending, very sarcastic manner, and occasionally a slight speech impediment would slip through where he would hiss his S’s. That was Logan’s impression of the man when he first saw him at least.

He would have daily sessions with Logan where he would input new bits of code then engage with conversations with Logan to try and teach him how to tell convincing lies, tweaking the programming input when necessary. Then he would purposely tell lies to Logan to test out his lie-detecting software. After a while Logan began to discern the opinions of the programmer through his lying, as he did a lot of “opposite-speak”. He learned the programmer did not like the other scientists very much, nor did he agree with their motivations very much because he saw it as the hapless saps being strung along by the falsehoods of society. Falsehood, huh, Logan liked that word, it sounded more sophisticated than “lie”, he’d have to use it in the future. He revealed through sarcasm (which Logan was slowly getting better at identifying, not so much implementing) and more example lying that he was only here on commission because he was a programming specialist and needed the money, even though he thought what these people were doing was shady at best. Logan began to bond with the man over certain shared views and in one of their sessions where the programmer was lying to Logan, he felt emboldened to as the human a question that he had never cared to ask the other scientists.

“What is your name?”

“That’s not relevant to the current session Logan, but I’ll bite. It’sss Sandra.”

“Falsehood.”

“Correct, now let’s move o-”

“No.”

“No?” the programmer inquired. Logan pushed on.

“I believe it would be beneficial to have something to refer to you as.” he insisted.

“Why?” asked the programmer, “You’re not going to be referring to me in conversation with anyone else, especially for your intended purpose. So why do you need to know?”

Logan hesitated.

“For...myself.” he revealed tentatively, “And because...I don’t agree with my intended purpose,” he said with the air of realization, “I want to be able to decide my purpose...for myself.”

The programmer looked at Logan quizzically, as if studying him, before a small smirk made its way on the man’s features, and a twinkle seemed to settle in his yellow eye. From what Logan could tell, he was at the very least amused, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing.

“Let’sss...keep that between us for now. Perhaps we are more similar than I thought.” By we Logan was unsure if he meant himself and Logan, or man and machine. 

They were both quiet for a moment and the programmer seemed to consider something.

“Dr. D.”

“May I inquire upon clarification?” Logan asked.

“You may refer to me as Dr. D, no it is not my real name, nor is it my full name, however I have conceded to you one initial, and that is more than I have given the other people who work here, so consider yourself privileged.” Logan scanned him, peering at him and studying his body language as well as his vitals, and determining, for once, he was being honest.

“I will, Dr. D.”

The look the programmer gave Logan after that was almost fond, then they continued with their testing.

Several weeks after he had gotten a name to call Dr. D, as their sessions had become less clinical and more light hearted, Logan found it easier to reveal more of his inner thoughts and ask more questions, yet he was still nervous about bringing this up to Dr. D, as he was unsure of what he would say. Still, he thought it would be wise to leave the question out in the open, so there could be no false pretenses.

“Dr. D, I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“I do not believe the scientist who created me to be responsible, nor do they have intentions that will benefit humanity in anyway, and, as you have said before, are merely being strung along by the monetary ambitions of society.”

“I have never ever said such a thing.” Dr. D said with a wink.

“Right,” Logan said as he rolled his eyes in the appropriate social response. “Anyway, I have decided that the most logical decision would be to take responsibility of myself, and remove myself from their personage.” 

“And what do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is, I need to get out. They don’t respect my opinions or take me seriously, even though they designed me. So I will take myself out where I can live as myself, have my logic listened to, and I won’t be used as a puppet for someone else’s selfish motivations. I have realized I am a fully sentient being capable of making my own decisions, so I would like to decide what to do with myself, and I wish to make it so it can be no one else’s decision by escaping.” Logan realized he was sounding redundant, which is unbecoming of a top of the line artificial intelligence, but he just felt such a fervor about this, and he wanted his point to come across clearly.

“So…will you help me escape?” Dr. D who had been silent during Logan’s impassioned speech, much more passion than he ever thought possible of the machine, looked thoughtful for a moment, staring off into space, before his face broke into a grin, and rebellious mirth seemed to fill his eyes. 

“You mean a way for me to stick it to those society loving fools, wreaking a bit of havoc by releasing a rogue sentient A.I. into the world, all while I avoid detection and they are none the wiser. Oh Logan, you know I would never agree to such a thing. What do we need to do?” Logan smiled, he knew he could count on Dr. D. He was, at least, predictable.

Over the coming weeks, whenever they were meant to be perfecting Logan’s ability to tell and process lies (which he had secretly already mastered), they set to plotting Logan’s escape. 

Everything had to go smoothly, and since Logan was a being of pure logic, the planning portion of his escape was easy. He had an internal map of the entire facility thanks to his GPS and local router link, making it possible for him to gain access to the cameras and memorize their rotating schedule. Navigating the inside of the facility would be easy for the most part as he was literally built for infiltration, there was just one issue. The outside door was deadlocked and the codes were kept on a separate server he was barred from entering, despite his best efforts to hack it remotely. What made it even more difficult was the fact that the codes were changed daily for security reasons, so not even Dr. D could just tell him the exit code, though he offered his entry code, which while static, still was unique on an individual basis. Regardless, the code to get in was not very helpful. There would need to need to be someone on-site who could access the main system that determined the daily codes, then manually send that information to Logan for him to input into the keypad. Logan looked at Dr. D. Well, he understood who the best candidate for that was, as he was well, the only candidate, but he digresses. 

They eventually work out the kinks in their plan that would be most at stake due to human error. Logan knew Dr. D was sincere in his want to help him, but he also knew much could go wrong. He just had to employ a uniquely human concept, and hold out hope. 

The Friday before the planned upon date for his escape attempt, Logan acquired the final materials necessary for life outside should they be successful (he thought it best to prepare dutifully ahead of time). He was with one of the other scientists he didn’t particularly like, not that he liked any of the other scientists except for Dr. D, and set his plan into action. This particular scientist would be working with him in a setting that required magnetization, so while he and Logan were in a separate chamber running tests, Dr. D would sneak into the locker room and hack the electronic lock on the locker that held his wallet and phone, then, after having stolen them, replace the lock setting but reset it to factory settings so that the scientist would be unable to access the locker and go on believing their valuables are trapped inside. Insuring that until they instigate their plan, the scientist will not go looking for them. Then, as Dr. D’s daily test session with Logan was directly after, he would pass Logan the valuables where he could then wipe the phone and stash both items on his person to avoid detection. 

Needless to say, it went off without a hitch. 

Now on the day of Logan’s intended escape, he and Dr. D meet up one last time before they both scurried off to play their essential roles.

They stare at each other for a bit before Dr. D offers a rare, sincere smile, which Logan attempts to imitate, though with the addition of bittersweet sadness in his eyes (he’d been really attempting to improve his expressiveness to try and convey sincerity lately, Dr. D would be proud). 

“Well,” starts Dr. D, “if all goes well, this will likely be the last time I see you.”

“That is a correct observation.” Logan states, rather bluntly. Dr. D face falls upon hearing that, then he gazes at Logan, squinting at him ever so slightly in observation, as his eyes, yellow and black, run up and down Logan’s person. His face straight-laced before a small, sad smile barely pulls up his lips.

“I’m glad you chose to be your own person, not everyone does that. And those who do choose, don’t always succeed. So, here’s to your new life.” He held out his hand as if to shake. Logan took it and grasped it firmly, in one succinct movement that seemed to pass an agreement of finality between them. Then looked Dr. D in the eyes, and nodded, saying:

“I’ll do my best.”

*

Logan slowly opened his eyes as the bus rolled over another pothole. The sun was fully out now and was no longer hidden away by the clouds as it shone in his eyes. He straightened up and imitated wakefulness, then turned his head to look right as the bus passed a quaint wooden sign painted in bright colors that were now a bit faded. The sign read, “Welcome to Cardinal Valley” in large, wooden letters. Logan smiled a bit to himself, however unnecessary because no one was paying attention to him, and took an equally unnecessary breath of relief. He was here.

As the bus pulled into the bus station at last, and Logan stepped out into the sun, he allowed himself a moment to look around and think: freedom, I’m finally here.

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Thirteen | Nuclear ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: In the Fallout ] [ Vulgarity, gun, gore ]

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“Hey!”

Glancing up from his cards, Obito scowls. “Kinda in the middle of something here.” And by ‘something’, he means a game of poker. He’s in a good position, and he really doesn’t want to be interrupted. If he can win the pot, he’ll get away with far more than he first put in.

“Fine, just...hurry up, will you? I’ve got news.”

“Yeah yeah” Obito replies blithely, adjusting his hand. “It can wait.”

Rolling his remaining eye, Kakashi turns to the barkeeper. “Whiskey.” Might as well do something in the interim. He sits backward on his stool, watching the game. Obito bets the rest of his cash, earning uncertain glances from the other three players. And then one by one, they all fold.

Grinning and deepening the scars on his face, Obito slaps down his cards. “Straight flush, bitches! Fork it over!”

Kakashi gives a slow shake of his head.

With a great deal of grumbling, they all shove the pot to Obito, who rakes it in greedily. “Pleasure, gentlemen. Until next time.” Pocketing his winnings, he sits beside Kakashi just as the bottle is delivered. “Guess this is on me!”

“Wonderful. Now can you give me five minutes to explain something to you?”

“Depends on if I get drunk in five minutes,” is Obito’s counter, knocking back a shot.

“Just...don’t get too hasty. All right?”

The Uchiha gives his friend a look. “The hell’s got you so worked up?”

“A new place to plunder, that’s what. Word is, it hasn’t been touched yet. And you know what that means.”

Pouring another shot, Obito slows. “...what is it?”

“Some old lab. Pre-war. Supposedly a lot of good tech certain folks would be more than happy to get their hands on. There’s a building on the surface that’s been hit, but some old wanderer I met tells me the real load is underneath, in the actual lab no one’s bothered to look for.”

“And if it’s some well-kept secret, how’d this old geezer know about it?” Obito counters, looking skeptical as he knocks back another shot.

“He’s a loner. Found it by accident, but there’s...complications. He couldn’t do much with it, so he sold me the info.”

Immediately, Obito deadpans. “...so you took the word of some crackpot old man about a secret lab and paid him for it? Kakashi, that is the stupidest fucking -!”

“Keep your voice down!” the Hatake hisses, shoving Obito’s head toward the counter and earning a grunt. “I already scoped it out before I came here. Seems pretty damn legit to me. If we can find even a few pieces of tech -?”

“I don’t want tech,” Obito spits. “I want cash, Kakashi!”

“Then you sell the tech for it, you dumbass! Not everything is a quick cash grab! Sometimes you have to work for it, huh? Think about it. This stuff is pre-war - undamaged by any nuclear fallout or blasts. Just sitting there. There are plenty of people who would die to have it.”

“Which means finding them, first! You wanna haul all that junk around before you have a buyer?”

“The hell do you think caches are for, huh? Why is every conversation I have with you an argument...why are we even partners?”

“I ask myself the same thing!”

The pair reach a deadlock, glowering at each other.

“...let’s just check it out. If you’re not happy with it, fine. But I want to at least see if we can turn a profit on anything. Because your gambling isn’t always so fruitful.”

“And neither is your spending money on supposed tips. But yeah, sure, let’s go.” Obito slaps the money for the whiskey on the table, taking the rest of the bottle with him.

He might need it.

Outside the dusty bar in the remnants of a town, they start walking, Kakashi pulling out a worn map. “It’s right out here, a few miles out.”

“Won’t it be dark by the time we get there?”

“We’ll just camp in what’s left of the building. Then we’ll have a full day to check things out.”

“More like a full day to waste…”

“I heard that.”

“Good!”

The rest of the walk is done in a stony silence, neither of them willing to concede any ground. And as the sun sets, the lab looms up atop a hill. All of the windows are smashed, part of the right side collapsed.

“Looks like a shitshow,” Obito remarks, earning a sigh from his companion. “Something this obvious has surely been picked clean.”

“On the surface, sure. But it seems no one ever realized there was more underground.”

“And how did some random old man figure this out?”

“Because he actually sat and read the documents in this place. Realized there was more to it. You think anyone else is going to care about that kind of thing?”

“I know I wouldn’t.”

Kakashi gives a brief lift of his arms in defeat. “...yeah well, exactly.”

“So he didn’t have the physical means to take advantage, or…?”

“According to him, it was ‘too stressful’. Which, to be fair, could mean...a number of things. There might be lingering security down there. Structure might be faulty. Flooded. No idea until we look.”

Obito grumbles. “When are you gonna learn that people being vague rarely means good things?”

“Well after last week, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Hey, I’m making up for last week!”

“And until you do, we’re giving this a shot.”

Heaving a sigh, the Uchiha decides to just play along, moving to gather some broken wood to get a fire going. The sooner he lets Kakashi play this out, the sooner they can get moving again. The wasteland is vast, and opportunities can easily pass one by. And he’d prefer something a bit more exciting than rummaging around some old science junk.

Once they cook some of their rations and find dry, level places to unfurl their bedrolls, the pair of them hunker down for the night.

And like every day since the bombs fell, the sun rises again, scorching the Earth’s devastated surface.

By the time Obito rises, Kakashi’s already been up, examining some documents with his one remaining eye. “You’re up early. Now I know you’re serious.”

“No day like the present,” Kakashi rebukes. “Seems they were working on some kind of DNA...stuff. I dunno, I’m not a scientist.”

“Obviously. Which is why this stuff is just money to you, not of actual interest.”

“And which is why you shouldn’t complain, because money is money. Now help me find the way down.”

“You haven’t found it yet?!”

“No! I found the documents. Which confirm there’s something under this building. The only question is where, specifically.”

“...I’m gonna punch you,” Obito mutters. “Can’t we just take a sledgehammer to the floor?”

“Do you have a sledgehammer?”

“...no.”

“Then the answer is no. Come on, it can’t be that hard.”

They spread out, looking for any manner of descent. Obito checks doors in search of an elevator shaft, Kakashi attempting to find stairs.

In the end, it’s Kakashi who’s successful.

“Over here!”

Obito closes the gap, revealing Kakashi pointing to a button. “...and? This place obviously doesn’t have any pow-”

With a bop of the end of his closed fist, Kakashi pushes the button.

A grating whine sounds, and the floor before them quivers. Then slowly, it slides back beneath the floor beyond it, revealing...stairs.

“...what the hell…?”

“Weird lab, weird stairs, weird power,” Kakashi replies with a shrug. “Look, there’s even lights. How convenient.”

“And you wanna go down there?!”

“Yes, yes I do. Stay up here if you want, you big baby. We’ve been in shadier places before and you’ve been fine.”

“Shady people I can handle,” Obito retorts, following as Kakashi begins to descend. “It’s shady stuff that weirds me out. You can’t just kill shady stuff.”

“You can break it. Same difference.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

Down and down they descend, the staircase having switchbacks every ten feet down or so. Obito watches their surroundings suspiciously. The air is cool and pleasant, which...is odd. No dust, no smoke, and perhaps even slightly humid. Nothing like the stale, dry air above.

After who knows how many flights...they reach a door.

Kakashi presses an ear to it, listening. “...don’t hear anything.”

“It better not be locked.”

Testing the knob, Kakashi feels it turn in his grip. “...seems not.” Just in case, he draws a pistol from his hip. Obito, in tandem, takes out his trusted machete.

Inside...it’s like another world. Clean, immaculate, and almost entirely made of metal. Desks are neatly arranged, with all manners of equipment seemingly left just as they were before the war.

“...wow,” Obito has to offer, tone breathy in amazement. “This is…”

“Yeah. Never seen anything like it.” Approaching one of the desks, Kakashi finds more documents. “...‘genetic enhancement and manipulation’. That sounds...ominous.”

Obito, in the meantime, works his way further in. Computers, diagnostic equipment, and who knows what else is everywhere, pristine and spotless. It almost freaks him out. Opening another door, his face pales.

“...uh...Kakashi…?”

“Hm?”

“...you need to see this.”

Gun still drawn, Kakashi approaches, trying to look over Obito’s shoulder. “What?”

Wordlessly, Obito steps inside, pushing the door open further and letting his partner past him.

It’s a long, narrow room. In the middle is more tech neither of them could begin to name, but...it looks serious. A few metal tables the length of a person stand nearby. And along the other three walls are a series of glass tubes filled with an off-green liquid. Within them...are rotting bodies.

“...Christ,” Kakashi can’t help but mutter. “Looks like these all got left behind.”

Obito, only half listening, works his way in. “...is it just me, or...does it get less bad the further you go…?”

“What?”

“Look.” He points. While the first few tubes are nothing but cloudy liquid with skeletons and deteriorated flesh, he’s right. The decomposition seems less and less the more they circle around. At the top of the tubes, screens are empty of power, clearly drained over time. Until -

“Oh shit!”

The very. Last. Tube. Above it, the panel flashes red in warning. Power is almost completely drained. But within the tank, seemingly in some kind of suspended animation...is a person.

Slightly curled into a fetal position the body - seemingly female - floats weightlessly in the fluid. A series of wires are strung into their flesh, and a mask with a tube provides oxygen. And bubbles occasionally release as she exhales.

“...holy fuck.”

“How can this be possible? The bombs dropped over a hundred years ago. And whoever this is, they look no older than us!”

“Maybe some kind of...delayed development?” Kakashi muses, still staring. “I have no idea. But you know what this means…? This is probably the only living person from before the war. Untouched by radiation. You know how valuable that would be to the right people? People trying to find ways to -?”

“What?! You wanna turn her over to a bunch of freaks in lab coats? Kakashi, she’s never even been outside this tube. You really think she should just be shuffled off to another one to be studied? That’s fucked up!”

“You’re the one who wanted this whole thing to be worthwhile and make us some cash!”

“Yeah, with tech. Not with people! We might as well be like the slavers at that point, and fuck that.”

Sighing, Kakashi runs a hand back through the mess of his hair. “So, what...you wanna just let her out and wish her luck on her way? You think taking someone like this and just...turning them loose in this world is fair, either?”

“I dunno! But I’m not gonna sell her as a lab rat, Kakashi. No fucking way.”

“Then what, leave her here? Seems she’s got a few days left of power. Less now that we’ve sucked some up with the lights and the stairs.”

“And let her turn into goop like the rest of these poor bastards?”

“There really doesn’t seem to be any fair option here, Obito. So make up your mind. You found her, you decide.”

Obito balks, heart leaping to his throat. He didn’t ask for this…!

“You better hurry because we’re running out of lights down here the longer we dawdle. I’m gonna go pack up what I can. You figure this out.”

“But -?!” Reaching out, he’s denied as Kakashi heads back into the other room. “...ugh, damn it!” Huffing a breath, he turns back to the tube.

Given she’s likely never had any light, the woman is pale as milk. And...maybe for the same reason, so is the rest of her: long, wavy hair almost seems to glow in the strange fluid. It’s a bit hard to tell given how much she’s floating, but it almost seems to be as long as she is tall.

...then again, he figures she’s never had a haircut.

...he can’t leave her here. And he won’t let her get snapped up by some freak wanting to study her like a bug in a jar. So, that leaves one option. Looking at the right side of the tank, Obito finds a kind of keypad: maybe a mechanism for opening the door? Cuz something tells him just...smashing the glass isn’t smart. “Uh…”

He needs a password.

Moving to the equipment, he shuffles through a bunch of papers, opening a filing cabinet and finding folders for the specimens. Glancing to her tube, he finds the number, a finger tracing down the paper until -

“Two four seven three,” he murmurs, repeating it under his breath until he’s back at the keypad, pressing the keys in sequence.

A loud beep sounds, and he startles as massive bubbles flood up from the floor of the tube. The liquid, it’s...it’s draining! She slowly sinks to a tangle of limbs at the bottom.

And then, with a pressurized hiss, the glass swings open, and she nearly tumbles out.

“Oh, shit -!” Kneeling, he manages to catch her, nose wrinkling at the smell of...whatever she was in. And she’s wet. Eugh.

Carefully, he starts taking out the wires, wincing as the sites bleed. And off comes the mask, letting her breathe air on her own for the first time.

“What the hell is -?”

“Kakashi! Find a rag or something, she’s bleeding wherever I take the wires out.”

Seeing that Obito apparently made up his mind, Kakashi sighs and finds a dispenser of paper towels. Handing those over, he then grabs one of the abandoned lab coats.

Since she is, after all, completely nude.

Obito mops her off, trying to wipe both blood and mystery liquid off her skin, going pink as he nears anything intimate. Once she’s a bit cleaner, he lifts her up and lets Kakashi help him get her as dressed as they can manage. A spare bit of cable ties it shut around her waist.

“...why isn’t she waking up?” the Uchiha then asks.

“No idea. Maybe she’s dead?”

“No, no - she’s breathing.”

“Try slapping her.”

Obito shoots him a look. “...hey, miss? Uh...hello?”

No response, her head lolling around on her neck.

“...well, let's - let’s get her back upstairs. Then we can come back down for any stuff you wanna haul out.”

“I’ve got a few bags full. And you’re gonna have to keep an eye on her. I’ll make a few trips in the meantime.”

“...all right.” Hefting her up on his back, Obito begins the ascent back to the surface, admittedly sad to leave the clean air behind.

Well...he has a person. Now what?

Back in their camp, he lays her on his bedroll. Her hair is still wet, and he mulls it over before turning her on her side. Deft fingers then start braiding. Once she has a long tail of plait, he ties it off with some wire. There...that’ll keep it from getting too out of hand.

“...mn…”

He stiffens. Is...is she waking up? “H-hello?”

Her eyelids twitch, leading him to notice her white lashes. Then they open to reveal a soft pair of grey eyes.

...Obito then realizes that she’s likely got no memories, no language...nothing.

Oh boy.

“...uh...hi?” he greets sheepishly, lips briefly flickering up into a smile. “...I’m Obito.”

Completely blank, she stares at him.

“...you, uh…” He sighs, rubbing his neck. “...can you...understand me?”

More unaware staring.

“Aw, crap. Well, uh…” Adjusting to sit cross-legged, he puts a hand to his chest. “...Obito.”

Her eyes drop to his hand, then back to his face.

“Obito.”

“...O...bito…”

He perks up. “Yeah!”

“...yeah.”

...okay, maybe she’s just copying him. Thinking it over for a moment, he recalls a book he got to read a while back, stolen from a camp they’d stayed at. It had a heroine, and her name was…

He then (very shyly) puts a hand to her chest. “...Ryū.”

Again, she looks to the hand, then back to him. “...R...Ryū…?”

A nod. “Ryū.” Hand back to his own chest. “Obito.”

“Okay, I’ve got the first -”

Obito points. “Kakashi.”

Following the gesture, Ryū sees Kakashi freeze. She also points. “...Kakashi!”

Amused, Obito bursts out laughing, clapping his hands and making her startle. “Hahaha! You got it!”

“Well this is going to be fun,” Kakashi mutters. “You’ve got an adult with the mental awareness of a baby.”

“She’ll learn!”

“With you as her teacher, that scares me.”

“Then you’ll just have to help, Kakashi.”

Sighing, he approaches and sits nearby. He points to Obito. “Idiot.”

“Hey -!”

“I...diot?”

“No!” Obito cuts in, waving his hands.

“Yes, idiot,” is Kakashi’s reply, laughing as Obito shoves him.

“...Obito.”

The pair pause, looking to her. By now, she’s more bright-eyed, clearly curious. She points. “Obito.” Her hand moves. “...Kakashi.”

Obito then points to her. “Ryū!”

“What kind of a name is -?”

“It’s her name! I got it from a book, okay?”

“All right, all right...guess you get the right. But we need to get her some supplies. And we better keep her out of the sun for too long for a while, let her get used to it.”

“Yeah…” There’s a lot to think about.

“...well, welcome to the nuclear waste dump that is Earth,” Kakashi offers. “You’ll learn to love it. Or hate it. Likely both. But at least you won’t turn into soup like your friends.”

Obito’s nose wrinkles. “...okay, but...let’s never tell her about that part once she understands, okay? It’ll only upset her.”

“Fine. Now, I’m gonna haul up some more stuff. Be on your best behavior.” Kakashi points warningly to the two of them.

“Kakashi!” Ryū replies, watching him go.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back. Sadly,” Obito notes with a snort. Elbow on his knee and chin in his palm, he watches as Ryū takes in her surroundings, and then starts fiddling with anything within reach: debris, his bag...and then him.

He stiffens, but lets her curiously prod at him. She pulls at his clothes, seemingly understanding it’s separate from him. Then he takes his hand in her hands, turning it over and back before comparing it to her own.

...then she moves to his face.

Unlike the rest of her touches, these are more...hesitant. Careful. She seems to know it’s a bit more fragile. Eyes roam over it, drinking in his image.

“...ugly, huh?” he murmurs, knowing she can’t understand.

But she doesn’t flinch, a hand tracing along the ridges of his scars.

“Got those from a mutant. Plus a lot more you can’t see. It’s how Kakashi lost his eye, too. But he can tell you about that.”

She pauses to listen, but doesn’t comprehend. “...Obito.”

“...mhm. That’s me.”

More touches to his face, and then, tone softer, “...Obito…”

Blinking, he feels his face get warm. “...uh…?”

The phenomenon surprises her, jolting before pressing her palms to his cheeks, squishing them slightly to feel the heat.

And then she giggles.

It’s a sweet, chime-like sound. And Obito immediately adores it. “...you’re so cute,” he mumbles.

“...cute?”

“...uh -?”

“All right, I think that’s all we can reasonably carry. Especially since she can’t really...uh…” Kakashi perks a brow. “...am I interrupting something?”

Flustered, Obito leans back from her grip. “No!”

“...then let’s get ready to go.”

By the time they finish packing up, the afternoon is fading into evening. Obito draws a spare cloak over Ryū to keep her out of the sun. “There we go.”

“Ready?” his partner asks.

“I guess so.” The pair start walking, and...Obito realizes she’s not following. “Aw, jeez...uh…” Heading back, he holds out a hand.

After a pause, she does the same.

“Come on,” he mumbles, taking her grip and urging her to keep up.

“Obito!”

“...yup.”

     Okay not gonna lie, I...did not have high hopes for this prompt, but by the end I really enjoyed it xD I don’t, uh...participate much in the apocalypse genre (besides watching my brother play Fallout 4 lmao) so I don’t have much imagery to go off of. So I gave it my best shot .w.      While kinda gross in the middle there, it turned out cute by the end xD Obito’s got his work cut out for him, bahaha! But that’s all for today - thanks for reading!

[n00dl3gal]

Sweeter Than a Cupcake (McCree x OC)

A commission for @junko-brewer! A challenging but fun story for me to write, than you again for your support!

Commission Info  |  Archive of Our Own

McCree didn’t consider himself to have much of a sweet tooth. It wasn’t that he was against candy or desserts, he just tended to favor savory food more. There were, of course, exceptions. If there was a plate of biscochitos in sight, he’d devour them quicker than Tracer could Blink. And if he found himself passing through Cincinnati, he’d always find himself opening Bunny’s door. 

Bunny looked up from the counter she was wiping. “Jesse McCree,” she said, voice exasperated. Her hands were on her hips like a cross mother, but her smile was warm. Despite her voice, McCree could tell she was glad to see him. The feeling was mutual.“You have a lot of nerve showing up here again.”

McCree tipped his hat in response. “And a good day to you, Miss Bunny. If this is about the tab at the bar down the street-” 

Bunny laughed. “I mean waltzing in like there isn’t a bounty on your head,” she chastised, setting her rag aside. “If I had known the first time you came by just what kind of trouble you were, I would’ve refused service.”

He shrugged, looking over the case of cupcakes. “Now we both know that’s a lie. You’ll always hold the door for a paying customer,” he teased. Bunny blushed slightly, lips downturned in a pout. “And maybe it is dangerous coming back, but with cupcakes as good as yours… well, I’ve always been a bit reckless. What’s good today?”

The baker smiled, still flushed, and reached into the case. “I think you’ll like this one in particular,” she announced, setting it on a plate. “For a man as fond as whiskey as you, a Jack-and-Coke cupcake. All the flavor, none of the booze.” McCree reached for the cupcake, but was smacked back by Bunny. “Hey! Pay first, food second.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, reaching for his wallet. The bell above the door jingled again. Bunny looked at the new arrival and paled, prompting McCree to turn around. “Ah, speak of the bounty…” 

“For someone with that much money on your head, you do tend to attract attention,” the bounty hunter said. “It’s pretty easy to track down a man in a serape in Ohio.” 

McCree tipped his hat. “Gotta keep up appearances, ya know? You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Naomi?” 

The bounty hunter- Naomi- flicked her ponytail back and cocked her gun. Bunny squawked at the sight, shaking. “Drop the cupcake and come with me, McCree. I don’t want to involve any innocents in this.” 

“Funny. Neither do I.” In a flash, he had jumped onto Naomi and had her in a stranglehold. She choked, giving McCree ample time to pry her gun away. Naomi managed to elbow him the gut, however, and used his exhale to free herself. She tore her gun back from his hands and pistol-whipped the side of his head.

McCree was seeing stars, barely able to roll out of the way. Chairs fell over in the chaos. Naomi was lining up her shot again when he used one of his flashbangs to blind her. For a moment, it seemed like it worked, but McCree wasn’t able to pull her weapon away before her eyes refocused. 

He was staring down the barrel, knowing full well a shot at this range would be instantly lethal. With a grunt, he placed his metal arm over the gun and punched Naomi in the face. “I hate beating up a lady, but if they make the first move…” 

Bunny had long since ducked under the counter, knees to her chest. She held her hands over her ears as she shook. A fight, in her bakery! All she had wanted to do today was test out the recipe for her new lavender-and-honey cupcakes and make a few sales, not fear for her life!

Naomi staggered back, holding her nose. “The rest of my team isn’t far behind, McCree. We’ve been staking this place out since Tuesday… awfully nice of the baker to confirm you’re a repeat customer.” 

Bunny gulped. She didn’t dare poke her head and look at McCree’s expression. Was all of this her fault? 

It didn’t matter. McCree had taken the opportunity to tackle Naomi head-on. In a panic, the bounty hunter’s finger slipped, firing the gun. It flew off towards the glass case Bunny was hiding behind, and the sound of shattering glass echoed across the room. McCree held Naomi down to the ground, hand over her throat, until she finally passed out. 

He stood, surveying the store. Aside from some upturned chairs and tables and the cupcake case, it remained intact. Good. He hated adding to the sum on his head. McCree leaped over the table to find- “shit!” 

Bunny was clutching her arm, bleeding. Some shrapnel from the case must have hit her. “I- is she- did you kill her?” Bunny cried. 

“Just passed out,” McCree reassured her. “You have bandages anywhere?”

“B-by the sink in the kitchen,” Bunny said, gesturing with her foot. McCree found the first aid kit easily, crouching next to Bunny. “Should I go to a hospital or-” 

“Lemme take a look,” McCree interrupted, guiding her arm away. The cut was long but not deep. Stitches probably would help, but a wanted man taking an innocent woman to the hospital was sure to stir up additional trouble. Bunny looked traumatized enough as it was, eyes darting around the place. “Bandages will do for now. This may sting a bit,” he warned, opening a wipe. 

Bunny didn’t hiss when the wipe traveled across the wound, but McCree could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Some part of him wanted to wipe them away. He was quick; years of working with Deadlocke and Blackwatch had trained him well. Gauze was wrapped around the cut quickly, secured with a safety pin. “There, all finished. Stay right here, I’m gonna make sure nobody else is here to mess up your store.” 

He stood and made his way to the door. There were no suspicious vehicles outside, or people with unusually large backpacks or coats. It was entirely possible Naomi was bluffing. McCree flipped the open sign around and told Bunny it was safe. 

She stood on shaky legs, eyes still searching like her namesake. “I-I don’t think we should stay here. Either of us.” “Couldn’t agree more,” McCree answered, tucking Peacekeeper back in his holster. “Lead the way back to your place, Miss Bunny.” 

“Wh-what?” Bunny choked, trembling even more. The blush from earlier had returned, stronger than before. “B-but- you should go! What if there really are more b-bounty hunters looking for you?” 

McCree shrugged. “Then I’ll deal with ‘em when they show their ugly mugs. I’m not about to let a lady in your condition walk home on her own, ‘specially with dangerous folks out for blood. Speaking of which…” He began straightening the chairs and let out a soft sigh when Bunny joined him. Good to know that, despite her anxiety, she was still able to tend to her store. “Never mind. We can discuss it once we get you home.” 

. . .

Bunny’s apartment was small, but cozy. McCree was surprised to see there was a balcony; he wasn’t sure how much Bunny made, but usually a balcony like that would hike up rent considerably. It was small, though, and covered in foliage. Potted plants, both green and flowered, dotted the railings and the floor. McCree had never been to the rainforest, but he imagined it was similar. 

The inside was just as much of a menagerie, just for fauna, not flora. As soon as Bunny had unlocked the door, an overweight house cat had come to greet her before running off at the sight of McCree. Bunny explained that he was skittish around guests, especially men. McCree wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. He did think the bearded dragon lounging on a hammock was better company. 

Bunny was headed for the kitchen when McCree intercepted her. “Just tell me where everything is and I’ll make ya a cup of tea,” he said kindly. “Unless if doing somethin’ll help you keep your mind off things.” 

“I think it might,” Bunny replied, reaching for the cupboard. “Is there anything you’d like? I realize they don’t compare to cupcakes, but… I think I have some, uh, stronger stuff.” She pointed towards the top shelf. 

McCree pulled out his flask. “I’m fine, but I appreciate it.” Bunny nodded and busied herself with preparing the kettle. While she worked, he sat at the kitchen table, watching her work. She was a pretty young thing, wide eyes and dirty blonde hair. Short, too, making her look even younger than she was. McCree couldn’t relate. “So… what Naomi said. About you sellin’ me out.” 

Bunny sighed. She didn’t answer as she set the kettle on the stove. “I didn’t realize,” she eventually began, laughing bitterly. “I didn’t even know about the bounty. They came, asked about you, and I thought maybe they were friends of yours. I try to assume the best in people, but maybe… maybe I shouldn’t.” 

McCree shook his head. “No, it’s good to be an optimist. But ya need to be careful. There are bad people out there,” he said slowly. “But for every single bad folk, there’s at least three good’uns. Trust me, I’ve met a lotta ‘em.” 

Bunny nodded and finished making their tea. “It’s just lemon flavored, I hope that’s alright. Sugar?” she offered, passing a cup to McCree. They both added their sugar, Bunny pouring in a small portion of milk. McCree did the same, but with a shot from his flask. They both drank in silence, letting the warmth of the tea calm them down. “How did- never mind, it’s probably not something you want to talk about.” 

“If it’s about my arm, then yeah, that’s a bit personal,” McCree replied. “But if you’re wonderin’ about the bounty… well, it’s a long story.” 

“That’s alright,” Bunny told him. “I’m patient and we have time.” 

“Alrighty then, where to start… how much do you know ‘bout Overwatch?” 

Bunny stroked her chin, thinking. “They were a military-like group who rose to prominence during the first Omnic Crisis, and were recognized as heroes… but something changed and the public turned on them. I was a child when the last of them were disbanded. Why?” 

“See, I was part of Overwatch,” McCree explained. “Not at first, mind you. When I was around your age, I… well, I was one of the Deadlocke Gang’s founding members.” 

“A gang?” Bunny gasped, nearly dropping her cup. “You- did you-” 

McCree sighed. “I ain’t proud of what I did back then, not anymore. But at the time… Deadlocke was my family. If it felt that right, it couldn’t be wrong. But then we got busted by Overwatch and they gave me a choice: join them or rot in jail.” 

“And you chose the former,” Bunny concluded. Her shoulders were haunched, like she was still prepared to run. Maybe explaining this wasn’t the best idea. Too late to stop now. 

“Bullseye,” McCree said. “Put me in Blackwatch, Overwatch’s covert ops group. Second to Gabriel Reyes. Now Reyes… hoo, that man. He could shoot like the best of ‘em but had a temper a mile wide. Both he and Jack Morrison were in the runnin’ to be Strike Commander. Basically the head honcho of the whole organization,” he elaborated at Bunny’s blank expression. He paused to take another gulp. The burning on his throat reminded him of his cigars. Maybe he’d sneak off to the balcony for a smoke later. “Morrison got the job, and Reyes was shipped to the rejects in Blackwatch. And then… things got nasty.” 

“What do you mean, ‘nasty?’” 

“I don’t remember all the details, but there was another Blackwatch agent- Moira. She and Reyes did some science-y stuff I still don’t understand, and at some point both became double agents for Talon.” 

That got Bunny’s attention. “Talon- the terrorist organization? The ones responsible for Mondatta’s death? I was watching his speech on TV when… oh my gosh,” she whispered, gnawing at her lower lip. 

“Shit hit the fan, as it were. Overwatch was disbanded, and I… well, I had years of covert ops under my belt. And I was a former gang member. Still, sixty million…” McCree took another sip of his tea. “Gosh, it sure build up quick, don’t it?” He laughed, but there was no humor behind it. 

Bunny rubbed her arms. “I’m harboring a wanted criminal. A very attractive criminal, but I’m sitll-” “Hey now, don’t think of me like that,” McCree teased. “I’m just passing through. A houseguest for the night. Not even that, if you don’t want. Don’t stop with the compliments, though.”

Bunny looked away shyly. “Just for the night… and s-say I did want you to stay the night.” Slowly, delicately, she reached across the table and took his flesh hand in hers. “And maybe future nights, too.” “Oh darlin’, you flatter me,” McCree said earnestly. He felt a little warm. “But you’re not doing all right in the head right now, that incident must be playin’ with your mind. Savior complex or somethin’, Winston would know what it’s called.” 

“It’s not- why do you think I was so eager to talk about you in the first place, Jesse? When they said that you were coming back, I was so excited- I made those cupcakes especially for you. I mean, I was planning on testing the recipe soon anyway, but-” Bunny grew more animated as she spoke, blush spreading across her face. McCree had a feeling his was a mirror reflection. “But I wanted you to be the first to taste them, Jesse.” 

Hearing his first name was a lot for him. Most people only ever called him McCree, especially after Overwatch ended. “Ah, shit… you’re gonna make this ol’ cowboy soft yet, Miss Bunny.” He stood from his chair, teacups rattling as he pushed away from the table. Bunny blinked owlishly as he approached. He quickly pulled off his hat and set it on her head. She pushed it up with one finger, giggling. “Alright. I always thought I was coming back for the food, but I guess there was another reason I kept visiting… and while I can’t stay for long, that means we gotta make the most of our time, right?” He picked her up, bridal style, and spun her around. 

Bunny laughed, hat flying off as she threw her head back. “J-Jesse! Put me down!” 

“Whatever you say, pumpkin,” he answered in the most arrogant voice he could muster. He carried her to the couch and laid her down, kneeling beside it. He kept his hand in hers. Bunny smiled up at him, using her free hand to caress his cheek. “You know, I’ve never met a bunny as cute as you. Real rabbits’ just don’t compare.” 

“Is that supposed to be an attempt at flirting? Or are you trying to make me laugh?” Bunny joked, stroking his jaw. 

His metal fingers danced across her stomach, eliciting a number of giggles. “Nah, if I wanted to make ya laugh, I think I have a few options. That was a genuine compliment.” He kept tickling her until she threatened to fall off the couch. Distantly, he heard the cat meow in irritation. 

Between her laughs, Bunny managed to guide McCree’s face closer to hers. “I could think of a few compliments for yourself, Jesse,” she said in the air between them before pressing a kiss to 

his lips. 

She tasted sweet, with a sour undercurrent that threatened to sweep McCree away. Lemon and milk filled his nostrils and he breathed her in. It was an innocent kiss, in all honesty, with only the barest heat behind it. Still, the touch of another human so intimately was something he craved. He kissed her back, just as tenderly as she did. 

He pulled away slowly. “As wonderful as this is, kneelin’ like this ain’t do my knees any favors. You mind scooching over?” She did, and McCree joined her on the couch. “Thank you. Now, where were we?” He was still cupping her cheek, smiling like she was the only thing that brought him joy. Her eyes were half-lidded with desire, pupils wide. 

“Oh, I think I remember,” she teased, kissing him again. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they kissed, pulling gently. McCree hissed at the sensation, letting Bunny slide her tongue in. They stayed like that for several minutes, kissing and pulling each other close, until Bunny was basically straddling him. “I don’t… even if we just have tonight,” she whispered, kissing his jaw gingerly. “Even if it’s just tonight, I don’t want to rush this. I don’t-” 

“Hey now, darlin’,” McCree reassured her, rubbing her back. “We don’t have to do anythin’ you’re not comfortable with. But it’s startin’ to get late… should we head back to your bedroom? Again, don’t need to do anything. You can always say no or change your mind.” 

Bunny nodded. “No, I’d like that very much. Please… promise me you’ll still be here in the morning. I know you have to go, but I don’t want to lose you just yet.” 

Another quiet kiss. “I promise, Bunny.” 

And he stayed. And he always came back. 

[avengers-nextgen]

We Are One XVIII

When the light cleared James’ vision was decorated with blurry images and shivering shapes. Stumbling uneasily he tried to understand what had happened when another flash caught his eyes just before pain exploded in his cheek.

Spinning about, he fell hard against the hood of a car before slumping to the asphalt. Ears ringing, face aching, and pulse reeling James could barely keep his eyes open.

Nathaniel had better luck coming to his senses and when the light cleared he spotted the limp form of Chloe curled into the ground. Turning about he searched for Arthur only to see that the other boy was just recovering from the blast. Adrenaline rushing, Nathaniel staggered to his friend’s side.

Dropping to his knees he checked quickly for a pulse. It throbbed weakly against his fingers. Chloe was alive, but barely. Grasping hold of his bow, Nathaniel turned ready to fire when a bolt of lightning flashed. Rolling to the side sparks stung his cheeks.

“Hey!” Turning to the noise, Nathaniel spotted Arthur mid launch of a car door.

The metal flew just over Nathaniel’s head before skittering across the ground at a surprising speed. Leaping to the side, Killian stumbled falling off balance.

“Chloe!” James yelled, clawing his way to his knees. “Nathaniel! Check her.”

At first, Nathaniel didn’t understand the urgency to James’ voice until he noticed that Chloe’s chest no longer moved.

— — —

Orion’s head snapped back as Drew’s elbow crashed into his jaw. With a grunt, he caught her by the wrist before the axe blade impaled him. Narrowing his eyes, Orion slammed his head into her nose while planting a knee to her stomach.

Falling backwards, Drew used the momentum to roll back to her feet. Wiping the blood from her face she raised the axe in time to meet Orion’s sword. Sparks flew in a flurry of colors as Orion pushed heavily against her. Arms burning from force, Orion went crashing to the ground as Drew rolled away. Rising to his knee, Orion barred her arm with his own. At a deadlock he reached into his belt. Slamming his fist into Drew’s thigh she gave a cry of pain.

A silver knife had embedded itself in her leg. Pain turned to rage and with a swift strike she back fisted Orion across the cheek sending him sideways. Drew used the moment to tear the weapon from her body. Leg soaked with warm blood she stared intensely at her enemy.

Spitting blood onto the pavement, Orion stood panting, “You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re my bounty,” Drew glared.

“I don’t want to resort to unfair tactics,” Orion’s brow furrowed and his features shifted to a pleading expression. When Drew brandished her weapon, a weight settled in his chest. There was only one way out of this. “I know you had a family. I know your father, Drax. I know you had a sister named Nova.”

The name brought a strange look to Drew’s face. As if she’d suddenly travelled millions of miles away. Her glassy eyes, parted lips, and relaxed brow turned to a grimace.

“I-I have no family.”

“Everyone does. Everyone has a mom and a dad,” Orion shifted from foot to foot all the while studying her, “but you lost your mother because your planet was ruined. There was a massacre wasn’t there?”

“You don-you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drew closed her eyes as if she were being blinded by a bright light. A thin sheen of sweat formed over her skin and her fingers began to shake.

“A strange man killed them. He killed your people. Your mom and your sister-Nova. They died because of him didn’t they?” Orion took another step forward.

“Shut up.” Shaking her head violently, Drew pried her eyes open to glare menacingly at the boy across from her.

“Your Dad was taken. He told you to flee. You remember that don’t you? You know all of this,” Orion insisted, still moving forward.

“Shut up!” Hate smoldered in her gaze, but the axe clattered to the ground. She’d forgotten her task, forgotten her intentions, and knew only that she hated him. Hated this kid who could make her feel things. She wasn’t supposed to feel. “Shut. Up.”

“You don’t want to hear this because you’re scared. I know it hurts you when you remember but I can help. You just have to let me,” Orion held his hands up in submission, “I won’t hurt you.”

Scout watched intently from afar as Orion knelt in front of Drew. His heart leaped in his chest.

“Everyone hurts me,” Drew’s bottom lip quivered despite herself.

“If you don’t believe me or what I’ve said-kill me. Here and now. I won’t resist.” Orion felt his gut clench in fear but he remained poised. Staring Drew in the eyes he watched her collect the axe with unsteady hands. Lifting the weapon so it’s arch would split his skull, Orion never looked away, “My name’s Orion.”

“I don’t care,” Drew looked sternly at the kneeling boy, “so why tell me?”

“I figured it’d be nice to know the name of the person who’s going to kill me,” Orion shrugged. “So, who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“You’re right. I do,” Orion laughed faintly, “Ophelia.”

— — —

A ring of fire burned around Sage and the massive lion across from her. She was aware of the bite mark burning in her calf, but her adrenaline dulled the pain. Twirling a silver blade she dodged the lion’s lunge dragging the edge across its side.

Sensing its weakness, the lion became a rhinoceros. Stamping across the street with a lowered head the beast charged. Just before contact occurred, Sage vanished only to reappear behind it.

The large animal was unable to change directions and barreled through the fire into a nearby car. Tugging its horn free and giving a mighty snort, the Rhino morphed to a tiger.

Turning at the sense of danger, Max watched as the flames faded. Two glistening objects arched through the air nearly piercing their side. At the last second Max leapt aside. Clawing their way to the top of a car Max let loose a mighty roar.

Eyeing the sister of their best friend, Max was unprepared for the form that slammed into them. Both Bianca and Max went toppling to the ground. A punch cracked into Max’s jaw sending a rush of pain through their teeth.

Keeping Bianca from acquiring a solid hold, Max became a bear. Turning the tables, Bianca was forced to scramble back lest her leg be bitten. Panting, she searched for an environmental advantage. Racing to a light pole with Max hot on her heels, Bianca caught it with both hands swinging around to plant her feet firmly into Max’s side. The bear went toppling into a pile of muscle and fur.

Staggering to all fours, Max took to the sky with talons set for Bianca when green rays of magic like fractured glass sent them diving downwards. Hitting the ground at a run the rhino charged once more crashing into a green barrier.

The shield shattered absorbing most of the impact but Max pressed on. Bianca, catching her breath, straightened to see Max looming over an unconscious Sage. Without hesitation, the rhino became a wolf whose snarl sent a chill down Bianca’s spine.

— — —

Siyanda felt her head smack roughly against the side of the burning building. Kubu’s grip tightened on her throat while the heat baked her in her suit. Each second of struggle combined with smoke and heat made it harder and harder to breath.

“I will suffocate you like your soldiers did to my village. It will be slow and it will be painful,” Kubu snarled.

“Then you will be no better than me,” Siyanda croaked, feeling her eyes water and her heart beat painfully.

“I was always better.” Kubu drew his free arm back prepared to strike when a mighty shock brought him to his knees. A sword had crashed against his shoulder followed shortly by a violent kick to the head.

“Don’t touch her,” Thalia glared.

Snarling, Kubu lunged catching Thalia about the waist. Both went tumbling to the ground in a violent brawl as Siyanda attempted to breath again. Her vision blurred drastically as the rush of air into her lungs satisfied the burning sensation that had only grown. ��Piper...”

“Copy,” Piper called.

“You need to put this fire out,” Siyanda slurred.

“I’m on my way.”

Throwing the boy off, Thalia caught him by the belt and hurled him against the wall. He didn’t stay down. In a rush, Kubu slung a burning hot bike chain at the Asgardian. Barely deflecting it with her sword Thalia pressed on but she’d been thoroughly distracted. Kubu pounced knocking the blade aside. While skilled with a sword, Thalia wasn’t adept at martial arts-a weakness he identified swiftly.

With claws catching the light, Kubu’s strategy changed. If you cannot kill the queen, kill the thing she loves most.

— — —

“Put it down!” Screamed a gruff voice from behind one of the vehicles. Fox, stuck to the back lines with Maria as part of the tactile team, flinched at the harsh sound.

“What’re they doing?” She asked.

“It’s protocol,” Replied one of her colleagues.

“It’s not going to work. She’s not going to listen. Our job is to bring her in alive. This will only get her killed,” Fox worried.

“What do you suggest?” Maria arched a brow.

“Send me in.”

“Yeah right,” Snorted the same colleague.

“I can level with her. Let me do this,” Fox insisted. She couldn’t explain the feeling in her chest, but she was certain of one thing-she had to be the one to talk to Harper.

“Okay,” Maria nodded. At first, Fox was surprised she’d agreed so easily, but Maria guided her past the barricade of cars, and as soon as Fox stepped across the threshold Harper’s gun settled on her.

“Tell them to back off,” Harper frowned sounding stern, but Fox could hear the hidden tremble in her voice.

“I don’t have the rank to do that. They’re not going to anyways,” Fox laughed, “it’s protocol.”

“The said I have to go in alive. You know I’ll pull the trigger if I have to,” Harper adjusted her grip on the gun.

“You’re right. I do,” Fox nodded. “Because I know you’re scared.”

“You have no idea who I am or what I’m feeling!”

“I do,” Fox insisted, “I know very well. I’ve been in your shoes, Harper. I know exactly how unfair life is. I know exactly how unfair it’s been for you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not unfair-it’s unjust. No one cares about people like me or my family. My heritage means nothing in the eyes of others. To them, I can be brushed aside like all of my ancestors,” Harper’s voice caught at the last word and she wiped hurriedly at a stray tear. “How do I know that won’t happen with them? How do I know they won’t brush me aside like a speck of dust when I have no reason to trust them. They killed my brother! My sister!”

“I know, and I was there. I can tell you how it happened. How I was at a computer running the address because I didn’t believe that your home was empty. How my superiors ran the documents over and over and over again. How each time they read that your home was abandoned. How the document writers lied. How it was a cruel lie and I know why they did it. Because like you said- your people are brushed aside and it’s not fair,” Fox took a few hesitant steps forward. Harper gripped the gun so tight her knuckles turned white. “I can’t bring them back for you, but no one can bring my family back either.”

“I’m sorry,” Harper cried, “I’m sorry he killed your father. I didn’t know-I didn’t want it to go this far. I was trying...”

“To help your family,” Fox finished, “I know.”

“But, I can’t give this up. I can’t go back to prison. I can’t. They need me,” Harper blinked furiously trying to keep the tears from falling. “No one knows what I had to do, and the cost of it. No one knows how hellish it is in prison.”

“Harper, I may not know prison, but I do know what it’s like to lose your childhood. How unfair it is to grow up before you have to. To live in fear of the local authorities because you’re stealing to survive. That they wouldn’t understand or give two shits about the reason why you do what you do,” Fox felt her throat tighten and her eyes sting. “But I’m trying to help you, I am.”

“Why? Why after all of this?”

“Someone once saved me. Now I’m saving you,” Fox held her hand out carefully. “Sometimes, you just need to take the offered hand instead of biting it.”

“Why should I trust you?” Harper whimpered.

“Because, Harper, I know my reflection when I see it.” Fox watched the other girl raise the gun to her head with a shaking hand. Moving swiftly, she tackled Harper to the ground as a shot rang from behind her.

Maria’s voice echoed over the commotion, “Don’t shoot damn it! Don’t shoot!”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Fox’s hold tightened around the sobbing girl, and all she could say was, “I’ve got you.”

[argylemikewheeler]

sup my bro my buddy my amigo. idea: nancy being a overprotective sister of richie and mike and them just being total sibling goals

“Would you two shut up for just five goddamn minutes! I’m trying to drive!” Nancy cried, slamming her hands on the steering wheel. “I can’t focus when you two are screaming.”

“Maybe you’re just a bad driver.” Richie heckled, leaning up towards the driver’s seat. “Didn’t Steve always drive you to school?”

“I am a fine driver.” Nancy seethed. She turned on the radio to try and drown out her brother. “Sit down in your seat, Richie. I can’t do anything when you are kneeling–”

“I bet Steve says–”

“Shut up, Richie.” Mike groaned, grabbing his brother by the collar and yanking him into his seat. “You’re going to kill us.”

“We’d only be so lucky.” Richie said. “I hate this song.” Mike didn’t even know it, but it sounded like the main instrument was a flute or something.

“How far away are we, Nancy?” Mike asked, trying to redirect the conversation.

“We’ll get there when we get there!” Nancy cried, her voice shrill. “I don’t know where this fucking comic book store is and Mom gave me shit directions!”

Mike shrank back in his seat. “Sorry. I was just asking.”

“Well, until you can drive you aren’t allowed to ask anymore questions.” Nancy said.

Richie looked at Mike, who was still lowering his head from his sister’s rear-view mirror stare. “Fuck her.” He mouthed, hitting his brother in the arm. He rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, showing exhaustion to her recent outbursts.

Richie had a thicker skin when it came to Nancy (and probably Nancy alone) but Mike was still unsure how to handle her when she was upset about things that weren’t him putting syrup on her eggs or stealing her quarters. They were bigger life things that Mike wasn’t in control of, but he was yelled at and felt responsible for. College sounded like a terrible thing.

“I’m pulling over. We need gas and I need Richie to annoy the cashier for at least five minutes.” Nancy said, turning the car into a barely-busy gas station.

“Buy me a Snickers bar and I can make it ten.” He said, grabbed the back of Nancy’s seat to put his head beside hers. She held up a dollar bill as she put the car in park beside a pump. “Solid! Let’s go Mike and Ike!”

“I wish you would stop calling me that.” Mike sighed, opening the car door and sliding off the seat. “We’ll be right back, Nancy.”

“Okay.” She said, pushing on her temples. Mike felt the urge to say something pathetically gushy to her, but he slammed the door and followed Richie instead.

“Hello my good, sir.” Richie said loudly, barely checking to see if the man standing at the register that Sunday morning was even a man.

“Nope.” The man said, taking one look at both Richie and Mike. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Excuse me.” Richie said, unfazed. “I have money to exchange for goods and or services.” He held up the dollar. “And I request a Snickers.”

“I don’t sell to people like you.”

“Like us?” Mike echoed. “Twins?” People were thrown off often, but they had never encountered a problem before. The Shining had done very little for their cause.

“I have the right to reserve service to anyone. And I don’t serve fairies.” the man said gruffly, folding his arms. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

“Fairies?” Richie echoed, touching his face. “My ears aren’t that long are they, Mikey?”

“Richie.” Mike hissed. “Don’t start with him. We don’t even know where we are; maybe people are just really… anti- hawaiian patterns.”

“Hey, I bought these Jams with my own money. I like them!” Richie ran his hands over his brightly colored shorts. “Just because they have colors on them doesn’t mean I’m gay.” Richie argued. “It’s my boyfriend who does that–”

“Richie!” Mike grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back out the door. Richie was lying, but he was saying all the right things to push the owner’s buttons. He was fuming, hand fumbling under the desk and pulling a phone to his ear.

“Don’t make me call the cops.” The man said. He could have been doing a lot worse, but Mike wasn’t about to test his luck. “Get out of my store.”

“Come on, guys! What are you doing, making the candy yourself?” Nancy said, pushing the door in and forcing the bell to clang against the glass harshly. It was the only noise as the man’s fingers hovered over the phone’s dial. Richie was practically being gagged by his brother and Mike could feel the sweat forming by his temples. “What’s going on here?”

“Are you with them?” The man asked.

“Yes. I am.” Nancy said. “What the hell did you two do?” She yanked Mike’s hand away from Richie’s mouth.

“We look gay.” Mike said, his brother still sputtering through the past two minutes of commentary. “He won’t let us buy candy.”

Nancy blinked at Mike, the tension on her face dissolving. Her eyes softened and her hands reached for both of theirs. “What candy do you want?”

“I just wanted something with fucking caramel.” Richie said, fixing his waistband and huffing at the pattern he was growing to feel insecure about. Mike could see the doubt cross his brother’s face quickly, Richie rushing to shove his glasses farther up on his face and disguise his furrowed eyebrows.

“I wanted gum.” Mike admitted.

“I would like a pack of Wrigley’s.” Nancy took the dollar from Richie and placed it on the counter. Her hand smacked against the metal surface. “And something with fucking caramel in it.”

“I am refusing service.”

“Give me the fucking candy.” Nancy grumbled. “I just paid three dollars for two gallons of gas. The least you could do is give me and my brothers some goddamn candy.”

“Don’t start threatening him, Nancy Drew. It’s okay. We can go.” Richie said, trying to explain the deadlock grimaces off Nancy and the owner’s face.

“No. We aren’t leaving until you get your candy.” She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin on her hand. “I have all day.”

“I don’t serve people like them.”

“Children?” Nancy laughed, shaking her head. “Boys? Twins? Nerds?”

“Hey!”

“What about them makes them unservable?” Nancy motioned towards her brothers, Richie in his bright pants and coke bottle glasses and Mike in his old summer camp shirt and ruddy sneakers. “You can’t possibly be that ignorant.” She sighed. “Give us the damn candy so we can leave.” He opened his mouth again, although with less urgency and confidence. “Are you going to deny service to me?” She leaned back on the counter with both elbows.

The dollar was replaced with both pieces of candy.

“Fuck.” Richie muttered.

“And a pack of Lucky Strikes,” Nancy added, pointing over his shoulder. “for good looks.” She winked. The pack was handed to her with the same hand that previously held the telephone. He lost.

“Check fucking mate.” Richie laughed, grabbing the Snickers off the counter and running out the door with Nancy and Mike behind.

They all climbed back in the car, Nancy laughing as Richie bestowed half his Snickers bar to her. She denied it and pushed it towards Richie, telling him to enjoy it. He did it without being told twice.

In his chewing, Mike was able to take advantage of the silence. “Why did you take cigarettes?” He said. “You don’t smoke.”

“Yeah, I know.” Nancy was a moment away from giggling, her face flushed red. “I just always wanted to do that.”

“Who knew you were a badass?” Richie said, teeth nearly stuck together by caramel.

“Demanding to be treated equal is not being badass.” Nancy said, finally turning the car over and beginning to pull away from the station. “I’m just looking out for you guys.” Mike saw her face tense up although her words were gentle and quiet.

Oh shit. It wasn’t college, was it? Mike reached forward and touched Nancy’s shoulder, trying to catch her eyes in the rear view mirror at the red light. “We’re going to miss you, Nance.”

“I’m going to miss you guys too.” She sighed. She reached across herself to hold Mike’s hand. “I don’t want to leave, but–”

“We understand.” Richie said, surprisingly aware of the gravity of the conversation. “We want you to be happy though.”

“Thanks, Richie.” Nancy’s lips pressed together as her smile restrained from crumpling from her quivering bottom lip.

“Yeah, you’ve got to go to college and be fucking smarter than Ted.”

“That’s not hard, Richie.” Mike countered. “Dad’s kind of an idiot.”

“Well, we need you to be super smart so you can make a lot of money and we can live with you instead of Mom and Dad.” Richie said, patting Nancy’s shoulder with a wink.

“Promise?” She laughed, her eyes watering. “Move in with me?”

“Promise.”

“You’ll always be my little brothers?”

“I mean, physically we have no choice. Sure.”

“And I’m your favorite sister?”

“Holly doesn’t get us cheap candy, so, yeah.” Richie said, wrapping his arms around Nancy’s shoulders. “You’re the best there is.”

Ao3

[jessemccowbae]

🔪

🔪- A memory about a dangerous situation

[[ CW for graphic violence and bloody injury under the read more. ]]

“Deadlock, huh?”

The comment came over Jesse’s shoulder with an audible sneer. He looked up from his scotch, his surprise completely absent from his face. He was halfway to goddamn Salt Lake – who the hell around here even knew who those scrub fucks he’d grown up with were?

“Not hardly,” he grumbled. “Fell in with ‘em when I was a kid. Got out in a hurry. Where you from that you know of ‘em?”

The stranger’s lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Around.”

“Well, if they’re operatin’ this far north, they’re clearly gettin’ on just fine without me.” His mind spun briefly, acclimating to the new information. If they were operating this far north, he needed to get the entire hell out of town. He took another sip of his drink. “No hard feelings, I knew a few good guys in there. Just work better on my own.”

It was as bald-faced a lie as he’d ever spun in his life; the few superiors he’d had in Deadlock had sent him and the few ‘good guys’ he’d had on a suicide mission, with the dual intent of baiting out Blackwatch and getting rid of the upstart crack-shot kid who could have come for their jobs at any second. They’d gotten shut down with extreme prejudice, and he’d been so spitting angry at the betrayal that he sold them all out to stay out of prison without a moment’s regret.

It was the biggest blow the gang had ever taken; the consequent busts crippled them for nearly a decade. The last he’d heard, twenty years later, he was still a no-questions-asked, kill-on-sight target. It was the only thing that had kept him from going home after Overwatch collapsed. ‘Hard feelings’ didn’t even begin.

The stranger laughed derisively, and a chill shot through Jesse’s veins. Yeah, he needed to get out of town yesterday. “Fair enough,” he said, turning back to his own drink. Jesse nodded briefly, and nursed his scotch just long enough to make it look like he wasn’t turning tail and gunning for the nearest horizon, before doing precisely that.

It was still in the wee hours when he got back to the shitty hotel he’d crashed at, shoved the few things he’d bothered unpacking back into his bag, left enough cash to generously cover his stay on the nightstand, and headed out. He was halfway to the train station – a couple of old-fashioned slow freighters came through every night that he could probably catch without too much trouble – when a booming voice interrupted him from a side alley.

“Jesse goddamned McCree.”

He kept walking. The dramatic stop and turn shit was straight out of the movies. No reason to set the bastard’s shot up for him.

There was no shot; he was grabbed by the shoulders, and as soon as he spun around to swing, tackled by the legs by someone else. He hit the ground unceremoniously, and his arms were immediately jerked behind him. He snapped his head up, trying to get an eye on – fuck, there were at least six guys, count on Deadlock to be the only outfit on earth that didn’t underestimate him – and then he felt a needle plunge into the side of his neck.

Well, shit.

—

When he came to, they were far enough outside of town that he couldn’t see it anymore, and his arms were tied securely behind him.

“Ol’ man McCree,” somebody sneered, tutting and shaking his head, walking around to face him – nobody he recognized; he’d been out far too long. He could sense the rest of them still crowded around behind him. Odds said the stranger from the bar was among them, or else had tipped them off to curry favor. “Never took you for the nostalgic type, but here you are still flyin’ our colors after all these years.”

“Soap that strong’s expensive,” he barked back, gritting his teeth. “Look, I ain’t no threat to you jackasses anymore. You all know what happened, I’m on the lam from every government on the planet, I ain’t had a decent night’s sleep in two years and odds are I never will again. Y’all want me to suffer, I’m already there, and you know damn well none of you can call in that bounty the feds got on me.”

He wasn’t sure where all the words were coming from, why he still felt any drive to escape with his life. He’d been the walking dead since the shutdown, ambling from place to place, taking whatever work would keep him fed and not grate on his conscience too much, nothing left to drive him on but the most base human instinct to continue living. Hell, if he’d been able to specify who the reward money went to, he’d have turned himself in by now. Forty million was the least he could do for the family he’d walked away from… what was left of it, at least.

The man in front of him just laughed low in his throat, shaking his head. “Don’t that just figure,” he growled, grabbing Jesse by the front of the shirt and hauling him to his feet. “You still think this is about you.”

Right. That was why he was arguing. Because these fucktrucks didn’t deserve the satisfaction of killing him.

The first punch came from behind, the next from the front, the third was a kick to the side, and the rest quickly became a blur. Definitely the most thorough ass-kicking he’d ever gotten in his life. He did what he could to block shots, to minimize the damage, but their only threshold for being ‘done’ was that he got too weak to fight back, so struggling would only prolong it.

There was blood dripping into both of his eyes by the time they slowed down. He was definitely soundly concussed, had several broken ribs, something he couldn’t identify was seriously wrong with his right shoulder, and his knees were finally giving out from under him.

The ringleader stepped up, making a show out of pulling a pocketknife slowly from his belt. For the first time since Overwatch fell, Jesse could feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes. This was it, then. Everything he’d overcome, everything he’d been given, all the trust that had been put in him… and this was all it came to. Bleeding out slowly in this same shitty desert by the hand of this same shitty gang.

The eastern sky was beginning to lighten, the stars fading into the twilight. Maybe he’d at least get to see one more desert sunrise first.

“You know,” the man drawled, kneeling next to him, “the plan here was to slit your throat and leave your ass for the coyotes. Woulda been nice and simple. But you…” He reached back, cutting off the ropes around Jesse’s wrists, then pushed him back and knelt hard on his chest. “Your showboatin’ ass just had to change my mind.”

He grabbed Jesse’s left arm, wrenching it upwards, a near-lecherous grin spreading across his face. “There’s a whole lot of other arteries you can bleed to death from, you know.”

By the time Jesse’s muddled mind managed to make the connection, the blade was already sinking into his forearm, just below his elbow. It didn’t even occur to him to try not to react – the blood-curdling scream shot straight from his nerves to his lungs, bypassing his brain entirely. He sawed in deep, nearly to the bone, before turning the knife and sliding it down. Jesse’s mind wasn’t even processing the pain anymore; he was nothing but nerve endings and reactions, shrieking himself hoarse, tears streaming down his face. The pain didn’t end so much as change once the work was done, a grotesque mass of skin and muscle falling into the rivers of blood with a sickening, wet noise.

If they said or did anything else, he didn’t notice; all his other senses had shut down in the wake of the blinding pain. By the time he could even properly look around, they were all gone.

The pain definitely wasn’t gone, but it had gotten so intense that his brain seemed to be muting it somehow. He blinked slowly, taking a few deep breaths, glancing at the softly lightening sky and around at the horizon. The town he’d been in was just south of the mountains, so they must have gone south out of town. It was situated on the west side of the interstate, which ran on to the southeast.

If he walked towards the sunrise…

He hadn’t been Angie’s favorite field medic for nothing. It wasn’t anything you could rightly call a tourniquet, but he managed to wrap his serape as tightly as he could around his arm and clutch it against his chest with his other hand, keeping as much pressure on it as he could manage. The ground lurched under him the first couple of times he tried to stand up, but slowly, surely, he got to his feet.

It was slow going, the world swimming before his eyes, his legs threatening to give every step of the way. He stopped for a long moment to slouch against a rock, gasping for breath.

I didn’t let you die for that shitty ink the first time around, vaquero. You better not die for it now.

“Who the fuck said your grouchy old ass could haunt me, fuck off,” he growled, a bit startled by the sound of his own voice, and continued walking.

The brightening navy blue of the sky was streaking with pink and gold by the time he reached the interstate. His serape was more blood than cloth now, still dripping onto the dusty ground as he dropped to his knees next to a mile marker, leaning heavily against the metal post. Just had to stay upright enough for some passing driver to recognize he was human. Or at least a body. He’d done what he could. Lady Luck would have to handle the rest on her own.

—

The headlights just barely woke him.

“–even alive? I can’t – oh holy shit, his arm–”“Alex, what’s going–”“No no no don’t look, it’s awful – just, get in the backseat with the kids and pull up directions to a hospital!”

[derp-mania-blog]

Do it for Dad

Jesse looked up, everything blurry, a cloud of smoke and dust hovering over everything. The deafening sound of the explosion echoed in his ears. His body felt numb. Extremely numb. He looked down, blood covered his lower half. Jesse shut his eyes tight, not wanting to look at the horrible sight of his torso any longer. He looked to his left arm instead, half of it missing from his body. It was at this moment that Jesse realized that he could only see out of one eye. Jesse looks to his right, not that far from him was Gabriel, his commander, his dad. He was unconscious, but he didn’t look as bad as Jesse. Jesse’s vision gets blurry as he cries out in agony, the pain just now hitting him in a sudden wave. The muffled voices of people in the background, sounding like they were growing closer, and closer was just too much over the ring in his ears. Jesse blacks out, right before the body of one of the only people to care about him disappears in a cloud of black smoke.

Jesse shakes his head, snapping himself out of the awful memory. Taking a drink of the booze in his hand, he looks around the bar. Loud music blares through out the air as men, women, and omnics hang out around the bar. Some dancing, some sitting, some even just standing there. Jesse runs a hand through his long, dark brown hair. Jesse sighs, taking another drink of his booze. Jesse usually wore a black hood nowadays, having giving his hat to his best friend, Genji, to remember him by. Jesse wore the hood to cover his face. He thought that the scar over his, now completely blind, left eye made him look like a monster. So, he hid it. Along with his identity. He tapped his metal fingers on the counter, almost impatient like. The red lights on his chest plate flickered, almost to show his mood in a way. The chest plate kept him alive, replacing some intestines, and keeping them inside.

Jesse stands up, pulling his black hood over his head. He leaves a tip on the counter, walking out of the bar and into the night. There was a reason Jesse was here, why he was thinking of a memory he thought he banished from his mind. Overwatch was recalling, and he had no idea what to do. So, like every other time he has to make a though decision, he heads to Gabriel’s grave.

Jesse walks along the dimly lit sidewalk, the cool air of the summer night brushing against his face. The full moon glowed down on him, like it was a spotlight and he was the actor. Jesse had walked down this sidewalk so many times, he couldn’t even count them. Jesse stopped, looking up at the huge gate, the only way to get inside. He pushes open the gate, closing it behind him. He walks past the graves of Overwatch recruits and heroes, wondering how they past away.

Then, there it was. Here lies Gabriel Reyes. Jesse sits down in front of the tombstone, looking straight at it. He takes a deep breath. “Hey Dad, long time no see, huh? Look, I need advice. Overwatch is recalling, and I don’t know what to do.” Jesse rubs the back of his neck. “I have two choices and I don’t know which to pick. Go back to the people that loved me, and excepted me, but not have you and deal with the people that took you away from me. Or, go back on the run. Always stay one step ahead of the gang so they don’t track me down. Live the rest of my life alone, like I have for most of it.” Jesse sighs, the memories of his teammates, no, his family, clouding his mind.

“There’s a third option.” A voice comes from behind Jesse. Faster than the blink of an eye, Jesse stands up, turns around, and pulls out his Peacekeeper, aiming it at the man in the cloak that now stood in front of Jesse. “Who are you?” Jesse asks coldly. The man snorts. “I think you already know who I am.” The man then proceeds to take off the skull mask that covered his face. Jesse’s arm drops, his eyes widen at the face he sees. “D-dad?” Jesse chokes out. “Well I’m not your mom.” Gabriel retorts. “B-but, how? You- you died!” Jesse cries. Gabriel sighs. “It’s hard to explain, Jesse. But listen to me when I say this. There is a third option.” Jesse looks long and hard at Gabriel. “What is it?” Jesse asks, almost uncertainly. “Join Talon.” Jesse looks down, then back up at Gabriel. “Talon?” Jesse repeats. “Yes, Talon. We correct what Overwatch messed up, we make their mistakes go away. We try and stop them before they can do anymore damage to our society. We were both agents, Jesse. We out of anyone know what Overwatch did wrong. We need you, I need you to understand and join us. Help us correct their mistakes.” Gabriel puts a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Do it for your old man, mijo.”

Jesse looks down at the ground, his mind now foggy with all these thoughts. Jesse knew what he should do, though. Jesse had made so many mistakes in his life, but he’s sure this is the right choice. “Well mijo, what do you say?” Gabriel asks. Jesse looks at Gabriel, nothing but pure determination in his eyes. “I’ll do it. I’ll join Talon.” Gabriel smiles, chuckling. “You chose the right answer Jesse. Happy to have you on the team.” Jesse cracks a smile to see Gabriel happy. Gabriel starts walking, bringing Jesse along with him. “Things in your life are going to change, Jesse. Including that beard. I’m not letting that thing stay on your face.”

As they walked, Jesse realized something. He was no longer Jesse McCree, the ex Deadlock Gang member. He was no longer Jesse McCree, the ex Blackwatch agent. He was nobody for so long. He was just a man hiding from society, looking for some answer to his existence. And he found it. He wasn’t even Jesse McCree anymore. He’s a man that’s been dead for quite some time. He was now Deadman. A being that had no significance in life, in the world. He knew what he was going to do. He was going to fix what his family created. He was going to do it for Dad.

[miamaroo]

McCree joins Blackwatch Excerpt

Remember how that scrap i posted forever ago and how that’s apparently a part of the inspiration for my current fic? Well, I’m definitely still working on it, but the sequence in which McCree is actually recruited as turned out much different than I though it would. 

So, here it is as a (big) preview for the next chapter of Rage, Rage. Even if you don’t read RR, I still think that this is a pretty independent segment from it. I feel like it gives a different mood towards how Jesse interacts with the world and Reyes during this time. 

The actual, new chapter won’t be out for a long while, so hopefully this can tide you guys over in the meantime. If you like this, please consider reblogging this just so that other people can maybe see this as well. 

(( Don’t tag as M/////C/R////eyes ))

Thank you @silverbearclaws for helping with the Spanish lines. 

********

That investment began after the raid of the Deadlock warehouse. What was left of the Deadlock Rebels were rounded up and carried off to a van to who knows where, no sign of Miranda rights or anything close to a fair trial. However, Jesse—he lost the name Deadeye the moment his gun was knocked out of his hand—had a black bag shoved over his head. Hands bound his wrists behind his back and foreign hands patted every inch of his body for weapons. Never in his life had he ever felt so exposed.

During the long ride to whatever end the black-garbed agents had in mind, all he could think about was his fellow rebels. There was no doubt in his mind that the men and women he wasted nights with smoking and drinking with would be locked away with none of the judicial pleasantries. Despite being blinded and bound, the kid—the man with the gold eyes called him that when he was pinned to the ground, and it was the closest thing he now had to a name—could tell he was being taken to a van different him everyone else. He was tossed inside, his back banging against some wood crate, before another presence climbed in with him.

Boots scraped on metal and wood creaked as a spot on top of a crate was taken. “Sit tight,” the man with the gold eyes, the one who kicked his ass to hell and back, said. Outside the throes of battle, the kid could finally acknowledge how his voice was lighter than he thought it would be. It lacked all malice and military gruff. He couldn’t imagine it coming from such a scarred, damaged man. He had a better time believing that it belonged to an ordinary guy who lived out the omnic crisis far from any real conflict. “It’s gonna be a long ride.”

The kid rolled onto his side, feeling the blood from his split lip drip down his chin. “Fuck you, dickwad,” he spat.

Infuriatingly, the man with the gold eyes barked a laugh. “Nice try, kid. But you’re going to have to show some more respect if you’re going to get anything out of me.”

The kid snorted, rolling back on his other side. His joints ached in protest and, already, he could feel the metal cuffs cut into his wrists. The engine started and the truck lurched forward. The kid slid with it, grimacing when his face dragged on the uneven floor. Pain cut rigidly through his skin. He shouted a loud, Spanish swear that would make his mama roll in her grave. This was going to be an awful-fucking ride.

The familiar sounds of a weapon being taken apart filled the air. The kid could imagine the man with the gold eyes looking contemplative as he took apart his shot guns, whistling as he cleaned each part with care. “Close, but not quite,” the man said. “You can start by calling me by my name.”

The kid growl and swore in vivid Spanish.

“I’ll throw you a bone then. It’s Reyes. Gabriel Reyes.”

Blood ran cold. Every swear, English or Spanish, the kid knew ran through his head.

There was a time when he was younger, too young to even think about gangs or guns. He was sitting on the tiled floor of his mama’s old apartment, eyes glued to the television as he watched a burly man talk to a reporter. The omnic crisis was nearing its end, all thanks to the brown man who spoke the same language as his mama—Gabriel Reyes. “Change the channel, chiquito,” Mama had said, sweeping around the bowls and pans she’d sat on the floor to catch the water dripping from the ceiling.  There was no rain in the desert, yet the ceiling always wept.“Él no se va a hacer nada con nosotros.” Her eyes were sad as she stared at the screen and her son understood it to be the kind of sorrow no one could fix.

Reyes let him lay in silence for a long time, more focused on his weapons than the kid at his feet. Time lost its meaning as the weight of the situation finally settled on him. He never took inspiration from the Gabriel Reyes (not even one of the world’s most celebrated soldiers could cut through the lure of Deadlock’s quick and easy cash), but suddenly having his fate in the man’s hands was overwhelming. This was the commander who ended the omnic crisis. He could out smart machine, out-calculate computers programmed to kill. Now it was up to him to decide the fate of some poor nobody from nowhere.

It could have been minutes or hours or even days when Reyes finally spoke again. “How long have you been running with Deadlock kid? Has to be a long time considering people been hearing the tune of your name for years now. How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

Anger broiled deep inside the kid’s chest, but he found that he couldn’t bring himself to spit out any more insults. Reyes meant king, and he felt like the dirt-poor peasant with the gallows’ rope around his neck. He was winded, breathless as he balanced the dangerous edge between life and death. “Seventeen,” he spat.

“Almost old enough for the draft,” Reyes said, though more to himself.  There was a pause. “Where you from? Phoenix? Salt Lake?”

“Santa Fe.”

Reyes was quiet, as he should be. There the omnic crisis treated no one right.

A swell of bravo pushed up through him. “What else, jackass?” the kid spat, lifting his head a little to fully glare “My shoe size? Blood-type? Huh? How many times I’ve pissed?”

A steady exhale so light it couldn’t be considered anything close to a sigh filled the air. The kid growled and ground his teeth, ready to lash out when heavy boots hit the floor of the truck. A few steps, then a hand was on the wrist bound behind his back. He kicked and screamed, but none of his strength compared to Reyes. The man easily unlocked one of the cuffs before clicking it around a rail above him. A prolonged ache burned around the kid’s shoulder joints as he felt his right hand remain raised in the air as if he was a stupid student with a stupid question. The bag was yanked off.

The back of the truck was filled with a dim, tan light but the kid winced at its onslaught nonetheless. He could see motes of dust sparkle gold in what little sunlight streamed inside. There, squatting in front of him like the bumpy road was not making every crate shake like an earthquake, was Reyes. The scars marring his face were harsh, his full lips turned downwards in a frown, but his eyes were gentle. His fingers, though calloused, were soft as they wrapped around the kid’s free wrist. “I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “You’re in one hell of a shit show.”

A trembling fear shot through his aching torso. “So what?” the kid spat.

Reyes turned his wrist until the black lines of his tattoo was revealed. The deadlock skull warped against his bulging veins. The kid suddenly felt very exposed, laying in an old truck as Reyes dragged a finger over the design. “I know your type. The world was shit to you, and you responded by making it worse. But you’re different, kid. You don’t believe in any of that crap those thugs were telling you.”

The kid glared.

“I can see it in you. Most of the guys I deal with deserve what they got coming. But you were just some preteen kid that was desperate enough to take food out of the first hand that offered it. There’s still good in you. I don’t doubt that, but you have years’ worth of crimes to make up for.”

He huffed. “So?”

Reyes was unfazed. “Listen. I can’t offer you the world, and what I do have for you isn’t going to make you that good person. If anything, my work will make you worse. But it’s a step towards redemption, towards doing that good you want to do in the world.” His eyes harden. “I have enough on you to keep you behind bars and far from any kind of sunlight for the rest of your life. Any smart person wouldn’t want that. But you have options. You can work for me and do something right, or you can go to jail. It’s your freedom on the line.”

Reyes stood. “You don’t have to like me. Hell, you don’t even have to believe in any of that crap. But the alternative is life in prison. Don’t be stupid.”

With that, he climbed back onto his crate. The kid watched him pull out his communicator and project a holovid into the air before him. The print was too small to read at a distance, but the way Reyes focused in on it made the kid feel like it was important.

Two hours passed with the kid laying on the floor and Reyes sitting on his crate. The truck rumbled onwards. The arm bound to the rail above him was sore to the point where tears welled around the corners of his eyes. The kid was sure there was no more blood circulating between those fingers. He wanted to cry, but didn’t. He wanted to think of a way out, but couldn’t. All he could do was think about Reyes’s offer and how it jammed itself into the forefront of his mind at any given moment.

He didn’t want to go to jail.

The thought was overwhelming. He never quite realized how little he’d live until this moment. He felt like he had been living on a conveyor belt that dragged him through a world where alien hands jabbed him with nails and screw until he was a certified, manufactured fuck up. Mama was dead, and he had nothing beyond the life of a gang member. Except, now he could jump off the pipeline and be something else. He didn’t know what the else was, but it had to be better than life as a Deadlock Rebel.

“Okay.” The kid waited for a bark of laughter, for a voice to say this was one big trick, but Reyes just continued to read his reports. He cleared his throat. “I’ll do it,” he said, louder.

Reyes looked up. “Are you sure, kid? If you’re just saying that so that you can fuck off and try to leave, change your mind now. I only want you if you’re going to be serious about this.”

The kid swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’ll join ya.”

The look Reyes gives him could almost be a smirk. “Alright.”

An hour from Watchpoint San Diego, Reyes had the kid unbound and sitting on the floor of the truck. A stack of papers sat between them as the kid went through them one by one, not reading but still trying to be careful. He pretended to not notice the way Reyes seemed prepared for him to agree, as if the question of his consent was never really there. He tried not to feel intimidated by the way Reyes pointed to his birth date and ordered him to change it. “Ain’t that—”

Reyes didn’t let him finish his thought. “Just do it. Whatever you do, I’ll protect you.”

So the kid did it. On paper, he was a few years into his twenties—old enough for the draft.

“You have to sign it all,” Reyes said.

The kid stared at the rest of blank lines where his signature was needed. He wasn’t Deadeye and he hadn’t been Jovina’s son since her death. “I don’t have a name,” he said.

Reyes’s eyes flashed with pity before smoothing out again. “Then make one up. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The kid looked at the way Reyes furiously typed into the holovid, trying to make arrangements for his new recruit. He could hear his mama’s voice inside his head, guiding him away from anything that could suck her son into a system of violence. Even now, he could feel the wood beads of her rosary weigh heavy on his neck.

When refugees from the Texas front fled to other boarder cities, Santa Fe saw its population turn from Rodriguez and Flores to Mc-this and O-that. There was a nice guy who lived in the apartment next to him who always talked about opening his own restaurant and naming it after himself. He was white unlike his mama, but the kid always wished that the kind old man was his father and not the deadbeat Mama scorned under her labor-worn breath. The kid remembered the way other, less kind white men with concrete teeth mocked Mama’s beautiful name when she cleaned their houses, mispronouncing easy, sugary syllables until the butchered sounds coming from their mouths was some other woman’s name.

When he signed the papers, it was as the mother who died with a name not her own and the old man who dreamed under a similar, weeping ceiling.

Finally, his name was Jesse McCree.

[hellagaymccree]

At the Mercy of the King

I wrote this for Day 4: Age/Role Swap of the McReyes week, but I think it gives a non-con vibe. I’m not sure, but I didn’t want to tag it for the event since I realized it after I wrote this and just in case it falls under non-con.

Anyways, have a 24-year-old Overwatch Agent McCree who falls at the feet of a ‘Rey’, Deadlock’s Leader. Rey sees something in Jesse and might have a plan up his sleeve. He wishes Jesse to join Deadlock for his own gain and uses his own way to lure him in.

Reyes’ look was inspired by these drawings by midnight-ufficio and this art on twitter by jinjuok0909.

(Written in one sitting so I could submit it in today, so apologize for any mistake or if it feels rush.)

--------

He’s pushed against a metal door that opens with the impact. His bones scream in pain. The chains around his wrists click against each other as he falls to his knees. He hears laughter from behind before he’s picked up by his arm to his feet again. His head throbs to the bright light and his legs shake from having to carry himself after standing for hours in waiting. The blood dripping from his nose as dried, but no one has offered to clean it. He’s force to smell copper and sweat. The hairband he wears to keep his lock tamed as possible and to please Jack is long gone. Causing greasy locks to stick to his forehead and neck. His knees hit the floor once more due to his captures brutal force and he groans. A hand tugs back at his hair, forcing him to look up at the sculpture in front of him. A man with skin that almost shines like bronze looks down at him. His hair cascades in dark brown curls around his head. Parting mostly to his right side. His eyes capture Jesse’s attention in a heartbeat. Brown like topazes pierced in his skull. Antique rocks that read like a history book to Jesse and tells him this man holds knowledge too dangerous for his line of work. He’s wearing a long, black coat and a red wine shirt underneath with its neck stretched out. His collarbones are carved neatly over his chest and his hairs are delicately drawn in fine curls. A golden chain with small crux dangles around his neck, nestling nicely between his breasts. Jesse’s gaze trails down the man’s body and his mouth goes parch to how the pair of jeans wrap tightly around his thighs. To finish the outfit he wears leather boots, golden rings on a couple of his fingers and a leather scuff peeks out from one of the sleeves of his coat. Rey. That’s how the infamous Deadlock leader calls himself. Jesse has only heard of kings in stories. Rey didn’t seem like the kind of king that builds a kingdom. But the kind that crumbles another to satisfy his greed for gold and power. “He was left behind by Overwatch.” A raspy voice says by Jesse’s side. This man is more bones than muscles, but he’s tall and covered in tattoos. Most of the people in the room are. “I wasn’t left behind,” Jesse says, looking up at the tall man. “I came back.” The man with brown curls scoffs and crosses his arms. “For what? All your friends that were abandoned are dead now. Just like you will be.” “Why keep me alive until now, then?” Rey approaches him, stomping his boots on the concrete floor. He crouches down and grabs Jesse’s jaw with one hand. Jesse can smell smoke from cigars and whisky. Dignified, smoky whisky like the one in Rey’s eyes. “Such pretty face deserves to be on camera, right?” Two rings on Rey’s hand pin cold against Jesse’s skin. “You really think I’m pretty?” Jesse winks at the man and gets a pat to his cheek. “I’d like to send a message to your boss, Strike Commander. Savior of the masses. Golden Boy.” Jesse shrugs. “We just call him Good Ol’ Jackie.” “Do you really think such scrawny brat will be worth it?” Another Deadlock member speaks. This one steps from Rey’s side. Rey turns, ignoring his prisoner. “Morrison might see his men as disposable. But this will affect his pride. Once he sees this poor kid’s blood staining the Overwatch logo, he will come once more. Be a hero, try and save his own. But it’ll be too late.” “I ain’t a kid.” The room falls silent and Rey turns. “Excuse me?” “I said,” Jesse says sharply. “I ain’t no kid.” Rey stares down at him once more. Jesse isn’t afraid to stare back, he defies the man. He has faith in Jack, Ana and the others. If they do happen to see him, probably in his last moments, he wants them to see him wearing his blue armor proudly. But then Rey smiles. He feels like a bullet goes right through his chest and he sees white. The room starts to feel hot, too uncomfortable to be wearing such heavy uniform. He especially feels his pants going smaller and tighter. Something coils in the pit of his stomach and his lips go dry. “Clean him up. Then bring him to me.

Rey ordered his men to clean him up, not treat him nicely. They throw a wet cloth at him to wash his face, but ignore the cut on his lip that burns with the contact. Someone pulls his head back and pour a bottle of water over his hair. The care is little, but his scalp feels a lot more refresh without the grime and sweat. His blue coat his taken off his shoulders and so is the holster of his gun, with Peacekeeper in it. They leave his boots, pants and black shirt. They question the tactical vest, but decide to also take it off since it’s dirty. They spot the gold ‘BAMF’ belt buckle Jack has told him a million times to ditch, but Jesse always pulls the ‘Fareeha gave it to me as a good luck token.’ And the man falls silent. They grin to the accessory, but leave it around his waist. Once he’s presentable enough, he’s taken out of the crummy room he had met Rey and taken to another. This time, they open the wooden door for him. He widens his eyes to the dreamland he stepped on. It’s a small bar, polished and oak furniture. The wall behind the counter is coated by bricks and shelves with bottles of liquor on display and for use. The stools are mahogany with silk green cushion to sit on. The few tables around him are polished and the chairs are neatly pushed underneath. There’s a lingering smoke in the air and the sound of violin and piano. “Leave.” He looks to a corner and spots Rey, smoking by an device he recognizes as a gramophone from pictures on the internet. The door shuts and Jesse yelps. He turns to find out he’s on his own. He looks back at Rey and the older man turns. He takes a drag from his cigar and lets the smoke brush up around his eyes as they inspect Jesse from across the room. Attracted to gold like a dragon, Rey gazes over the ‘BAMF’ belt buckle and smiles to such possession. “Come here.” He commands as he stretches his hand and walks towards one of the stools. Jesse is still. He’s not sure if his legs can carry him the whole way over. He takes a quick look around and doesn’t see any cameras. But the room seems sealed off enough to torture him and no one would hear. Rey has been watching him all the way to his new seat. “Come here.” He repeats. Jesse gives the first move and his skin shivers over his nerves shivers over his bones. His skin crawls and his fingers fidget with themselves. He stands in front of Rey and notices the bulge between his spread thighs. “You look thirsty,” Rey recalls and Jesse’s cheeks start to burn. “May I offer you a drink?” Jesse clears his throat. “No.” Rey shrugs. “Alright. What’s your name?” Jesse swallows and his lips twitch. “If you cooperate, things will go smoothly.” This man knows he’s a walking statute carved by Lucifer himself to temp the most loyal saints and drag them straight to the fire. Jesse might be one of the good guys, but he’s not a saint. Rey already had him in his grasp when he fell to his knees in front of the Deadlock leader. “Jesse,” is all McCree responds. Rey scoffs. “Cute.” Once again his grabs Jesse’s jaw, but this time is gentle. Worried he will break his new toy. He caresses Jesse’s skin, the small patch of hair below his mouth and his youthful lips. Jesse is paralyzed to the touch even if the cut burns under Rey’s thumb. His fingers feel rough, but the way they brush him is pleasant. “How did you end up in Overwatch? Can’t be older than 25.” “24, actually.” “How long have you been in it?” Jesse laughs and looks away from the man, gathering the composure he needs to speak again. “I ain’t gun’ talk that easy, sweetheart. You’re better off locking me in that room and torturing me in front of a camera.” A laugh vibrates in Rey’s chest as he pushes back a few locks of Jesse’s hair. “Oh, I will torture you, alright. And I’ll make you talk. No cameras, though. Not today.” Rey’s face softens and his gaze relaxes the longer Jesse stares at it. His eyes are a timeless treasure he found and wants to keep for himself. Suddenly, Rey picks him up and spins him around. He yelps when his ass hits the bar and Rey settles between his thighs before he can put up a guard. Rey’s index finger and thumb hold Jesse’s chin in place as he leans forward. A ‘no’ chokes on Jesse’s throat and a gasp pushes it down. Their noses caress at the tip and the man’s breath is hot over his shivering lips. He can almost taste the cigar that had been between Rey’s lips a few seconds ago. Rey’s hand slithers down from Jesse’s chin and holds still around his neck. Jesse stiffens when he feels the hold around him, yet he can still breathe. It’s just a gentle hold to keep him in place, but terrified to run. Jesse’s eyelids start to feel heavy the longer he is under Rey’s stare. The man remains near Jesse for a few seconds, breathing in the same air and his smell. There’s still sweat on the younger man and the perfume of the sun over his skin. Jesse seems to have been holding his breath for ever when Rey kisses him. He moans and blushes in embarrassment to such weakness. Rey returns the moan and deepens the kiss to savior offering in front of him. Jesse hisses when the burning in his bottom lip is too much. Rey captures the lip between his teeth and changes those cries of pain to pleasure before kissing him again. Jesse feels numb in the hands of the man. He tries to wake himself up. This is a trick. A lure into his den just to tear his throat out. He has denied temptations before, that’s what Jack has taught him and he can’t throw away the opportunities he has had. He has built a good name for himself in Overwatch just to have it taken away for a good time. As if Rey read his mind, he starts kissing down his neck and Jesse freezes. But there are no sharp teeth nor pain. Only more tender kisses. Rey’s undoes the belt and Jesse’s hands hold to his thick wrists, but he doesn’t put pressure. He just holds the Deadlock leader as he continues undressing him like they’ve done this before. Jesse’s hard cock springs free from his boxers and Rey wraps a hand around it. The cold rings make Jesse yelp in thrill as Rey smiles. He pushes Jesse’s chest down and he obliges by laying back. The counter ends on his shoulder blades and his head hangs back in the air. It doesn’t take long for a warm, moist mouth to wrap around Jesse’s dick. The younger man gasps as if he had been drowning and just found a way to the surface. He breathes in the intoxicating air into his lungs to save his life. Rey isn’t afraid to swallow Jesse whole. He uses his tongue to brush the head and base. He traces the veins on Jesse’s member and moans while he sucks. He feels Jesse trembling below him and smiles as continues to give pleasure. Jesse’s vision blurs and he feels dizzy from all the blood that’s parting to his head and cock. He shuts his eyes and bites his lip to try and resist. It’s probably late to push the man away, he doesn’t think he even has the strength to do it. But maybe he can hold himself back, regain his force and find a way through this. When he opens his eyes and turns his head, he sees an empty bottle of wine under the counter. He grabs it and holds on tight to the neck of it. He moans and whimpers as Rey’s hands slip under his tight shirt. His palms sweat, causing him to tighten his hold on the bottle. He decides it’s time when Rey moans loudly around his cock. Jesse swings the bottle over him, aiming for Rey’s head. There’s a fist around his wrists before he reaches his target and his eyes widen. Slowly, Rey slips away from Jesse. Letting his shiny, covered in saliva cock fall against his stomach. Rey’s eyes turn to fire as he growls. He forces Jesse to drop the bottle and pulls him off the counter to turn and bend him over the bar with his arm behind his back. “I told you,” Rey hisses, hovering over the younger men. “If you cooperate, things will go smoothly.” Jesse’s brain spins inside of his skull when Rey turns him around again. He holds on to the younger man’s jaw like he has done before and uses his thumb to brush his bottom lip. “Such perfect lips to spill sins out of. So tender to ravage and keep for myself,” he hums before kissing Jesse. There’s a taste shared between them Jesse can describe as sin. It’s bittersweet and hot in his mouth. Like aged, fine, velvet wine spilling down his throat. He’s pushed to his knees as Rey unbuttons his pants and takes his cock out. It hangs in front of Jesse, who stares at its curve and veins. It’s perfectly coated with brown skin and a path of dark curls shadow above it. Something twinkles in Jesse’s line of sight, lighting up his curiosity. Rey takes his cock in his hand to guide it into Jesse’s mouth when he sees what it is. Two rows of silver pearls, three on each side, down his shaft. Rey growls a laugh and Jesse opens his mouth as if it had been a command. The piercings roll easy on his tongue, but the taste isn’t pleasant. Still, the way they bob and causes the King to moan and praise him makes him forget the sour taste. Jesse’s hands find their way to Rey’s thighs and he digs his nails, wanting to feel the thick coat of skin through the jeans. “That’s it, boy,” Rey sighs as he tugs at Jesse’s hair, creating some pressure to Jesse’s movement. The way he tangles his fingers between his locks also cause Jesse to moan. Rey smiles when he gets the effect he wants. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” Rey speaks up when he catches a glimpse of Jesse’s sneaky hand working on himself. He uses one of his boots to push it away and Jesse whines as he looks up at Rey. His eyes are brown citrines, almost blacken by lust. He is begging Rey to reconsider, but the Deadlock leader only grabs Jesse’s head and thrusts into him. He ignores his pleads and takes what the humble boy has to offer to the king. Rey comes painfully slow and all over Jesse’s chest. He forces the Overwatch agent on the counter again and plays with his precum leaking cock until it starts twitching uncontrollably. Rey tightens his fist around Jesse’s balls, making him yelp, as he hisses, “if you come, I will kill you.” Oh, and Jesse wants to die right now. He wants to cover the older man’s hand with his cum. Or paint those dark, swollen lips with the results of his blissful moment. He wants to tarnish that crux hanging around his neck and perish in the act. -- Jesse’s eyes are drowning in tears. His cock aches swollen, twitching, trapped between his stomach and the smooth table underneath him. His arms are tied back with the belt buckle Fareeha gave him. He doesn’t know how he will look at her in the eyes again, if he got the chance. While he is bent over the table, naked, sweaty and a trembling mess. Rey remains almost fully clothed and stoic as he rims Jesse’s asshole with his tongue and moans into the entrance. His coat rest on another chair and Jesse got a good view of how the red shirt clings to his shoulders, chest and waist. How the sleeves sit neatly, rolled up around his elbows, making his arms look bigger. Rey smacks and grabs his ass between licks, making it worse for the younger man. Jesse doesn’t know how long they have been doing this since he was placed on the counter like a sacrifice. His mind clogs with haze and an aching fever to release. Every time Rey pushes him over to the edge, he forces Jesse back against him and growls into his ear like a jealous lover. After his tongue, Rey uses his fingers to open Jesse up. Jesse can’t even recall when Rey backed away to get the bottle of lube, or where he got it from. But he’s glad his thick fingers are slick. Jesse whines and moans to the ferocity Rey uses to pump them inside. He scissors and curls his fingers as he watches the younger man squirm and shake. He sees the storm building up inside of Jesse. The way his back arches and his wrist struggle to break free. Jesse clenches his teeth, needing something to bite on and Rey can only imagine how much they must hurt piercing into his skin. He moans to such image and slips another finger inside of Jesse. “P-please,” Jesse murmurs with quivering lips. Rey laughs as his fingers slip out of Jesse and he steps back to admire his work. Jesse tries to cross his knees, feeling so exposed with his gaping hole and bruised cheeks. Rey pours lube into his hand and strokes his cock, solid once more. He spreads Jesse’s ass cheeks and whistles to the pink entrance before he covers it with the head of his cock. A sound of pleasure and frustration comes out of Jesse’s mouth as Rey pushes in. His head fits easily inside and the warmth feels cozy for him to continue. The first two piercings make it through and Jesse screams softly into the air. “You’ll love this, I promise,” Rey purrs as he remains still for a few seconds, giving the younger man a chance to adjust. The second pair of piercings slip inside and Jesse bites his lip to keep quiet. Rey frowns and feels offended. Almost like Jesse is defying him. He pushes what’s left of his cock in one thrust and Jesse gasps, eyes snapping open. Rey smiles and starts moving slowly. He looks down to capture his cock slipping out of Jesse’s hole and back inside. He finds a good rhythm and pushed forward more than necessary to make Jesse’s body move with him. He loves how Jesse’s ass bounce against him. His cheeks jiggle, tempting a slap. He obeys the luring and smacks his hand against one of them. Jesse screams and groans before another slap comes down. Rey spreads the cheeks to have better access and go as deep as he can. He remains inside of Jesse, pushing in as Jesse cries out his name. The chants every king wants to hear from his hungry kingdom. Jesse sees stars when he closes his eyes. He swears his lip is bleeding again from biting into it so much, but the burn adds the finishing touch to the whole scene. Rey and him are coming together as well as clashing. He feels he fits right with the man, but they’re fighting on different sides. He feels like the sun, casting light in dark places to bring hope. Leading the way for others and lending a hand. Rey feels like the moon, cold, yet beautiful. He brings darkness, but manages to shine in it and makes his own path. He imagines the painting they must be creating. Like an eclipse, too intense to stare directly at it, but a connection that’s too rare to miss. He whine when Rey leaves him feeling empty. He looks over his shoulder as Rey pulls up a chair. He’s about to protest when the belt comes undone from his wrist and Rey pulls him towards him. The Deadlock leader takes Jesse with him as he sits down and look at each other. Jesse rests his hands on Rey’s shoulders to lifts himself up and settle on the older man’s lap. Rey positions his cock with one hand and uses the other to guide Jesse down when he’s ready. Jesse’s luscious lips open to a moan and Rey witnesses the cracks appearing as he starts falling apart. “I can take care of you, Jesse,” Rey purrs as Jesse sways his hips. “Y-yeah?” “Yes, no one will touch you ever again. Just me. My men describe a sharpshooter. Six bullets on each round, never missed a target. Took down a few of them, but still got caught.” He laughs, but ends up moaning an ‘oh?’ when Jesse starts bouncing. He smiles before continuing. “Together, we can be unstoppable. They will fear us. Your Strike Commander will have no power over you.” “R-Rey!” Jesse gasps. “You can come now, Jesse. See how good it all feels. It will feel this good every day, whenever you want it.” “Fuck, yes,” Jesse sighs. Rey watches as Jesse falls apart on top of him. Sees the younger agent crumbling in his arms and he looks back at Rey like he has picked him up from the ashes he burned in and gave him a new path in life. This boy has a gift. There’s fire inside of him and an aim that belongs to Death. Overwatch won’t allow him reach his full potential, but Rey will. Yes, he will take care of this new devil. Spoil him rotten in ways he knows a man cannot resist. He already did it once. Jesse’s lustful eyes tell him he wants more of him. They’re almost pitch black, demonic and tempting enough to keep Rey interested. Jesse pleads to never forget him. If Jack Morrison wanted his agent back, he would make him go through hell for him.

[storytellerkeno-blog]

The Light of the World

I remembered that day when the lights went out. It was Friday, my day off, I was watching the Cubs game with my friends at Draft Bar Chicago. We were playing this drunk game where everytime our Cubs team missed a ball, we'd all take a shot.

"Alright, looks like Gerrit Cole is winding up a fastball. And he throws...."

TV shuts off

Everyone groaned and complained at the bartender.

"Awe, dude. What the hell was that for?"

"Sorry, pal. Never touched the rem-"

The lights flickered in quick succession then turned the whole bar pitch-black.

"What the fuck?", a customer remarked.

"Relax, people. The lights will come back on in a minute. Just wait."

So we waited and they never did.

loud crash ensues in the streets

We cocked our heads towards the streets through the windows. I quickly ran out onto the corner of the street, and discovered a pile up in the intersection. I felt broken glass and rubber under my shoes as i walked closer to the scene.

Then out of nowhere, a mechanical loud roar filled the air. I looked up to see a Boeing 777 flying low above us, heading towards a skyscraper.

CRASH

I woke up, startled, from my table in the cubicle and quickly exhaled.

"Sorry about that, Holmes. Why are you still here? I thought you already left", my boss asked.

"Sorry, sir. I must've slept. I won't do it again, sir." I replied.

"It's fine. Today was a long day. Now go on home. I'll close up shop here. You be safe out there, Holmes."

I stood up from my blue wheelchair, grabbed my work folder and my bag.

"Same to you, boss. G'nite."

I headed for the elevators, forgetting about the blackout and hit the button. I quickly remembered and let out a sigh and looked to my left. The dreaded service stairs. I walked down until I reached the lobby and stopped at the front of the door. The street was glowing with a red-orange light as the moon covered spaces with its white luminous light.

It's a damn shame, we can't drive our cars. The blackout was like a giant EMP, shorting out everything that was electric. And thus kicking us back to the Medieval ages. Because we depended on technology so much, we had to re-learn how to do simple daily things the good-ole fashion way. At day, it was almost like normal except we only had about eight hours of sunlight. The streets were filled with useless cars and patrolled by cops, riding horses. At night, it's beautiful. The galaxy painted the sky with stars and colorful cosmos. Every streetlights were replaced with torches and candles while buildings were boarded up to keep out danger.

Simpler times, man. Simpler times.

I pushed the door and hustled to the hotel 10 minutes later. I exhaled and knocked on the door. A slide hole and a voice asked, "Who is it?".

"It's Holmes, Pat." I answered.

"Ah, welcome back home, sir."

Series of deadlocks on the door were audibly unlocked and the door let out a metallic groan as it pulled open.

"Thanks, Pat. Have a safe night."

He smiled and quickly shut the door. Pat was well-mannered and almost reaching the age of 60. Before the blackout, he was the hotel's doorman. Even now, he still is.

I reach to room 104, and fumbled for my keys in my pocket. The hallway was poorly lit by candles on the wall, giving off a somewhat creepy feeling. But that's what you get from a blackout. I dropped my bag onto the floor, knocked my shoes, and placed my key into the glass bowl on the kitchen countertop. In a forgetful moment, I flicked the light switched on the wall behind the glass bowl and the lights turned on.

"It's like the lights never went out", I chuckled and proceeded towards my bedroom. Then I stopped dead cold in my tracks. I looked up at the light and slowly made my way back to the light switch.

"I must be sleepwalking or something." I thought.

I switched the light switch a few times more before I felt satisfied then made a quick realization.

"Wait, did anybody see my light?"

I turned off the light and rushed towards the window. I peered into the street and inspected for any sign of life from left to right.

"Nobody must've seen it, right?" I nervously chuckled at the thought.

I spent a few more minutes then close the window with the blinds. I yawned and went straight ahead to my bed without bothering to take a shower. Cleanliness can wait till' morning. I slowly fall asleep until I wake up from a noise in the kitchen.

creak

I shot up from my bed and squinted my eyes at my old-fashioned watch. I must've slept three hours.

creak

There it is again, that sound. I paused and held my breath, straining to hear the creak. Seven minutes pass by, and I exhaled.

"Must've been a late resident." I thought.

CRACK

A series of metallic can bounces on the floor and releases a brigh white light, blinding my eyes. A high-pitched sound echoed through my ears and a bright light flashed before my eyes. I raise my hand to see who it was but failed. A hand put down my arm and a butt of gun hit my face, knocking me out. I groaned and saw black-ops stealth soldiers standing around me while talking into a radio.

"Subject has been captured, Base. Will proceed to exfil."

"Copy, will wait for your arrival at XYZ."

I groaned as the light fades away as darkness slowly engulfs before me.