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asumofwords · 9 months

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Angst, grief, sorrow, fighting.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels, here is the next chapter hehe, bit of a sad one but what do we expect from SF&A at this point? Lmaooo. I've almost completely finished writing the whole series, so updates may become more regular as I pump it all out for you. What a journey this has been! Enjoy <3

Chapter 92: Burn Together

To say that things went back to normal would be a farce.

It was all a farce.

The fake smiles. The small nods. The words of affirmation and condemnation. The false sense of security and even falser acts of content. It was all wrong. It was all changed. And it was all too much.

You spend much of your days in the Garden, sat where you were usually seated, staring out at the water as you tried to uphold some sense of strength. Tried to show some vision of superiority and that the loss of the child was divine intervention. As though the anger and hurt had gone, as though the sadness and regret had left, because you knew it was for the better, or perhaps the Gods had told you so.

Words came to you rarely as you began to shrink into yourself again, but with each shrinking moment came the bursting strikes of life. Not happiness or joy, not frustration or longing, pure and uncontested rage.

Rage that it happened.

Rage that he had done nothing.

Rage at your stupidity.

Rage at your desire for more.

Aemond did not try to pry words from you, nor did he even try to touch you. He simply let you exist around him, giving you the space to come to him when needed. Late at night, in the darkness of the chambers you would roll to face him, and the most bitter of sobs would leave your lips.

At first Aemond had been uncertain, and stayed still amongst the sheets, unsure of whether or not to hold you or offer you support. But when you had rolled and pressed yourself into his side, his arms had curled around you in a way that felt natural, as though your body was made to fit between his in such a way, and let you cry against his chest.

Your clothes, your maids noticed, had begun to wear large on you, finding that you had no want to eat nor any appetite to do so. Even with the gentle encouragement of them both, you still did not find the heart to do it, looking at the bowl of star fruit in front of you, stomach full of lead.

But Aemond allowed you to do it.

He allowed you to grieve, but at some point, everyone has their limit, and it seemed that tonight was the night for his.

“You need to eat, Y/n. You need move past this grief. Do not let it consume you.” He implored, grasping at your cheeks.

You pulled away from him, looking up at him with a shaky lip, “Nothing you do will ever make this okay! Nothing you say will take away what you have already done, or what you are to do.”

“What are you talking about?” He questioned, deep lines in his brow.

“This! Us!” You broke, “All of it. It seems as though the Gods have destined us with nothing but pain and agony, and how much more must I bear? My heart cannot take it, Aemond.” A tear slid down your cheek, “I am tired, but more than this I am so alone. So very much alone even with you standing in front of me. Even as I can reach out and touch you with mine own hands. Even as you promise me sweet nothings, I know that it will never be enough to satiate the hungers of the punishments I will soon be lashed with.”

Aemond shook his head, stepping forward towards you again, “Do you think I am going to hurt you? I’m not going to punish you for losing the child. It was not your fault.”

A sob fell from your lips, “Then why do I feel one coming? Why do I always feel as though I am one hair away from your cruelty? We take one step forward together and five steps back. I have given you everything, and yet what do you give me? Nothing. You did nothing. You stood there and watched as I was brought before Aegon. What if it had been me? I thought it was going to be me! And you stood there like a craven and just watched.”

His violet eye blinked at you, the sapphire beside it, still.

You sucked in a breath again, “You watched as your precious wife, the mother to your child, was brought to the throne by force. You watched as Aegon threatened to take my tongue. And what did you do, Aem? You stood there and did fucking nothing!” Anger rose within you, bubbling viciously beneath your skin, “You stood there like a craven as your brother accused me of treason! Your wife! Your supposed love! Your one childhood companion who did nothing but defend you, no matter the odds or punishment! It has always been me. I have been the only one to ever love you. The only one to ever care. The only one to ever defend you. How many times did I do that for you? From the training yard, to the dragon pit, to the Sept. And when the time came for you to defend my honour, you were that same, scared little boy who would hide in the tunnels after his brother would tease him.” Heat rose on your cheeks as you looked at your uncle, his face stern and his eye narrowed.

"You expected me to do what?" Aemond snapped, "What did you expect me to do in that moment? I was not even told you were being brought to the chambers. I could not have possibly done anything that would not have made it worse. If Aegon had seen me react, he would have delighted in the sight and been moved to do more."

You scoffed, “I am burdened with being wed to a coward who hides behind the illusion of duty. A man who cannot even stand up to his drunken, pathetic, whoring brother.” You forced out a humourless laugh, watching as Aemond became irritated, “My husband who rides the largest dragon in the world, my husband who is a skilled warrior; sits and waits to be told what to do like a dog. Doing everyone else’s bidding.” You stepped closer to him, eyeing him down, “If I had not seen your cock, I would have suspected you were a eunuch.”

“My duty is to my brother, to my mother. To my blood.” He sneered.

“And what of my blood, Aemond? What of our union? What of the prophesies from the Gods? Did they not command you to act as you watched me be dragged by men into the throne room? That babe may have been the Prince that was Promised, and now it is gone. Because of you.”

Aemond huffed, “I could do naught! He is my brother. He is the King.”

“And I am your wife! And the blood of the dragon between us runs thicker than the water of the womb you have shared. Like a scared little boy. Never have I seen you so pathetic. You left me for dead.”

Aemond scowled, “I would never do that to you.”

“And yet, you did. You left me at the hands of your brother. And you watched. You have only lost one eye, yet you are so blinded by your duty to them. I feel as though I have died already. I died the moment I watched you do nothing, as those men touched me, as the pain creeped into my womb. I died the moment I realised I meant nothing to you, and that you would let my fate fall into Aegon’s hands. Is this a cruel joke from the Stranger? Is my true reality too grievous for my soul to take? Am I destined for all eternity to love a man who does not love me back?”

“I do love you.” Aemond insisted, frustration in his tone.

“Then why do you let them hurt me?!” You cried, “Why do you hurt me? The Gods play tricks on my mind and my body, and punish me for your actions. She was your whore. Your bastard. And yet I was punished for it. Not you. Me.”

“I lost the child too, do you not think that it pains me so?”

“I know it does not! You did not feel it as I felt. You did not feel the life leave my body, or the pain that came after. You did not feel it pass through me.” You sniffed, another tear falling.

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked down at you, voice dangerously low, “I thought I lost you both.”

“And that is where the sickness and depravity of the Gods come to fruition. It is a never ending cycle of hurt and be hurt. I do not know what they have planned for me, but I fear it, Aemond. I fear the path they have paved for me. That child was from them, I know it. I felt it in my bones. And yet we lost it. Will they punish me now for being so careless? Will they punish us both for not ensuring its birth? I cannot continue to wreak the consequences of the men around me. I will break. I will break like poor Helaena did. But even to that, there is nothing I can do because I fell in love with a man who’s actions wound me most terribly. There is this small, foolish piece of me still holding onto hope that the Aemond I grew up with would still care for me as he did.”

“I do. I love you deeply. I would do anything for you, surely you know this.” Aemond began, stepping forward to hold your face tightly in his large palms, thumbs brushing the tears that fell from your cheeks.

“It is okay,” You heaved a breath, “Please just tell me if it is a farce.” You grabbed his wrists almost desperately, “If you only say it so for the treaty. I will understand, I will even make my peace with it.” You said desperately, “But please, I cannot survive my heart being torn apart by you any longer. I cannot do it, Aemond. I won’t. I will throw myself from Maegor’s Holdfast, I promise you this. I will set you free from these marriage bonds if you so wish, and my spirit from this earthly plane.”

Aemond stepped towards you, grabbing your shoulder and neck, fingers framing your chin, “Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, “Eman va moriot jorrāelatan ao. Kesan va moriot jorrāelagon ao. Se qēlossās kostagon ropagon hen se jēdar, se nyke iēdrosa jorrāelagon ao.” I have always loved you. I will always love you. The stars could fall from the sky, and I would still love you.

Aemond’s eye narrowed as he spoke, brow furrowed in a way that creased the scar at his brow, “Eman jorrāelatan ao pār nyke ēlī ilagontan laesi va ao. Se kesan jorrāelagon ao ēva ñuha mōrī jelevre.” I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you. And I will love you until my last breath.

A loud sob left your lips as your heart clenched in your chest at his words.

"Hen se gūrēñare yard, naejot se havor tistālion, ēza va moriot issare ao.” From the training yard, to the kitchen, it has always been you.

“Aemond.” You hands tightened around his wrists in a way that would have been painful as you clutched him for dear life.

The Prince pulled you forward towards him, clutching you against his chest as he let you cry, wrapping his large arms around you, blanketing you in a feeling of safety that only he could bring to you.

You cried into him, feeling the last of your resolve fall away, and the rawness of your grief exposed to the chambers. He held you to him tightly, afraid to let go, your hands tightly wrapped in the front of his tunic.

When Aemond finally pulled back, he brought his lips to yours. It wasn’t burning with passion or desire, it wasn’t laced with regret and grief, instead, his lips moved against yours like a gentle whisper of assurance, a smaller whisper of truth, and the almost invisible whisper of a promise, all of which was overpowered by one thing, and one thing only.

Love.

Your uncle pulled away, looking down at you with nothing but adoration as he spoke again,“Lanta rōvēgrie zaldrīzes perzyssy, hēnkirī hae mēre. Spool hen kasta, spool hen zōbrie. Iā rōvēgrie ropagon naejot letagon lanta hubon. Vējes naejot zālagon hēnkirī.”

Two great dragon flames, together as one. Spool of green, spool of black. A great fall to tie two threads. Fated to burn together.

Tears continued to fall, but not because of grief. Not because of the sorrow that swallowed you into its dark pit, its wispy tendrils pulling you beneath its icy surface. Not because of the regret that you had, or guilt that you felt for the Maester.

You cried because you knew it was the truth.

You knew it to be.

It had to be.

All of this could not be for naught.

“Avy jorrāelan.” I love you, He whispered again.

You gave him a sad smile in return, “And I love you, but I don’t think I will survive this.”

“I will not let them hurt you.”

You looked at Aemond carefully, watching as the words left his mouth, at the way his eye held conviction, at the way his mouth held an almost Godly truth.

The way he said it to be true.

As though speaking would make it so.

“You already have.”

Aemond dipped his head towards you again and kissed you, pulling you against his body once more as you wrapped your arms around him, sighing into the kiss, feeling relief in his touch, safety in his arms, warmth in his reach.

Slowly Aemond moved you backwards towards the bed.

Your heart did not race nor skip, your breath did not hitch, and you went with him willingly, hands reaching the bottom of his tunic to begin unclasping the latches that held it together.

When the last clasp was undone, your hands skated beneath gently, softly, slowly, and moved up his torso, feeling the hard lines of his body, and the warmth of his skin, and the subtle breaths that he took as you made your way to his shoulders, hands moving beneath to slide it off his his body. It fell to the floor, the next his under tunic, and before long, your hands reached forward to unlace his breeches.

Aemond spun you softly, pushing your hair away from your neck and forward over your shoulder, kissing the bare skin as he unlaced and the back of your gown, the heavy material sagging on your body until it slid to the floor beneath you.

Breeches and chemises were lost, boots and stockings tossed, until finally the two of you laid atop the green sheets of your bed, his callused hands skating over your skin in reverence, with undying patience and care.

First he took you with his mouth, bringing you to your peak with the help of his long fingers, stretching you open for him and whispering words of praise against your slick skin. When you peaked with a cry, he kissed his way up your body, through the valley of your breasts until he hovered above you, seeking permission to move as he lined himself with your core.

You tilted your head upwards, chasing his lips as he slid inside of you slowly, the both of you moaning into each others mouths. Pleasure coursed through you with every thrust, heat blooming in your core as he made love to you for the first time.

It was not possessive or rough, violent or haste, it was slow, and sensual, hands mapping out bodies, savouring the flickering sparks that spouted beneath your skin. The small sighs that he made, the moans as he dipped his head into your neck.

All of it devastatingly pure.

The tears came without you even noticing them there, Aemond finding them upon your cheeks with a moment of concern. He brushed the tears away from your cheeks as he stilled, the length of him throbbing inside of you, desperate to keep moving.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head vehemently, “I wish we hadn’t wasted so much time apart.” You whispered, hips moving up to meet his, encouraging him to move again, “I wish the war had not happened.” Aemond slid through your folds as you babbled beneath him, “I wish that we had not done the things we had done.”

Aemond bent his neck to kiss you again, tongue chasing yours before he pulled away, the breath having been stolen from your lungs.

“We cannot go back, we can only move forward.”

You nodded, weakness and sorrow buried down beneath you as you looked at him with determination.

“Burn together.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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418 notes · View notes

badchoicesworld · 8 months

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hello hello hi ! i hope you're doing well ! may i request a miles!42 and hobie with like a butterfly mutated reader (masc) ? ironically he's more bug than beauty and has alot of features that he tries to hide (antennae, long ears and :3 mouth that opens up to a long tongue to suck up food ? he has teeth too but theyre sharp with fangs in the splatoon inkling way. skin is like a bug's sort of hard and exoskeletonly and bro is just really fluffy. like his wrists and neck have fluff)

reader is a result of like a weird science experiment gone wrong so he sort of feels like an alien trying to fit in whenever his features pop out. he just wants to live an ordinary life but somehow keeps on gettinh pulled in the middle of every superhero fight there is :'). also ! ARTKIDDD

im sorry if the req got really specific to work w aha :') hope you have a good one !

hobie brown and miles42 with butterfly mutated boyfriends !

huge fan of these mutated readers, i am however a tmnt man so (i fuckin see you btw, my most active friend and that tmnt blog)

separate, established relationships

warnings: nah

pairing: hobie brown x masc!reader, miles morales!42 x masc!reader

requests: check out my guide/masterlist

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

we all know hobie’s a massive fan of making a statement, so he thinks that you look absolutely incredible with your mutation

will likely go through a phase of insisting you should embrace it and flaunt it, he’s gotta be told a few times that you just wanna live an ordinary life

sounds a little boring to him, but whatever suits you, y’know?

he’s not the guy to go to however for tips on how to blend in, do not ask

you’ve got a butterfly mutation, he’s got a spider mutation- he calls you the bug boys sometimes when he’s feeling hyped up and you can feel how you wanna feel about that

if you ever tell him about your mutation, about the experiments and such, it just fuels hobie’s habit of antagonising authority n all that

you’re like walking proof of the government taking advantage of the people through the systems they put in place to protect them but in reality are just some form of propaganda to give the public false hope and sense of security

yeah, hobie wasn’t surprised when you told him

not too pressed over it either since it’s been and done, no point in getting worked up over something thats irreversible and apart of you now

feels disrespectful to even feel bad to a degree

of course he feels bad that you were experimented on, but he’s not gonna say anything about your actual mutation

does however have something inappropriate to say about ur tongue im sorry

yknow what hard skins good for ? drawing on, let him please

yknow what fluff around you ur neck and wrists is great for ? hobie and his desperation for contact, ur mad comfy dawg

he likes to wear his studded collars and wrist bands in the same places as your fur sometimes, matching innit

hobie absolutely recognised how badly you want to have an ordinary life, so can honestly empathise and sympathise when you somehow manage to find yourself sucked into every super scrap in the city

he can try diverge the fights, but can’t promise a thing since they tend to be unpredictable

hobie’s plenty happy to diverge from large crowds with you if it helps you stick out less, he’ll navigate for the two of you and somehow come up with insane routes to get to where you need to be

will diy you clothes tailored to your mutation, shirts with holes in the back for your wings just so they don’t have to be uncomfortably folded under clothes n stuff

miles42

i feel like with society going up in flames, standing out is something you generally wanna avoid in earth42, just doesn’t seem so safe

so miles definitely goes the extra mile (ha) to make sure you’re not gonna stick out too much

if you’re smaller than him he’ll for sure lend you certain things to wear if they cover you up well enough, he knows just about every nook and cranny in the city to hide in whenever your features decide to make a guest appearance

like if you’re ever just walking down a street then your antenna poke out, he’s very fast to act and doesn’t make a big deal out of it

now you either just chill in an alley together or start making your way home through the intricate backstreets miles can effortlessly navigate

he appreciates your mutation though, it’s one of them things that he can silently admire and daydream about instead of worrying about the future

realistically ? you could be a result of a really shitty human experiment gone wrong at oscorp, god knows they can take advantage of the people without a spider-man to protect them

if you ever reveal this to miles, he’s obviously upset, but it’s probably predicted at this point

i imagine in his universe that they’re a force to be reckoned with

asks his mum to make things for you sometimes, to help you feel better about your appearance and to help hide certain features that you wanna

can completely understand your desire to want an ordinary life, he does too

he’ll help you achieve it, it’s one of his dreams and he can only hope to share it

your mutation takes time to get used to but it gets to the point where miles simply won’t bat an eye at your mutation, he treats you like any other person in the world except he loves you- wants so badly for you to feel normal if that’s what you want

in the least condescending way he will insist from time to time for you to stay home, just for your own safety if he starts to notice a particular rise in stats

he completely understands your desire to just blend in, but it’s not worth it if you’re genuinely at risk

he gets into the habit of doodling butterfly features on scraps of paper, on the back of his hand during classes- you’re on his mind a lot

says that he’s indifferent towards ur fluff but then he’ll fix it up for you after putting a shirt on and it’s a lil outta sorts

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

sorry this is kinda brief and not great, i’ve been out of it for the longest time but i’m tryna provide 💪💪

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kisskawa · 7 months

Text

— leylines cw major character death, lots of grief, injury, blood, ghosts of the past, love is the most twisted curse of all, bittersweet ending

gojo keeps up the facade. the jokes fall from his tongue as usual, grin on his lips, but there's something else. something wobbly and wrong as it spreads out too far, too thin. and no one misses the quiver of gojo's lip, no matter how slight.

he knows he's not faring well, each chortle harder to sound than the last. and as the moon creeps into the sky, every fibre of the strongest man sinks, heavier than the day before. everyone else can see it too, can see how he struggles. and so, they laugh alongside him and whisper their concerns to one another when they're sure he's not paying attention. it's not hard, gojo can't seem to find focus at all anymore.

for it'd only been two months since they buried you.

two months since they'd dragged your body from the cursed domain, too much blood and too many tears. two months since you'd become a casualty, remaining only as a name on reports and nothing more. two months since gojo had begun missing you, and two months since he had last stopped.

you'd come in like a storm, utterly captivating as you drew others in, magnetism in the air. all it took was a single sharp smile and a flash of lightning behind your eyes for you to peak gojo satoru's interest. it'd taken a bit more time for your relationship to advance, you weren't a fool. you'd heard of gojo, of course you had. a man with extraordinary power and a face to match, his persona of confidence came as no shock, a string of reverent men and women alike behind him, all wide-eyed and jaws dropped in their admiration. it took a while for you to see past them, see past the illusion gojo let his rumoured reputation build. but then you grew tired of the push and pull - all too aware of the quips and smirks gojo saved just for you - and pressed your lips to his, hold firm on his collar and smile curving as his breath hitched in surprise. and just like that, you had him wrapped round your finger.

it was unfamiliar. for the both of you. you'd spent your days focused on sorcery and techniques, hardly letting yourself find distraction as you climbed your way up the ranks. and gojo, he hadn’t let himself feel so committed to anyone, anything in a long, long time. he was picky with who he loved, pickier even with who he let love him. being a jujutsu sorcerer - let alone such a high level one - was tiring and dark, he did his best to separate it all from his time outside of missions. and yet, he found himself letting you reach out and pull at the mask he had worn so comfortably. bare for you to see, he was willing to quieten down and let his lips drop, exhausted, into a frown; gojo didn’t seem to mind, not as long as he was with you. and sometimes, he pondered amusedly, if you had put a curse on him.

but now gojo was stumbling, grappling for a sense of security that he could no longer find. not in the front he used to put on and not in you who he so desperately wanted, who he so desperately needed.

the night he first saw you for the second time was suffocating. he'd spent the whole day locked up, initially in his office and then in his room, hardly able to get past how everything now seemed to remind him of you. so gojo had turned in early, clamping his eyes shut as he tossed around in a bed intended for two.

he finally gave up some time closer to sunrise than sunset, eyes bleary as he ultimately granted them their wish and allowed them to stay open. and it was as he blinked away the false sleep that he saw you.

he wished he had smiled at the sight of you. maybe even screamed, that'd be logical. but instead, gojo stared, awestruck, loving, blinking only when his eyes began to burn. he didn't know it was tears, rather than disbelief or confusion, that pricked at them, not until your name lurched from his throat, a sob more than a question.

like gojo, you didn't react how expected to, no gentle hello, no admission of love but a simple "you need to let me go." you were never one to sugarcoat around satoru, knowing he'd take your words and twist them into a playful tease, stealing a kiss or two from you in the meantime.

"no, i can't," gojo replied snippedly, somehow falling back into that easy flow of conversation you two always had, no matter what form you took now.

you were about to protest, lips parted as you weighed over demanding him to or assuring him he could, when you faltered. for gojo sat in a too big bed, shaking his head petulantly as tears slowly filled his waterline and yet, you could see, clear as day, how the corners of his lips twitched upwards ever so slightly.

"ok," you whispered acceptingly instead into the air and that smile grew.

since then you'd stuck by gojo's side, though, you supposed, that was nothing new. he wandered down the hallways, you right behind him with your silent footsteps, talking to the thin air and no one dared to mention it in conversation. (“he's grieving, let him be.”)

you kept him company as he taught the first years too, lilt in his voice faded and energy sapping throughout the day. but he bore through it. the kids only had him now, and he couldn't let them down like he did you, he wouldn't. in return, nobara sought gojo from his room most nights, words firm and attitude stubborn as she grasped and tugged his sleeve tightly. she sat him down with a solid hand on his shoulder and he'd watch as itadori waltzed around the kitchen, the other two providing aid when they could. "eat," megumi ushered each time with a nod as they crowded round the table, waiting for gojo to take a bite before he allowed himself to follow suit.

you'd always been fond of megumi, having known him the longest of the first years. he was polite though stoic and sarky, and from the way he greeted you in the hallways with a low nod of his head and a call of your name, it was obvious he favoured you too. more often than not he'd turn to you to ask for guidance on training or to complain about gojo's antics and with a tender expression, you'd tried your best to provide him what assistance you could, even if the advice wasn’t always so helpful, you both knew gojo wasn’t going to to stop in his teases, he loved the boy.

but one day megumi returned from a mission battered and broken, blood caking his features and matting his hair. a bruised gojo stood by his side in the infirmary, paler than you had ever seen him. you'd watched carefully as he double and then triple checked if megumi was okay before meandering to his office, footsteps too slow, too heavy.

you'd waited as he slumped in front of his desk, body sinking until his forehead was pressed against the wood. all it took was a tremble of his body and then "fuck!" - a shout as gojo slammed his fist on the table, voice thick. it took a moment for his breathing to even out and another for him to force himself mostly upright, head supported by his hand which was slowly blooming red. still, you remained silent as gojo filled out the mission report, grip too tight on his pen, ink as thick as the blood that trickled down from the gash on his cheek.

"it was the same one," gojo broke the silence with a mumble. any louder and his voice would tremble. "the same one that...you…"

"oh," you hummed, no longer trying to peek over his shoulder at his scrawled handwriting.

"yeah," gojo swallowed thickly, "it--uh it went for megumi first, made him see you when…" his voice is even smaller as he whispers, "i couldn't help him."

something foreign begins to swirl inside you, eating at you as the cursed spirit comes back to haunt you in pieces, grotesque and deformed. thick and wilting skin, limbs twisted every which way and too many eyes glowing a bright yellow. too many teeth too. curved into a ghastly smile as it wracked an arm through your abdomen. you wondered if megumi had felt this same fear.

gojo couldn't bring himself to look away as you remembered. your eyes turned empty, hollow, as your body shuddered in aggressive heaves, growing ever more sunken with each faux breath. your form became greyer, save for the wounds that had returned, marring the remains of your skin. your blood, seeming so real, dripped onto the floor in a consistent stream and all at once, a hole formed in your stomach, baring your insides. the pain, you realised, had never left, simply pushed down and you let out nothing less than a howl, anguished and tortured, ridden with agony. it's gojo's turn to watch now, all too aware that, for the first time since he had seen your ghost, you were well and truly dead, and the tears were endless as, for the second time that day, he remained utterly useless.

a second later and you had gone. disappeared into a wisp and gojo's ears were left ringing as he wondered if any of that - of you - had ever been real.

whatever you are, it took you a week to return, just in time to witness how gojo had restarted his work on tracking down that damn cursed spirit once again. the pair of you carried forward an unspoken deal, pretending you hadn't had a meltdown on supernatural levels and gojo hadn't spent the last few evenings talking to the thin air, begging you to come back. it reminded him all too much of when he had gripped your body, unmoving and still, chants and cries falling endlessly from his lips.

gojo threw himself into the work, stomach churning each time he took a break to visit the infirmary and check on megumi's recovery. not wanting to disturb, you had gotten into the habit of sitting perched on the edge of megumi's bed in the meantime, fingers attempting to smoothen his unruly hair though only ever falling through. there's something about the sight that makes the guilt double, rising up onto gojo's tongue and threatening to spill as it burns his throat, stinging and bitter.

it paid off though. of course it did, it had to. because a month later, gojo found himself trailing after the ugly thing, just an inch from his grasp. it turned, still running, with a taunt, smile curved unnaturally wide as it laughed and spat. in a rage, gojo locked eyes with the cursed spirit and his breath immediately hitched, megumi's injuries entering his mind with a flash.

gojo felt his jaw ache, teeth clenched together painfully as he zeroed his focus once more. he moved swiftly past the illusion, the memory, of megumi - the boy now fully recovered and fighting a lower grade curse behind him - only to fall into another. this time one of you.

he stared unwavering at the curse, unable to tear his eyes away, stuck in the grasp of haunting yellow. you’re sat in the midst of that, between the pupils and the lids, a dark shadow dancing against the unnatural colour. you run and run, trapped unknowingly in a circle, until finally, the inky cloud you were formed from reaches over and tugs its way through your core.

gojo doesn't realise he's sobbing, doesn't realise he's screaming either. not even as the tears drip thick from his chin and his throat rubs raw, hoarse. instead all he can think of is you, and how the last thing you'd seen on earth had been the curse that stood in front of him, eyes glowing and smile mocking.

his instinct takes control as a domain takes form, curving over himself and the cursed spirit - and you. it's messy and sloppy, not up to gojo's usual standards, but he can't find it in himself to care, not when the curse stands right in front of him, your death swirling in his irises and yet still, somehow, out of his reach.

it takes but a minute for you to realise you're inside the incomplete domain, pulled in by your connection to both gojo and the curse. this - and the failed mission before - had been for you after all. that much was clear, no matter how much gojo brushed it off and pretended it wasn't. and with him in the forefront of your mind as he so often resided, you ran towards the sound of an obvious fight. and try as you might, you couldn't prevent the feeling that everything was too weighted, too slow. it was clunky as your feet slapped against the floor and your eyes, though darting, couldn't take in the sights before you. a fist, a snap of a jaw, all gone in a single blink.

it was entirely impulse when you found yourself behind gojo, a counter to the curse's inhuman speed and the angled blow it had aimed at his back. your arm was raised protectively, a makeshift shield imbued with cursed energy. there’s no time for gojo to drink you in, no time for him to appreciate you once more. instead all he can do is clap his hands together with ease, confident smile on his face as your joint technique shoots the curse back with an echo.

it doesn’t take much more for gojo to finish the curse off, refinding his stride and proving his worth as the strongest. you provide a helping hand here and there, battling it into position to receive gojo’s hits, but it’s clear to see he needed only a nudge to return to himself, his demeanour familiar and certainty reassuring.

gojo doesn’t waste a minute after the curse finally falls with a telltale thud, tugging on your wrist until you whirl into him, your mere warmth enough to have tears pricking at his eyes. there’s a newfound fervour that he kisses you with, lips slotted against yours as he pours out pure love, desperate for you to receive it all. your chest swells, heart beating rapidly until eventually you can no longer ignore how heavy it feels in your ribcage, a punishment for using borrowed time.

pressing another kiss to his lips, you cup your hands delicately around satoru’s face as though he might break, and mumble softly again: "you need to let me go."

"no, i can't," he repeats, a whimper more than anything this time round and the tears drip down from his eyes and onto your thumbs.

"you have to," you murmur in that tone you knew always soothed gojo as he began to tremble in your hold, "the curse is dead and we both know this domain won't last, can't last forever. let me go satoru, it's okay."

there’s a pause, filled only with sobs as both your hearts constrict and all gojo can do is cry his farewell, “i love you, i love you so much.”

"i know,” you smile, shaky and weak, and still, satoru can’t resist returning it, “i love you, and i'll always be with you. i promise."

one final kiss is shared, gentle but with all the passion of a million goodbyes and the love that should’ve been kindled together for the rest of your lives. satoru keeps you as close to him as he can as the domain collapses and you fade away, nothing more than a wisp of a memory. the first years all clamber towards their teacher, megumi the first to ask "what happened? are you okay?" as the trio barely catch a sliver of red rimmed eyes before gojo slips his blindfold on.

satoru hums positively, smile more assured than it had been for a long while, "yeah i'm alright" he rubs a hand in megumi's hair, "they're gone."

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 3 months

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Hello! If you don’t mind, can you do ror family x Teen!Reader who runs away because she doesn’t think she deserves them but with a happy ending? I always love reading your stories and they always brighten up my day (づ ◕‿◕ )づ I hope you’re having an amazing day!

-This wasn’t real- you kept telling yourself this as you swallowed hard, unable to believe it.

-This was the first family who was willing to adopt you- not foster- actually adopt you! Nobody adopted teenagers-especially one that had a track record like yours. It wasn’t that you were a bad kid- heavens no- it’s just that you didn’t take crap from anyone, and when you foster families attempted to turn you into their punching bag, you would always run and go straight to authorities.

-Yes they would get arrested and blacklisted from fostering, but that would go on your record as another failed foster family, which would turn others away from helping you.

-You were to the point you didn’t care; you could take care of yourself, you’ve done it for years now- but these stupid laws that required you to have a guardian, as you were a minor, was BS.

-When your caseworker told you that you had actually been adopted, you laughed in her face, holding your gut, thinking it was a prank, but when you saw her sympathetic face, you were stunned stiff with wide eyes- it wasn’t a prank!

-This new family of yours was absolutely massive! Over 30 different individuals, gods, warriors, and valkyries, made up your new family and it was honestly a bit overwhelming having so many people in such a large house.

-Unlike your other families, which unnerved you, they treated you with so much respect- giving you your own room, your own space, inviting you to join in activities, but not pushing you, making sure you ate and went to school and were just overall very caring about you.

-They were a bunch of weirdos, you determined that the first day when you saw a bunch of them sparring in the backyard, using real weapons, which was unnerving, and there were so many wild personalities that you had a hard time learning about everyone.

-Despite them being so warm and welcoming to you, you kept your distance- you didn’t want to believe that this was real- it couldn’t be. This was just a cruel prank on their part- where they would lure you into a false sense of security and make you think you’re happy, only to pull it away at the last second.

-You convinced yourself this was true, but it was so hard for you to keep believing this- you were treated with so much respect, not like a punk teenager that so many others had treated you like.

-You were struggling to make sense of this, and it was getting harder and harder each day- you were scared to let your guard down- you didn’t want to be hurt again!

-So that’s why you ran, sneaking out of your bedroom window after dinner, taking your stuff with you- you didn’t know where to go, this family didn’t hurt you, so you had no reason to go to your case worker or the police, so you just ran, looking for a place to lay low for a while.

-It’s a good thing you weren’t the stealthiest of people, as many saw you sneak out. They knew that you were hesitant with them, knowing of your past- and they could see your apprehension of getting closer to them. They should have realized that you were scared of thinking this would be like the other times, where you were going to get hurt- you were just protecting yourself.

-Hercules, Lu Bu, Apollo, and Qin Shi Huang were the ones to go after you, to bring you back home, with Lu Bu doing the tracking and the others following after him.

-They found you at the local train station, looking up at the ticket board, trying to figure out a train to take when a hand clapped down on your shoulder. You turned and your eyes went huge, seeing QSH there, “Hao! We found you Y/N!”

-The terror on your face was apparent, thinking they were mad at you before Hercules pulled you up into his arms, hugging you tightly, it was firm but also very warm, “Why did you run? Did something happen?”

-You were hesitant to answer, which they could see before Apollo smiled softly and herded the group to the Starbucks in the station, ordering drinks, including your favorite, for everyone.

-Once you had the drink in front of you, you were wringing your hands in your lap, not wanting to meet their gazes before Apollo spoke, “Are you all right, Y/N?”

-You exhaled softly, not realizing you had been holding your breath as you had been panicking, “You- you guys aren’t mad I ran?” they seemed surprised by your words before Lu Bu, who was sitting next to you, lifted a hand to ruffle your hair lightly, comforting you as Hercules spoke, “Of course weren’t not mad at you- why would we be? You’re just protecting yourself, right?”

-Your sharp intake of air made them all kind of flinch as you lifted your head, finally looking at them, seeing that they had been able to guess why you ran so easily.

-Tears welled in your eyes again, your bottom lip trembling slightly before you finally broke, “I-I don’t… I don’t want to be hurt again! And you guys have all been so nice to me- I’ve never- never felt so safe before- so happy! I just don’t want to… I don’t want…” QSH pulled you into a side hug as they all realized the truth in why you ran.

-They let you cry, sniffling over your drink quietly, before Apollo held out his hand, asking you to take it, “C’mon Y/N- let’s go home!”

-Home… a small smile slowly lifted to your lips as you took his hand and Lu Bu’s hand, holding them both, feeling happy tears lifting to your eyes as you spoke, “Yeah- let’s go home.” They all smiled softly at you. It would take some time, but it was a good thing your family cared about you and were willing to be patient.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror heracles #ror apollo #ror lu bu #ror qin shi huang

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cosmicbucky · 8 months

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oh hello there!! 💫

he's the cutest ever and this vibe goes perfectly with the new road trip/beach fic idea i was thinking of writing

please tell me you can picture it:

road tripping with boyfriend!bucky, windows down, badly singing along to the playlist you both made and laughing hysterically when either of you gets the words wrong (which happens a lot)

wanting to change off driving with him so he can rest but "the whole point of this is to relax, doll. so just relax, i'll get us there safe and sound"

stopping off at lookouts (where he'd rather take pictures of you instead of the view because you are the view) and of course random touristy roadside food shacks and restaurants where everything is way overpriced but it's necessary for the whole experience

picking out tacky souvenirs for each other that you both pretend are awful but actually secretly love

finally getting to the cottage you two rented out and him not being able to wipe the gigantic grin from his face as he watched you explore, because "this couldn't be any more perfect, buck! thank you for bringing me here" and "i think anywhere would be perfect as long as i'm with you, doll"

you not having a chance to fester with your insecurities because he's immediately kissing every inch of your skin when he notices how uncomfortable you seem in your bathing suit, and suddenly you don't hate how it looks quite as much anymore because "never in my entire life have i seen something as perfect as you" and you were out of the suit almost as soon as you were in it so he could prove his point before you even left the bedroom

spending the days down on the beach, packing little picnics and having lunch in the sand, him incessantly making sure you drink enough water and have enough sunscreen on because it's his job to take care of you and that's never going to change; even when on vacation

sprinting along the beach barefoot, running away from him because you knew he'd toss you in the water if he caught you - and he always did. strong arms around your waist, his chest warm against your back, a false sense of security for a few moments before being engulfed by the cold waves, bucky following immediately after, taking you in his arms again as he laughed and kissed the salty water from your face

hunting down seashells, him diving for the ones you couldn't reach because "look how beautiful they are!" but "they aren't nearly as beautiful as you, sweetheart"

watching the sunset while dancing to the sound of the waves, staying in each others arms long after the sun had set because you never wanted the moment to end

staying out on the back deck of the cottage long into the night, watching the stars and talking about nothing and everything. "i love you more than there are stars in the sky" "you're my moon, you know? just a pretty, beautiful thing always lighting up the darkest parts of me"

snuggled up on his lap while having a fire under the stars, surrounded by birds and crickets and distant waves. sun kissed skin warm against each other as you stole kisses and touches from the other well into the night. and if it got a little heated no one was around to see (or hear)

eating fresh fruit and failing to fight the urge to kiss the juice off each others face (which always ended up with you making love on the nearest flat surface you could reach) and you may have broken a lamp or dish or table or two in the process

frozen cocktails, playing tourist in town, dancing in the living room, heart shaped sunglasses, night swimming, skinny dipping, local markets, getting up early to watch the sunrise, catching shows from local bands, picking wildflowers, going whale watching, anything and everything you wanted to do

and let's not forget him having a custom made ring tucked away in a crevice of his suitcase, planning on asking you to spend forever with him while out under the stars, the moonlight making you so impossibly beautiful to him he nearly forgets how to breathe

okay i didn't plan on running away with this but here we are! thank you for the motivation! 💖

#asks #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky drabble #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #ramblings from me

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hetafice · 5 months

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soft!yandere china x reader

request: Hello! Do you write yandere characters? What about 2ps and nyo!? Could you do something for Yandere!China? If not can I get hcs or scenarios for China with a Fem!Darling?

I feel like you would have to be exceptional in some way to become the object of Yao’s affections. He appreciates beauty and intelligence, but he would place much more stock in a darling that’s graceful or poised. I don’t think he’s necessarily hung up on looks (he is thousands of years old- it takes more than just a pretty face to catch his eye), but he seems likely to try to cultivate sophistication in his partners as well. Elegance is closely associated with the feminine ideal in Chinese culture, after all. Regardless of how his darling identifies, he will strongly mold them to fit cultural/historical standards of comportment.

Before Yao even thinks to start a relationship with you, he will observe you. Likely within plain sight. If you’re a country you’ll likely feel his eyes on you in a crowd. Before he makes such a big emotional investment, he needs to be sure of what he’s getting into. Once you exhibit a few of the qualities he’s into, you’re a goner.

His age strongly informs the way he interacts with his darling. He’s old enough to not be delusional. I feel like he’s the least likely to kidnap you. Instead, he’ll take a different route completely. Think crazy gifts (first class flights, expensive clothes and jewelry), and compliments. Is he obsessed? Yes. Is part of that obsession fed by a desire to control? Also yes. But he does not want to coerce you. Part of the fun is indeed having you, but another is getting you to come to him on your own. He looks down on the greener nations that rely on force. He will carefully manipulate your perceptions of him, and over time you’ll fall into his trap without even realizing.

Of course he’ll let you borrow the car to drive yourself home, or he’ll take you home to get clothes, but why would you need to when he’s got the entire Spring/Summer 2023 Mugler collection at the penthouse?? I’m tempted to use the term gilded cage, but you can leave whenever. That “freedom” could easily give anyone a false sense of security. And he takes full advantage of that fact.

He is truly devoted to his darling, but is not the most openly loving person. As such, he expresses his love by giving gifts rather than physical contact or romantic language (it’s giving sugar daddy y’all). As mentioned before, he will pay top dollar and move the moon to ensure his darling’s happiness. He is not worried about spoiling his darling at all. He does not mind a little bit of brattiness to spice things up as long as nothing goes too far. He rarely spends money on himself, but as his sun moon and stars, that reasoning cannot be applied to you. Ask and you shall receive.

Don’t let him fool you! This devotion does not come without a price, though. Complete obedience is expected. He uses his darling’s standard of living as leverage, so there is rarely a need for real punishments. His goal is to get you so accustomed to luxury that you’ll do near anything to keep it.

Because of his age and temperament, I don’t think Yao would be keen on harsh physical punishments, or any physical punishments for that matter.

If you’re lucky enough to catch Yao’s eyes, you will never lift a finger again. So long as you play the part of a gentle, grateful, and obedient lover, that is. But with a life like this, why wouldn’t you be? No need to question anything that seems off…right?

#hetalia #hws china #aph china #yandere hetalia #hetalia x reader #yandere x reader #a request from the before times #aka my old blog #pls enjoy #requests are currently open!

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 3 months

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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part six - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: gore ; violence against women ; death ; vomiting

“This actually looks great,” she says while covering up the slash in his gut with less gauze than it usually needs. “It’s much smaller.”

He hums. It feels better, too. Her magic touch has given him the ability to breathe and eat and move without horrible pain.

She remembers when she first saw him and thought he had pale skin, but she realizes now that that sallow color was because he was in agony and probably dancing tiptoes around sepsis. He turns more golden-toned by the day as he heals.

“Bet you can’t wait to get out of here and move around more,” she comments, pulling his shirt back down. He savors the feeling of plump, gentle fingers brushing his skin.

While the thought of a good stretch and a couple hundred crunches to bring back his wasting body does sound good, he dreads the thought of not being able to see her again. He would have to start fights on purpose - accrue broken limbs and bloody wounds - just to get back down here. It doesn’t sound so bad. He’s used to getting the shit beat out of him, after all, and, if it’s on his own terms, staying handcuffed to a bed and injured is a fair trade for seeing his nurse.

“I would like to feel the sun,” he says, honest enough.

She places her hand on his shoulder. Even through the cotton fabric of his shirt, he feels the comfort of her skin. He leans a bit into her touch. “You will,” she says softly.

What good is feeling the sun, though, if she is still underground?

It’s 4PM. She’s usually asleep right now, but she picked up an afternoon shift and plans to work 16 hours until 7 AM the next morning. Usually, pick up shifts are the shittiest ones, but John is her patient again and she has an easy assignment. Plus, free lunch today for all staff and no Benny.

You can’t get much better than this.

She sits down to chart with her deli sandwich by her side, and notices that no one is in the hallway, which is strange for this time of day. It’s a bad idea, to just shrug that off, but she finds herself lolled into a false sense of security.

It’s the shiny red hue that catches her eye. Everything is so white and grey in here that it’s hard to miss the bright liquid puddling on the floor around a corner. She blinks, rubs her eyes, convinced that it’s a trick of sleep deprivation at first.

She gets up, pushes in her chair out of habit and because she’s afraid to walk over and look.

See enough dead bodies - stuff enough of them in bags while you’re busy and overworked - and it becomes natural not to balk at them. This is not the kind of dead body she’s used to.

It’s a guard, she can tell by the dark blue uniform, but his face is bludgeoned in so much that he’s unrecognizable. A spike of brown hair sticks up from the black and purple viscera that is his face.

Blobs of pale flesh dot the floor around his body.

She fights the urge to vomit on his corpse, swings around the corner and presses her back to the wall with her hand over her mouth so she doesn’t have to look or scream.

It takes her a moment of holding back bile to remember that there’s a code button on the desk at the nurse’s station. She tries to run to it but her feet feel like anchors and she doesn’t make it two sluggish steps before there’s a gun pressed to her face.

“Hello nurse,” the rogue inmate greets. “I think you should sit.”

She looks at the blood speckled floor, hesitates, he taps the barrel on her cheek. “Sit.”

It’s cold down here, but she barely feels it, too consumed by the adrenaline that comes with having a gun level with your brain.

She hears loud shouting from somewhere down the hallway. The man with the gun kneels down beside her, shading himself behind the desk. “Shut up, or I’ll fucking kill you,” he hisses, droplets of sour spit landing on her cheek.

More shouting, gun shots, yelling. Footsteps running in the opposite direction.

The guard gets on his heels to peak over the counter, and she watches the gun bob sideways in his hand. There’s barely enough time to contemplate taking it before he’s trying to haul her up by the arm.

“Come the fuck on!” He hisses as she tries to stand quickly on slow, shaking legs and stumbles forward.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” There’s another inmate. The only thing she notices about this one is that he’s bigger.

“This is called leverage,” the man holding her arm tells the other, jerking her again.

“That’s called liability weighing you down.” The other one doesn’t have a gun that she can see.

“So kill her?”

Her heart blips.

“I don’t give a shit.”

“I got keys.” This from another prisoner behind them.

The two others look at him like he’s an idiot.

His eyes widen when he sees her. “Thought you locked them all up?”

“We had to kill one,” gunman says, looking directly at her. “They got violent.”

It would be comical if she were watching this in a movie. Three prisoners bumbling around and arguing about what to do with a stray nurse.

“I think we should use her, they’re not gonna shoot us if we’re holding the gun to her head.”

“If she were a tiny girl, I’d say sure,” the other argues, “but making sure she stays with you is more trouble than she’s worth.”

“So lock her up,” third inmate shrugs.

“Too much time. Give me the gun and I’ll kill her.” The bigger of the three tries to reach for the gun but gets the barrel pointed at his head instead.

“Get your own,” he growls.

John grabs the biggest one by the back of the neck and smashes the front of his neck with heavy metal. His whole body folds in half, and, as he goes down, his face smashes off John’s knee.

Her eyes are focused on the blood pouring from his nose and mouth instead of the fight happening between John and the other men.

He twists a wrist until it breaks, grabs the gun, and then her attention is back on the fight when the shot goes off into the guys head. As quick as the bullet is out of the barrel, John is aiming at the other man and pulling the trigger. The gun clicks empty. He uses it to hit the other man in the face while the metal tube clears his feet out from under him.

The original gunman tries to grab him, but he’s too quick. He brings the metal to his temple and smashes again.

She watches him join his colleagues on the red concrete.

Then she mistakenly looks up at her savior and remembers why you never meet your heroes.

Handcuffed to that bed, he had begun to seem so docile and helpless. Standing here in front of her with blood - not his own - splattering his face, he is tall, broad, angry, unchained, transformed into something bestial.

She feels herself hit the wall without realizing she’s been backing away from him.

Blood pounds so hard in her ears she has to focus when he talks, but something about the way he speaks tells her that she needs to listen like her life depends on it.

The commanding baritone of his voice captures her like a deer in headlights.

He says her name and grips the metal in his hand harder. Her eyes dart from the makeshift weapon back to his face. She tries to swallow the dryness in her mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” She squeaks, gripping at the wall.

“Are. You. Okay?” John takes a few steps toward her and she cowers under his massive shadow.

“I.. I don’t know.”

He loses patience, stalks up to her. She braces for impact by screwing her eyes shut and turning her head.

Leaden, calloused fingers touch her face without harmful intent, spreading a feeling into her skin that makes her shiver despite the furnace of his touch. She opens her eyes, looks up at him, and sees he is focused on her left cheek where a bruise is almost faded away.

“Tell me,” he presses, using three fingers on her chin to turn her eyes level with his own.

“I’m okay,” she whispers.

Loud shots pop down the hallway. Two prisoners round the corner with guns in their hands, running so fast they hit the opposite wall and tumble into one another.

John’s head snaps to the commotion. The two men lock eyes with him. She tries to shrink back into herself, become invisible, but it doesn’t work and they see her, too. Here she is, caught in the middle of a prison riot in her baby blue scrubs, a fragile case of soft meat ready to be pulverized.

“Is that your hostage?” One of the men asks, motioning toward her with the gun.

John turns around to face them while pressing her back into the wall behind him.

He smells like sweat and metal and damp earth. She becomes sandwiched between his balmy body and the freezing wall, overwhelmed and unable to breathe with any sort of stability.

“Can we borrow her?” The other asks. Neither of them stop walking toward John. She can’t see around or above him but she hears the thick footsteps of them getting closer.

Five guards run around the corridor, guns raised.

He is perfectly still, her human shield, almost as if he is building up or waiting for something. She tries to stay just as still as him while tucked behind his body like a coward.

“Put your weapons do-“ the security guard can’t finish his sentence before a bullet bites into the flesh of his shoulder. Messy shot from one of the inmates. Blood rains, and John moves.

Most of the things he does are too fast for her to see, but the crunch of bone is unmistakable when he twists an inmate’s arm around until it snaps and grabs the gun from his limp hand.

The man screams, drops to his knees. His companion swears, scrambles, points his weapon at John, but there’s already a palm slammed into the bones of his nose. Another sickening crack. She fights the urge to vomit.

It’s like the guards have as much trouble seeing his movement as she does, because they are dropping and screaming and wild-eyed. It’s hard to understand what’s happening to them until she sees blood flowing and spurting from bullet holes in lower limbs.

Eleven men on the ground, and John still stands unharmed.

Ringing ears, the steady roll of hot blood, screaming. Bodies.

Loud, sudden sirens rip her from the heavy descent of shock. She snaps back into reality when John grabs her arm and pulls.

A millisecond later, he tosses her into a treatment room, slams and locks the door. Gunshots ring in muffled sequence behind her.

She wonders what is wrong with her, why she can’t find moving legs underneath her. She feels slow again, almost like she’s trying to get somewhere important in a dream and unconscious gravity is weighing her down with debilitating force.

She slides down to the floor, puts her head in her hands, the room tilts and distorts around her. She shuts her eyes as tight as she can, but she still feels like she’s riding a tiny boat in a huge, angry ocean. She leans to the side and vomits from sea sickness.

Bile splatters up from the floor onto her scrubs and hair and skin.

She puts her head down to stop the spinning, folds into her own body for some kind of comfort. At least she doesn’t realize that she’s crying right now.

John presses himself into an alcove, reloads, thinks. It takes a second. He catches his breath. How does he get her out of here? He can’t leave her in the infirmary. Someone with enough force can easily break down the door that she’s behind and get in. If he drags her along while he fights through the prison, that’s still her neck on a silver platter no matter if he’s confident he can protect her or not.

He could barricade himself in the room with her, wait for things to settle, but he doesn’t know how long this will last. He guesses two to three days at most before enough people are dead that the police can infiltrate and kill the rest. Too much waiting for something to go wrong. This has to be quick. If he didn’t have to keep one eye on the door he left her behind, he could easily incapacitate everyone in here in decent time. If he brings her with him, he can’t do things efficiently or quietly. It will have to be succinct, sparing, a running sprint - he will hurt her from the manhandling he will have to use in order to keep her major organs and arteries safe.

At least she’ll be alive.

No more disabling shots, now. He can’t afford them. Lethal hits: head, femoral, mesenteric, radial arteries.

He exits from the bloodbath into her clean room, shuts the door, leans down and grabs her shoulders. He measures. Carrying her, although viable, would slow him down and make him sloppy. He calls her name, makes her look at him.

Sick stains the corner of her mouth and her clothes and she looks like she already got the piss beat out of her.

“John,” she says like a tiny, terrified child, huddling away from him.

He grimaces. Her shell-shocked stare makes his heart burn. He pulls her into his lap, smooths her hair. She resists initially because of fear, but easily gives and sobs into his chest. He holds her to quell the screaming child. He understands this cry all too well.

“Listen to me,” he tells her, and immediately she quiets.

His voice captivates the chaos, brings her down into the atmosphere. She clutches at him, urging him to keep talking, tell her it’s going to be okay.

“I’m going to get you out. But you have to stay beside me, keep calm, and do as I say.”

“What about you?” She asks. “Are you getting out?”

He looks at her incredulously, baffled by the concern she still has for him despite everything she has just seen him do.

He doesn’t know why it takes him this long, why the realization just hits him now. Sitting here with her holding onto him like he’s the only thing securing her to the earth, and It’s right there in her face, as clear as spring water. She is completely infatuated with him.

He tilts his head down at her, studies the look on her face, memorizes it, tucks it away for later, then does something irrational and born from basic instinct and ancestral need.

She doesn’t understand why he’s wiping the vomit off her mouth until his lips touch hers. She stills, pulls back for a minute, but he grabs the side of her neck and holds, takes. She gives. There is no prison, no violence, no fight here once her mouth agrees with his own.

He tastes like copper and sweat. His tongue is as much of a weapon as his hands are. It pushes past her lips and tangles in her mouth.

Life pulses weak and out of focus, a dying heart in the background of their embrace, until he releases his grip and she pulls away.

Her heart tries to run out of her chest, and she’s not sure if it means to flee toward or away from him.

She’s suddenly very aware of her body invading his space. He is solid and strong; lean, long thighs supportive under her bottom. She still feels self-conscious, though, wonders if he thinks she’s too heavy and is just too polite to say so. At the same time, she’s clinging to him so tightly that she thinks he’s the only thing holding her down to earth.

He cradles her cheek in his palm, keeps her eyes on him. “You follow me, you listen to me, you let me put you where I want you. Understand?”

She nods, eyes wide, brought back into the present by his pressing tone.

“What are you doing?” He asks, urging her to repeat his demands.

“Following you, listening to you, going where you want me to go.”

“No,” he says, “staying where I put you.”

She looks confused.

“If I put you on my back, you stay there. If I shove you into a corner, you stay there, if I pull you, you keep up, even if your feet drag and your body hurts. You move how I move you.”

“I’ll slow you down.”

“You will if you don’t listen to me,” he corrects.

“Just leave me-“

He cuffs her on the cheek, not enough to hurt, enough to stop her from talking and startle her.

But it does hurt, the faintest sting on her already sensitive skin, and she recoils, scared. He pulls her back. “Do you understand me?” He punctuates her name.

“Yes.” It is a quiet whimper from her mouth.

It’s hard to watch people die, even more difficult if the person you admire is doing the killing. He’s been through this, what she experiences now. Reluctance to kill turns into blood lust while trust and reliance turn into trepidation.

Even though they are traveling up, it feels like a journey to hell. He murders easier than he breathes. Limbs are twigs, heads are targets, and she feels like a suitcase that he has to carry around a busy airport

She wishes this were a quick blur, but instead the fighting and the screaming seem to move in slow motion. John does what he says he’s going to do, and she experiences every bit of his raw strength as he pulls and pushes her body. At one point she feels envious of the dying men because at least they only get a few seconds of his fury before it ends.

And as much as he attempts not to hurt her, he fails. Still, when they get out into the dying wintery sun, she holds onto him. Bruises are forming on her arms and her collar, her light blue scrubs are scuffed with dirt and blood, and her face turned from crying to stoic and lightless a long while ago.

He takes her phone from her pocket while they sit on the curb and his warm arm wraps around her shoulders while he dials 911. Her blunt nails dig through his shirt into skin as she clings.

“You did good,” he says. “You’ll be okay.”

She hears him, but she’d rather cling harder than answer. She’ll only be okay if he stays with her.

He cringes in her silence, pulls her closer, ass numbing on the freezing wet sidewalk.

He grabs her ruddy blue hands and tucks both under one of his own. As the city sun goes down and leaves them in shadow, her shivering increases. Just as he’s about to carry her to warmth, the ambulance and police arrive outside the prison.

She knows he has to go, so she holds him tighter. He untangles her hands, kisses her on the head, and then he’s gone like he never existed in the first place.

She looks for him in the crowd of people that surround her and flash lights into her eyes and ask her if she’s okay. She searches even as she’s being loaded into the back of an ambulance. As they drive away, she watches them bust down the prison doors and wonders where John Wick has gone.

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic

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cambion-companion · 7 months

Note

Hi! I really loved your Raphael writing, so i got a lovely fic idea. Raphael x reader (platonic). Raphael discovered that reader is another cambion, even more surprising his daughter he had no idea existed. Have a good night/day😼

Hello, my dear! Thank you very much for the fic idea :) You're forcing me to exercise my self restraint I see. I will tweak this just a lil if you're wanting a reader who is Raph's daughter, she would be a Tiefling technically ;)

Let's see how he reacts.

OH and yes this about THAT Tiefling girl you see at the brothel in Act III.

little drabble ahead...

The Sharess' Caress.

A lovely den where the lonely and desperate wandered so willingly into Raphael's capable hands.

He considered himself more magnanimous than most devils, certainly better dressed.

His smile carefully shaped to exact the exact reaction from his potential clients, luring them into a false sense of security.

"Sign your name here, my friend." He said, making sure his voice held no sign of overbearance or eagerness.

The name was scrawled, a new deal was struck. Raphael was satisfied, bowing the latest of many gullible mortals out the door of his den.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching them go, smiling still; though this time he allowed a sinister edge to creep into his carefully crafted brown human eyes.

His ever-keen gaze drifted along the carpeted hallway, drawn to the movement of a gray-skinned Tiefling as she walked toward him, unaware of his presence.

As always, Raphael flicked his eyes over the creature, taking in every aspect of her that showed on the surface. Any sign of a weakness or vice he could potentially exploit.

Her orange eyes were fixed on the ground, a frown upon darkly painted lips.

She bore the obvious traits of a Tiefling descended from Mephistopheles. Interesting. Irony twisted Raphael's mouth in a wry grin as he considered just how she might be related to him.

Her horns gave him pause. Raphael's eyes narrowed. Regal horns, ridged and curving. A set of four, two smaller beneath the much larger pair. An exact mirror of his own.

"A moment." Raphael stepped out into the hallway, not directly blocking the girl's path, but garnering her immediate attention.

She halted, several paces away. Her tail swishing to and fro, a sign she may flee. "Yes?" Her voice wary. She had a modicum of intelligence at least.

Raphael didn't say anything for a moment, trying to gain a sense of how distant a relation to him this Tiefling was. "I noticed your beleaguered expression." He spoke, trying to ease her nerves. His voice just the right amount of soothing, as he'd practiced to perfection. "Perhaps I may be of assistance."

The Tiefling gave him a bemused look, pulling her chin in slightly. Raphael watched her closely, there was something about her that cried out in its familiarity.

Surely, she was not his direct descendent. Granddaughter or even daughter perhaps?

Yet if she was...what a delightful opportunity that would be.

"I don't think you'd offer me anything I haven't tried myself." She finally spoke, a lilting cadence that betrayed caution yet intrigue. "I doubt you could do what I cannot."

He almost laughed. "I assure you, there is very little I cannot do given the proper motivation." Raphael tilted his head and held out a hand, gesturing an invitation to the curious creature. "Come, if you're so self-assured what harm would you suffer from a little chat?"

Her amber eyes focused on his face for a moment, she seemed drawn to him as well. Curious.

With a twitch of her tail, the Tiefling shrugged and stepped with an air of self-confidence and a whiff of challenge into his den. Only Raphael's eyes moved as he watched her move.

Yes, perhaps she was closely related to him after all. He couldn't begin to name all the mistresses he'd taken to his bed over the centuries, it certainly was a possibility not to be readily dismissed.

And if she was his daughter...he would have her allegiance and her soul. Yet another faithful ally to bring more souls and more power to his Infernal doorstep.

#raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael x reader #character study #cambion #bg3 drabble #he's most likely a dad let's be honest #but he is absolutely a daddy

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slenbee · 3 months

Text

Common scams and you

Hello everyone!

I'm finally writing out the idea that has been floating around in my head for a while now, and I'm honestly surprised there's no videos on youtube (that I've found) that talk about the most common scams that are out there on the internet that you may encounter.

So! Let's start.

#1. Virus pop up scams.

These types of scams are based around inciting panic and fear in those that encounter them. They are generally encountered by mistyping a url in the search bar that then leads you to a web page containing a flashy visual alert (and sometimes audio alert) stating something like the following:

Your system is at risk! # Viruses found! Warning!

Your system has been compromised!

Viruses / Trojans found!

The majority of which then provide a phone number that scam victims would call to get the issue 'resolved.' Those who fall for this scam contact the call center seeking help, and those there- the scammers, lull their victims into a false sense of security that they'll solve the issue. They then have their victims download remote access software such as AnyDesk and UltraViewer.

These programs allow a user who connects complete and TOTAL CONTROL of your computer. They can view your screen, track what you type or click, not to mention they can lock it, and they can change the password, holding it at ransom. They can do pretty much ANYTHING as long as the software is installed. It runs in the background and they can monitor everything you do.

They will tell you that to get rid of the virus/'hack', you must pay a certain amount (usually between $300-$1k or more) for them to clean your computer and 'add an antivirus'.

They will tell you that you need to go to walmart/wallgreens to get gift cards. Or they will ask you to provide banking details so that they can steal your banking/login information to transfer money via zelle or other methods while under the control of the remote access application.

If you or anyone you know has made it to the installation part of this scam, make sure to disconnect the internet immediately and uninstall the program that they installed upon the computer.

This scam can ALSO happen to people on mobile. There are websites and apps configured to show that you've got a virus, and much like above, it will tell you that you need to call a phone number or download an app to get it resolved.

Clicking off the page / notification gets rid of it. There was never any virus to worry about. So don't worry too much if you see something like this while browsing the internet. Just try and be safe!

#2. E-Mail scams.

The most notorious of all of e-mail scams that I've encountered over the years are as follows:

Your <brand> anti-virus has expired. Click here to re-new!

You have been charged <huge amount> for <brand> anti-virus. If this is a mistake please call <phone number> to get this resolved.

You have received a PayPal invoice from <scammer name/brand> for <huge amount> please call <phone number>.

Much like the virus pop up scam, these scams follow a similar path when it comes to the end result. You call them, they have you install a remote access application, they tell you to pay x amount of money so they can install their 'anti-virus', and/or they do a fake 'scan' in the console, and likely install a real virus that harvests your information.

All in all, best to avoid it/delete the e-mail. No proper anti-virus is going to send you an e-mail telling you to call them. Nor are they going to charge you $300 for a 'renewal.'

As for the paypal invoice, just ignore it and check your actual paypal. If there's no invoice, there never was one in the first place. Flag it as trash and delete it.

#3 Phone scams.

These can be scary, especially if you've got a son, daughter, or relative who might live out of town.

Mom/Dad I lost my phone can you send me money for a new one?

Hey I'm with your kid and they're hurt/arrested/etc can you send me some money to pay the ambulance/bail/etc.

Your kid said I'd bring you these things and you'd pay me.

This is <name> from <fake business/tech support> on behalf of apple/microsoft to let you know your warranty has expired.

Sadly this means that your phone number has likely been leaked online somewhere, and scammers are now attempting to use it to get money from you. Best advice is to hang up and block the number immediately before calling your child/family member to make sure they're okay.

#4. Text Scams.

These are generally pretty easy to notice, and pretty easy to avoid, if you know what to look out for.

Any random number that texts you with something akin to the following, is a scam:

THIS IS <FAKE NAME> FROM THE UNITED STATES <FAKE COMPANY> TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU'VE WON <MILLIONS OF DOLLARS>. PLEASE FILL OUT THE FORM BELOW TO HAVE ACCESS TO YOUR WINNINGS.

Fedex has your package click this link to update your information.

UPS has failed to deliver your package. click this link to-

Hi <name that's not yours> are we set for our <event> next <day>?

<name not yours> I'm looking forward to <activity> next <day>. Are you going to be busy?

While links to scammy websites are easy to avoid, the last two might not be so easy to some people. Replying to them in any form puts you on a list of 'active numbers' for them to target. They will text you repeatedly with different prompts which all lead down the same line.

You say 'wrong number', they say 'this isn't <name>?' you say 'no' they say 'i'm so sorry i thought this was <name>' you say 'no problem' they say 'oh you're so kind want to be friends?' which then leads into 'i'm <fake name> from China/Singapore/<country> but I live in california/new york. I'm a fashion designer/investor/owner of a small company' and they send a fake picture of them which is likely stolen from somewhere online. They also ask for you to send them YOUR pictures. Don't do this.

End goal is for you to download WatsApp/Telegram to send them money and/or invest in fake crypto.

There are also text scams similar to those mentioned above where it's someone pretending to be a sugar mommy/daddy and they try to get you to spend time and hook up with them. They ask you to pay a 'fee' so they know you're 'legit' or something which, of course, is just a way to get you to send them money.

#5. Facebook Scams.

These are rather new, but once you know the signs, you'll know how to avoid them.

When buying/selling something on facebook, if someone says they can't pick it up but <brother/sister/cousin> can and they ask if you take cashapp, zelle, etc, it's a scam.

If you or someone you know who is older/elderly is contacted by someone who's in the military/ex-military/ex-cia/ex-fbi etc and they flood your DM's with affection and kindness and lots of love and attention in an effort to get you in a relationship with them, this is known as a romance scam.

They will ask for money to 'get a new phone' or 'to send pictures because my camera is broken.' or to 'buy a plane ticket to come see you'. It's a scam, a big scam, and a lot of elderly people have been scammed out of a lot of money because of it. They will call you and talk to you and say they love you and all that kissy kissy mwah junk just to build trust so they can try and get money.

It's not real. As sad as that is to say, all these people are after is money.

If you know anyone who might be in any of these situations, PLEASE try and talk some sense into them. Especially if they've sent large amounts of money to someone over the internet. Google is your best friend, and there is information out there for people who want to find it.

All in all, just make sure you're careful in who you trust.

#6. Discord/Steam Scams.

These can be less obvious to those who aren't tech savvy, but once you know the signs they're hard to miss.

Anyone who randomly DM's you about beta-testing their 'new game' is trying to get you to click a link that leads to a website containing an application that contains a virus. This will harvest your information and give the hacker access to everything on your computer.

Anyone who randomly DM's you saying that they found 'compromising photos/information of you online' most likely will try to get you to click a virus link that will infect your computer.

Anyone who randomly DM's you saying they 'reported you to the discord/steam admins' for something inappropriate/illegal will try to get you to contact their 'friend' who is a 'discord/steam admin' to get it resolved.

This will either involve them sending you a virus link or trying to get you to send them money/gift cards to get the issue 'resolved.' They will also sometimes send you to a legit looking steam page which is fake and will harvest your steam login data.

Again, these are easy to notice once you know the signs. Just note that sometimes your friends might send you messages like these or ask for money, which in that case their account was likely compromised/hacked. Make sure to report them so that discord/steam can help get the account back in the right hands.

I know I've likely forgotten some other types of scams but for now these are the most common that people should keep an eye out and look for.

Protect yourself and protect others!

#scams #scam awareness #please boost #tax season is coming so they'll be trying hard for that money

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loki-cees-all · 1 year

Text

Grief {Prince!Loki x Female Reader One-Shot}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / A03 Link

Pairing : Prince!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : A month into your engagement to the God of Mischief, you fall into a terrible pit of grief and depression. You're scared of letting him see you like that, and are afraid he will leave you, but instead he surprises you in the most unexpected way.

W/c : 4.9k words

Content / Warnings : No warnings, just vague mentions of an unspecified grief of the reader's, and a lot of emotional comfort (including Loki washing your hair) on behalf of our favorite God.

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

You’re grieving, hard. It comes and goes when you least expect it; the pain ebbs and flows like a river carving a new path through the stone of your life. But unlike water, it never chooses the path of least resistance.

You’ve been through hardships before, and you’ve suffered from depression your entire life. Even when everything was going right, something still felt wrong, something still felt missing. It would start with an empty smile, hollow laughter and vacant daydreams. Your daily routines would then break down, you’d stop taking care of yourself. And before you knew it, weeks would have passed by with you hiding from everyone – including yourself. But eventually, you learned to cope with it, to recognize the early warning signs…to know when to ask for help before it gets past the point of no return.

But grief…it hits you differently. There are no warning signs. The highs and lows just drift farther apart as time moves on, but the peaks and valleys remain at fixed magnitudes. Your loved one could have passed yesterday, or ten years ago; sometimes your heart can’t tell the difference. It lures you into a false sense of security before slamming down on you with a gravitational force so strong it almost knocks the wind out of you.

But you’ve also been lucky enough to have known things other than loss. You met him at a royal ball, bumping into each other as you both attempted to sneak away from the dreadful party. His cold, ocean blue eyes somehow felt warm to you, and the angularity of his face had you recalling the geometry lessons of your teenage years. His jet black hair had a slight curl that bounced delightfully off his shoulders when he laughed and framed his face in the most alluring way when he was serious.

The two of you wound up wandering the halls of the great golden palace, eventually ending up in an empty courtyard with a perfect view of the watercolor-painted night sky, chatting and making jokes. Like you, he hated the forced pleasantries and pretending to enjoy the dull discussions of trading partners, party loyalties and warring clans. His quick wit was dizzying, and it was clear that it was his favorite weapon.

As the sun rose, you regretfully informed him that you had to be returning home. You had traveled a long way to attend this ball, and your host for the week would be worried sick about you. He stood before you, so tall and elegant, and took your hand in his as he finally asked for your name. After remarking on how lovely he thought it was, he kissed your hand and asked if he could see you again. You tried to play coy, but your blushed cheeks had given you away.

The next few months were a blur, with dozens of letters and alternating visits between the two of you. Each hello became sweeter, and each goodbye became harder. The agony of the distance grew to be too much until one evening Loki led you to the same courtyard as before and asked for your hand in marriage. It was the easiest question you had ever answered.

A month into your engagement to the God of Mischief, Odin suddenly announced he needed his sons to accompany him to Midgard on an important peace-keeping mission. Loki was not pleased at all, and promptly baited his father into heated discourse in front of the entire court. But you squeezed his hand tightly, and told him it was alright. You’d go to visit your mother while he was gone, she’d be so excited to hear about all of the wedding plans.

While saying your goodbyes the next day, he held you so tightly and kissed you deeply, promising to return to you as quickly as he could. You put on a brave face and smiled through your tears, but that dreadful familiar feeling began to stir inside you as he finally walked away.

The dam finally broke as you were packing your last bag for the trip, and that river of grief flowed freely across your soul while you were alone in the flat you now shared with Loki. Tears welled in your eyes as your limbs grew heavier with each movement, and you begged and pleaded with that demon inside you to please not do this now.

The internal struggle exhausted you, and while carrying your bags to the door you convinced yourself that perhaps all you needed was a small nap. As you crawled into your shared bed, with the flowing white curtains swaying in the breeze from the open balcony doors and the lingering scent from your true love’s pillow floating around you, you cried yourself to sleep.

The next three days were spent in that bed, drifting in and out of consciousness and nightmares, crying yourself to sleep and back awake again. You hadn’t told your mother you were coming to visit as you had wanted it to be a surprise. Loki had long ago shielded himself and you against Heimdall’s sight, warning him to stay out of his affairs, and everyone else in the palace believed you had left already. So no one knew you were still there, isolated in the throes of a grief you believed you had defeated a long time ago.

At some point during that first night, you forced yourself up to retrieve some water from the fountain on the balcony, deciding it would require less effort than trying to make it to the kitchen. Every muscle ached and groaned as you moved, and your throbbing headache caused you to sway back and forth dangerously on the tiresome journey. You collapsed on the edge of the stone fountain, scooping your hand through the cool, clear liquid and watching most of it slip away before it even reached your lips.

Regret consumed you as you limped back to your bed and collapsed on top of the sheets. This was supposed to be the happiest time of your life! A God had fallen head over heels in love with you, was thrilled to spend the rest of his life with you, was dedicated to doing anything to see you smile...and you were wallowing in feelings you were unable to control.

On the second day, you crawled out of bed and onto the floor, pulling yourself along the rugs until you made it to the dining room table. You shoved a few grapes from the bowl on the table into your mouth, forcing yourself to chew and swallow through the nausea. Your nerves, fried from the constant bombardment of stimuli, threatened to rip themselves apart beneath your skin as you moved. Your hair hung limp, tangled and matted to your skull, and your eyes burned as though they’d be baking in the sun for days.

On the third day, you had lost track of what day it was. Panic began to creep in, as you knew Loki would return soon, and you were terrified of letting him see you like this. Your heart turned inside out as you pictured his face at the sight of you in your disheveled clothes, your tangled and greasy hair, your tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. But your head throbbed, you were dehydrated and starving – you no longer had the strength of will to pull yourself out of this.

You had mentioned to him in passing your struggles, of your pain from the distant past. But as far as he knew, you had conquered those inadequacies; all he knew now was your beautiful face and your infectious laughter. You tried to comfort yourself with the notion that this was bound to happen eventually, and it was better for it to happen before the wedding.

He deserves better than this, someone as strong and self-assured as he was, you told yourself as you stared up at the ceiling. What kind of a God would want such a pathetic woman? You were surprised he loved you in the first place, and him being the God of Mischief, well…You secretly had been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a long time. You were sure this was it, that his disappointment would be palpable. You knew it would be over as soon as he walked through the door, and you honestly believed you deserved that kind of heartbreak.

Somehow you managed to fall asleep while trying to memorize his lingering scent for what you thought was the last time. In your dreams, you were in your childhood home standing in the living room without anyone noticing you. There was much fussing over logistics and the sound of your mother’s wailing – haunting you, hiding you from everyone else. There wasn’t room for anyone to feel anything else, and you – so little and so frail – had no one to explain what was even happening.

You suddenly awoke in a cold sweat to the sound of him outside in the hallway, your heart breaking to the tune he whistled to himself as the door unlocked.

“Darling…?” he called out, his voice soaked with surprise.

He blinked in your direction from across the flat, and you began to shift in the bed, attempting to sit up and face him. He dropped his bags at the door, next to yours that had been abandoned there for who knows how many days now, and rushed to your side.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked as he sat on the bed next to you, his gentle hands grabbing your shoulders and helping you to sit upright. “Why are you here? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow…”

You opened your mouth to speak but no words would come - just quiet tears rolling down your cheeks. His hands cupped your face as he examined you.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispered gently. You forced your eyes open to meet his, so full of concern and confusion, and you desperately wanted to sink into the floor. It was getting harder to breathe and you could feel the walls begin to close in.

“Please, I need you to focus on my voice,” he said as the pads of his thumbs brushed up and down your cheeks, wiping away your tears. You gave him a weak nod.

“Are you sick or injured?”

You were unsure of how to answer. Your malady was not physical, although its symptoms had now manifested in that manner. But no amount of physical healing would fully cure this misery, so you shook your head no, and you could have sworn you heard him let out a sigh of relief.

But his expression quickly changed to grave seriousness, and you could feel the intensity radiating off of him. “Did someone do this to you?”

Again you shook your head no, surprised by the amount of concern he was showing you. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours as his hands slid down to your arms and pulled you into his chest, and a sob escaped from your soul into the real world. He wrapped his arms around you tighter as you shook, unable to control the tears any longer.

“There, there, dear,” he whispered between kisses to your temple. “I’m here now, everything is going to be alright.”

His words were not forceful or expectant, and your tears were not out of grief any longer. His reaction was so unexpected that a new level of guilt began to wash over you, and all you could do was keep crying. But he made no effort to stop or dismiss you – he just held you, allowing everything that had been built up inside to fall out and fade away. And after a few moments had passed without any more sounds of despair, he lowered himself to the floor, kneeling in front of you, and wrapped his hands around yours.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked lovingly, gazing into your soul, his posh voice reverberating within your core in a comforting frequency.

You looked into his sparkling eyes, elevated by the cliffs of his cheekbones, as he waited patiently for your answer. You imagined that he was expecting to be regaled by a Shakespearean level of drama – surely the only kind that could have possibly elicited this kind of behavior from you. You were so sorry that you had to disappoint him.

“Nothing happened,” you answered blankly. “I was fine, I was getting ready to leave for my mother’s, and then I just…couldn’t.”

Loki blinked at you in disbelief. “You never went to your mother’s?”

You shook your head no, eyes glued to the floor in shame. He reached up and gently lifted your chin, a silent request that your eyes meet his.

“Why didn’t you call for me? I would have come back…”

You shrugged. “I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone.”

Your words seemed to genuinely sting him. You watched his face shift to a look of hurt, and your heart retreated inside you just a little bit more. You opened your mouth to speak but he quickly forced the expression away.

“So you’ve been here, all these days since I left, suffering and alone?” he asked, returning his focus to you.

You nodded, your eyes filling with tears again, and you could almost sense his own heart breaking. For a moment, his eyes drifted downwards while he processed your words, while you were drowning in shame, while your mind was racing, unsure of what to say to him to justify yourself.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Loki…” you apologized, deeply regretful of everything that had led you to this moment. You silently cursed yourself, wishing that you had been able to hide this better, wishing you were stronger and braver and wiser.

Loki looked back up at you, his face twisted in confusion. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

You blinked at him, unsure of how to answer.

“I should be apologizing to you!” he exclaimed as his hands clenched hard around yours, his eyes wide and sincere. “You were here suffering and I had no idea – and I somehow gave you the belief that I wouldn’t want to be bothered by you? That you couldn’t rely on or trust me, and for that…I am so deeply sorry.”

His apology was unexpected and unprecedented. You weren’t used to someone admitting so freely about their mistakes, much less someone owning up to them.

“I didn’t know if you would…How could you understand, when I don’t even –”, you paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Loki waited patiently for you to continue speaking.

“I don’t even understand this deep, dark sadness that plagues me. And I didn’t know this was going to happen now, I never see it coming – and you always seem so cheerful and happy all the time, and I just…I didn’t want to ruin that.” The words fell out of your mouth like blocks tumbling down from a child’s tower, so fast that your brain was unable to keep up, unable to stop you.

Loki suddenly burst into laughter, and the sound took you by surprise. It was a delightful sound, one of your favorites – and it created a conflicting mixture of serenity and angst inside you.

“Oh, my dear…,” he mused with a smile, lifting his hands up to tuck strands of hair behind your ears. “I’m afraid I’ve unintentionally cast an illusion of myself upon you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked with a furrowed brow.

“Sweetheart…I am quite familiar with pain, and suffering, and despair. The man you see before you – the one you describe as cheerful and happy all the time – is only here…because of you.”

You blinked at him, unable to process his words or form a response. Surely he couldn’t mean what he was saying? What could you have possibly done for him? Yes, he was always so strong and self-assured, but you were sure that he must be mistaken about this.

“Are you implying…that I’ve healed you?” It was impossible to hide the disbelief in your voice.

“No, my dear…”, he replied with another chuckle, his eyes sparkling as he watched you. “I don’t think anyone ever completely heals. It never fully goes away…but you do bring me a sort of comfort that no one else ever has.”

You looked down at your hands, nervously twisting and pulling at themselves. His eyes also drifted downwards, sensing your insecurity.

“Have you never noticed how the others look at me, how they avoid me?”

You had noticed the stares and heard the whispers, but they had never seemed to bother him. And it wasn’t until this moment that you realized that they never bothered him because he was too busy looking at you.

You slowly nodded, your eyes still focused on your hands. You could still feel his gaze on you, so intent and radiant, and it was all so overwhelming.

“I beg of you, my love, go ask my brother or my father – or anyone else in this palace – to describe what I was like before I met you. I promise you…they will never use the words ‘cheerful’ or ‘happy’. They don’t know me in that way.”

“Why is that?” you asked, trying not to sound flustered. Your flushed face was thankful for the cool breeze still drifting in from the open balcony doors.

“Because those words are reserved for you, and you alone,” he explained softly.

You swallowed hard, trying to push air past the lump in your throat. It was a struggle to form a response — the only reaction coming up were tears in your eyes again, and another head shake attempting to fling the tears away.

Suddenly, Loki’s hands were on your face, delicately pulling yours closer to his.

“So, my darling, my beloved…the next time you need me, you call for me. I will come for you. No matter where you are, no matter how small the problem, you are to call for me. Do you understand?”

For the first time in days, your mind was quiet. You resisted the urge to pinch yourself, to try and wake yourself up from this dream. But this wasn’t a dream. You were actually on that bed, in that flat, with that man kneeling before you. His eyes, his hands and more importantly his words were all working together to create the same song — a song of peace and of trust. You were safe here with him.

“Say the words, tell me that you understand, my dear,” he kindly instructed.

“I will call for you,” you promised, and you meant it.

Loki gave you a wide, sad smile before gently caressing your lips with his, transferring some of the warmth from his soul down into yours. You lost the ability to inhale as his kisses traveled past your lips to your cheek and down into the crook of your neck as he pulled you into a desperate embrace.

“Now, sweetheart,” Loki whispered, finally pulling himself away to look into your eyes once more. “How can I help you to feel better?”

“I don’t know…I’m so tired…and embarrassed,” you admitted with a sheepish smile.

“Embarrassed about what?” he scoffed playfully, as if this was the most normal thing in the world…because to him, it was.

“Look at me, I’m a mess,” you protested, that sheepish look still painted on your face. Instinctively your hands rose to your head, trying to smooth out the frizziness and wiping away the remnants of your tears.

Loki watched you thoughtfully, his dreamy expression warming your soul, as if he were thinking you would still be beautiful if all of your hair fell out and you were wearing a frayed potato sack as a wedding dress.

“Because here’s what I was thinking…a warm bath, a cup of tea, your finest sleeping clothes, and then you can take a gloriously long nap in my arms. How does that sound?”

His plan sounded absolutely divine, but you didn’t feel like you had the energy. Bathing, making tea, changing clothes — all much too daunting tasks when it was taking all of your strength just to hold your head upright. Thinking about the amount of work it would take just to detangle your hair stirred panic inside you. And as if he read your mind, he rose to standing and held out his hand for you.

“Come along, dear,” he said, beaming at you. “I’ll take care of everything, you just have to be there.”

As soon as you were standing, he scooped his arms underneath you with a cheeky grin. You let out a giggle as he gracefully carried you down the hall to the grand bathroom. A lazy smile drifted across your face as you thought how grateful you were for him, and you wondered if this was what he meant earlier. The grief was still there, but it was a bit easier knowing you had someone to help you conquer it.

The magnificently oversized claw-footed tub was already being filled with warm water by the time you both arrived, and flickering candles scattered about the room provided the only sources of light. The smell of lavender and jasmine from the bath salts and oils penetrated your senses, and you thought to yourself that it would be a blessing to spend the rest of your life in that room with him.

Loki gently lowered your feet to the floor and he planted gentle kisses on each of your eyelids. When the tub was filled, he closed his own eyes and began helping you undress, already innately understanding that you felt vulnerable and raw enough as it was. He didn’t want to make you feel like he was only there to ogle your body; this bath was to be an act of care, devotion and commitment towards you. A tear of gratitude shed from your eye. How did you get so lucky?

You gingerly stepped into the large tub, the water rippling around your limbs in the perfect temperature as you lowered yourself down. Once you were settled at the bottom, he opened his eyes and smiled deeply at you.

“Shall I wash your hair, sweetheart?”

“It’s going to take awhile…” you admitted sheepishly, having been through this song and dance many times before. Once when you were a teenager, you had resorted to shaving your head instead of trying to get a comb through the mess, and your mother had been so furious that the memory still haunted you.

“I’ve got the rest of my life, love,” he replied softly as a stool appeared behind him and he seated himself upon it.

Loki began applying the first round of conditioner with an amount that could only be described as akin to reckless abandon. He slathered every inch of your hair, making sure to coat each and every strand with a thick layer. And despite his hands being absolutely coated with more than enough product already, he picked up the large bottle of conditioner to squeeze out even more. Suddenly, the bottle slipped from his hands and dropped into the tub, sending large splashes of water everywhere.

“I think you’ve used too much, Loki,” you teased with a smile.

“Nothing is too much when it comes to you, my dear,” he replied with the sort of confidence that normally only large glasses of wine would allow.

He rinsed your hair with the golden corded showerhead and began applying shampoo. He focused the product solely on your roots in a gentle massage to your scalp. His fingertips ran back and forth across your skin, scratching and caressing, sending goosebumps down your arms as he worked. Your eyes fluttered shut, the warm water soothing your tired muscles and the scalp massage easing your aching head.

After rinsing the shampoo out, the cup of tea he promised appeared in front of you. You cherished that honeyed chamomile tea, served at the perfect drinking temperature, as Loki patiently and delicately separated your long hair into smaller sections. He started at the ends of the strands, saturating each one with a second round of conditioner. This time he tenderly pulled his fingers through each section, trying to separate each tangle as he slowly worked his way up. Occasionally he would ask if he was hurting you, and you’d tell him that he was doing everything perfectly.

As he worked, he told you stories of how his trip had gone — how ridiculously stubborn Thor had been and the tricks Loki had played on him. You laughed and let your eyes fall shut again as you focused on his beautiful voice. After he finished detangling your hair with his fingers, he produced a wide-toothed comb out of thin air and lovingly ran it through your freshly conditioned hair. With a kiss to your cheek, he excused himself and stepped out of the bathroom for a moment as the conditioner soaked into your hair.

While he was gone, you couldn’t resist the urge any longer and you gave your arm a pinch. And nothing changed — you weren’t dreaming, this wasn’t a trick. This warm bath, the conditioner in your hair, the smile on your face was all real.

It was then that the God taking care of you reappeared, holding several wrapped presents and a massive grin on his face. He cheerfully announced that he had brought you some presents from his trip and placed the large box on the bathroom counter before handing you the gift bag. The light from the candles danced against the golden bag as you pulled out the most beautiful glass jar of body polish, made with coconut sugar and sunflower oil and scented with rose and geranium.

As he began to rinse the conditioner out of your hair, you opened the jar and absorbed the heavenly aroma inside, unable to stop the relaxed sigh of approval escaping from your lips. He chuckled, remarking that he thought you would enjoy it as you began scrubbing your limbs with the concoction.

After the conditioner was removed and your skin was glowing from the body polish, he expertly wrapped your hair on top of your head with a large towel. And when you were ready, he closed his eyes once more and held out his hand, helping you stand upright, before wrapping another large and warm towel around you. Your limbs felt heavy still, but this time it wasn’t the weight of grief holding you down anymore.

He opened his eyes once again and helped you step out of the tub and seated you on the stool. He then eagerly placed the large box in your lap and knelt down before you, his eyes wide with excitement.

You opened the box, and inside were a pair of the most luxurious, silken sleeping clothes you had ever seen. A gasp escaped your lips as your fingers traced over the delicate, glimmering shorts and matching top, both in the most beautiful shade of emerald and trimmed with shiny golden threads. Your eyes shot back up to Loki in disbelief.

“As my soon-to-be wife, you deserve only the finest objects in the universe,” he explained, the adoration in his words penetrating so far into your soul that even your ancestors were aware of his devotion to you.

“Loki…these are too much, I can’t accept them…” you said with a sad smile, knowing they probably cost more than the house you grew up in.

“I believe I mentioned earlier that nothing is too much when it comes to you, do you remember that?” he replied with a wink. “Are they not to your liking?”

“No, I love them,” you whispered as tears filled your eyes.

He grinned as he stood up and closed his eyes again. As he helped you dry off and dress in the luxurious clothing, you wondered who you must have been in a previous life to have earned this God falling head over heels in love with you.

Loki opened his eyes once more and his breath caught in his throat as he took you in.

“Darling…you are simply ravishing,” he whispered as he cupped your rosy cheeks with his soft hands.

You playfully pushed him away with a roll of your eyes but he continued.

“No, I mean it. The beauty of all the stars in the night sky could never even begin to compare to yours. And I am so very lucky that I get to be with you.”

Before your knees could buckle, he slipped an arm around your waist and led you back to your future marital bed. Fresh, warm sheets now wrapped around the king-sized mattress, and Loki used his magic to replace his outfit with his own sleeping clothes. He pulled back the sheets and slid into the bed, beckoning you to join him. You seated yourself between his legs, your back to his chest, as he removed the towel wrapped around your hair. The same comb reappeared again, and he once more gently combed through your lengths, making sure no tangles remained.

When he finished, you lowered yourself down and curled up against his bare chest as his arms wrapped around you once again. He felt like safety personified, like a river in the desert and a flame in the blizzard. Your worst fears had been realized — the vulnerability of your grief — and he had done everything in his power to assuage them.

“Do you feel better now, my love?” he whispered into your ear as you sank into him. The chilly breeze from the open balcony doors drifted inside, juxtaposed with the warmth of his bare skin against yours, created a drowsing effect as you nodded against his chest.

“I love you,” you whispered as your eyelids drifted close.

“I love you too, darling,” he replied as sleep began to grab hold of you both.

⊱ ─ ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ─ ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ─ ⊰

Click here to be added to my Loki fic tag list! 💚

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bunnieshoneys · 2 months

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coanda effect chapter seventeen... my heart exploded like a supernova and my body turned into a sorry pile of particles charged with agony and grief, WHY must you hurt me so beautifully??

in all seriousness though, your writing has given me very serious brain rot (including a new hyperfixation, it seems). i salute your creativity when it comes to the narrative format, the way you craft your narration incorporating all those different forms of media coverage is genuinely ingenious!!! and your use of the unreliable narrator?? HELLO???

i need you to know that the metaphor about keeping your hands on/off the steering wheel while crashing hasn't escaped my mind ever since i read it in the chapter yesterday, it's such a great way to describe the difference between getou and gojo's coping mechanisms!! so please excuse the rant i'm about to go onto,, getou keeps on grasping for the steering wheel even when things go sideways as it inspires a false sense of control in him, something he so desperately seeks after literally a lifetime of being left at the mercy of sponsors/team principals and depending on someone else's judgement of him and his skills and their willingness to support him, while in reality he's driven forward by outside forces and inertia, something he cannot control anymore, so his reluctance to let go harms him only more. but it simultaneously means that he's the one in the driver's seat, and by steering this or that way he defines his (and his passengers', aka the people closest to him in his life) future. now, gojo is the one who's been taught to take his hands off the wheel when the car is about to crash, and at the moment he feels like it's spun out of the track and keeps spinning without ever meeting the barriers, and — i feel like i'm about to deliver the most insane take ever — if the vehicle this metaphor puts him in is supposed to stand for his relationship with getou, and gojo feels helplessly out of control, and getou, like i said, is the one driving it, then it represents how by taking that chance away from gojo, getou also takes control from him, because you cannot really have any say in the matter you aren't fully aware of, can you? by trying to keep himself safe, by securing his position in the driver's seat and by extension his agency over his own life and the direction which it takes, getou ends up denying gojo the chance to be there for him, to try and work things out together, to try and make staying together work for them. while he's spent his entire career in this sport desperately grasping for control, getou hates being exposed to vulnerability so much that he, consciously or not, denies gojo the comfort of being able to support your loved one when they're hurt and struggling, and also rejects gojo's own vulnerability. and it only results in more hurt... but at the same time it's gojo who allowed the control to slip through his fingers, who let go of the steering wheel, not intentionally, of course, but by distancing himself from the source of his traumatic experience and indulging in his own horribly unhealthy coping mechanisms. ultimately, both getou and gojo are terrible at properly communicating with each other, they're both in the car, co-piloting the disaster they're about to find themselves in. and the fact that the impact of the crash never comes for gojo as him and getou don't fall out with a bang, loudly and ugly, with words spoken in raised voices and accusations of hurt thrown at each other, they just drift apart slowly until there's an uncrossable chasm of miscommunication between them... and the fact that they're still incapable of giving voice to what troubles them, to realise that they're not alright... the fact they lost control yet never hit the barriers because the real crash is still ahead of them... CAN YOU TELL IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE??

aghhh i'm sorry for such a lengthy ask, forgive me if it's just a far-fetched weird gibberish, and please take this as a testament of my overspilling love for your amazing beautiful beautiful writing and characterisation of those beloved idiots, THANK YOU

holy fucking shit. who let you cook. turn off anon RIGHT NOW i need to know who you are.

very long response under the cut with spoilers for chp17

in all seriousness, this is basically the metaphor. idk if ur an f1 fan, but ALL drivers are told, in certain crashes, to take their hands off the wheel, because it can snap when the tyres move, causing injury. most recent example is daniel ricciardo bracing on the wheel in 2023 in his first race back (i cant remember which race that was for the life of me, lol), and breaking his wrist.

there are other reasons for not taking your hands off the wheel ; being frozen, not reacting quickly enough, but some drivers brace with their hands on the wheel as a default.

the false sense of control getou feels is definitely there. he, alone, knows he controls his narrative. hes worked hard against all odds to get here and ultimately this is his dream, his career, his friendship. but there are higher powers at work, both in terms of the sport he participates in and the breakdown of the key relationships in his life. he seperates all aspects of his personal life from his driving so he can focus on the track. but when these factors become something bigger, like his growing grief and his loss of satoru, they become much too big to control and push aside. hence, hands on the wheel, into the wall, he’s more damaged, but he took control and pushed himself into the worst possible outcome, because then it would be over.

satoru is the opposite. his career wasnt his to choose: his dad put him in karting young, all over the world, he was always a prodigy, and since hes been 8, people had been calling him a champion in waiting. sure, he loves racing, but it wasnt his dream. it was just what he fell into. he braces with his hands away from the wheel because hes scared of it hurting. he doesnt want to lose things. he knows hes spinning, he knows hes out of control, and he knows hes going to crash, but at least he’ll walk away with bruises rather than broken bones. the problem with that is that his peers (suguru, shoko, nanami, arguably haibara) are in control and he isn’t. hes scrabbling trying to save his relationships by exercising zero control over them and not making any of his needs clear because hes been taught that he needs to be independent and be someone for others to lean on. and suguru and shoko especially want him to lean on them for support.

that being said, suguru hit the barriers in 2014. he climbed out and walked away. satoru hasnt crashed yet. but hes been thinking he doesnt have to crash, and now the looming inevitability of that confrontation/argument/crash is dawning on him. up until this point, theyve both been unable to be truly vulnerable with each other, and in getous absence, shoko and gojo have built — something. a relationship where they talk, definitely. they lean on each other. they operate in a weird way, but its there.

satoru needs to realise the crash is inevitable, and that things are going to have to hurt to get better. suguru is standing on the sidelines watching and he needs to realise that he can go and pull him out of the car, that they can do this together.

THAT ALL BEING SAID. HOLY SHIT ANON. YOU COOKED. this is an incredible analysis, and its fucking spot on. that metaphor is one of my favourites :)

much luv

#fic: coanda effect #bunny answers

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legacyshenanigans · 5 months

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Hello beloved B!

Can we pretty please have some of your favorite facts about our beloved lycan Rowan? 🖤

Ahh you want Rowan this time 😊🤍 sure!

A little list of some of my favourite Rowan HC's (that I may or may not have mentioned before)🐺

His fierce loyalty.

He often gets VERY flustered when it comes to flirting with people he genuinely likes and finds attractive and will say dumb shit.

He's an extremely obvious blusher, he goes VERY red when he's embarrassed.

He really can be a big kid at times.

Old ladies LOVE him and think he's really sweet (he respects his elders, most of the time)

He's VERY good at bringing people into a false sense of security before he attacks (unless in his werewolf form, obviously haha)

He very much enjoys being dominant in the bedroom, but when he's in the mood for it he can be EXTREMELY submissive too (Being bossed around, being bound and played with, being praised, like being told he's a good boy or what he's doing/done, is/has made you very happy, makes him blush and turns him on like crazy)

How utterly brutal he can be in how he kills, like toying with his prey, to make them REALLY terrified before he actually goes in for the kill, he says "Folks blood tastes sweeter when they're really afraid"

And probably many more 🤣🐺🤍

#rowan the wolf

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dovithedarklord · 4 months

Text

Age of Monsters - Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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

Author's Note

The small group goes on a trip and finds something completely different from what they expected.

Hello!

I'm back with Chapter 13! Now I have a couple of Trigger Warnings: Death, corpses (and their detailed description), blood, gore, and violence.

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeform I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeform

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Thirteen

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

The wild, overgrown abundance of the forest glides by like blurred spots next to the car, and although I haven't had a positive experience with nature until now, for once it's not the potential danger behind the trees and bushes that occupies my mind the most. The wind blows in my face through the rolled-down window, and as the characteristic smell of wet plants fills my nose, the apparent calmness of the situation lulls me into a false sense of security. The orange zone is a bag full of risks in itself, but Alejandro's predictions seem to have come true so far, because not a single mutant bastard has attempted to divert our small team, which is moving unstoppably towards its destination. But the deeper we venture on the broken concrete road into the heart of the wilderness, the more convinced I am that this eerie peace and uneventfulness will eventually backfire. And it's true that I was always cautious, and I believed that it was better to be paranoid than to get my ass kicked, but the sinister suspicion that had nestled itself deep inside of me is much more than that. Because it makes me feel like we're heading toward certain chaos, even though our plan seems bulletproof and ridiculously simple. I've already seen how life can wreck a detailed, masterful concept, and I can't get rid of the thought that fucking karma would love to show me again what tricks it can do if it wants to surprise me.

And it seems that I'm not the only one who racks their brains on this ominous intuition, because my two companions traveling with me exude everything other than casual calmness. From the rear-view mirror of the car, I can clearly see the unflinching expression on MacTavish's face, and only the line of his jaw tensing for a moment tells me that he would like to get right into the thick of it and show off his unique interrogation techniques. And although Riley, sharing the back seat with me, has assumed his usual steely confidence, his dark eyes scan every square centimeter of the landscape that appears through the windshield with such intensity, as if he would expect something absolutely terrible to appear in every second. His fear is well-founded, because we could easily come into close physical contact with a mutant here, but I suspect he isn't distressed by the forest and the beasts hidden in it, but rather by the research institute resting on the mountainside. And probably the concerns I expressed during our little moment on the roof last night also helped him to become so tense now. I should be happy that my opinion has such a big influence on him, now that we have finally overcome the differences between the two of us, if possible permanently, but his grim aura only gives my nerves one more reason to strain towards snapping.

"Five minutes and we'll reach the gate." Alejandro's voice filters through the radio and I automatically turn my gaze to the vehicle in front of us, where he and his faithful right-hand man are travelling, leading the way through the maze of nature like the real hosts they are. He nobly undertook this task without allowing any objections, and although I originally had no desire to argue with him being our tour guide, but in the last hour that we have spent here in the jungle behind god's back, I already know that we wouldn't have had a chance to reach our goal in any other line-up. Because even though the road, which has been damaged over the years and is full of potholes, indeed leads somewhere, it splits into side roads in such a confusing way that it is quite amazing. And this, as well as the fact that the environment exudes a progressively unfriendly atmosphere with each passing meter, only confirms the fact that Alviar is truly stirring up the kind of shit, that needs a dozen life-threatening and cunning diversions to cover its smell.

My two companions only acknowledge the information with a wordless nod, our driver is the one who mumbles a quick "Copy" and then fixes his eyes on our battered path with unbroken attention. And the fact that MacTavish, who is always up for a clever comment, is also silenced by the operation before us, could even be disturbing, if the seriousness that possessed him wouldn't be fully justified. Perhaps the rather complicated chain of developments and the promise of an increasingly worse outcome has entered into the mind of a man as well, therefore it's not surprising that he is buzzing with tense energy ready to jump into action, so that he can finally relieve the helpless tension that has accumulated in him until now. This pressure has been building up in him since our nice adventure in the city, and I have a feeling that he won't try to moderate his temper if he has even the smallest chance to unleash it on the modest person of the doc. And that bastard will undoubtedly deserve it if even one of my hypotheses is confirmed.

Suddenly, the car in front of us begins to slow down, and as we adjust to this, we reduce our already cautious speed, and I raise my curious eyes towards the gate slowly emerging through the windshield. And the closer we get, the clearer it becomes that the doc didn't leave the guarding of his threshold to chance, because although the wild greenery skillfully hides the line of the several-meter-high fence stretching between the trees, it would be impossible not to notice the behemoth made of solid metal that rises towards the sky at the end of the worn road. Although a venturous mutant would have no problem climbing over it based on its height alone, even though the whole shebang seems to be at least five meters high, the barbed wire on top of the monstrosity would certainly discourage the hungry beasts from being nosy. And when our vehiches halts at the end of our nice little journey, my nose is hit by the characteristic burnt metallic smell, which makes it quite obvious that my colleague really wanted to show off his sophistication with the first line of his defense, and he made sure to give a shocking experience to those who stray too close to the barrier infused with high-voltage that disappears between the trees. So fucking sly.

The movement coming from the vehicle in front of us disturbs me from my observations, and only a hand appears from behind the rolled-down window to firmly hold up the hologram of the verification document emerging from the communicator towards the camera cleverly hidden on the top of the gate. However, it seems that there may have been an error in the calculation, because when after a few minutes there is no reaction to the introduction, the car door bursts open with angry vehemence, and Alejandro jumps out, stomping closer with visible irritation to signal with his whole being that an important visitor has ventured to the doorstep of this godforsaken hole. He waves his hand towards the wretched camera with growing annoyence, but despite all his efforts and fervor, the gate remains closed with immovable calm, which makes my confusion grow stronger with ever-increasing enthusiasm. It's one thing that the doctor doesn't want to have unexpected and especially unwanted guests, but he must also know that if he doesn't work together with us, my Hunter friends have a couple of brutal ideas on how to convince him to be more cooperative. Not to mention that the head of an institution must be familiar with the intricate maze of the current regulations, especially if he wants to avoid them, so he must also know that if he doesn't let in our small team that came here because of the violation of said rules, then the law and fate will catch up with such force that he will never have a chance to get himself out from that sea of shit.

"What's the problem?" The masked Hunter sitting next to me finally gets bored with the wait, and calls out through the rolled-down window to the man who is slowly engaging in an elaborate pantomime show. And it's enough for me to take a quick glance at Riley to assess how every fiber of his being fills with the first wave of impatient temper, and how his body moves forward, like a big cat who at this very moment has lost its patience with its naughty little prey that constantly slips away. And there is no doubt that he also starts to lose his cool at the finishline, when in addition to all the infuriating details of the events so far, the unsuspecting fool now wants to stretch his self-restraint to infinity.

"Something is not right! The guards should've been here by now!" Comes the irritated reply from the unit's leader, and as he turns back, every single wrinkle of the ire on his face becomes visible. Based on the deep furrows gathering on his forehead, it becomes completely clear that although he harbors hostile feelings towards Alviar, and he is sure that the asshole wants to block our entry, he also knows that the doc is not so stupid as to oppose him so openly. Because by doing so, the good doctor would risk a much greater retort, and then he would have to say goodbye to his peaceful solitude, which he had been enjoying until now in the soft lap of undisturbed nature.

It seems that Riley doesn't need any more motivation to take action, because without any further explanation, he opens the door and gets out of our little vehicle to walk closer to his comrade with heavy steps. Every cell of his tall frame fills with the pulsation of his restrained fury, which inevitably makes my stomach flutter with excitement, for there is something unbelievably compelling about the way he charges forward with the unstoppable determination of a tank. He stops for just a moment next to Alejandro, who, although I can't hear the fierce words coming out of his mouth, I know that he is explaining in, presumably very colorful language, why this unfortunate turn of events is bad news for us. And this gives the masked Hunter enough reason to take the solution of the problem into his own hands, and I lean forward to follow what kind of tactics the man chooses to eliminate this obstacle that cannot be called small even the slightest.

When he arrives in front of the metal monstrosity, which towers above him with unbroken dignity, he lets his weapon attached to its sling fall beside him, and raises his hand in the air with such noble simplicity, as if he wasn't about to slam down on a solid steel door. When one of his huge fists strikes, the metal shakes wildly from the impact, and the peace of the forest is disturbed by a thunderous crash, causing the birds resting on the trees to fly out of the foliage in alarm. And although the gate doesn't yield from this terrible force, the deep indentation created at the contact of the two-winged entrance already provides enough grip for Riley's hands to worm their way into the gap. A shudder runs along my spine reflexively, causing the little hairs to rise up, and suddenly I don't feel like fighting the feeling that overwhelms me, when I realize that he is trying to pull open the walls of the gate with his bare hands. And my mind tries to scold my body, since in the midst of a vital mission it's not the time for these dubious feelings to appear, but I can't tear my eyes away from the sight. He grounds his booted legs to exert as much force as possible, and despite the looseness of his uniform, I can see how the material strains by the work of the bulging muscles on his arms and back, and goosebumps prickle on every inch of my body, because I can almost feel the angry vibrations of his power on my skin. With a deafening screech, the metal surrenders to the Hunter's attack, and as the heavy walls slowly but surely move, the empty concrete road becomes visible. And just as Riley forces a passage wide enough for a person to pass through, he steps away and turns back to us, looking pleased with his work.

"It's open now." He announces to our small group, raising his deep voice, and I can see even from a distance, as the red glow in his eyes slowly fades, when he once again hides all the destructive power of his little Hunter abilities. Based on his makeshift weapon made from a traffic sign in the previous mission, I had no doubt that he could enhance his physical strength when he activates his skills, but this is a feat I didn't know a human could do, no matter how superhuman they are. And the fact that it awakened that fucking warm tremble in me is another proof that my sanity has completely gone.

"Steamin’ Jesus..." MacTavish's utters his rather apt reaction, and the excitement mixed with admiration creeping into his voice tells me that even though it's not the first time he's seen his partner use similar effective methods, he's still sufficiently impressed by the masked man's wide repertoire of pure power. And although I share his amazement, I quickly realize that Riley has even more self-control than I thought, because, under the influence of my little provocations, he could have messed me up even worse than I had originally assumed. And the knowledge that up until now he has held the reins of his aggression with a steady hand whenever I have directed my sly little words at him or tried to shake him up with my cunning tactics, and I'm still alive, for some reason fills me with sick joy. Now I'm pretty sure I'm not right in the head.

It seems that everyone was enchanted for a moment by the show the masked man unexpectedly put on, because it takes a few stunned seconds before Alejandro at least pulls himself together, and when he does, only a broad, proud grin spreads across his face. It's clear that he also liked this impromptu performance, and this gives him the impetus to return to the mission and wave to his men, coaxing them out of the cars in Spanish. This is the point where MacTavish also decides that he has spent just enough time in our vehicle, and opens the door of the car to jump out of it with such enthusiasm, as if someone had shown a spring up in his ass.

"Come on, lassie, let's not make our guests wait!" He turns back to me, gesturing towards the worn gate, giving a clear signal that after the impressive entrance, it's time to surprise the doc with our pleasant company, if he tried to avoid it so enthusiastically. The glint that settles in the man's blue eyes promises violence, and the wicked curve of his mouth lets me know that my Scottish friend, who has been on pins and needles since the beginning of our journey, has already formulated at least dozens of ideas in his head to welcome Alviar properly. And there is no doubt that each of his ideas is full of delicacies, each more painful than the other, with which he can make my unknown colleague sing a song where the doc will spill even his mother's name just to end the fun. And who am I to deprive him of the fun?

With a quiet, amused sigh, I pull myself together, so that I, too, can peel myself out of the comfortable tranquility of the back seat and drag my pretty little ass out into the humid embrace of the forest. And the Hunter with the mohawk, after checking that I'm ready for the excitement ahead of us, sets off with urgent steps towards the damaged gate, driven by his renewed vigor, and I follow him with similar enthusiasm, so that we can gallop towards the small group in deep discussion.

And as soon as we get closer, I have the opportunity to admire the communicator, which is still resting happily in Alejandro's hand, on which, instead of the faint blue hologram of his ID, something completely different is flashing with a bright yellow color. I don't need to know Spanish to recognize from the aggressively flashing text that we've managed to generate a neat little warning with our not-so-gentle knock. And based on this, it’s easy to assess that the institution's security system automatically signals the colony and thus probably the liquidation unit as well, if something or someone is reckless enough to venture in without authorization. Of course, this begs the question, if Alviar surrounds himself with such a line of defense to keep us out, shouldn't there be someone here to prevent us from continuing our little incursion?

"What's the matter?" MacTavish inquires, and he directs his eyes to the message flashing with increasing enthusiasm in the hands of the leader of the unit, where on the map a vivid red circle marks with definite outlines the exact location of the intrusion into the facility. And from the way the Scottish Hunter carefully peeks through the opened gap and scans the suspicious immobility waiting for us on the other side, it becomes quite obvious that I'm not the only one who finds the absence of the reception committee unusual.

"The security system is still active because we received the alarm about the intrusion." Rodolfo points to the hologram, and the deep furrows between his eyebrows reveal that there is no scenario in which this could be considered a good or lucky development. Because it might even make our job easier if we don't have to immediately fight with a couple of soldiers armed to the chin in order to get into the hospitable confines of the establishment, but silence and desolation are never a good sign if you expect to be welcomed. And we anticipated unfriendliness at least, if not outright resistance, but the fact that we are now greeted by none other but the big, stinking pile of nothing is more than strange. It's Alejandro who has enough of this hesitancy and, after pressing a few buttons, he makes the notification disappear to sink his communicator back into the deep recesses of his pocket, overcoming the unusual turn of events with the ease of a true leader, only to raise his dark eyes meaningfully at our small group and return to the execution of the mission, taking his weapon in his hand.

"We continue on foot! Don't let your guard down, we can expect that bastard to be up to something!" Alejandro gives out his orders and admonitions, and there is an undisguised hostility and anger in his tone, which leads me to conclude that, based on the events of the last few minutes, he has a strong suspicion that this won't be the only obstacle and interesting thing that we will encounter thanks to the doc. "After me!" He shouts, then pushes himself through the gap in the gate with purposeful movements, being the first to take on the noble task of checking out what awaits us on the other side. And when he has squeezed through, he points his weapon forward with lightning speed so that he can pump a bullet into anyone who feels like ambushing him. But, when the brave volunteer doesn't show up and nothing happens, he lowers the assault rifle and lets us know with just a wave that we are safe to proceed, and this gives enough motivation for his men to move behind each other in single file to follow their leader through the gaping crevice.

When the last soldier makes his way through the opening forced into the gate, my Scottish friend steps to the side, maintaining the principle of "ladies first", and with outstretched arms offers me the opportunity to be the first of our little trio to step onto the riddle-filled grounds of the facility. And I only raise one of my eyebrows and fix my eyes on the man, wondering when had he become such a gentleman, but finally accepting his sudden chivalry, I walk past him to slide through our entrance. When I cross the threshold, I'm greeted only by the emptiness, which for some reason seems even more peculiar now that I have the opportunity to take a closer look at the place. And as I divert my bright eyes, I see a small cabin resting peacefully next to the gate, where our cars waiting on the broken road greet me through a very well-functioning screen, and I immediately feel that something is very wrong. There is a single plastic bottle on the table, its wall thickly painted by the vapor of the water inside it, and I suspect that it must have been there for a long time if its contents could turn opalescent. That bottle must have been sitting in the stuffy booth for at least days, not an hour or two, to look like this. And I highly doubt that it's lying there forgotten only because of the carelessness of its owner.

But soon I'm jolted out of my contemplation, because I hear the two remaining Hunters arrive behind me, and as I break away from the strange view, I turn back and catch Riley, who, after MacTavish, is the last to press himself through the crack made by his busy hands. When he straightens up upon arrival, he checks the landscape shrouded in immobility around us with the momentum of his routine, to his eyes to then stop on the same small hole, the mystery of which I analyzed so enthusiastically not long ago. Despite the mask, it's easy to recognize the suspicious expression that appears on his face, although I only see thin but grim lines around the skin covered in black paint, as his eyes slowly narrow when he takes in the details of the scene left behind in a haste. And the fact that it also fills him with a sufficient amount of foreboding to dwell on it, only reinforces the whispering of the ominous voices in my head, warning that it's better to be careful, because this could be something other than just the doc trying to hide his ass.

"Let's go! The building is not far!" Alejandro calls out suddenly, drawing everyone's undivided attention to him again, motioning towards the road, which is hidden from prying eyes by lush green plants swaying lazily in the wind, as it meanders peacefully into the unknown. And in other cases, this sight could even be idyllic, but now it only awakens the unease that grows stronger in my skull with every passing minute. Because there is nothing normal in the fact that such a mysterious institution doesn't react to the intrusion of the official bodies into their harmonious little living space, which they have tried to protect with all their slyness until now. And I catch the worried furrows frozen on our leader's forehead and the dour downward curve of his mouth just in time, before he sets off followed by his loyal companion and his men, but even this fleeting moment is enough for me to deduce from his expression that we are walking into a party that I'm not sure we are prepared for.

"Let's not fall behind." Riley steps next to me, and although there is nothing in his voice apart from the usual deep hoarseness and his confidence, my keen senses quickly recognize the tension pulsing from him. It's no wonder that his mood is slowly becoming more and more gloomy, because anyone with a little sense knows how abnormal the suspicious smoothness of the mission so far is. But this is probably not the first time the masked man has encountered a mystery like this, because although he doesn't lose his caution, he quickly steels himself, and with only one last glance at me, he rushes forward with his friend close at his heels, so that they, too, could start sneaking carefully behind Alejandro's small team, picking up the pace dictated by the leading Hunter with the experience of the professionals. And I hesitate for just a moment to take one last peek at the cubicle frozen in unsettling silence, to then turn my back on the stillness that prevails in it, to catch up with my little buddies who are already moving forward with hasty steps. After all, no matter how fast the questions multiply in my brain, I won't find the answers here.

As soon as I reach them I fall in line with them, and for a minute I wonder what this extra precaution is for. Unquestionably, the doc doesn't like us, but I doubt he'd be so foolish as to try to attack four Hunters and six battle-hardened soldiers in the back. Not only because the sharp senses of the Hunters would recognize the danger lurking before they have the opportunity to strike, but also because it would strengthen our assumptions about his illegal activities more than any words could. After all, someone who has nothing to hide doesn't need to aggressively defend said nothing. But as my gaze wanders, taking in all the hidden little parts of the road ahead, I quickly understand that this thoughtfulness is not for Alviar's slyness. Much more to the bleak silence that follows us the deeper we drift into the recesses of the institute's territory. It's as if the gate we fought our way through was meant to keep out not only the wild beasts hiding in the wilderness, but to restrain the heavy atmosphere that settles here, which descends on us like a suffocating blanket. Although everything seems peaceful, not a single sound filters through except for the crunch of the debris drifting under our boots and the soft rustle of our clothes, and the whole thing feel as if we have entered into a fucking ghost town. An actively functioning institution buzzing with people shouldn't be so terribly quiet, especially when the boss here has tried so hard to keep visitors away.

And with every meter I walk, the grip of restlessness inside me grows harsher, causing my limbs to fill with tension, as if I should expect an ambush from behind every blade of grass or bush swaying comfortably in the warm breeze. The fact that instead we are surrounded by the same maddeningly lifeless calm stretches the sharpened attention of my nerves even more. It seems that the two Hunters marching in front of me are not much happier with the ease with which the mission has been progressing so far, because I only have to observe the muscles dancing on my Scottish friend's forearm, as he tightens his grip on the hilt of his weapon, or to take in the stiff line of the masked man's broad back to know, that I'm not the only one who is filled with concerns by the absence of the warm welcome we had anticipated. But when MacTavish, who has been diligently observing every square centimeter of the road, turns his head toward the uphill curve of our little path with the speed of a bloodhound that has caught a scent, I feel the nervous tug of foreboding in my stomach. Because even though I can only take a look at the man's profile as he looks meaningfully at Riley, who is walking in front of him, but from the way he pulls his mouth into a disgusted frown I quickly understand, that his super senses must have detected some unusual shit from the end of the footpath leading to our destination.

"Do ya feel it too, Ghost?" The Scottish Hunter mutters grimly, and there is no trace of the fun and relaxation that he managed to bring here with him until now. He doesn't explain what he found with the help of his sharpened perception, but the troubled arch of his furrowed brows is enough evidence that it may have something to do with our disturbingly smooth break-in.

"Yeah." The masked man answers curtly, and there is something inscrutable in his voice, which only crowns the dark look with which he stares ahead, as if he would already know something that no one else has figured out yet. As my gaze wanders to our two tour guides who are walking far ahead, I can see from the unsettled look they share that they also noticed the exciting little detail that made the aura of the two Hunters so terribly sinister. And even though my sharp little eyes run over the endless green blanket of vegetation stretching around us, the same tense peace greets me, but the voice in my brain assures me that I don't need to worry, and soon I too can experience what they managed to pick up on so quickly.

And although they don't share what they found so early on with the small team, the gloom emanating from the Hunters certainly lays the foundation for the watchful tension that eats itself into everyone's consciousness with the vileness of an infectious disease. And suddenly the whole group becomes a bundle of nerves, and perhaps with even more vigilance than before, they continue their troop along the wretched path, broken by the roots. The next few minutes pass with such torturous slowness, as if we had left the walls of the gate leading to the outside world at least a thousand years ago. When we finally reach the end of our trail, the building of the rather imposing research institution is revealed, which stands out at the end of the neglected courtyard with such unusual prominence, as if its creator had intended to attract attention rather than to hide from it. One would think that a private institution of this level would be able to afford to have someone keep it in order, but the area that extends to the building gives the impression that this noble task hasn't been fulfilled by anyone for a while now. And the hurriedly parked car resting untouched in the middle of everything doesn't help either. Based on its position, my guess is that whoever forgot this vehicle here, didn't intend to stay for more than a few minutes. But judging by the undisturbed layer of leaves sitting thickly on the top of the car, and the absence of any kind of wheel tracks, I can rightly conclude that the owner didn't leave the machine here for a short time, but it was probably left behind just long enough to raise a series of suspicious questions in my brain.

But this strangeness doesn't scare away the little squad, they wade forward with unceasing enthusiasm through the blanket of branches and leaves that cover the ground, and when I diligently follow them and sneak closer, then out of nowhere, like an unexpected surprise, a strange stomach-turning smell creeps into my nose, and I suddenly understand that there may be a serious reason why no one was bothered by the abandoned car. Because although I have never felt a stench like this in whole my life, every single one of my muscles is filled with sinister energy, and the instincts in my subconscious immediately convey the message to me that this can only belong to a source that I should better stay away from. And although a repulsed grimace swims to my face, still, like a puppet being pulled on a string, my legs carry me through the desolate field, and the crunch of sun-dried plants under the soles of my shoes reaches my ears as a dull noise, as I follow Riley striding with deliberate steps in front of me, who must have felt this exact delicacy together with his Scottish bosom friend before. The closer we get, the stronger the smell becomes, as if the building were spreading like a festering wound in the middle of the undisturbed calm, just waiting for someone to unravel its mystery. And morbid curiosity awakens in me, as I fix my eyes on the double-winged metal door leading inside, because although the warning voice in my skull tries to hold me back with tooth and nail from venturing too close, the unanswered riddles prove to be a much greater temptation.

However, with Alejandro in the lead, the group suddenly stops, as if trying to muster up the strength to finally cross the threshold of the godforsaken structure. And for some reason, I get the feeling that whatever is behind the elegantly crafted entrance, it must be serious, if the unit leader must find his composure to face it. If I take into consideration the multitude of ominous signs that have accumulated so far, which we have encountered in every step we took in the short journey that led us up here, then I realize that the man's sour mood could be quite well-founded. And based on my experience so far, my intuitions are rarely wrong.

"We're going in. On me." Alejandro gives out his instructions, and even though I haven't known him for a long time, yet in the the to-the-point command, I feel the unspoken harsh edge with which he prepares his men for the worst. And when he wraps one of his gloved hands on the metal bar running along the door and opens it with a decisive movement, all the troubled wrinkles and grim looks, as well as the strange, deserted emptiness that has accompanied our journey until now, gain meaning. Because, as soon as the golden light of the sun penetrates the darkness inside, I only catch the outline of the motionless bodies spread out in the large lobby for a minute, and my brain can immediately place what it was that held back the people from showing us their hospitality.

But I don't have much time to admire the interior of the institute wallowed up by darkness, because the force of the stench, which I had only mildly felt before, reaches me in a big wave, as it fills every corner of my nose. My stomach instinctively twists and shoves its rumbling contents up my throat as the repulsive smell of rotting flesh fills every single one of my senses like an inescapable slithery parasite. And as the nausea convulses my insides, I stagger in confusion, looking for support, because I feel my mouth suddenly fill with saliva with dangerous quickness by the nauseatingly sweet aroma. When my trembling hand finds the rough surface of the wall, and I finally don't have to fear that I will end the day sprawled on the ground from the dizziness entering my head, even before we could reach its peak, then my palm almost painfully clings to my mouth to try to hold back the stomach acid, that is slowly gnawing up my esophagus, before it can spill out of me. And I feel the tears start to sting my eyes when I gag violently, and I need every single nerve to convince myself not to give in to the stimulus that twists my stomach mercilessly.

Even my fast little body needs a few nerve-wracking minutes before I manage to force the contents of my upset stomach back into place while slowly breathing through my nose, and the vehemence of the onslaught of the penetrating smell of corpses eases a little. I'm suddenly disturbed from my deep concentration by a huge hand, which settles on the back of my neck, emerging from my shirt, with surprising tenderness, squeezing it gently, thus tearing me out of the exhausting work of banishing my sickness. And even despite the nausea terrorizing my body, I have the strength to be surprised, because the sight of Riley bending over me and pulling me into the protective cover of his burly figure, as if he wanted to spare my dignity, which was quite enthusiastically triggered by the surprise of my first authentic encounter with the reek of rotting remains. But perhaps what is even more unexpected is the scarf offered to me, which rests in his gloved hand with such self-evident casualness, as if this weren't the first time he had surprised me with such a selfless gesture.

"Wrap it around your face." He suggests, and although based on the hoarse edge hidden in his accent, his message sounds more like an instruction, but as my gaze intertwines with his, the restrained soft glint in the dark eyes seems quite real, with which he slowly searches through every pitiful part of my person clinging to the wall. And I get the feeling from this small thoughtfulness, which is completely foreign to him, that the peaceful little moment we spent last night on the roof truly helped him to finally soften up to me. But before I could start thinking about this at the most inconvenient time, I accept the material offered without any arguments or questions instead, to gather my composure and straighten myself up. As the comforting warmth of his palm leaves my neck, for a moment the feeling of absence hits me with a painful force, but I follow his advice and wrap my face up to the middle of my nose in the thick textile before my consciousness has time to process how ridiculously good the weight of his touch felt on my goosebump-flecked skin.

"Thank you." I squeeze the words out of myself, and I need all my will to bring determination back into my voice. Because even though at the first stray inhale, that hideous stench finally disappears from my nose, it's replaced by the man's characteristic scent, and this helps drive the nausea aways from my stomach with completely unreasonable speed, so that something entirely different moves in its place. And it's almost ridiculous how quickly my body manages to calm down from the sickness that has been tearing at me until now, as Riley's essence snakes into every cell of my being, in which I discover traces of the bitter smoke of tobacco and the spicy, salty aroma of his skin.

When he sees that I've managed to regain my presence again, and that the ash-gray color of my face has probably become several shades healthier, he gives me one last fleeting glance and wordlessly joins MacTavis, who is waiting in front of the entrance. And on the face of my Scottish friend, the curve of his lips pressed together with worry softens, as soon as he realizes that I will no longer pass out from the phenomenally nice gift that welcomed us in this miserable shithole. And my soul is completely warmed by the way, despite the not-so-bright developments so far, an encouraging half-smile appears on his stubble-framed mouth, before he disappears with his masked friend behind the open metal door, leaving me alone a little longer in my solitude. And after I finally regained control over my body, I realize that several questions that had tormented us so enthusiastically until now found a fairly simple answer. After all, why would the reception committee have rushed to meet us if every single one of its members was dead?

And from this, the confidence finds its way back into my limbs, and my feet guide me with a sense of purpose to the mouth of the building stinking of decay, and the demanding desire for knowledge igniting in my head helps to make my steps so urgent. I only hesitate for a minute, until I get used to the dull darkness that settles in after the blinding sunlight, and when my vision finally sharpens, I enter into the next scene of our investigation. My gaze glides over each and every piece of the unfolding murder, and as I cautiously wander in, the more details I manage to notice. Even though I have Riley's scarf over my face, even through the cloth the smell of death lingers in the dark foyer, which has soaked itself into every pore of the place as if the once luxurious room had turned into a gangrenous ulcer. Even before the chaos swept through here, the consequences of which we are now forced to tiptoe around, this could certainly have been a room imbued with professionalism, which would have impressed anyone who set eyes on it. Now, however, this decorative interior is disfigured by the decomposing bodies of the slain victims on the ground, around whom, mixed with dirt, the dry, dark brown stains of the liquids from their slaughtered flesh and decay have soaked into the floor's pale cream tiles. Only a female figure in a lab coat lying in the middle of the hall, dirty with coagulated blood, reveals that whoever broke in here didn't spare the unarmed researchers either. From the white of the documents spread around the remains of the woman's head, the small, torn pieces of flesh and bone fragments stand out unnaturally, bearing witness to the brutality with which the damn scums who wrecked this establishment were able to execute the staff who, even though were dealing with some illegal business, were perfectly defenseless.

"So that's why they kept quiet." Alejandro states glumily, muttering a Spanish swear word under his breath, fiercely scanning the walls, which in some places have been painted with abstract patterns by the dark drops of blood splattered on them, standing out from the pale blue plaster intended for comfort, like some grotesque frescoes. And the man's statement cleverly points out the now rather obvious reason, which can justify why Alviar and his employees turned away from their duties and the outside world in the last two weeks. There could have been a thousand and one reasons why the institution went into voluntary exile, but the fact that such a ruthless but rather simple explanation lies behind the events is not good news at all. In fact. It's downright disastrous. Because it means that whatever was hidden here was valuable enough that the senseless massacre of dozens of people was considered a fair price.

"From the condition of the corpses, their death may coincide with radio silence." Riley crouches down to one of the bodies covered in a dark uniform, around whose mouth opened to a silent scream, flies circle merrily, as if they had arrived at a real buffet reception. From the point of view of these bugs, this could be true, and based on the discovery of the masked Hunter, they have been enjoying this celebratory lunch spread with bloodshed for two weeks at least. And this complication that has arisen is the exact reason that makes it so dangerous for a private institution to stray far from the protective proximity of the colonies, because if such bad luck befalls the unsuspecting victims, the authorities will only be informed of the trouble when even its memory begins to fade.

"What the bloody hell happened here?" MacTavish asks the most important question, and his voice is filled with the hot edge of the raging fury inside him, and this is the poison that helps his facial muscles turn into a frown full of anger, and which echoes with a wild gleam in his slowly narrowing blue eyes. It's clear that although he wanted revenge on the doc for the adventure in which he got to watch his comrades being eaten alive by the wretched mutants, I don't think he had this kind of justice in his mind. And as he moves his gaze over the same female figure on whom I had previously lingered, his jaw clenches with such force that I can almost hear his teeth grind from afar.

"These are members of the security staff." Rodolfo points to another corpse wrapped in a black uniform with the barrel of his machine gun, whose ID card resting on its chest clearly testifies to the truth of the Hunter's claim. "But there are also researchers among the dead." He adds, gesturing with his hand towards one of the figures who once probably wore sterile clothes, whose body, frozen in an unnatural pose, had been mutilated beyond recognition by the dozens of bullets, which left gaping bloody holes on the battered textile. Whoever paid a friendly visit here didn't leave the success up to chance, did a fairly thorough job, and they didn't spare the ammo, if they could surely help the victims to the afterlife with it. The whole sad situation shows the kind of cruelty that only a real, calculating, and totally sadistic bastard can do. Because there was no need to kill these unsuspecting people in the midst of such merciless carnage, yet someone most certainly found pleasure in executing these mostly defenseless poor souls. And I only have to observe the direction of the corpses in which they are lying on the ground, with their backs staring up at the ceiling, and it becomes completely clear that most of them were killed during their desperate escape towards the exit. As if someone wanted to give them the false hope of survival, only to slaughter them a few hopeful meters before the finish line. And that's fucking cruel even for me.

"Someone has turned the place upside down bloody well. They made sure that no one was left who could spit out what had happened." My Scottish friend remarks darkly, and as his gaze continues to wander from victim to victim, the poison flowing from him in restrained waves becomes more and more menacing, which makes him look like a wild animal enraged to the extreme, just waiting to finally snap the neck of the one who provoked him. I suspect that this enthusiasm is shared by all the members of our small team, who stopped in the hall in shock, because the trash who did this, even with the greatest kindness, would deserve someone to make a seat cover from their flayed skin. I'm not a saint either, and I've caused a painful death for others, but even I'm not as psychopathic as to give someone such an inhumane and dishonorable end. Because these people were butchered like animals. For a purpose, no doubt, but mostly for fun. And it occurs to me again that this circumstance is another piece of evidence that points to the fact that there is some very disturbing connection between the dear doc and the I.H.L.s, which someone sniffed out much earlier than we did.

"Now it’s certain that Alviar was involved in something serious." I divert everyone's attention from the revealed horrors back to the original goal of our mission, and although the situation is becoming more and more complicated, it doesn't change the fact that we came here because of our new mutant friend. And current developments only slightly modify the questions to which we are looking for answers. Because now it's quite certain that the mystery of the mutant-riding I.H.L. comes from here, we just have to find out what could be so maddeningly interesting about it to make someone go through such a blood bath. "Whoever did this came for the same reason we did. We need to know what lured them here." I declare firmly, and as all eyes are fixed on me, I know from the seriousness hidden in them that everyone has come to this rather dire conclusion in light of the sad discoveries that awaited us. And I don't need to add the fact to my brief warning that whatever the perpetrators have found, they have a two-week head start on their side, and that's just enough for them to concoct and carry out the clever plan they stumbled here as a part of. Because this isn't the work of chance, someone wandered here for a good reason, and we have no idea why. We only know from the cruel reminders scattered around the hall that they are not afraid to resort to drastic solutions if it’s in their interest. Fuck.

But the heavy silence that settles over the group only lasts for a few seconds, and then it's Alejandro who takes control again, and his dark eyes sweep over the room with the thoroughness of a hawk searching for prey, before settling on the counter opposite the entrance. He seems to have found what he's been looking for, as he dashes across the chaos-filled stage and rushes to the small table that must be serving as a reception desk, as if he's stumbled upon some critical detail. When he arrives, he walks around the tasteful furniture with nimble steps, and then lifts the framed drawing resting on the wall with a few light movements. And when he lays the picture frame down on the surface of the polished wood, he only waves towards us with his hand, inviting us closer with a few quick Spanish words, so that we can admire together the work he snatched from the wall. And he doesn't even have to coax anyone to cooperate, because the soldiers scattered in different corners of the room set off without question at the command of their leader. My two companions break out from the further study of the traces of the massacre to rush closer, and I, following their example, carefully dodging the disintegrating remains stretching out on the ground, head towards the assembly. And when I stand between the Scottish man and his masked friend, I finally have a chance to look at the wonder that the other Hunter has discovered. And he got his hands on a really useful little thing, because behind the glass, the floor plan of the research institute unfolds with precise care, revealing all the exciting nooks and crannies hidden in the depths of the building.

"We're separating into groups up." Alejandro begins to outline his plan and points to a room which, based on the drawing, opens from the front hall and stretches to the entire length of the ground floor. And even though every classic horror movie that I watched secretly in the archives at school when I was a young teenager begins with this kind of trick, I don't panic now, because I have the right to assume that we will be in for a completely different kind of surprises than in those unique works of art. "Rudy and I check the security office to see if there are any traces left. The security system is still active, there must be something." The Hunter explains, and based on how his brows knot together, I know he's just hoping that they'll find something useful. Because, indeed, the security system didn't go kaput despite the chaos, but the rational little voice in my head warns that this could have been a very deliberate move on the part of the bastards who broke in. After all, after a bloodshed of such a caliber, there is no single-minded fool who wants to lead the righteous hands of the authorities to themself, and I highly doubt they forgot about the cameras that watch every corner of the building with prying eyes. It’s more likely that this inconvenience was circumvented by a sly trick.

"I check Alviar's office." MacTavish announces, tapping at the sizeable room on the first floor on the map, on which the precious name of the head of the institution is outlined in fine letters, announcing that the ridiculously large office has been placed in such a central position to serve his ego, even on this wretched paper. And I have a feeling that, as a poetic twist of fate, death probably caught him in that neat hole, and his deteriorating remains are now waiting to be found there. It's quite certain that they didn't let him live, because the one who came here didn't care about the doc's knowledge and influence, but the goods. And for that, it was probably much more beneficial if no one was left alive to hinder the process.

My bright eyes run inquisitively over the side-by-side sketches that reveal the floors of the building, and although all the inscriptions inform me in Spanish about the names of the structure's parts, I don't need to be a particular genius to recognize the heart of the research institute in a huge room that occupies an entire floor, well hidden from the world. Based on its size, it's also clear that they spared no expense when creating it, which wouldn't be a particularly unusual fact, but based on the increasingly complicated series of twists and turns so far, I can rightly conclude that it was some shady research that made it necessary to pack the basement full with tiny rooms, a gigantic laboratory, and that slightly suspicious chamber that isn't marked even on this ridiculously detailed map. It's as if the doctor didn't want to risk putting even the mildest-sounding name on it, just in case someone becomes involuntarily curious as to what they might have hidden there. Bingo, here we go.

"The central lab is in the basement. We might find there what we originally came for." I select the next destination, where the reason why we crossed the zones teeming with beasts and dragged ourselves all the way here can lie. And my thirst for knowledge is hungrily straining my consciousness, especially now that I know that we probably weren't the only ones who felt so terribly interested in what the doctor so enthusiastically hid from the world and curious eyes.

"We're goin’ to go down there." Riley declares firmly, clearly aiming at the two of us with this stray sentence, and I just turn to him curiously, as I tear my gaze away from the examination of the floor plan. And although I find it interesting that now he chooses my company instead of his bestie to hang out in the institution that has become a deserted haunted house, despite his emphasis that doesn't leave any room for arguing, I don't feel like rejecting his offer. Now I'm not afraid to admit even to myself that I'm much more glad that this rather dangerous man will follow me as my scary shadow, and hopefully protect me from what will most certainly lie in wait for us in the unknown. Although I doubt that bloodthirsty beasts would ambush us, one can never be too careful, and who would be better suited to effectively neutralize unexpected and quite life-threatening threats than him? And it's also dead certain that whatever awaits us down there, the Hunter will be the most dangerous thing I'll find myself in the same airspace with, in this cursed place turned into a graveyard.

"Be on alert." Alejandro gives us his last advice for the trip, moving his eyes meaningfully over the people gathered. And after everyone lets him know with a curt nod that they got the message, he pushes himself away from the counter without further hesitation, pats Rodolfo on the shoulder, and sets sail towards the showy door resting at the far end of the room, with some of the busy little soldiers behind him, who follow their leader towards new excitements like ducklings.

"Be careful, who knows what kind of boogeyman is down there!" MacTavish steps back, despite the suffocating atmosphere, trying to infuse us with some enthusiasm before we all head off toward our ominous destinations. But despite the tiny little half-smile on his face, the doubt in his eyes doesn't escape my attention, letting me know quite clearly that he feels anything but calm about our current action. Although he wears the mask of professionalism he has acquired over the years, he cannot hide from my searching eyes the grim tension that settles in his entire being, which makes his steps more hurried than necessary, as he turns his back on us and heads towards the glass door leading to the stairway. He understands as well that the disturbed state of the institution doesn't bode well, even if we find clues. Because even if we find answers, there will be some more important detail that someone else already got their vile hands on.

"Let's go." Riley gives the jump-start, and I take one last look at our map and nod in agreement, memorizing the small details that my brain calls my attention to check later. And when I also leave the place of our impromptu meeting at the counter, I take my gun from my belt and turn to the man, who, after making sure that I'm ready for our little adventure together, searches for the metal door leading to the basement and starts out towards it with firm steps. I quickly follow him, staying closely behind his tall figure, nobly letting him have the task of clearing the way in front of our pair. Fixing my eyes on his back, I almost instinctively pick up the pace with which he marches across the lobby, once again shrouded in stillness, as if my body would automatically switch to the cold sense of purpose that fills every fiber of his body as he leads us through the scattered sea of chaos and the dead. And the sudden harmony between us seems so natural that even my overworked brain doesn't stop to question why.

When we reach the entrance leading to our destination, the man only stops for a moment, just long enough to prepare for the attack, should a surprise await us on the other side. But as he pushes the metal in with one of his large palms, despite pointing the barrel of his rifle forward at lightning speed, nothing awaits us but the silent darkness, which calls us closer. This development doesn't surprise me, but it calls for a fair amount of caution, because the voices of suspicion lurking in my head tell me that although the quietness that greets us seems uninhabited and harmless, this feeling has already skillfully misled us upon our arrival.

"Stay behind me." The Hunter orders, looking down at me behind his back, but there is something quite soft hidden in his deep voice, which makes this small sentence far from seeming like an command, but more like a request with which he wants to ensure my physical safety. And with all my strength, I suppress the ferocious warmth in my stomach before it can bubble up unreasonably at the worst moment, because now we have to focus on the task, which, based on the man's wariness, could potentially hide more risks than the lifeless emptiness waiting for us behind the threshold with open arms shows.

With a quick nod, I signal that I have taken note of his brief wish, and as the red light in his eyes flares up, he wordlessly enters the dark room, and I remain obediently close to him. Accompanied by the dull light filtering in behind us, we venture inside, creeping with steady movements, and then after a few wandering meters, we find the steep stairs that, according to the floor plan, lead to the lab. The masked Hunter raises his weapon in front of him with unwavering enthusiasm and slowly moves to the steps covered in light tiles, scanning the pitch darkness in front of us with his smoldering eyes. Even I'm surprised by the unity with which we penetrate deeper and deeper into the narrow passageway leading underground, and the further we get down the stairs, the more the atmosphere around us turns into a sinister silence, where nothing else makes any noise but the soles of our boots creaking on the tiled surface. And I suspect that none of us becomes tense because of poor vision, because each of our clever little eyes quickly adapts to it in its own way. Rather, it's the steps leading to infinity that plant the first sparks of stress in my head, because after our welcome dotted with corpses, I don't expect anything good now either. And to an outside observer, it may be comical how two armed people stealthily sneak down a fucking staircase, but this uneventfulness cannot deceive the menacing foreboding that grips my stomach.

But as endless as it seemed, the steps suddenly run out, leading us to a short corridor, at the end of which another lonely door stands in our way. And as we stalk closer, it becomes clear that we are not the first to venture down here, because the control panel resting next to the entrance is destroyed beyond recognition, testifying that someone got the urge to sniff around down here before us. And this rightfully raises the unpleasant question of who and how could have found out that it's worth researching here. If the authorities of the colony didn't know what the doc was busying himself with, then it could be only an insider who became stupidly chatty, because the attack and the burglars' path seems too purposeful and organized for it to be just random looting. Someone let the cat out of the bag at the wrong time and in the wrong place, and the juicy info reached certain ears, whose owner wasn't afraid to get their hands dirty in order to get something valuable.

"They got ahead of us here as well." I state quietly, highlighting what has now become painfully obvious to both of us. And I can only hope that they left a few small crumbs that could be of use to us, because otherwise we would have traveled here for nothing, and that would mean turning back to fucking square one. And something tells me that we can't afford to sit around waiting for Laswell to find another deep drawer from which she can conjure up another clue of dubious origin. We need the info now. And quickly.

"Let's see if they left anythin' behind." Riley suggests, and with a confident movement, opens the door leading to the lab, which squeals under the man's palm as it glides across the ground, probably fallen apart from the violent entrance of the previous enthusiastic wanderer, getting stuck in the flagstone protruding from the floor. And as the entry to the lab opens in front of us, we are welcomed by the same unflinching, nerve-wrackingly peaceful stillness that has accompanied us until now, and which has caused us nothing but unpleasant moments. And now I have ingrained it in my consciousness that this deceptively monotonous nothingness is synonymous with trouble and deeply buried, sneaky little mysteries.

The Hunter crosses the doorway of the lab first, and I follow him into the small room, which could have functioned as a kind of vestibule, based on the cabinets lined up against the wall and the control panel that rests unharmed in one of the narrow corners. From the monitors shrouded in lifeless darkness above the many buttons, only our dim figure and the Hunter's gaze burning in crimson are reflected, as if we were the ghosts that returned to haunt among the remains of murder and destruction. However, my attention is soon caught by the faint, greenish light flickering from one of the machines on the table, which is the only proof that whatever is being operated down here is still very much working, and is just waiting to be turned on by someone. And it seems that Riley also noticed this small detail, because after scanning through the area, he turns around and heads towards the multitude of gadgets.

"It still works." Riley observes, and judging by his tone, he also finds it a little interesting that the intruders were willing to harm everything else, but they left this little corner so untouched and intact, as if it had performed some very insignificant task. Or on the contrary. They didn't touch it because those machines are responsible for something very damn important. And as the Hunter settles next to the control panel, he slips his gun onto its sling and starts to work with rutin movements, presumably to breathe life into the devices.

I let the man play with his newly found toys, and I divert my scrutinizing gaze to see if I can still find something that might be of interest to us. I head towards the new door opening from the small room, and at this point, I seriously start cursing the doc, who turned this wretched building into such a complicated maze. It's as if he wanted to hide more and more excitement for those interested behind each entrance, although I suspect that there is a much more practical reason behind why he wanted to make his humble abode so bombproof. And interest immediately flares up in my brain, which leads my pretty little body to the doorstep of the battered entrance, next to which a broken fingerprint reader panel lets me know that this thick steel plate is meant to hide something very important from the outside world. This fills me with demanding sparks of curiosity, which makes me sneak closer with soft steps like a cat spying on a small mouse, and then, straining against the large door, I open a gap for myself to venture into the hidden recesses of the foreign place. As soon as I cross the threshold, I arrive at a long corridor, on the sides of which glass walls reach up high, located at an unusually regular distance from each other, and they are easily recognized by my clever little eyes, as the flickering lights of the security cameras resting on the ceiling are refracted on their surface. And this is such a strange detail that my body moves almost by itself to creep closer to the glass closest to me, and the fact that all the security cameras stand guard facing the walls of the corridor doesn't escape my attention. Because it makes it quite clear that whatever lurks on the other side is important enough to require a dozen artificial eyes to watch over.

And in spite of my sharp eyes, when I get to the very first glass wall, even I can't make out what might be hiding behind it. That's why I slowly stalk closer, and every fiber of me slowly fills with an instinctive tension full of anticipation, which reminds me again of the horror movies that I secretly watched in the privacy of my room under the cover of the night. And although I wanted to seem like a tough girl, when I was waiting for the danger hiding in the terrible silence to appear on the screen, all my nerves were on edge in exact the same way as they are now. As if my body wanted to prepare me for something terrible to occur, and the restless tension gripping my stomach infuses me with stress well in advance, so that when the worst happens, I can take flight immediately. I hear the steady rhythm of my pulse pounding in my ears as I slowly stop just a step away from the wall. However, the unsettling emptiness that lies on the other side doesn't become more visible, and smoothing my palm on the cold, flat surface, I lean closer to narrow my eyes and try to peek in, but I find nothing but a pitch-black, uninhabited room.

And for a fleeting moment, a shapeless spot seems to move in the back of the room, but before I can make out what it is, the shadow takes over the task of greeting me, and a huge body crashes against the glass wall so unexpectedly that I don't have time to comprehend it. The scream that breaks out of me is instinctive, as I stumble back in alarm, and I feel my heart begin to thump in my chest, and I'm afraid it might burst out of my ribs at any moment. The hard metal of my pistol presses painfully into my palm, but my shocked body cannot force my hand to move, so I just stare with wide eyes at the mouth full of needle-sharp teeth slowly appearing in front of me, which is desperately trying to press its jaws against the smooth surface of the glass. And when a hand grabs my shoulder out of nowhere, I only shriek pathetically, helplessly obeying the hasty force that is pulling me behind the sturdy figure that steps in front of me. Although it takes a few fleeting seconds, I understand that Riley is the one who rushed to my rescue and dragged me behind him, and a shaky sigh leaves my lips as my body slowly calms down after the goddamn surprise. And when I have recollected my composure enough to assess the way the man is standing between the I.M.L. on the other side of the glass and me, then the icy fingers closing around my stomach release their grasp, so that my belly can flutter with a completely different kind of sensation, as I take in how protectively he towers above me.

"You okay?" Comes the question from the Hunter, and his glowing red eyes look at me for a moment as he glances back, and I don't think I'm imagining the wrathful gleam in them. But when his shoulders slowly let go of the tension in them, as he lowers his gun, when he assesses that I have no major problems other than a heart attack, then I know that the aggression with which he stormed in here is much more for a mutant imprisoned in a dark hole than me. And the knowledge that I was able to instill worry in the soul of this gruff man suppresses the shame that scratches my insides, because I screamed to the world with the enthusiasm of a young schoolgirl, that I fell into an amateur mistake and allowed myself to be spooked.

"Yeah. I think." I breathe, and my voice sounds miserably weak even to my own ears, and with the power of the combined work of every single nerve fiber, I finally manage to pull myself together and drive away the last grain of terror that has settled in my body. "This asshole surprised me." I clear my throat, pointing my pistol towards the glass wall, where, upon seeing the two luscious snacks, the deformed creature, perhaps resembling a combination of a wolf and a bobcat, starts a desperate struggle with its huge paws, and strikes again and again with dull thuds on the probably unbreakable glass. At least the doc had enough sense not to be cheap on this, even if he didn't have two connecting brain cells to realize that it wasn't the best idea to throw live beasts where dozens of people spend their daily lives.

"What an I.M.L. is doin' here?" The masked man asks as he steps back from the cell to take a closer look at the captive beast. And from the fact that its grotesque body, swollen with muscles, looks more like an experiment made up of several predators than a well-definable late mammal, I can conclude that this monster can be at least a fourth-generation specimen. This swine wasn't created by the virus through a bite, but by a long line of reproduction between mutants, and it could have a very remarkable family tree if such a behemoth could have been put together by its deformed ancestors. Why did Alviar need such a dangerous bastard?

"It might have something to do with what Alviar was working with." I come to the logical conclusion, because I doubt that he wanted to admire the reproduction of mutants with this monster. He could have done that with the help of a dead individual which a Hunter had previously made safe by depriving the wretch of his life. But my colleague needed the test subject alive, and this raises a series of disturbing assumptions in my head, which immediately encourages me to dig deeper. I hurriedly move my eyes along the corridor, and when I see the double door at the end, it becomes quite obvious where our path leads next. "That's where the lab might be, maybe we'll find out what the hell is going on here." I direct the Hunter's attention to my discovery, and without any further prompting, he turns to spy on what my clever little eyes have come across.

"Then we'd better take a look at it." Riley gives his blessing to our next target, glancing down at me expectantly, and I take one last look at the mutant who presses its foaming mouth to the glass trying to overcome the obstacle in front of it in its frenzied hunger, and for a minute I almost feel sorry for the scum. But I quickly get rid of my sympathy, because I know that if this heavy-duty surface were not standing between us, then without further ado, it would taste the delicacy that has slipped here in my pretty person. However, one thing becomes quite obvious as I turn away to walk down the dim corridor with the Hunter following me closely on our journey like a watchful shadow. In the dozens of glass cages spread out next to us, impressively developed I.M.L.s found a lonely little home, who, following the hysteria of their little friend, bravely ventured out of the hidden corners of their cells to see with their own eyes what caused such an uproar. Although outwardly they all display a wide repertoire of deformities, and no two deformed beasts are the same, but every one of them strains against the glass walls in peak condition, with a tangible aggression in their milky white eyes, and it's probably their two weeks of fasting that makes them so wildly enthusiastic. Alviar collected a whole zoo of mutants for himself, which required the help of trained Hunters at best. And if Alejandro and his small team had no idea what was going on, he got help from someone else. However, tracking down and killing these bastards is by no means an easy task, but it's even more complicated to not be caught where the liquidation units of the colony conduct regular patrols. And this is just one more reason for the fact to be reinforced in my little head, which echoes, that this wouldn't have been possible without the cooperation of a much higher authority.

When we reach the entrance of the main lab, Riley steps in front of me with ease and pushes the double door with his foot with perhaps more momentum than necessary, then he enters with his assault rifle pointed forward in search of enemies. And even though I know that, being an experienced professional, he probably instinctively takes on the role, fearlessly throwing himself into the unknown to eliminate risks before they have a chance to cause harm, I can't suppress the tingle that stirs inside me. Because the delusional voice in my head tells me that in addition to the routine, maybe my charming person helped him become a protective tank. And the idea that I'm influencing the man's behavior sounds so tempting in my head that I allow this dangerous train of thought to start in my mind for a stray moment. Because maybe I want to be the reason why he scans the deserted room in front of us with such intense attention, promising a cruel death in his crimson eyes to anyone brave enough to try to strike him. And when he doesn't find a single courageous candidate in the void who would like to meet him, he just turns and walks to the wall next to the door, to after a short search, conjure blinding brightness in the room.

As the neon light flashes, I cover my eyes with my hand because the light burning my retinas blinds me for a moment, and it takes a few seconds before the white spots dancing behind my eyelids disappear, and my vision, accustomed to the darkness until now, adapt to the new conditions. And when I'm finally not in danger of going blind, I have the opportunity to admire the rampage left in the luxurious lab. The intruders didn't even try to remain unnoticed here either, and they were certainly looking for something quite important, because dozens of files are lying crumpled on the floor in front of the wide-open doors of the cabinets, and the large footprints on them reveal that whoever broke in didn't come for the documents. Shards of broken vials and flasks and the unknown liquids leaked out from them litter the spotless white surfaces on the tables that stretch throughout the lab, and drawers hang out of the furniture with hasty violence, as if someone had just enough patience to tear them open and mess up the documents resting in them. A wide array of modern equipment, the likes of which a mere mortal like me didn't have the chance to see up close within the walls of the colonies, rest somewhat unscathed in the middle of the vandalism, the only reminder that some really interesting work could have been going on in the research institution.

"They were clearly lookin' for somethin'." Riley remarks, breaking the sinister silence that has set in, as he strolls into the upheaval of the room with heavy steps, curiously separating a couple of smudged notes with his gloved hand, which are lying on one of the counters and stick to each other, soaked in the unknown spilled chemical. And the Hunter is not wrong indeed, because only those who want to find something can turn every fucking inch upside down, and the vile little voice in my head tells me that they probably succeeded.

"They probably found it." I answer gloomily, and the shards of glass strewn on the floor slide squealing under the soles of my boots, as I wander inside and carry my eyes around the lab searching for something that has at least remained a little more intact to be of use to us. And as my gaze settles on the computer resting in a hidden corner of the room, a small triumphant smile crosses my face, because it seems that fate will finally spare me and throw me a bone that might be enough to find another clue. "But maybe we have something left for us too." I grin, and with nimble steps, I set off towards my discovered prey in the crossfire of the man's intrigued gaze, with such haste as if the unfortunate electronic device were a mirage that could disappear at any moment in the cold glow of the neon lights.

And when I arrive, I start the machine in a hurry, praying to each and every entity for a few seconds and chanting mantras for it to work, and as the starting screen flashes, a relieved sigh breaks out of me, which had been stuck in my lungs until now due to stress. I hear a soft hum as the computer warms up, and as the desktop slowly loads, it occurs to me that after the labyrinth leading up to this place and the complicated security system, a device that is presumably loaded with research data is left stupidly unprotected, without even a password. Instead, I thank karma for finally deigning to smile at me, because, after the excitement of the last couple of hours, I probably would have smashed this shit to pieces if I had to engage in a long hacking attempt. And as soon as the monotonous blue background comes up, and dozens of folders cheerfully lined up next to each other appear on the screen, it becomes quite certain that we haven’t needlessly wasted our time by going on exploration in this godawful building. My hand hastily dives into my pocket, searching for my communicator, and after fishing it out, I quickly pull out the connector, and finding one of the many inputs on the computer case, I plug it into the machine. And when the small window showing the communicator's storage space pops up, I select everything I discover to copy, because it seems that I have found a real gold mine, which I will probably be able to study with a calmer nervous system within the peaceful walls of the unit's base. And while the little device is working, I immerse myself completely in decoding the sonorous Spanish names of the folders, and I only faintly perceive the sound of footsteps and then a door opening, because, in the middle of my little research, something quite interesting catches my attention, as my sharp little eyes settle on the on one of the yellow icons.

Because even with my poor language skills, I can decipher from the "I.H.L." phrase in the title that something quite juicy may be lurking there. Without delay, I click on the folder, and dozens of files appear in the pop-up window, under each of which lies a seemingly unordered series of numbers and letters. And it doesn't take much logic to figure out that random numbers might mark dates, which makes me assume that I might have found the carefully arranged notes of an examination log. But, when I scroll further down and names appear, I'm overcome with confusion, because the uncomfortable question arises in me, that what could human names be doing among the carefully recorded documentation of observations. And because of this, I start opening the files with frenzied speed, and the more windows that appear, the more the puzzlement that settles inside me deepens, because to my disappointment, each and every document contains nothing interesting except the profile pictures and personal data. However, when I see a photo of a man wearing a uniform similar to the guards here, I freeze in shock in the midst of my busy search. For a moment, I fear that my eyes are playing a cruel game with me, but when, leaning closer, I identify with full confidence the eerily familiar tattoo that begins on the line of the guy's neck emerging from his clothes, then the realization hits me with such speed that my brain doesn't get a spark for a second. Because the exact same tattoo is staring back at me, this time from the unknown guard, as what I so cleverly discovered in Laswell's report on the capture of the F.H.L.. And the wild assumption that Alviar hid in the middle of fucking nowhere in order to breed a new kind of humanoid mutant with his own hands, makes my stomach drop nervously and causes terror to enter my every cell with an elemental force. But why?

"Woods! You need to see this!" Riley's shout tears me out from the thousands of ominous explanations swirling in his head, and I wake up from my shock startled, to turn to look for the source of his urgent, deep voice. And when I discover the silhouette of the man through the door opening from the other end of the lab, then, guided by the stress hormones creeping into my limbs, I turn my back on the dubious data and the communicator which is still working diligently, to rush through the chaos of the lab, driven by the momentum of the nervousness moving into my body.

When I step into the unknown room, the cool air that resides there hits me, and I quickly realize that I must have stumbled into that chamber, which was hidden in sinister anonymity on the floor plan. Both walls of the room are covered with a shiny metal surface up to the ceiling, and its continuity is interrupted by a multitude of square doors with handles on them, which gives me the feeling that I have fallen into the middle of a morgue. And when I find Riley standing in front of one of the open doors, I already know that I wasn't wrong, because in front of him on a long metal tray is a naked body lying as lifeless as a grotesque wax figure. And as I take a few cautious steps closer and more and more details are revealed to me, I realize that the unnatural paleness that runs along the unknown human form is much more familiar than I feel comfortable admitting. I stand next to my masked companion in silent astonishment, and with ever-increasing shock, I measure the almost translucent skin, under which, even in the state of rigor mortis, the muscles that used to swell with strength stretch clearly. But it worries me much more when I discover that I'm not looking at the corpse of a deceased Hunter preserved in an amazing condition, because although it's not nearly as deformed as many of its friends, it would be impossible to mistake the sharp teeth in the mouth opened in an eternal roar, or the worldless white eyes, which are characteristic of only one species according to our current knowledge. And my brain gets short-circuited for a minute, as I realize that the humanoid mutant, that we have just come across and the like of which I have never seen before, is a more advanced lifeform than our mutant-riding friend we met in the city, even solely based on its physical characteristics. When I break away from the unsettling sight to look around the room again, I realize that judging by the dozens of doors, this newcomer is probably not the only one hiding within the institution's walls.

And as my gaze connects with the Riley's, I discover the same dark foreboding in the now chocolate-colored eyes, which also sit in my skull like a slimy parasite. Alviar tried to play god, and whatever he used to create these monstrosities, whoever turned the institution into a slaughterhouse, in order to find it, took it and is long gone. Fuck.

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