#fire engine responding from quarters

[larryshapiro]

HME Ahrens Fox engine responding from quarters

[ash5monster01]

would you like to write a cute little angsty dallas winston fic with a fem!reader 🤭

Hate to Love You

Pairing: Dallas Winston x FemReader

Warnings: language, angst, lots of yelling, minor dirty talk, lust, toxic relationship, fluff if you squint

Summary: Managing to ruin yet another date night, you’re determined to make Dallas pay, but he has a few tactics to win you over.

word count: 1.3k

Masterlist

The scowl on your face almost hurts from how long it’s been in place, paired with a glare and impatient foot taps that any normal person should fear. It’s the exact reason Darry hasn’t said a word in the last twenty minutes and a part of you should feel bad, but you’re too angry to care. You’re embarrassed and upset, multiple emotions tangling into a messy heap that not even you can begin to untangle. Instead you lean into it and pray your wrath doesn’t boil over before it isn’t directed at the one person who deserves it. 

“Thanks officer, won’t happen again,” the cocky and cool tone of the boy draws both you and Darry’s attention. Dallas Winston stumbles through the front door of the station, rubbing his previously handcuffed wrists with a smirk. 

“I highly doubt that,” the officer responds before slamming the door closed and leaving him out on the sidewalk with you two.

“You okay buddy?” Darry asks, too kind and calm for your current taste. It makes you fume that he approaches him with a gentle parenting behavior instead of tearing him apart. He had just cost him bail money that none of you could afford, especially Darry who had custody of his two kid brothers. 

“Ah never better, they did short me a pack of cancer sticks though,” he replies as he holds up his personal items baggie. Inside is the normal lighter, twenty dollars, switchblade, and comb. The officers should’ve confiscated it all and never gave any of it back. A pack short of cigarettes was the least of his worries. 

“Okay well don’t be causing anymore trouble on your way back to Buck’s. I don’t get another paycheck until next week and I can’t afford anymore bail,” he teases with a pointed finger, already backing away to his truck to avoid the cross fire when you finally blow. 

“I’m sure I can keep the fuzz off my back until then,” Dally replies and the response is followed by a laugh and the slam of a truck door. As the engine rumbles to life, the cocky boy finally turns to look at you. 

“Oh don’t give me that look doll.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” you shout, foot stomping hard into the pavement as you clench your fists at your sides. “You could’ve killed that boy and he didn’t do a thing Dallas and you know it!”

“He was making a move on my girl, what was I supposed to do?” he asks cooly, stepping close even though he should be recoiling in fear. You weren’t past laying a hand on him, even if you were still standing outside of the police station. 

“Maybe leave it alone, I had it under control. I can’t believe you, I’m so done!” you scoff, turning and starting down the sidewalk in no particular direction. Yet he’s quick on your heels, hand catching your wrist and halting you in your tracks.

“Come on baby, don’t be like that. I just get so crazy when it comes to you,” he tries to explain and even if it’s halfway earnest you are still mad. It was supposed to be a sweet date night that turned into bystanders watching as you tried to pry him off a guy that offered to buy you a soda. The gesture hadn’t even felt romantic at the time, the guy just had an extra quarter, but Dallas had deemed it a threat. 

“I don’t care Dall, I’m tired of my boyfriend flying off the handle anytime some Soc looks in my direction. We could’ve had a fun night and instead I had to call Darry and beg for him to bail you out since I don’t have a dime!” you shout, yanking your arm from his grasp and Dallas groans. This isn’t the first time you’ve given him an earful and clearly it’s not resonating like every other time. 

“God, forgive me if I don’t like some tight collared Soc going after my girl. Those assholes don’t deserve a gal like you!” he finally yells back, getting fed up with your attitude. You just shake your head and start stomping away all over again, arms wrapping around yourself in the cool night air. 

“Baby, come on. It’s not safe for you to be walking alone this time of night,” he calls after you but adrenaline pumps in your veins and there is nothing stopping you. 

“What’s the worst that’ll happen, Dallas? Some Soc picks me up and actually shows me a good time for once!” you call back and this time Dally snaps, reaching you in three quick strides before forcefully pressing you against a nearby street lamp. You glare at him and hope lighting will strike where he stands. 

“You think I don’t show you a good time? Please, tell me you didn’t enjoy all those nights we’ve spent together,” he seethes, chest pressing into your own and face an inch away. His nose nudges against yours as angry eyes hold your own. You’re still mad, but he’s still Dallas, and having him this close could break you. 

“What nights? The ones where you got too drunk or the ones where you got yourself in trouble?”  you ask sharply, chest heaving into his own and his eyes drop to catch the sinking line of cleavage into a top he originally had planned to peel off of you. 

“I was thinking more about the ones where you got tangled into my sheets and cried my name out until the early hours of the morning,” he says lowly, seductively, and you feel his knee nudging between your own. You tremble against your better judgment and he smirks. 

“So you didn’t forget them after all?” he inquires and you shake your head, shoving him away before crumpling to his charm. Dallas Winston was an asshole with a larger than life attitude and yet somehow he always found the right thing to say. 

“I’m going home Dallas, call me when you stop being so insecure,” you snarl, stepping away and the boy rolls his eyes. You don’t make it less than a foot before he’s tugged you back into his embrace and pressed a hot mouth against your own. 

It’s so unexpected you can’t help but sink into the feeling of him. He kisses you feverishly, hand curled around the back of your neck as he guides your mouth with his own. You’re lost in a daze as he presses you back against the street light and you feel his entire body warm against your own. It’s his last defense, when his charm fails him does his ability to kiss you dizzy make up for it. Your arms wrap around him as his tongue curls against your own and somehow, all the anger dissipates inside of you. 

“I’m not insecure, in fact I’m very confident I’ll still be taking you home tonight,” he says after pulling away, smirking as he sees your eyes trying to refocus and heaving breaths fall past your lips. He’s successfully redeemed himself and it won’t be the last time. Already having a taste, you know you’ve lost this battle, just this once. 

“Well if you’re so sure, the only way to get me there is if you pay Darry back every cent,” you say, finger pushing into his chest and Dally smiles wide. 

“You have my word but that just means less going out for us,” he informs you and you shrug, grabbing either side of his leather jacket as you draw him close again. 

“That’s fine because I’m perfectly content staying in your bed every night instead,” and this gets him to grab your hand and start dragging you in the direction of Buck Merrill’s where you were certain neither of you would be leaving for a very long time. Or at least until he went to pay Darry back. Either way he was going to be the end of you but he managed to escape that fate, at least just for tonight. 

There was no guaranteeing he’d win the next time he pissed you off but he probably would.

[0kurakura0]

Case Files Pt. 3

Simon Riley "Ghost" x UN lawyer Reader

TF 141 receives a visit from a UN prosecutor working at the ICC. This overworked prosecutor is trying to build a case against war criminals and must team up with them to catch these criminals. Along the way, they may even catch feelings for a brooding soldier. slow-burn, M/F, cursing

>> Pt.1 >> Pt.2

The steady hum of the plane engines filled the cabin as Task Force 141 and their new reluctant companion settled into their seats. Ghost was seated near the back, arms crossed and gaze fixed straight ahead, his mask revealing nothing of his thoughts. Soap and Gaz sat side by side a few rows ahead, already engrossed in a spirited debate over whether the in-flight rations counted as edible.

Price, ever the professional, was at the front of the cabin, reviewing the mission details on his tablet. ___, sat slightly apart from the group, her normal suit attire traded for a more practical outfit consisting of cargo pants, boots, and a plain black jacket. Despite the attire, she still looked out of place amongst the others. 

The tension from the earlier briefing hadn’t dissipated. Ghost’s warning lingered in her mind, and she’d caught Soap throwing her a few sideways glances since they boarded. She adjusted her seatbelt, shifting uncomfortably as the turbulence made the plane shudder.

“Relax,” Gaz said from across the aisle, offering a small smile. “We’ve been through worse flights.”

“Great,” she muttered, gripping the armrest tighter. “Good to know my first field mission might involve falling out of the sky.”

Soap leaned back in his seat, flashing her a grin. “Don’t worry, lass. If we crash, Ghost’ll probably land us on his feet like a bloody cat.”

Ghost didn’t even bother looking at him. “Focus on the mission, MacTavish.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Soap quipped, though his grin didn’t waver.

Price’s voice broke through the chatter. “Listen up. Once we’re on the ground, things will move quickly. Tarek’s network is vast, but we have intel on a small arms deal happening at a warehouse outside Beirut. Our job is to intercept, secure evidence, and take down anyone who tries to stop us.”

“And the suit?” Ghost asked, his tone devoid of any warmth.

Leaning forward to glare at Ghost. “The suit has a name you know.” 

Price’s gaze flicked to ___. “She’s here to ensure what we find sticks in court and to make sure we don't violate any international laws. You’ll keep her safe.”

Ghost didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. __ decided to stay quiet for the rest of the flight, knowing anything she said would only add fuel to the fire. She stared out the window instead, watching the dark clouds swirl outside.

This was going to be a long mission.

---

The plane touched down on a small airstrip outside the city, the wheels screeching against the tarmac. The team disembarked quickly, the cold night air biting at their skin. They moved with practiced efficiency, loading their gear onto waiting trucks.

The base was a small, makeshift outpost nestled in the hills overlooking Beirut. As the convoy approached, the sound of generators and the hum of radio chatter greeted them. Soldiers moved about purposefully, their silhouettes stark against the floodlights illuminating the area.

Price led the group into the main operations tent, where maps and monitors covered every available surface. An officer greeted them with a sharp salute, then handed Price a tablet with the latest intel.

“Welcome Captin,” the officer said. “We’ve got eyes on the warehouse. Minimal movement so.”

Price nodded, motioning for the team to gather around. “We’ll go over the plan in the morning. For now, get some rest. Long day ahead.”

The team dispersed, each heading to their assigned quarters. __ was shown to a small, room with a cot, a desk, and a single lamp. She dropped her bag onto the floor and sat on the edge of the cot, exhaustion already creeping in. Just as she started to kick off her boots, there was a knock at the door.

Price stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

“Yeah sure,” she replied, though her tone was wary.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You’re not a soldier. I get that. But out there, it won’t matter. Bullets don’t discriminate. If you can’t hold your own, you’re a liability to the team.”

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to ensure justice is served.”

“And you can’t do that if you’re dead,” he countered. “Starting tomorrow, Ghost will run you through the basics. Enough to keep you alive if things go south.”

Her stomach sank. “Ghost?”

Price’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a small smrik. “He’s the best we’ve got. You’ll learn fast.”

---

The morning sun cast a pale light over the base as __ made her way to the training area. She’d slept fitfully, the looming prospect of Ghost’s “training” keeping her awake. When she arrived, he was already there, his imposing figure standing by a table laden with gear.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

“It’s six in the morning,” she shot back. “I’m not exactly a morning person.”

“Good thing you’re not here for a vacation,” he retorted. “Grab a vest. We’ll start with the basics.”

She sighed, shrugging into the heavy tactical vest he handed her. It felt like wearing a brick wall. He led her to a small range, where targets were set up at varying distances.

“First lesson: handling a firearm. If you’re in a fight, the last thing you want is to fumble.” He handed her a pistol. “Show me what you know.”

She hesitated, gripping the weapon awkwardly. “I’ve only ever handled a gun once. And it was a carnival game… I lost”

“Fantastic,” he said dryly. “Let’s fix that.”

For the next hour, he drilled her on the basics: stance, aim, trigger discipline. Her first shot hit the dirt two feet in front of the target, and her second ricocheted off the side of the range, prompting Ghost to step back with a muttered, “Bloody hell.”

“Are you trying to hit the target or scare it to death?” he asked.

“It’s harder than it looks!” she snapped, reloading with all the grace of someone trying to assemble IKEA furniture without instructions.

By the end of the session, she managed to hit the target more often than not, though her technique left much to be desired.

The second half of the sessions was worse, however. Ghost led her to an open area where he demonstrated hand-to-hand combat techniques.

“What are we doing now?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

“Teaching you how not to die when someone gets too close,” he replied. “Come at me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Attack me,” he said, gesturing for her to move. “Don’t think. Just do it.”

With no small amount of reluctance, she lunged at him. It ended poorly—she found herself on the ground in less than two seconds.

“Again,” he ordered.

She groaned, getting to her feet. “Do you enjoy this?”

“You’ll thank me later,” he said not masking the amusement in his voice, motioning for her to try again.

Her next attempt was equally disastrous. She tried to throw a punch, but it lacked any real force, and Ghost easily sidestepped, causing her to stumble forward. By her third attempt, she was so frustrated she let out a battle cry that sounded more like an angry goose, which prompted Soap—watching from a distance—to burst out laughing.

By the time they finished, she was bruised, exhausted, and thoroughly annoyed. Ghost, on the other hand, looked as unbothered as ever almost happy even.

---

By the time dinner rolled around,  was utterly spent. Her muscles ached, her pride was bruised, and her stomach growled loud enough to echo in the mess hall. She grabbed a tray and slumped into a seat at one of the long tables, praying for a moment of peace.

Naturally, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite new recruit,” Soap announced, plopping down across from her with an exaggerated grin. Gaz followed, carrying his tray and shaking his head at Soap’s antics.

“I’m not a recruit,” she mumbled, poking at the unidentifiable stew on her plate. “I’m a lawyer.”

“A lawyer who can’t throw a punch to save her life,” Soap teased. “That wee war cry of yours? Nearly killed me. From laughter.”

Gaz snorted into his drink. “I’ve seen geese with more intimidating moves.”

“Ha, ha,” she said dryly, stabbing a piece of whatever kinda meat this was with her fork. “Glad I could entertain you.”

“To be fair,” Gaz added, “you did hit the target a few times by the end. Progress, eh?”

“Sure, if you call barely competent progress,” she muttered. “Ghost probably thinks I’m hopeless.”

Soap grinned. “Nah, if he thought you were hopeless, he wouldn’t bother trainin’ you. He’s just got a funny way of showin’ encouragement.”

“Funny isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, though a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Before they could continue, an officer entered the mess hall, his expression tense. The room quieted as he approached their table.

“Captain Price wants everyone in the operations tent,” he said, his tone brisk. “We’ve got activity at the warehouse. Looks like the deal’s happening sooner than expected.”

Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Soap and Gaz were on their feet in seconds, their joking demeanor replaced with sharp focus.

“Guess playtime’s over,” Soap said, getting up from his spot and heading to the operation tent outside. 

__ stares down at her food before getting up with Gaz as they both start to head to the tent. 

“Hey maybe you might get lucky and Terek is scared of geese,” Gaz says with a chuckle.

“Please shut up…”

hey guys... so... yeah been a minute hasn't it.

I'm so sorry for the super super late update. Iv been stuck in the hospital due to a heart condition I suffer from and with the holidays I was just so stressed with that and my condition that I wasn't able to write anything.

but now I'm out horray so happy lol. but I started writing again just not sure about the schedule of when stuff with come out now also since I'll be starting college back up again so ill be busy. but I'll try my best to get stuff out to yall. also, I don't want this story to be a crazy slow burn so I might try to push things along in the next one and start the juicy stuff soon. hehehehhehehe.

[prettyboypistol]

TF2 Mercs x M!Reader || Walking in On You Changing!

You're in your quarters, fresh out of the shower. As you laid your clothes out on your bed, the door opens. Fortunately, you still had a towel wrapped around your waist- but unbeknownst to you, the merc that walked in on you had been harboring feelings for you for quite some time!

Scout

Paralyzed in fear, brain lags HARD

"Oh hey! Miss Pailing said-" *internet start up noise*

Two seconds later, he puts his arm over his eyes with a shout. "Oh my god! Sorry!"

Slams the door shut, can't look you in the eye for about a week.

The door slammed open, which made your heart leap out of your chest.

"Hey! We need-" Scout shouted, but then his eyes found you. His throat made a funny noise as he tried to understand the situation.

You looked mortified as Scout kept staring.

"What... do you need?" You asked slowly, confused.

Scout's brain was simutaneously worked into overdrive and completely stopped. The way you blushed and hid your chest away from him, only to expose your back-

"Nevermind!"

Scout shut the door loudly, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. God, this did not help his crush on you!

Soldier

Doesn't really mind that you're naked, to be honest.

Not too weird about you being undressed, but doesn't leave until he says what he needed to say??? Like bro my DICK IS OUT

Thinks about the situation later and sorta feels bad about walking in on you when you were clearly embarrassed.

Makes it up to you somehow after.

"Private! I need to know the location of the industrial-grade cleaner!" Soldier announced as he swung the door open. The hinges thankfully did not slam on themselves and break your door... again.

"Uh, janitors closet?" You responded as you hid yourself slightly from Soldier's gaze. You couldn't actually tell where Soldier was looking, but you didn't want to take any chances.

"I already looked there!"

"Well- okay, why do you need the cleaner?"

"Medic and Engineer made a chemical that eats metal!"

Your eyes snapped open wode as you quickly threw on your shirt and underwear. "Oh my god- yep! On my way!"

Pyro

Looks away from you out of respect, waves, and shuts the door with a friendly demeanor

They don't really see an issue, but they know you're massively uncomfortable so they are understanding about the situation.

Shuts the door and waits for you to open it again to talk

There was a knocking at your door, but before you could speak, Pyro had opened your door and interrupted you changing. You yelped as you adjusted the towel to hide more, clearly embarassed.

"hud- mmfay." Pyro nodded as they gestured to the door. The whole situation lasted less than a minute, but it felt like hours for you. As much as you and Pyro were close, you weren't 'oh yeah, i'm totally fine being exposed in front of you' close! You could only hope that the eyes that looked through the gas mask were either averted or closed.

"Thanks Pyro, I'll be out in just a minute."

Pyro put a hand over their goggles as a courtesy as they shut the door, unbeknownst to you though, their skin felt like fire. Your embarassment, your exposed skin- it made a feeling of bubbling lava churn in their gut.

Once you're fully dressed and open the door to Pyro, they are apologetic, but then tell you what they needed to say.

Demoman

Really casual about it

like, really casual about it

shuts the door and leaves, lets you get changed before he continues to talk to you

teases you through the door fr. total funny asshole friend energy

"Aye lad I gotta ask- oop." Demoman stumbled as he realized the situation he walked in on. When you squeaked and turned away in embarassment, a smile crept onto his face. "Aww, what's wrong? Embarassed about something? A bit too shortcomin' in some bits?"

"I'm busy! Just give me a minute!" You defended.

"Alright, alright!" Demoman teased as he showed his hands in mock-surrender. "I guess that answers my question?"

"Out!"

Demoman shut the door, but was not done yet.

"It cannae be that small, is it?"

"SHUT UP!" You shouted, your voice muffled through the door, only to be met with laughter.

Heavy

A bit shy about it since he has feelings for you, but still straightforward.

Respectful and kind, super embarassed about it. He shuts the door and waits for you to get dressed.

Heavy is so so awkward internally and prays to god that you don't notice that he can't think straight, let alone look you in the eyes.

"Supervisor, Heavy needs to ask you..." Heavy stopped speaking, his words trailed off as he realized that he caught you in a more intimate state. The mutual flushing of both you and Mikhail's cheeks only made the tension thicker as Heavy slowly shut the door. "Heavy will wait outside."

As he waited, the thoughts started running rampant. He didn't know the body type you had, since the baggy shirt and slacks hid your body well. Heavy loved the curves of your body, the gentle dips of your hips and how you perfectly fit into your skin. To Heavy, there was no more attractive man in the world.

Once you opened the door, Heavy cleared his throat and apologized.

"So uh- what did you need?"

"It is nothing."

Engineer

Oh god this man short circuits.

I headcanon that when Engie is startled, his mechanical hand jolts, causing flexing/spasms

Gentlemanly about it, but also wants to treat you like a man. He'd probably want to talk to you still, but he refused to look you in the eyes or look at you at all.

Engie knocked on your door, but the radio you had on drowned out the noise. It was obvious that you were in there, so he decided to open the door.

"Hey there, we've got a bit of a situation, Pyro up an- and uh..."

His face heated up, his body locked up, his hand twitched as the fingers flexed oddly.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't hear you knocking-"

"No worries!" Dell nodded as he turned his head away and covered his eyes with his hand. "It's just that Pyro up and started another fire in the rec room, the sprinklers ain't workin' and the extinguisher was used up last night."

"FUCK."

Medic

This man has seen you naked so many times that it doesn't really bother him to be honest. The operations on you when you were accidentally hit by a wayward rocket made him both immune to and severely weak to your body.

He thinks you are gorgeous, but his desire to seem like a trustable medic overpowered his outright affection for you.

Medic opened the door casually as he looked over his clipboard as he ignored your squeak of indignance.

"So I was looking through your medical file and I noticed that you are an organ donor, yes?"

You quickly tried to cover yourself, red faced and flustered at the brazen act of indifference. Despite this, your shyness was what made Medic find you so handsome.

"I am... why?"

"Could I have a few? Specifically your pancreas and lungs."

"Er- no?"

Medic shrugged. "What about if you flatline and are pronounced dead?"

"Medic, do not take my lungs."

"Fine, fine." He said, slightly disappointed as he left.

Sniper

Not too awkward, but also not very comfortable seeing you so exposed.

shuts the door with a quick apology, but doesn't avoid you. If you ask him what he needed afterwards, he'll apologize again for walking in on you, saying it was nothing important.

It definitely keeps him awake at night and it's the first thing he sees when you talk to him for the next few days.

The quiet knocking was barely enough to hear. It wasn't loud enough to hear over your muttering to yourself as you went over your schedule in your head. "Let's see... Filed the reports, washed the blood off the road, I haven't questioned those government employees yet- oh shit! Sniper! What the hell are you-?"

"Sorry! Sorry." Sniper mumbled as he shut the door. You had no idea how long he was there, let alone what he saw! It comforted you slightly that Sniper was a rather quiet one, since you knew nobody would be talking about you like this. You chuckled to yourself, since Sniper was rather brazen about his own nudity.

On the other hand, Sniper only caught a glance, but he was unable to make his hands work to shut the door again. God, he felt like a creep.

Spy

Casual as well, a lot like Medic in a way.

If you protest he is huffy and rolls his eyes. Seriously, you've seen him blown to bits as Medic rushed him to the lab. A little nudity never killed anyone.

Spy is a little flirty and teasing, if not a little demeaning as well. He still is more interested in getting his problem solved however.

"Jesus Christ! I'm busy!" You protest as Spy strolled into your room as if he owned the place. He inspected the decor with a glare of importance.

"You're clearly not." Spy shot back. "Now, I need the documents on my mission, thank you."

"Well, I clearly don't have them! Get out!"

Spy sighed. "Really now, being naked shouldn't be an issue. I'm a spy, I've seen more people more exposed than you. You're a worker for Mann Co. I know that you can kill a man easier than you make coffee."

"This- this is different!"

"How so? Is it because you don't have a weapon?" Spy teased as he unlocked the safe in your room that held the documents he needed. "Is it because you're the one exposed?"

"Hurry up and get out." You huffed.

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 2: Mount Everest

series masterlist

The drive to Charlie’s place is painfully silent, the radio is turned down low and the only thing that can be heard is the sound of the pavement beneath the tires and the engine rumbling.

The tension is still thick in the air. Mabel’s mind is racing, thinking of a million different things she wants to say, and probably a million things that she shouldn’t say. She just watches as the familiar streets pass by, feeling like there’s a storm brewing inside of her mind until finally, the car comes to a stop in front of Charlie’s house.

You shift the car into park, staring out the windshield with an unreadable expression. White knuckle grip on the steering wheel yet again, taking a deep breath.

The neighborhood seems lifeless, even with the houses worth millions lined down the street, it puts a bitter taste in your mouth. You hate this part of town, how much money these kinds of people have, how people like you have to get their hands dirty to even get a quarter of what these people are handed.

Mabel can feel your irritation. It’s like a hot, stifling heat that’s radiating off of you in waves. Mabel can’t blame you, these people are completely unlike you, with their big houses, flashy cars, and never having to worry about whether they’ll survive the month.

Mabel lets a small sigh leave her mouth, and she finally turns her head to look over at you. Her voice is soft when she finally breaks the silence.

“Are we just going to keep ignore all of this?”

“You’ve got more important things to worry about” you say without looking at her, one hand releasing the wheel to run through your hair, exhaling a slow breath in an attempt to ease the swirl of emotions in your chest.

Mabel’s eyes don’t leave you as her lips form a thin, tense line when you say that. An almost angry fire rises up in her chest that makes her feel like she’s slowly burning from the inside out. Her hands curl into tight fists and she turns more towards you in her seat, her gaze hardening as she responds.

“That’s a shitty answer and you know it”.

“Yeah well, you live and you die”, you don’t have to look to see the familiar figure come out of the house just a bit up the way, you know he saw your car pull up. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know he’s coming to check on her, coax her from your car, and things will go right back to radio silence as they had been for months.

“Your boy is coming”.

Mabel’s chest tightens when you say that and her body straightens out. Her eyes automatically dart towards the house, watching as Charlie steps off the porch. The thought of having to deal with him right now on top of your bullshit makes her feel a pang of irritation and frustration. Mabel turns to give you one last glance.

"I hate you right now, I need you to know that".

That makes a small smile tug at your lips, your eyes cutting over to find hers.

“I think I miss hearing you say that” you mutter quietly, just as Charlie reaches the car and knocks on the glass of the passenger window.

Mabel’s chest clenches when she hears you say that and her eyes go momentarily soft when they find yours. Her gaze quickly hardens and her eyes narrow as her sort of boyfriend knocks on the window again. Mabel pushes the door open and slips out, offering him a smile to let him know she’s okay.

“Hey, how’d it go? What did Weeks say?” Charlie asks Mabel just as you roll down the front windows, pulling yourself up to sit on the frame of the drivers side one. Arms resting crossed on the roof of your car, watching the two of them over the top of it.

Mabel sighs and runs a hand through her tousled hair, her mouth forming a small frown “he gave us a few days, roughly, which is better than nothing”.

Charlie nods and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her into him. Mabel lets herself melt into his touch, but she’s still somewhat tense from the conversation in the car. She feels your eyes burning a hole into them as she’s engulfed in his embrace.

“Right. I’m gonna go now, goodluck… or whatever” you mutter as you make a sour face, slipping back into the vehicle and dropping into the drivers seat.

Mabel looks up as you speak, her eyes connecting with yours, feeling a pang of something run through her body as she hears the bitterness in your voice. It hurts. Mabel wants to say something, but she can’t, so she just gives you a small, almost grateful smile as she watches you sink back into your car.

“You should consider yourself lucky he heard you out, the guy is a psycho” Charlie calls to you as you start up the engine. You pause, turning your just enough to meet his gaze through the rolled down passenger window.

“What was that?” you say with a half smile, eyes narrowed with that familiar gleam in your eyes.

Mabel rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitch, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. Because of course that has to be his choice of words.

“I said you should consider yourself lucky” Charlie says again, not quite getting why you’re asking him to repeat himself.

You smile wide at that, shifting the car into drive, “so you have heard of me, good to know”.

And with that you slam the gas, speeding off down the road, leaving the two of them to deal with the problem at hand.

Mabel stares after the receding car with wide eyes, her heart feeling like it’s in her throat as the vehicle disappears into the distance.

Charlie makes a scoff and shakes his head, turning to look at her “you have a weird taste in friends”.

Charlie has no idea the history the two of you share, he probably just thinks you’re some brash lowlife who can’t control your temper.

Better that than the alternative, which is the truth.

Mabel just rolls her eyes at his words, slipping out from under his arm, crossing her own over her chest in a defensive stance. Her voice is harsh when she responds.

“It’s complicated, leave it alone”.

Charlie makes a frustrated noise and starts leading her back towards the house. “You say that a lot” he complains.

Mabel gives Charlie a withering look, walking right beside him as he leads the way. Her eyes narrow as she responds to his observation, muttering it more so to herself.

“It’s a fucking wonder why”.

She doesn’t expect him to understand, and to be frank, Mabel isn’t sure she wants him to.

____________________________________________

Mabel feels like her head is going to explode.

Weeks is riding her ass and she’s not making any progress because the guys have done little to none.

Then she heard about Costa, how Weeks and his men showed up at his house threatening him and Anne Marie, who’d gone into labor from all the stress.

It’s not looking good, to say the least, and Weeks patience is running thin. That much is for sure, considering he shot Costa in the arm to send a message, according to Charlie.

She’s desperate and at her wit’s end, just the tension and stress of the whole situation is eating away at her. Mabel sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration.

So, Mabel does the only thing she knows to do even if it’s a last resort: she goes to you.

Mabel drives down the familiar route to reach your house, her head and thoughts racing with the situation that she’s in. She parks her car in front of your house, the sight of which makes Mabel’s chest tense up more and her fingers tighten around the wheel. She doesn’t know why she thinks that coming to you again is a good idea, but she does it anyway.

Mabel cuts the engine and pauses for a moment as the thoughts and memories rush through her mind. It’s only been three days but it feels like an eternity. Her fingers loosen their grip on the wheel, and she can feel her heart rate slowly rise again. She knows that you’ll probably chew her out, say ‘no’. Especially with the way things were left the last time you saw each other.

But Mabel is in desperate need of an immediate solution for this situation, she doesn't have the luxury of time for other ideas to form. She knows that you're the only one she can turn to, the only one who will understand and maybe know what to do. She finally shoves all of the thoughts of doubt and hesitation out of her head and reaches for the car door to push it open.

Mabel slips out of the driver's seat and makes her way up to the front door of the house, her footsteps heavy on the walkway. She raises a hand to knock and hesitates for a moment, her heart racing. She wonders if you’ll even open the door for her, but she shoves that thought aside and raps on the door anyway.

She waits for a moment, holding her breath as she listens for the sound of footsteps coming up to the door. There’s a slight flutter of nervous anticipation in her chest, making her fidget in place maybe she should’ve told Charlie she was coming here. Will he be mad? No, he doesn’t know your history so he has no reason to, probably best to keep it that way.

The sound of the door clicking open snaps Mabel out of her thoughts. She looks up to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes connecting with hers. Mabel’s breath gets stuck in her throat as she takes in the sight of you, your face illuminated by light of the setting sun just off in the distance.

“Hey sunshine, didn’t expect to see you here again” you say softly, much more gentle than the last time you two spoke, your eyes scanning her face with a hint of concern. You know. Of course you know, why else would Mabel be here three days after seeing you last?

The use of the old pet name and the soft tone of your voice instantly washes over Mabel. Her chest aches at the sound of it. She missed it, but she can’t. Mabel won’t let herself, not after everything. Her fingers start to fidget at her sides again, searching for something to do.

“Yeah, well… I need your help”.

Your gaze wanders off to the side, watching the sun dipping below the horizon, a beautiful combination of colors painted the sky in a stunning display. The warm hues of orange, yellow, and red blended together in a beautiful palette, casting an almost ethereal glow across the landscape.

You nudge the door open more as if to invite her inside. But when Mabel doesn’t move, you resettle yourself against the doorframe, leaning against it.

“Weeks?”

Mabel swallows, hard. The look in your eyes is all too knowing, and it causes her heart to skip just a few beats. She’s never been able to hide anything from you, not really. Mabel gives a small nod and her fingers start fidgeting even more as her nervousness rises.

“He shot Costa, at his house just earlier-“

You instantly go into a panic, darting inside to quickly gather your things, which she expected. You’d gotten close to the guys when you two were together, Mabel only knows them through Skeemo. But that doesn’t mean you don’t care, she knows you well enough to know you do.

“That fucking liar! Why didn’t you start with that!? Is Anne Marie okay? Is his boy alright, is he-“

Mabel panics a bit when your reaction goes further than she expected it to go. It only makes the tension bubbling in her chest even more intense. She steps inside of the house and raises a hand, trying to stop you in your tracks.

“No, no, stop-“

You have your keys dangling from your mouth, hooked between your teeth as you hastily pull your boots on. “Is he alive or not, Mabel?!” you say as you reach up and pull the key ring free from your mouth, chest heaving with panic.

Mabel feels her chest tighten further at your words. She steps forward, reaching out and pressing her hands to your chest in an attempt to keep you from taking another step further.

“He’s alive, okay? He’s fine, the guys were all there when it happened, but that’s not the problem right now”.

Your eyes flicker between hers, confusion etched in your brow as you shake your head slightly “then what is? I don’t-“

Mabel swallows hard, the words in her throat refusing to come out. She knows you’re already pissed at her for being in this situation in the first place, and yet here she was, turning to you for help again. The thought and knowledge of this only adds to the mixture of anxiety and anticipation bubbling in her chest from being so close to you again.

Mabel takes in a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking, staring up at you with a mixture of nerves and guilt. Her next words are quiet, almost mumbled.

“Weeks is pissed because the guys haven’t made any progress on the product, he shot Costa because he’s getting impatient. We’ve got two days to get it back”.

You are eerily silent, your eyes glazed over slightly as you stare off at nothing specific. Mabel knows that look, she made herself learn how to spot it a long time ago, because that exact look is the telltale sign you’re about to do something completely reckless and idiotic.

And when you start moving again, stepping around her to get to the door, your mind has been made.

Mabel’s heart stops, her blood going cold at your silence. That look, she’s seen it many times before, and she knows where it leads. Mabel grabs your wrist and spins you back around to face her, her eyes burning into yours as she says your name.

“Stop Lucky, don’t”.

You turn, that fiery burn in your eyes, it use to send a shiver down her spine. The adrenaline junkie in her use to get high off it, that sliver in her is still drawn to that look, but that was then and this is now. Mabel feels something in her stirring, but she doesn’t want to feel it, especially after everything that’s happened.

“Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t”.

“You came to me for help, didn’t you?” you say slowly, the muscle in your jaw flexing as your eyes flicker between her dark brown ones.

“Tell me what the fuck you expected”.

Mabel bristles at your biting words. Her grip tightens on your wrist as every muscle in her body tenses. She clenches her jaw, and her eyes take on a steely gaze, meeting yours equally.

“I sure as hell don’t need you to jump into something dangerous, like you always fucking do!”

“Let me handle it, it’s why you came to me. Hmm?” You say pointedly, tugging your wrist free from her grasp, but then your eyes soften just the slightest as you take in how she’s trying with everything she’s got to not show how worried she is.

“Let me handle it” you repeat softly.

Mabel’s breath hitches in her throat as your words sink in. She wants more than anything to protest, to deny your offer. But she knows that your mind is made up, and that you’ll end up doing it whether she wants you to or not. She hates you for being right, she hates you for knowing her so damn well.

Mabel swallows the protest sitting on the tip of her tongue and nods.

Mabel’s eyes stay on you as a mixture of emotions flutter through her head. One of the most prominent being irritation, both towards you and herself. She wants nothing more than to punch you in the face for your smartassery, but she also wants nothing more than to ask you to take her with you. If anything, so that you’ll possibly be less reckless with her present. Mabel swallows the mix of urges and words bubbling in her chest.

Instead, she rolls her eyes, hoping in some universe, that gets her point across. The hint of a smile tugs at her lips, she can’t help it.

"At least reconsider before you get yourself killed," Mabel deadpans.

“Feel free to stick around if you want, unless you have other places you wanna be” you say with a more knowing look, purposefully poking at old wounds and acting as if that were even an option for her.

Mabel’s expression falters, the guilt and hurt bubbling in her chest again as your words make it all come rushing back up to the surface. A pang echoes in her stomach when you mention other places, making her chest tighten.

She then steels herself, head tilting daringly as she gives your chest a hard shove, making you stumble back into the screen door. “I’ll be at my boyfriend’s if you decide to grow the fuck up, but we both know that’s unlikely”.

You grunt as you topple back, steadying yourself by catching the doorframe. You grin ear to ear and push through the door after her, getting the smallest prickle of deja vú within the depths of your mind.

“Yeah I’m sure he’d love it if I pulled up to his place to pick you up this time instead of drop you off” you call after her, taking the porch steps down two at a time.

Mabel clenches her jaw, the anger and hurt bubbling over as she whirls around to face you. She stomps up to you, standing in front of the hood of her car and pointing a finger in your face.

"You are an insensitive ass, you know that?"

You shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans, a wide charming smile plastered across your face as you gaze down at her.

“Anything else that’s obvious you’d like to point out?” You hum, narrowing your eyes as you press your lips into a thin mocking line.

Mabel bristles, her fists shaking at her side. She is not in the mood to deal with your bullshit, not that mischievous glint in your eyes, the infuriatingly charming smirk, the mocking tone in your words.

Without thinking, she shoves you hard again and steps closer, her eyes burning with anger and something you can’t quite read. “Actually, yes. You’re pissing me off you selfish mother-“

“Good. Now go home to your rich bitch boyfriend, he’s the one on the clock, not me anymore” you say strongly, gesturing towards her car as your entire exterior shifts into something a bit more pressuring.

Mabel nearly sputters as you speak, the mention of Charlie in that way making her blood boil even more. She is about to open her mouth to give a biting response, but the harshness in your voice causes her to snap it shut. Her fists are clenched at her sides, her eyes burning as she glares up at you, standing her ground and standing a little too close for comfort.

Mabel wants desperately to yell at you, to shove you again, to strangle you. She wants to scream in your face until her lungs are empty and her voice is hoarse.

That fire is burning in her chest, but the way you’re looking at her, the pressure in your voice and the tone of your words only stokes the heat higher and tighter in her chest. So instead, she turns and heads to her car without another word.

“Wow look at that, you do know how to fucking listen” you call after her, flashing her a double thumbs up, but it’s not genuine. Not with that stupid fucking look on your face.

Mabel grips the handle of the car door, but your mocking voice stops her in her tracks. All the anger that’s bubbling and churning in her chest suddenly rushes up to the surface. Her gaze snaps away from the door, her head whipping back towards yours and her eyes practically burning into yours.

“Go fuck yourself”, and with a middle finger in your direction, she slips into her car.

Mabel starts up her car, the sound of the engine rumbling to life breaking some of the tension. She grips the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white. A large portion of her wants to run you over, another just wants to stay sitting here, and an even smaller part of her wants you to chase after her.

She puts the car in drive, forcing that last thought from her mind as she peels off the gravel and heads home, determined to keep you out of her mind for the rest of the night.

It’s only until about half way back to town when realization dawns on her, having had enough time to sit and replay the entire interaction over in her head. How she’d shown up for your help, told you want happened, how angry and protective you got. How she tried to talk you out of it and then suddenly you two were fighting-

Oh my god, that sneaky little shit played her.

Mabel grits her teeth and stomps on the brake, whipping the car in a full three sixty at the intersection. As she speeds back down the road towards your house, she feels twice as foolish than she did before.

She can’t believe that she fell for it so easily. She should’ve known. She should’ve been able to see through your plan. But of course, she hadn’t. Mabel blames it on being out of practice with your manipulation.

“You stupid motherfucker” Mabel mutters to herself, “if you’re gonna do what I think you’re about to do, I’ll kill you myself”.

____________________________________________

The sleek muscle car tears down the backroad, engine roaring as it cuts through the darkness of night.

The trees that flank the sides of the road blur together into masses of shadows, with only the beams from the car's head lights cutting through the void and illuminating the winding path.

The night sky above is a blanket of inky black, the only light seen being the small glimmer of stars visible above the treeline.

Your fingers beat a mindless rhythm against the steering wheel, mind racing with a storm of thoughts. The quiet roar of the engine vibrates through the car, filling the air with a low hum.

With the back road devoid of life, the night seems almost eerily silent as you cut down the lonely road. The atmosphere inside the car feels heavy, with a sense of tension hanging over you, knowing what you’re about to do won’t be forgiving.

The thought of Mabel and the history you’ve shared swirls in your mind, and your stomach churns thinking about everything at stake. You try to push it all down, to keep your cool, but the emotions are overwhelming.

The weight of the situation hits you hard, how everything has changed, and how you feel about all of it. Despite your efforts to stay focused, your chest tightens and a lump forms in your throat, making it hard to keep yourself balanced.

You fight it all down regardless, taking a deep breath and forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand. You grip the steering wheel tighter, mashing down on the gas pedal and pushing the engine harder, determined to see this through.

No matter what’s happened in the past, and what’s coming next, you won’t let anything threaten Mabel. Especially not him. Your resolve keeps you focused, knowing you’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.

The familiar sight of the warehouse comes into view, a dark silhouette against the dark of the night. It’s one of many, a smaller one out of all the locations you know of, but it’ll still get the point across. You pull the car to a stop, cutting the engine and climb out, walking to the trunk and lifting a gas container out.

The weight of the container feels heavy in your hands as you close the truck with a little more force than necessary and start walking towards the warehouse.

Muttering to yourself about how it’s time for a “little humbling”, you get to work.

Within ten minutes, the outer parameter of the warehouse is practically doused in gasoline, the smell of the liquid potent in the air. Your mind reels, puzzled by the absence of guards. You'd expect them to have doubled security after the destruction you caused just a year ago. You pause for a moment, your gaze wandering to the main door to the building.

Curiosity outweighs caution, so you adjust your grip on the handle of the container and stride forward.

Entering through the unlocked door, you’re met with an empty warehouse, the vast space devoid of life. Confusion washes over you as you scan the room, the absence of anyone there leaving you dumbfounded.

The warehouse is vast and mostly empty, but its purpose is immediately clear. Rows of shelving units line the walls, holding various analgesics and narcotics, sorted neatly into separate sections and packed away in clear plastic baggies. The entire area reeks of the chemicals, the scent almost dizzying.

You glance up at the rafters and spot the security cameras, recording every move. A small smile creeps across your face as you wave at them, before giving them a defiant middle finger. Your expression turns stoic as you then return to the task at hand: soaking everything in gasoline.

Once you’re satisfied, you take a gander around and nod, a little too proud of your work.

With a mocking salute to the cameras, you toss the gas canister to the side, declaring out loud “this is for Tony and Anne Marie Costa, and everyone else you bully into submission you sadistic piece of shit”.

Taking out a lighter from your pocket as you make your way back to the door- you flick it, igniting a small flame, then you toss it through the back door into the warehouse. The fire immediately catches, and you quickly close the door behind you.

The fire slowly begins to spread inside, the warehouse and all its contents sealed with an unavoidable fate. You take a few steps back, watching the spectacle. The heat from the flames can be felt as they grow, the crackle of the fire mixing with the smell of burning chemicals, filling the night air.

You dust your hands off mockingly with a satisfied smirk, turning to round the burning building, and head back towards your car. You know what the consequences will be, but you don't care.

Let them come, they won't stop you.

A swell of confidence fills your chest, it’s a high knowing you’ve executed overdue justice, it makes you feel on top of the world.

The headlights of your car reflect the glow of the flames dancing behind you. Only as you approach the vehicle, you pause mid-step, noticing a second car, parked discreetly behind yours. Clearly it had been hidden and out of sight until you got closer. Your mind races as you take another few steps closer, realizing someone was here.

Your heart drops as you realize whose red car it is.

Mabel. And she’s not in it.

In that horrible moment, a feeling of dread grips you. Your gaze returns to the burning warehouse, the fire still blazing. That’s when it fully registers: Mabel must be inside.

You bolt towards the front of the building, panic seizing you as you shout her name over and over. The night air is hot and thick with smoke and the dance of the flames.

You cough, eyes watering from the smoke and heat. With a quick jab, you test the door handle– it's warm but not hot enough to burn. Gritting your teeth, you slowly crack open the door, and when the flames don’t rush out immediately, you plunge inwards.

Inside, the heat is intense, the building blaze consuming all in its path. The air is thick and difficult to breathe, your lungs protesting at every gasp. But you push on, searching desperately for any sign of Mabel.

Every step into the warehouse is a struggle. The heat and smoke are overwhelming, your chest tight and lungs protesting for fresh air. You shout for Mabel, the sound of your voice is hoarse, fighting against the flames that grow larger by the minute.

“MABEL!? MABEL!?”

As the fire roars around you, threatening to overcome you. You look up, and the rafters creak and groan, the wood and ceiling around you beginning to give way under the immense heat. The flames continue to spread, and your panic rises – you need to find Mabel, and fast.

You push forward, fighting against the burning waves, frantically searching the warehouse for any sign of her. The fire is closing in, the flames licking at the walls and ceiling. With every second that passes, the danger increases, and time is running out.

In that moment, you hear her voice, faint but distinct. You feel a surge of adrenaline, and with what little energy you have left, you take off towards the sound, ignoring the heat and smoke.

“Mabel!?”

Your lungs burn and your vision swims as you push forward, desperate to reach her as the sound of her voice guides you through the inferno. You make it through the blaze and finally spot her, stumbling as she tries to make her way to you, shirt collar pulled up over her mouth.

You quickly reach her, wrapping one of her arms around your shoulders to help steady her. "I'm here," you assure her, voice hoarse, but determined. "Lean on me. Let's get out of here."

Supporting her, you begin to make your way back towards the exit, the fire still consuming everything in its path. The heat is intense, the smoke thick and disorienting. You can hear the building creak and groan, the beams slowly starting to give under the strain.

You stumble forward, practically carrying Mabel now as her legs give out beneath her. You both collapse to the ground once you're at a safe distance from the fire, the warehouse now completely consumed by the flames, the structure starting to collapse. Both of you are gasping for breath, eyes bloodshot and clothes singed.

You cough and wheeze, inhaling the fresh air as you lie next to Mabel, watching the warehouse completely collapse in on itself. The heat from the fire still radiates over you, but now you're safely removed from the immediate threat, your lungs might live to see another day.

You both sit in silence for a moment, slowly regaining your breath and strength. You watch the warehouse as the fire continues to consume it with an almost fascinated intensity. The night air is still thick with smoke and tension, but there's a strange sense of relief as you sit side by side, safe but shaken.

It doesn’t last long.

Mabel turns to you, her face a mixture of anger and exhaustion. "Are you insane?!” she demands as she shoves you, anger and frustration clearly visible in her eyes, voice unsteady. “What were you thinking, almost getting yourself killed like that? Did you not learn your fucking lesson the first time!?”

You respond defiantly, a hint of irritation in your raspy voice. "And why the hell did you decide it was a good idea to charge into a burning building?!”

She glares at you, her voice harsh and reprimanding. "I knew what you were up to, and I followed you. I got here right before the fire started, and of course, your impulsive ass couldn't wait."

You soften instantly, the anger giving way to worry. Impulsively, you gently take her face into your hands, studying her features closely. Your touch is tender and almost loving as you check her over, your voice filled with concern. "Are you okay? Does anything hurt?" Your eyes scan her face, searching for any sign of injury or harm.

Mabel's own anger melts away at the sight of your vulnerability, replaced with a mixture of exhaustion and worry. "I'm fine," she mutters, her voice a little shaky. "Just a lung full of burnt drugs and the fact I’ll never get the smell of smoke out of my jacket, nothing major." She looks at your face, studying you in return.

Your thumb delicately trace along her cheek, tilting her chin to check for any cuts or burns. "That's hardly minor, Mabel," you respond quietly, your own voice a mixture of relief and fondness. "You shouldn't have followed me in there. It was stupid and dangerous."

She swats your hand away, a stubborn look in her eyes. "Oh, yeah, like setting the fucking building on fire in the first place was some kind of brilliant idea!" Mabel retorts, her voice rising. "That's like saying it's worse for me to try to stop you, than for you to actually light the damn thing ablaze!"

You exhale, the fight gone from your voice. "I had to do something," you mutter, slowly pushing yourself to your feet. "The way things were going, it was only a matter of time before someone died." You offer your hand down to her, a sort of surrender and ceasefire in your gesture.

Mabel hesitates for a moment before taking your hand. Once upright, she whispers to you, her voice low and full of worry. "You know he's not going to be happy about this, right? He won’t be forgiving this time".

You give Mabel one final once over, satisfied that she's physically unharmed. Once assured, you respond with a shrug, a hint of resignation in your tone. "He'll come around eventually, and I’ll take it when it comes" you assure her. "But for now, it should take the heat off of you guys. Or at least buy you some more time."

Mabel studies you intently, her eyes flickering with a mix of worry and something else. "You could've gotten yourself killed," she mutters, her voice a mix of scolding and concern. "You can’t keep doing this, one day you won’t be lucky”.

You laugh weakly, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "I’ll always be lucky," you insist, a touch of a smirk on your face. Mabel rolls her eyes, familiar with your penchant for overconfidence.

Your gaze doesn’t leave her as you smile at her. In the light of the flames, her brown eyes seemed to come alive, almost glowing like amber. The fire flickered across her features, making her look wild and untamed. Looking at her in that moment, you felt a surge of adrenaline, like you were invincible.

Mabel meets your gaze, an unspoken communication passing between you both. She speaks up, breaking the silence. "Does this make us even?" The question is pointed and a bit teasing.

A laugh escapes you, the sound a mixture of amusement and truth. You shake your head slightly, the fondness you feel for her teetering on a dangerous edge. "Not even close, sunshine" you reply, your voice laced with both playfulness and honesty.

"All our bullshit aside, I owe you everything."

previous, next

[secretofpandora]

🔥 file #wth-089: Scorch

📋 basic information

callsign: scorch status: active affiliation: pandora division: wrath faceclaim: simu liu date of birth: [redacted] age: 30 place of origin: san francisco, california sex / gender: male (he/him) mutation type: pyrokinesis recruitment date: 2 years ago sexual orientation: [redacted] alignment profile: chaotic good [redacted]

💪 physical information

height: 6'0" (183 cm) build: athletic, resilient, optimized for endurance and high-output physical engagement. well-conditioned frame emphasizing core stability, shoulder strength, and tactical endurance, with physical definition sharpened by field service. complexion: tan with warm undertones, showing moderate environmental wear, faint sun exposure lines, and minor burn scarring across arms and upper torso. hair: black, short, practical for field deployment; occasionally shows slight weathering at the edges from field conditions. facial hair: maintains short, practical stubble; occasionally shaves clean for formal operations. body hair: minimal, maintained for operational hygiene. distinguishing features: fine scarring along wrists and hands indicative of early post-mutation ignition accidents. posture exudes readiness tempered by field-seasoned discipline. tattoos: none.

🧐 psychological profile

psych eval tags: compassionate, resilient reprimands: [redacted] — see file: behavioral note w-089 (“insecure & naive conduct”)

scorch is an atypical asset in wrath: emotionally transparent, idealistic, and highly reactive under stress. while mutation enhanced his capacity for devastation, his primary instinct remains preservation—of others, not himself.

subject entered training as a baseline human and completed two years of conditioning prior to mutation. initial simulations revealed a tendency toward impulsive overcommitment, often in defense of others or due to perceived failure.

post-mutation pyrokinesis is deeply tied to emotional state. fluctuations in confidence, fear, or guilt directly influence fire intensity and control. despite this instability, subject has shown significant loyalty and cohesion within his squad.

scorch exhibits subconscious insecurity regarding his place in the agency, often masking uncertainty with reckless optimism. ongoing mentorship is strongly recommended. subject responds well to affirmation and structured guidance.

🔬 ability overview

primary mutation: pyrokinesis

secondary traits: • tactical demolitions • squad-level flame shielding (short duration) • rapid ignition under duress

limitations: • emotional surges affect flame control • risk of oxygen depletion in confined spaces • severe dehydration and fatigue post-burnout

🧠 tactical profile

division expertise • athletics • close combat mastery

selected expertise • pain tolerance

proficiencies • battlefield endurance • perception • environmental adaptation • insight • biochemistry & medicine

deficiencies • stealth & infiltration • cryptograms & codebreaking

🛠️ equipment & suit design

scorch’s suit is engineered for thermal extremes, close-quarters movement, and accidental ignition suppression.

construction: deep burgundy fire-resistant composite weave, reinforced with lightweight, heat-dispersing armor plating. color palette: ultra-dark oxblood with ember-thread seams that glow subtly under thermal surge.

key features: • integrated heat-regulation gloves • micro-cooling mesh underarmor • belt-mounted oxygen rebreather unit • discreet flame-channeling nodes embedded in gauntlets for control and dispersal

the suit reflects scorch’s core identity: a weaponized inferno bound in restraint.

📂 field notes — background profile

subject is the product of an extramarital affair, raised solely by his mother. fractured home dynamics instilled a persistent need for belonging and a strong internal drive to protect others.

prior to recruitment, subject was a licensed paramedic, specializing in emergency trauma and high-risk disaster response. field records show exceptional composure, deep compassion, and instinctive prioritization of others’ safety—even at personal risk.

pandora identified subject during civilian resilience profiling and initiated training. mutation surfaced post-induction during a high-stress simulation, triggering uncontrolled combustion and resulting in immediate wrath assignment.

scorch is currently in provisional field deployment. emotional volatility remains a concern, and enhanced psychological monitoring protocols are in place.

🔐 [classified: level 7 clearance required]

unofficial agent notes — subject: scorch medical documentation confirms subject’s enhanced stamina and metabolic conditioning.

measurements: 7.75 inches, uncut, with proportional girth aligned to physical build. behavioral profile: tactile and responsive, favoring mutual connection and sensory-based intimacy. prefers shared control over domination.

tendencies: • favors body-to-body contact • sensitive to touch and heat • enjoys slow, progressive stimulation • open to light restraint when trust is established • does not require emotional attachment for intimacy, but thrives with mutual comfort

aftercare: consistent and intentional — prioritizes emotional grounding, physical reassurance, and partner well-being without compromising mission readiness.

file status: open last updated: [redacted]

[rex-meshla]

Steel Meets Silk

PAIRING | ARC Commander Colt x F!OC (Anastasia Husk) WORD COUNT | 1.9k PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 TAGLIST | @cw80831

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Chapter 3: Mapped Destinies

I couldn't remember the last time I felt this drained. The investors had been all business, their smiles polished, but there was an underlying tension in the room. It wasn't just about the market anymore; something else lingered in the air—something I couldn't quite name. Maybe it was the war, maybe the way they kept eyeing Colt like they were trying to figure him out. Or maybe it was just the pressure of being thrown into this world without any real preparation.

Colt hadn't said much since we left the investors' office, and I was grateful for the silence. The stress from the presentation, the strained conversations with my father's partners, and the sense of unease all combined to leave me feeling like I was unraveling. As we approached my estate, the sleek gates opened with a soft whoosh, and the transport slowed to a stop.

I stepped out, turning to see Colt trailing behind. As I moved up the steps toward the front door, I glanced back at him.

"Where are you staying, by the way?" I asked, breaking the quiet.

"I'll be staying in the guest quarters next door," he said, his voice steady. "I'm close enough to respond if needed, but it also gives you space to adjust to the situation."

I nodded, feeling reassured by the arrangement. Having him close enough to step in if needed brought some comfort, but his constant presence was still something I wasn’t quite used to. Everything had changed, and it was happening so fast.

I reached for the door handle but paused, turning back to him. "You want to come inside for dinner?"

His gaze flickered toward the door, then back to me. 

"I'm fine just standing guard, ma'am," Colt said with a slight tilt of his head. Then, after a beat, he added, "But I'll join you."

"Make yourself at home," I said, stepping inside, already thinking of the bottle of wine waiting in the kitchen.

I poured myself a glass, watching the deep red liquid swirl in the crystal. The familiar scent of wine wrapped around me, a comforting escape in the midst of everything. I lifted it to my lips but hesitated, glancing over at Colt. "Want one?" I asked, holding the glass out.

He shook his head. "I'm on duty, ma'am. I'll pass."

I shrugged, lifting my glass with a faint smile. "Suit yourself," I said.

I took a sip, letting the warmth of the alcohol ease some of the tension in my chest, and glanced back at him again. "I've been meaning to ask you something," I began, choosing my words carefully. "How do you know so much about that war-related technology? During the meeting, you sounded... almost like one of my father's associates."

He didn't flinch. Didn't even look surprised by the question. Instead, he held my gaze, his brown eyes steady. "I've been trained on more than just combat," he said quietly. "There's a lot I've had to learn along the way. Strategy, technology... things that go beyond just fighting."

I blinked, caught off guard by his answer. "So... you're not just some soldier," I murmured, more to myself than him. "You've really worked with people like my father?"

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. "It's part of my training." he said quietly. "They don't want us to be just weapons. Some of us are trained to blend into situations, to understand things that... go beyond the battlefield."

"Like business?" I asked, a hint of disbelief in my voice.

“Yes. Like business,” he replied with a faint smile, the first I’d seen from him. A crack in his steely exterior.

"I've spent years working alongside engineers, strategists, even diplomats," he continued. "Protecting you isn't just about being a guard. It's about understanding everything that could affect your safety. That means knowing a lot more than just how to fire a blaster."

I fell silent, processing his words. Until now, he'd been a soldier to me, a guard assigned to watch over me. But hearing him talk about strategy and business... he was so much more than I'd expected. He had knowledge, depth, experience.

It felt strange, though. Knowing he had all of this expertise, and yet here he was, standing in my home like any other hired guard. I caught myself looking at him, trying to reconcile these two sides of him.

"Why don't you... do something else, then?" I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity. I leaned against the counter, studying him, the question lingering in my mind.

His eyes met mine, and I saw something close to... resignation? "I was bred for the war," he said, his voice softer but still firm. "It's what I was made for. What happens to me... it's never really been my choice."

His words hit me harder than I expected. This wasn't just about him. It was about all the clones, all the soldiers who had been created for a single purpose—war. It was so... limiting. His reality, a predetermined path, mirrored my own in some strange way.

I couldn't help but think about my own life, how it had been mapped out for me long before I could remember. I was expected to step into my father's shoes, to take over the business, to uphold the family legacy. There was no real choice, no freedom to veer off the path laid before me. I had always assumed I had control, but now it felt like I was in the same boat as him—trapped by the expectations of others, even if mine were wrapped in silk and comfort.

I took another sip of wine, the sharp tannins grounding me as I looked at him, really looked at him. His life had never been his own, but neither had mine. 

The thought lingered as the silence stretched between us. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of us, caught in lives shaped by choices neither of us truly made.

Colt's eyes dropped briefly to the floor before meeting mine again, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air. He held my gaze, but there was a slight shift in his posture, like he'd sensed the weight of what I was feeling.

I wondered how much of what I felt was mirrored in his own mind, though he never would have said it.

Then, just as I was beginning to process this strange connection, the sound of my comm link broke the stillness.

The display flickered, and I recognized the name of one of my father's partners, Theo Kalden.

"Excuse me," I muttered, my voice laced with frustration as I reached for the comm.

Colt straightened instinctively, his hand resting lightly on his blaster.

I pressed the button. "Kalden," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"Anastasia, I need you to come to the office immediately. There's been a development," Theo's voice crackled through the comm.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, a hint of urgency creeping into my voice.

"It's not good. We need to discuss some new intel regarding the war. You need to be here. Now."

The line went dead before I could respond.

I looked up at Colt, frustration rising in my chest. "I guess dinner will have to wait," I muttered, setting my glass down with a sigh.

Colt gave a short nod. He didn't ask if I needed protection. It was understood. He was to follow me wherever I went, no questions, no hesitation.

I let out a breath, the weight of the situation settled in once again. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have you with me.”

Without another word, Colt moved to follow me out of the door, his presence as solid and imposing as always.

As the transport sped toward the office, I couldn’t help but reflect on what Colt had said earlier. The war was no longer just a distant thing. It was already here. It wasn’t just on the battlefield—it was in our homes, in our businesses, and it was going to change everything.

The office loomed ahead, its modern glass façade gleaming under the dimming sky. As the transport slowed to a stop, a shiver ran down my spine.

We stepped out, Colt a few paces behind me, always a shadow, always vigilant. My heart raced a little faster with each step toward the entrance. Whatever Theo had to say, I knew it was going to be a turning point.

Inside, the lights were bright, almost too harsh, and Kalden was waiting by the conference table, his expression tense. He didn't greet me as I entered,

"Anastasia," he said, his voice low. "Sit down. We need to talk."

I took a seat, crossing my arms as I studied him. Something was off tonight. Kalden was usually calm, collected—the one who always had a plan.

"What's going on, Theo?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even. "You said it wasn't good."

He leaned forward, his eyes flicking briefly to Colt before returning to me. "There's been new intel about the Separatists' movements. We've confirmed that they're targeting key infrastructure on a few allied planets. Your father's business, our business, could be directly affected. Not just in the market, but in our actual operations."

My stomach twisted. “What do you mean, exactly?”

Kalden's gaze hardened. "We're talking sabotage, Anastasia. Major disruptions. If we don't act quickly, it could send shockwaves through the market. Your father's partnerships could be at risk. We're moving fast to secure the assets, but we need to be proactive."

Instinctively, I turned to Colt, as if he could offer clarity. But his face was unreadable, his usual walls firmly in place.

Kalden continued, "We're also looking into whether someone within our network is feeding intel to the Separatists. The leaks are happening from inside, and I have a feeling that it might be closer to home than we think."

His words felt like a punch to the gut. A traitor, within my father’s circle? The idea was unthinkable, but I knew Kalden didn’t make baseless accusations.

I sat back, trying to absorb it all. The war wasn’t just a threat to distant planets anymore—it was infiltrating our very business.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked.

"The war is no longer just something happening elsewhere. It's already here, and it's impacting us in ways we can't afford to ignore. We need to control the narrative, Anastasia. You're the face of the business now. You'll need to step up in a way you never have before. How we are perceived will be just as important as what we actually do."

His instructions were clear. I wasn’t just to follow my father’s lead. I was to actively manage how the world saw the Husk Corporation’s role in the war. Kalden emphasized the power of perception; how much could be controlled through the right words, the right image, the right spin on the truth.

At first, I thought he was exaggerating. But as he spoke, I realized he was drawing from experience. Kalden, for all his sharpness, knew the media and how to twist facts to protect interests and ensure survival.

“You’re going to be the one out there,” Kalden said, his gaze sharp. “Grant interviews. Give statements. Position the company as a leader. Make sure the public sees Husk Industries as not just surviving but thriving and helping during this crisis. We need to project both power and benevolence.”

Benevolence. The word stuck with me, souring the air around me. It sounded so... staged. Like a marketing campaign rather than a true effort to help. But Kalden was right about one thing; the narrative would be everything. If we didn’t present ourselves as essential, then others would step in, with far less care for our reputation.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You can read the next chapter here and find my masterlist here x

[thegoldheartlocketandkey-blog]

911 Spoilers Season 4: You’ve been warned. 😅 Buddie Rewatch

Episodes 10 - 12

Episode 10: Parenthood

Vlog Mom: The mom is pinned to pin the tail on the Donkey. Eddie and Hen working together observing the victim.

Buck being surrounded by kids; he is showing off the circular saw and talking about how powerful a tool it is. He gets creeped out when one of the kids mentions using the saw on human bones.

Bobby calling Buck over, Buck must have been relived to get out of that weird conversation.

Buck trying to make mom better by stating she at least knows how to guild a shed. Mom revealing that a sponsor picked it out and put it together. Eddie stating that she at least has help taking it down.

Eddie and Bobby walking together, Eddie explains that She wont fit in the ambulance, they’d need a flat bed. Bobby pointing out that they can’t wait. Cuts to Eddie and Hen on top of the fire engine, with the patient.

Chim is showing Eddie baby pictures. At the photo Chim claims she’s smiling, Eddie makes the comment, “ She’d making the same face Buck makes when he’s gassy.” Buck chiming in stating that he’ll take that comment as a compliment, because it means she looks like her uncle Buck. Eddie looking up at Buck as he says it, Buck looking directly at him.

I understand that Eddie was likely just making a joke, but his statement implies that they are so close and have spent enough time together, to know when Buck is a bit gassy.

Eddie and Buck smiling at Chimney’s love for his daughter. Eddie is the one to ask how Maddie is doing on her first solo shift with baby. Buck remind Chim that his offer to have Albert stay at his place still stands.

Eddie asking all the important questions and asking if Maddie and Chim have opposite schedules, how are they having time to see each other.

Everyone tries to act natural as Hen comes up the stair with a surprise cake. She is disappointed in everyone for not having ballons or a banner celebrating his return. Eddie, Buck, and Bobby smiling like idiots as Chim shows Hen the baby pictures.

Sneaking in goes wrong; Eddie and Buck pull out the gurney and walk it over. Eddie and Buck standing near each other, watching Dad and Mom bicker back and forth about how to parent their adult son. Buck chiming into say a quarter life crisis is a real thing, Eddie laughs at him.

Chimney asks if both parents can be the good cop, every parent chiming in unison with a “no.”

Buck making a point to say kids don’t need too much discipline, Eddie stating he would love to know what Buck’s definition of too much discipline looks like.  Eddie and Buck working together to lift up the son and move him onto the gurney.

Eddie and Ana are having a date night, watching TV. Chis interrupts their cuddling to ask if he can join them because he can’t sleep. Ana shifting away from Eddie and offering for Chris to sit in between them. Eddie lifting Chris up and placing him in the middle. They all cuddle and readjust; Eddie lets Chris pick something to watch.

Episode 11: First Responders

Sue’s accident; Buck hops out the truck, Eddie right behind. Chim recognizes Sue, but Buck is the one to identify her.

Eddie is the one to instruct everyone to get Susane onto the board, guiding her with his hand. As Susane attempts to say something, Eddie is the one to ask what is she say saying. Buck is the one to make out she is saying 911.  Eddie reassuring Sue that they are there and they have her.

Not really sure how Chim and Hen started off with observing her and it switching over to Eddie and Buck taking over. But it happened, we even get two random firefighters taking over while Sue is put into the ambulance.

The security guard that watched the accident happen tells Buck that this was not an accident, whoever ran her over wanted her to die, they never took their foot off of the gas.

Buck visits dispatch, tells Josh and Maddie about what the security guard told him. They are trying to piece together what could of caused this.

Buck and Taylor are getting lunch together. Buck asks Taylor if she knows anything about the 911 call center. She admits to knowing almost nothing about the call center, aside from the fact that his sister works there.

Buck starts to info dump about Sue and how she started working at the call center since it opened, in 1984. He which he clarifies that the 911 phone number had existed prior to the center’s creation. Even letting Taylor know that dispatchers are not considered first responders in most parts of the country, only recently having changed in California in the past year.

He discloses how Sue was in a hit and run accident and mentions only 10% of hit and runs ever get solved. Taylor piecing together that Buck isn’t just info dumping and has an idea. Buck explains that the police have no leads, but if this accident had some coverage and more people knew about if, they could probably get some leads.

Buck starts to compliment Taylor, stating he has a friend that just so happens to be an amazing reporter. She smiles and starts to game plan on how she will sell the story to her editor.

Buck drives into the grocery store parking lot, where Sue’s accident occurred. Taylor is satnding outside waiting for him, she discloses that she’s seen the video footage of the accident and that something weird was obviously going on.  Buck wants to see the footage, but Taylor tells him that it’ll probably better if she just tells him what she saw.

Buck is confused by this suggestion, but Taylor explains that it’s because he knows her, and watching a video like that about someone you know is difficult. Buck insists on watching the video.

Buck and Taylor start to create a narrative as to why Sue was run over, which leads them to want to search thru the trash for possible evidence. As they walk over to the trash bins, Buck recounts the story of Bobby and Michael’s illegal plastic surgery clinic adventure, with out mentioning their names, just that the guy was tossing evidence in the dumpster.

The illegal plastic surgery clinic story line happened is Episode 7 of this season. I didn’t take notes on it because it was a Bobby and Michael story line, no way to tie it to Buck or Eddie. But I’m mentioning it now because Buck states it happened a few months ago. I’m just taking this moment to stress how there are normally a lot of time jumps with in the same season, so we can always assume that relationships continue to grow and strengthen even when we don’t see it.  

Taylor and Buck discuss possibly calling the police as they approach the dumpster but are stopped by Athena before they can even search.

Buck is in an interrogating room, mindlessly roaming around and checking his teeth in the two way mirror. Athena walks in and tells Buck what they found in the dumpster, explain the hand bag belongs to the missing girl. Sue is likely tied to this because she most likely saw the girl with her kidnapper.

Buck puts together that the Sue was likely giving a partial plate, instead of saying 911 at the scene of the accident.

Taylor is sitting in a separate interrogation room, when she is told to call her camera man instead of the station lawyers.

So I know Athena brought Taylor and Buck to the station, mostly to keep Buck from playing detective and possibly getting himself into trouble or tampering with possible viable evidence. But what grounds did she have to bring both Taylor and Buck into the station. If they weren’t arrested, why did they need to be placed in separate interrogation rooms. If they were being detained, what would be the reason for holding them.

Container Yard: The 118 responds to help the drugged victim. Eddie hops out the truck and grabs a small saw and cuts open the lock on the gate, allowing the engine to move into the container yard.

Eddie, Hen, and Chim, are sitting in the truck waiting for the all clear, they are eager to go help the victim.

Eddie’s inpatients is growing, telling Bobby that they’ve waiting long enough. Hen chiming in that they need to get in there to help the victim. The scene is cleared and the 118 moves in. They are momentarily lost, unsure of which direction to head to or what container number they need to get to. Luckily the officer spots them and directs them the victim.

Eddie, Chim, and Hen all administer aid. I think this is really interesting because I’m use to Hen and Chimney administering aid and Eddie only administering aid when they need extra hands or one of them isn’t available. I like that their able to work so smoothly as a team of three.

Eddie calls over to Bobby asking if he is okay, after being shot at and dodging the bullets.

Buck is in his living room, watching Taylor on the news, reporting about Sue’s accident and the found kidnapper. Taylor knocks on his door, revealing that that recording is rerun. She brought champagne to celebrate, specifically celebrate Justice for the victims. Buck smiles at that distinction.

Episode 12: Treasure Hunt

Message in a bottle rescue:  The 118 pulls up to the scene, they are all wearing sunglasses. They stand side by side as they look over the landscape. Bobby is standing in between Buck and Eddie.

Buck points out that the bottle could have been floating around for months, and there may be no one to rescue. Hen pointing out that it means their search and rescue becomes a search and recovery. Bobby points out the paper the note was written on was from a receipt dated a few days ago. Eddie states that he hopes it wasn’t the victims last meal.

Chim and Eddie are instructed to hop on to the helicopter. Buck is visibly disappointed at the fact that he won’t be apart of the rescue.  Chim tells Eddie to harness up so that he’ll be the one to descend to the victim and grab him.

Chim notices that Buck is disappointed, but tells him that he can go next time.

Eddie spots the victim and descends to him with a bottle. Eddie introduces himself to the victim and as he checks up on him notices he is burning up. He hands the drink to the victim and proceeds to administer aid.

As Eddie is securing the victim’s leg into a splint, the victim is begging for painkillers and to let him continue his journey. Eddie assumes the victim is delirious and calls over the radio for Chimney to prepare fluid, while he denies victims request.

Eddie secures the victim to the harness and they are pulled up into the helicopter.  When the helicopter lands, Buck and Bobby run over with the gurney and help transfer him over.

The 118 standing around the helicopter confused as the victim goes on about a treasure.

Back at the station, they are surrounding the tv, listening to Taylor report about an dead author who has apparently buried treasure for his fans to find. Eddie is standing in between Chim and Hen with his hands in his pockets and Buck is standing next to Bobby with his arms crossed.

Eddie vocalizing his surprise at the sound of 5 million dollars. Everyone has shocked faces as they continue to listen to the story. Buck and Bobby look at each other as the story ends.

The one 118 is gathered around the couch area, each one of them on their phones looking down and reading the poem associated with the treasure hunt.

Buck is the only one to seemingly be excited about the treasure, exploring the what if, if they find it. Everyone else seems to have a difference of opinion, expressing how dangerous and stupid the treasure hunt would be.

The deliberate on how more people will likely join the search and they’ll have more treasure related emergencies. Eddie pointing out that “Your girlfriend’s new story is probably not gonna help out with that.” Buck quickly correcting Eddie by stating, “She’s my friend, not my girlfriend, …” Eddie mockingly shakes his head as Buck continues deny any romance.

Everyone starts to walk away. Notably Eddie is still glued to his phone as he slowly walks away. Buck remains seated as he gets a call from Taylor.

Buck confirms that they had a treasure related call that morning. Taylor reveals that the author’s assistant claims to have seen the treasure himself before he died. Buck points out that Taylor didn’t mention that part in her segment, and she admits it’s because the assistant is concerned over his safety.

Buck looks over at his team as he tells Taylor they can compare note and team up to find the treasure together. I will say I’m not a particular fan of how the telephone call ends with Buck stating not everybody is gonna win as the camera pans back to the 118 in the kitchen, oblivious to the conversation.

I think this is the best time for me to circle back to my first post regarding Season 4, where I mention that we start to notice the writers starting to separate Eddie and Buck. It’s very subtle and they aren’t really keeping them apart, but compared to Season 2 and 3, there is definitely a shift. The distance can be explained as the writers trying to strengthen the over all dynamic of the entire 118, which I fully support. I’m also aware of how us Buddie Shippers can take things a little to far and they needed to have us chill out a bit. Season 4 is obviously not the Season they actively separate them, but we do see less of Buck and Eddie pressed up onto each other, but still implied strong friendship.

Montage of dangerous treasure related calls; Buck, Bobby, and Eddie walking over towards the man trapped under a bear statue. Eddie being sassy and saying to cross of Griffith Bear Park statue off the list.

Bobby tries to stop a man from digging with an excavator, when it becomes apparent that the man won’t stop, he turns around and tells everyone to run for cover. Eddie decides to take this moment and jump through the engine window as everyone runs around the engine to hide behind it.

Eddie is hosing down the area from one side and Buck hoses it down from the other side.

Eddie and Buck are cleaning the engine, talking about the treasure hunt and all the emergencies. Eddie points out that all the people getting hurt are solo acts and no one is working as a team.

Buck theorizes that it’s because people are greedy and don’t want to share the treasure. Eddie pointing out that that may be the flaw in their plan and that two brains are better than one. There is a quick pause as Eddie looks at Buck before suggesting they work together to find the treasure, split the treasure 50/50.

Buck apologizes and admits to already having a deal with Taylor. Eddie shakes his head and looks down, he starts going back to cleaning the engine. Buck looks at Eddie apologetic and offers 1/3 of the treasure.

Taylor leans against Buck’s dining room table as she tells Buck that he has to give Eddie ½ of his cut. Eddie is standing behind the kitchen counter with a beer bottle in his hands as Buck is sitting on the counter with his hands together. Eddie is quick to call out Taylor for being greedy, but she clarifies that she has already promised ½ of her cut to her camera man.

Buck mediates the situation and states that it’s no big deal they can split it in fourth and they still get a million each. Taylor pointing out that ¼ of zero is still zero.

Eddie reveals that he’s done some research on the willow tree thing and mentions a type of plant called an arroyo willow. Buck and Taylor basically revealing that they already looked into it, making Eddie look like the third wheel.  Eddie sits behind them as they hover over the dinning room table.

Eddie is so sassy in this scene. It’s obvious that he’d rather not be doing this whole thing with Taylor, but he doesn’t have a choice. His little sarcastic, “Go Team.” is everything. Poor guy feels left out.

Eddie and Buck set up their plan to get Ravi to reveal any information he has on the treasure hunt. They enact their plan in the locker room, they don’t have a subtle bone in their bodies, because they instantly look at each other and stand closely together and just look obvious. So much so that Chim and Hen catch on to their tricks out side of the locker room.

Fire Ants: Buck walks around the truck, towards Eddie. They set up the hose together. Eddie aiming the hose as Buck turns on the water, trying to get the ants to disburse.

Eddie and Buck standing behind watching Chim and Hen get to work. Eddie is seriously judging the victim. Buck and Eddie start scratching as they wait for Hen and Chim to leave with the victim.

Septic tank mishap: Buck hops out of the truck and Eddie is right behind as Bobby debriefs the situation. Eddie is instructed to extend the aerial ladder over the hole, to help lower Buck down, so he can pull her out of the hole.

Buck is confused as to why he has to do it, Chim reminding him that he was told he could preform the next harness related rescue.

Buck is disgruntled at the situation as he stands there looking around.

Eddie is on top of the engine, controlling the mechanism lowering Buck down the hole. Buck vocalizes that he’s not looking forward to getting down there. As Buck is being lowered, the victim starts drowning. Buck starts to panic; he needs to be closer to grab her.

Bobby instructs Eddie to drop Buck faster. Buck is dunked into the substance and is able to pull the victim up and out of the hole.

Buck, Eddie, and Bobby are outside of the ambulance when victim’s boyfriend, as far as they know, steps out of the ambulance and the ambulance driving away. Buck is removing the suit he just had on. Eddie sniffs the air around Buck, makes a face implying he sticks and walks away.  Bobby vocalizes the disgust and walks away. Buck is left standing alone, annoyed, with the suit half on. (I wonder if they hosed him down, or had him ride outside of the engine)

The 118 is gathered upstairs at the station near the pool table. Chim and Eddie are obviously in the middle of a game when it is revealed to them that the author of the treasure hunt is alive and they are all a part of his research. Buck is leaning against the pool table.

Eddie points out they should be paid for being apart of his research and asks Bobby if Athena knows where the treasure is at.  They officially give up the treasure hunt.

Buck is telling Taylor about the news. They are drinking and talking about how they’ve gotten played. Buck is being flirty in the moment, but Taylor is either too caught up in being upset or is oblivious to his subtle attempt. Taylor is lost in thought as she remembers some important information about the author.

Buck and Eddie walk in on Athena and Bobby, Chim and Hen, already at the spot. Eddie and Buck brought their gear, Eddie explaining they didn’t know the terrane and wanting to be prepared. Eddie than pointing at Chim and Hen about how they brought their med kits.

Buck and Eddie are standing closely together as Buck reveals that Taylor remembered the Author running near the river, as the reason why they knew where to look.

Buck pulling out his calculator to try to figure out how they are going to split the money up 7 ways.

The 118 and Athena are on the bridge looking over into the river, trying to locate where they could find the treasure. Buck and Eddie are still close together. They spot Ravi already at the spot digging.  Eddie asks Buck what 5 million divided by 8 is, Buck responds with he’s not doing any more math.

Ravi brings up the treasure chest to the group, they stand around him as Ravi opens the chest. Buck and Eddie are standing at the separate ends. Buck with his arms cross focused on the chest. Eddie slightly annoyed a rushing Ravi with his hand gestures.

One of my favorite stills of the entire 118;

The 118 shows up at the author’s home to confront him about the empty treasure chest. They notice the gate and the front door being open. Athena instructs everyone to stay outside while she investigates.  Buck and Eddie are standing near each other as they watch Athena walk in to the building.

Everyone ignores Athena’s command and walk in behind her, they find the dead body on the ground. Police sirens are heard in the distance. Everyone is visibly concerned.

Detective is questioning the entire 118. Trying to piece together the situation. Eddie states, “ We didn’t kill him.” Buck chimes in, “We just wanted to.” Causing Bobby to freak out a little and just say “Buck”

Ravi tries to deny his association with the 118 and each of them turning towards him, silently judging him and death glares.

The 118 minus Ravi, but plus Taylor is at Athena’s house. Taylor and Buck are sitting near each other. Chim is sitting in between Taylor and Eddie. Eddie is sitting diagonally across from Buck. They are rehashing the whole treasure hunt thing. Buck asking what they think happened with the money. Eddie is explaining to Buck that the Treasure never existed.

Buck revealing that he doesn’t trust anyone. Everyone looking at him displeased with that response. Eddie specifically looked at Buck with piercing eyes. Buck corrects himself and specifies that he didn’t mean them.  

Buck flirting with Taylor in a not-so-subtle way. Taylor kind of flirting back, but reels it in by saying she’s glad they are friends.  Buck repeating the word friends and being slightly annoyed.

Really wish they kept this dynamic a little longer, or maybe established sooner. This is when I thought Taylor and Buck would eventually be end game. The moment felt like every other lovers to friends story I know, where they end up back together, not that Buck and Taylor where ever really a couple prior.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Hunter (Hunted)

Sierra settles the rifle more securely against her shoulder, takes a measured breath, and waits. 

She's not one of the undead, but she's learned to control her breathing to make herself nearly unmoving, to calm her heartbeat and fire in the still pauses. 

She's nearly as deadly as one of them.

Her target is inside the building in front of her. He’s taken up squatter's quarters in the crumbling Spanish colonial that used to belong to an investment banker, until he and his family lost the business and most of their money in '08. Since then, a steady trail of residents have tried to move in, but the house has bled them dry in upkeep, and they've all moved on. It's been vacant for three years now.

It's the perfect base for a vampire. Already rumored to be cursed, and avoided by most. 

The door opens, and a figure in a long black leather coat steps out. 

Sierra waits for him to nearly round the corner in her direction before firing a single shot, center mass, that tips him over into the alley.

A good shot, but she needs to follow it up. With the right load, the right equipment, and the right person on the trigger, a vampire can be killed with a shot to the heart. But creating hollow aspen-powder loaded silver bullets (which warp enough on their own, accuracy is much better with silver-plated) is a tedious job, and guaranteeing a shot clear through the heart without a precision scope, on a moving target, are things most vigilantes simply aren't at the caliber to achieve. 

She has a limited window before she has to assume someone has called in the shots fired, even if in actuality that might not have happened. She slings the rifle strap across her chest, pulls her sidearm, bolts into the alley, and places another bullet into the vamp's forehead. There’s no sense getting herself bitten if the vamp is still semi-mobile. That will keep him down long enough for her to finish the job. 

In one fluid motion, she draws her stake and drives it home.

Gross.

This guy’s only been undead less than a year, so the corpse doesn’t crumble into dust. It just goes through nine months’ worth of decay in about four seconds, skin shriveling, features sinking, dark blood dripping out onto the dirt.

She hears doors and shutters slamming, and a strange sibilant hissing. He wasn’t alone in that house. She’d been told he didn’t have a coven of his own, but clearly, he had someone. She’s no longer the hunter. She’s become the hunted.

By someone far more likely to actually find her than whatever police unit might be responding to the scene.

She leaves the stake in the body (it’s already obviously a vigilante kill, and she was wearing gloves the whole time) and runs. 

The hiss becomes a screech of rage as Sierra bursts out of the alley into the street where she’d parked her car. She’s already unslung her rifle and tosses it through the open back window. A perk of being a vigilante hunter in Texas is that having visible weapons on your person or in your vehicle is just a cultural thing. Most likely, no one who happened to glimpse her will actually remember seeing her with the rifle, any more than they would remember seeing someone wearing cowboy boots. 

She turns the engine over just as a faint siren sounds in the distance. 

She’s had plenty of practice eluding the cops on these streets, and with far less lead time, so she’s none too concerned about doing it again, even if that is a response to the shots fired. 

What she is worried about is the dark shape that explodes from the alley in a terrifyingly swift leap, locking onto the bumper of the car as she floors the accelerator and kicks up a shower of gravel and sand. The car squats and jolts, struggling with the extra and badly distributed weight on the rear end, and Sierra whips it sideways, hoping to dislodge her unwanted passenger. 

There’s a teeth-aching screech of claws on metal, as the vamp attempts to get purchase on the trunk, but Sierra keeps the battered Gran Fury fishtailing until she reaches the first corner.

When she swings the turn, there’s another terrible screech, part tearing metal, part angry vampire, as the creature loses its grip and is flung free, taking a chunk of the bumper with it. Sierra can hear the rest of the loosened metal rattling on the street behind her.

She’ll ditch the car in a couple blocks; the vigilantes work hand in hand with a chop shop she knows well, given her mom’s racer buddies used to be part of both its supply and demand. This car will be nothing but parts by morning, so even if the vamp or any passersby could ID it, they’ll have no trail to follow.

She shakes off the eerie memory of the gleaming red eyes focused on her, and the far more terrifying one of watching the back of her car torn apart in the rearview mirror without any glimpse of what was doing it, and pushes the pedal to the floor.

You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @whumptober

[smm-panel-2022]

How to Keep Your Information Safe on Social Media

Almost daily, it seems the news is reporting on the order of criminal incidents involving social media, such as account hacking and stalking. Protecting yourself from threats linked to these requires taking a disciplined entry to how you portion opinion online. Here are four tips for keeping your personal opinion safe even if using social media sites.

Make it Hard to Hack Your Account

Keeping your personal suggestion away from prying eyes starts following securing your social media accounts. Even taking basic stepssuch as using a hermetic unique password for each site you use, enabling two-factor authentication, and logging into sites unaided using trusted devicescan fend off most attacks.

You can toting in the works guard your accounts, even though, by avoiding using third-party apps and facilities to entry and control them. For example, many social media sites consent to you log in using your Google account. However, if your Google account gets hacked, the attacker will plus have entry to your socials via the attachment.

Though it may be a bit inconvenient, its greater than before to save your accounts walled off from each subsidiary to minimize the effects of cyber breaches and leaks.

Dont Answer Meme Questions

Youve likely seen a meme where you figure out what candy bar fits your personality by picking your birth month and hours of hours of daylight from a list. Although these memes can be fun to participate in, the realism is they are social engineering behavior to profit you into the future clean personal reference. By answering this meme, for instance, a hacker will learn the daylight and month you were born, which is a common security respond.

Social media gimmicks subsequent to these cause you to by accident have enough keep people in the expose of nefarious intentions the ammunition they compulsion to maltreatment you. Before you hop around the bandwagon and engage in memes considering this, find the recommendation its asking for and whether thats something you really hurting others to know.

Avoid Posting Photos behind Identifying Information

Photos manage to pay for in you take over and part important moments in your moving picture, but they often contain lots of identifying information. For instance, someone can meet the expense of an opinion what learned your kid goes to by the shirt theya propos wearing in the team photo. Posting pictures of your birthday party exposes later you were born, whats in your quarters, and who your buddies are.

Its sufficient to share images, but anonymize them as much as attainable. Be mindful of your background and avoid taking pictures taking into consideration than things, such as landmarks or street signs, that can aerate stuff you dont hurting known. Use photo editing tools to puzzling details youd rather remain private, and cut off EXIF embedded metadata (e.g. geolocation, phone type) from pictures back posting them online.

Choose Your Friends and Followers Wisely

While you may honoring your links and intimates, unfortunately, they can often be the source of data leaks. Not everyone values privacy or understands how dangerous sharing determined things online can be, consequently you dependence to be selective roughly who has right of entry to the stuff you gathering to your social media accounts.

Thoroughly vetting pal requests back assenting them can go a long quirk towards ensuring you without help have people in your network who esteem you permitted to save your personal details private.

Use these tips and calculation tools to on fire manage of your social media presence, hence you can have fun online safely and securely.

[madmarchhare]

Company Chapter 7

Chapter 7 of my sci-fi story focusing on Wick and Cass. Sorry for any grammar and spelling mistakes. This one is rather long.

    Wick stopped the music, placing the laux on his shoulder as he did, the automaton sitting there quite happily, like a quadrupedal parrot. He began to stand up when he saw Cass walking toward him with a plate of four sandwiches, smelling of bacon and fried eggs, a somewhat embarrassed look on her face.

“Here’s dinner!” she declared, faking a look of boldness for some odd reason. Wick looked up at her, confused why she was embarrassed, taking half of one of the sandwiches she had placed down, checking inside that she had put brown sauce inside before taking a bite.

“Thanks,” Wick responded brusquely, “but, on a more pressing matter, I think I found out why CLR want us dead,” lifting the laux off his shoulder and turning it over so Cass could see its underbelly. She stared at it for a moment, leaning closer, Wick taking another bite of his sandwich as she did. She looked at the engraving silently for a while her face stiff.

“Fuck,” she suddenly blurted out in a concerned tone.

“Yup,” Wick agreed.

“FUCK!”

“Mhmm,” Wick again agreed, finishing his sandwich quickly as Cass put a hand to her forehead, slowly dragging it down her face.

“That’s not good at all is it?” Cass grumbled hoarsely.

“Not, it isn’t,” Wick agreed, taking a cigarette and pressing it between his lips before reaching for his lighter, the mini-zippo small in his hand, taking a few strikes before it lit the wick, both due to the low amount of oxygen and a worn-out flint. He snapped the lighter shut, shoving it into his pocket as he glanced over to Cass, having placed the laux back onto the ground. “It does however give us an idea of where to look,” he explained, a narrow twisting spiral of tobacco smoke falling up out of his mouth into the thin atmosphere. Cass looked back at him with a distracted look, “did you see anything peculiar on the ship where I found you and them?”

A look of realization broke across her face, then quickly one of consideration as she thought back, “not that I can remember, I wasn’t paying too much attention, I know the flight codes where erased when I checked them… but I might be able to find some traces of the data on what’s left of the hardware there! I managed to get it to run last time,” she responded excitedly. Wick nodded, mulling it over before rising from  his seat.

“Guess we’re going back to that ship then,” he muttered boredly, glancing out into space.

“Back through that ice storm?” Cass asked, a note of concern in her voice.

“If we have to,” Wick answered firmly, packing away the chair as he did, “… hopefully not though. I hate going through them,” he added weakly, a disgruntled tone in his voice. He quickly packed up the solar cell and strode into the living quarters with the tarp under one arm while Cass carried the stakes and the cable. As he walked by the oven, he saw in the sink a pile of black-stained sauce and frying pans, a mess made of the hob and the countertop as well. He looked back at Cass with a look of disinterested disdain, the latter sheepishly avoiding his gaze as a nervous smile broke across her face. He gave a bored sigh before continuing in, putting away all the equipment while Cass was left to collect up the entirety of the company of lauxes, so they didn’t leave any behind. Wick turned on the lights in the cockpit, going to the console to push a pair of levers all the way open, as well as switching on all the fuel and coolant pumps, before turning to advance into the rear annals of the ship. He squeezed into the engine room, the fluorescent bar lights overhead bathing the room in a sickly white light as he started the engines, the jets sputtering until they swelled into a rushing noise of fire, slowly lowering as wick brough then to idle using a pair of manual gauges. He fiddled with a number of the pumps while he was in there, minutely adjusting valves while checking gauges on the wall, mostly of the same type a circular mechanical gauge, the outer rim of the dial showing pressure while the inner, recorded by a smaller arrow shaped hand, showed flow rate. He checked the various readings against a plaque showing the various efficiencies and their needed values all written out by Wick, laser-pencilled on a flat plate of aluminium.    

Eventually Wick got it how he wanted it and left the room, a dial spitefully twitching slightly off when he stopped watching it. He got into the cockpit, Cass tiding the sink up as he passed her, and had the ship ascend, raising up the landing gear when he was sure that the ship was high enough in the thin atmosphere and then opening up the thrust of the engines, gaining speed until it was where he wanted it, checking the readout to make sure before lowering the ships’ thrust until it was only just able to maintain its speed. He stayed at the controls for the rest of the day, Cass coming in to check on him or asking where things were every once in a while.

He left the ship to autopilot the next day, spending it reloading all of the ammunition that he had shot yesterday, taking multiple hours to do so, before finishing off his book while slumped in the chair before the loading-bench. The next day he mostly spent fixing parts of the ship before updating his records on his PC and files, while also giving Cass some instruction on jobs to do. Though, the latter was also to try and prevent the neidr from getting bored. They reached the permitter of the ice storm on the fourth day, the titanic cosmic maelstrom lingering over the sector like a slothful leviathan, bringing dread to any who thought of it waking up. Wick glared out at the frozen monster before him, its deadly feathered edges slashing through the vacuum of space like razors, leaving twisting veils of sub-zero gasses and abandoned colossuses of ice creaking through space like ancient ghost ships drifting unmanned and unwatched through space. He grimaced hard as he watched it, knowing that trying to go around would take an age, and that was hoping that the direction he picked wasn’t the way the storm was drifting towards regardless. He grumbled silently before letting the ship forward, approaching the storm.

The ship creaked as it entered the storm, as if to voice its protests at re-entering the frozen hell. He took the ship forward at a steady speed, weaving it though the jumbled mess of frozen ice that formed every shape imaginable, grinding and smashing against each other within the eternal flux of the storm. In some , hopefully, distant part of the storm he could see flashing arcs of lightning leap through the space decorated by gleaming neon, the frozen gas gleaming as it was suddenly superheated by the transient evils of Zeus that danced like demons within the storm.

The storm was calmer than last time, though that was only due to the absence of the sudden meteor, Wick still having to weave the ship through the mad waltz of the icebergs and whatever other shrapnel scattered into their path. But, they were making good time, not that Wick had a sure idea of how deep this section of the storm was, the various readouts of the control panel and the monitors surrounding him either only able to give rough estimates or giving no answer in return, simply flickering as they scrambled to come up with an answer. It was as he checked this that he was weaving between a pair of gigantic ice crystals, each the size of a small city, slowly scraping against each other above this ship, pattering it with shards of dry ice with squealed against the environment plates that covered its surface or falling into the hole where raw metal panels showed through. The ice crunched overhead as the giants pressed against each other, the heat from the compression melting the ice closest to it as well as heating up all the gasses around it. The blue jets found that the opportune moment to lance across the frozen surface of the ice and strike the boiling gasses, seeking the suddenly exposed metals that the ice hid within. But, it was also close to the steel ship powering past the upside down canyon formed by the two impossibly vast ice hulks, and leapt down upon it like a greyhound who had spotted a rabbit, rabid electric jaws snapping up the scrap-heap Theseus that carried Wick and Cass precariously though the storm.

The ship’s interior lights flashed madly with the sudden voltage, a number of alerts rapidly sounding in a dissonant choir of doom. The console went mad, a number of surge protectors saving the instruments, but still scrambling the ship’s grid, half the lights blinking off before they outright burst. He snapped his hands off the controls, his sore hands now lancing burning static from his fingers as he pulled away, a look of panic falling on his face as the colour drained from it, the controls dead along with grid. Before he had a moment to think, he saw the hulks overhead slip silently through the vacuous space as their herculean contests came to an end as one mass of ice rapidly skate down the others face as it lost, soundlessly screeching downwards to where Wick and his ship now sat derelict. He flung himself out of the chair, nearly falling flat on his face as he did, rushing to reset the grid, hurriedly doing the switch in the cockpit before racing to the next. Chunks of ice and stone shattered and bashed against the ship’s hull as he ran, illuminated in a demonic disco of flashing warning lights and dying bulbs, nearly tripping over lauxes laying on the ground as he dashed into every room and slammed down the levers, each of a different make or type. He left the ships underbelly, having separated that part of the grid so it was not needed to restart the grid for navigation and the engines. The last one was in the engine room, Wick racing down the thin corridor to it, burning himself as he forced his way past blistering pipes and tripping on the RCS compartment on the floor, the same one that Cass had bashed her shin on. He pushed himself up, grabbing the switch on the wall before he even managed to get on his feet. As soon as he pulled the switch nearly all the way down, it snapped back upwards like a mouse trap, all of the others on the ship doing the same as the grid began to reset, needing ten seconds to do it properly.

He spun on a heel, running back up the hall towards the cockpit, running past the bedroom where Cass was sprawled out in a deep, uninterrupted sleep. The grid reset just before he got the cockpit, Wick leaping forward to the controls, not even bothering to properly get in the chair before slamming the controls ahead and down as he saw the titanic hulk of ice overhead nearly on him. The ship screeched at the sudden exertion, the engines flaring as they were suddenly slammed to maximum, racing down as he tried to get past the ice before it crushed him, showered by cascading waves of shavings from the hulking mass, having to weave between them and the innumerable number of ice crystals that still stalked the path Wick now took.

He ran the engines hard, the inescapable blue-white ceiling overhead falling at an ever increasing pace, seeming to be falling from the storm itself as if in exile for its failed contest. Ice and stone banged against the ship like a drum, alerts flaring up on the various displays on the console, the temperate sinking further and further, cracks on the windscreen and twists in the steel creeping forwards as the thin-golden fingers of death slowly gripped round Wicks neck with the sound of screaming steel and hissing glass.

And then, the impersonal beast snatched its hands away, as if suddenly deciding against themselves.

The ship dived out of the bottom of the storm, wreathed in broken nooses of ice and dust, racing on further and further, Wick not letting up on the engines as the continental titan of ice smashed through the storm, falling heavily through the sky  as alerts screamed at Wick over the closeness of this monster behind them. And just as quick as that, it was gone, disappeared from sight, as if nothing more than a false monster on a treasure map. Wick stared out ahead of the ship, his tense hands slowly slowing the ship down, letting it bleed off speed as he kept it straight as it glided below the grey-white flashing sky overhead formed of the storm. He pressed his face into his hands, hissing in a breath through clenched teeth as he clutched at his eyes, the pupils dancing erratically within his sockets as he tried to calm himself down. He slowly dropped his hands from his face, letting his arms fall to his side for a moment before standing and walking to the living room, and then the fridge. He reached deep into the fridge, finally grabbing a small, squat octagonal green bottle. He popped open the swing-top bottle and took a deep swing, the dark green absinthe inside burning as it cut down his throat. As soon as it was past his mouth he snatched up a small wooden box from a cabinet, pulling a cigarillo from it and lighting it, the smoke sparking from the fresh alcohol fumes. He fell back on the sofa behind him, taking a long drag of the cigarillo, puffing out plumes of black-green smoke, the lights flickering above.

“Fucking hate storms, fucking hate ice, fucking hate those blue jets…” Wick grumbled hoarsely under his breath, his mouth pulled into a tooth snarl as he gripped the cigarillo between them, gripping the bottle in his right hand. He removed the cigarillo from his mouth, the thing half spent already, and checked his watch, the Raketa telling him that it was twenty-three minutes past two, still early in the morning.

Cass stirred awake in a daze, her vision swimming from the oily remains of sleep before they stilled. She was half-sprawled out of her bunk, her tail basically on the floor as the blanket itself was twisted around her. She smacked her lips slightly, attempting to blink through the lead-lined grogginess that comes with too much sleep. She dropped out of the bed, her bare feet smacking lightly against the floor as she did, before rooting around for some clothes, making a mental note to buy some the next time they stopped or loot some from the next band of mercenaries they encountered. She eventually found a t-shirt that fit, an orange-white coloured one with a turtle-neck collar, and making do with her old shorts, not wanting to cut a hole for her tail in Wick’s clothes. She pulled on a pair of boots then walked out of the room, feeling a chill from the ship as she exited. The ship was cold, though not freezing, which Cass correctly assumed was due to the ice storm. She went to the living room, dipping over to the cabinet to grab a snack, quickly swallowing it near whole.

She saw Wick in the cockpit, idly moving about in his chair as he checked over things, a few drained energy drink cans sat next to him on the floor. She waltzed in with an expression at the crossroads of curiosity and concern and peered round at him, “morning,” she greeted staring at his profile as he stared down at the console with half-lidded eyes.

“Morning,” Wick relied bluntly, typing in something to the console without looking up, “sleep well?” he asked plainly, turning to glance at the neidr.

“Yeah, I slept fine,” she answered, glancing out of the cockpit window to see empty space. “What about you? Anything major happen?” she continued.

“No, nothing much happened,” Wick answered dully, not seeing a reason to tell her. He stood up from the chair, Cass slowly straightening back up as he did. I’m going to have a bath, since your up, watch the controls to make sure its alright,” he instructed flatly turning to march away before he was given a response.

She stared after him with a bewildered expression, searching for something to say before snapping, “I don’t know how to pilot this ship!” clearly flustered.

“Its on autopilot, you’ll be fine,” he called back disinterestedly walking down the other half from the living room to the bath. Cass glared at him with a bewildered expression before flopping down into his chair, having to sit side saddle due to her chair, it being one of the few chairs on the ship that hadn’t been adjusted to fit her. She fidgeted in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but she couldn’t, a situation not improved by mounting boredom. She finally got fed up and sat up from the chair, an alert pinging as soon as she did. She checked over the console for the alert, but didn’t see anything, so pegged it to just the sound of the creaking chair. She strode through the living room, intending to play some games or read in the games room, and, in a lapse of memory strode right past Wick in his bath.

The bath was used in the ship was a standing type, resembling and likely made from a standing metal drum filled with water, like those used by some in Japan. Wick stood in the drum, a cobalt blue in colour, his arms resting on the rim of the drum as he leant his head back, a white towelette draped over his eyes. On a small shelf to his left was a half-empty bottle of cider, Swiss-army knife, his watch, and a S&W model 60 with orange rubber grips, wrapped in a water-proof holster hung on the wall outside of the small recessed compartment the bath was set in. Wick stirred in the water, straightening up as he lifted off the towel over his eyes to look at the noise that just went by, Cass noticing a large tattoo across the top of his chest as he did, spelling out ‘Mephistopheles’ in Prussian blue block capitals, the letters semi-skeletonised and curved in a crescent, the terminals pointed upwards towards Wick’s neck. He looked down at Cass with a bored but not angry expression, the dark circles under his eyes somewhat faded from the heat but still clearly present.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a dull tone, the crackle of exhaustion following it like white noise on a badly tuned radio.

“Ah…uh, I got bored,” she answered honestly, not bothering to come up with a lie for the man. He regarded her somewhat cooly for a moment before flippantly blurting out,

“fair enough,” his response somewhat surprising Cass, though not as much as it would a stranger to the man. “I didn’t need you to watch it like a hawk, just to linger nearby and keep an eye on it. ‘S not like you can’t do other things while you do,” he added, taking a swig of cider as he did, then handing it to Cass as he noticed her gazing at it, a look of Saharan thirst in here eyes.

“Ah, thanks,” Cass replied, somewhat embarrassedly, taking a deep swig from it, “by the way, I didn’t know you had a tattoo on your chest, is it new?” she asked curiously, pointing to the tattoo with a claw as she gripped the neck of the bottle in her clutch. Wick looked down at the tattoo in question for a moment, as if he had forgot he had one, the mark in question pockmarked by scars from bullets or stabs.

“Oh right, yeah no its an old one, though I didn’t exactly choose to get it,” he answered, his tone darkening as he finished, a grim look on his face.

“What do you mean?” Cass questioned, a look of curious concern on her face.

“Let’s just call it company policy, and leave it at that,” Wick bit, his voice irate, signalling that this was where Cass should drop the subject. She obliged. She nodded to him before polishing off the last of the cider, continuing down the hall to the games room, planning to take some books and things to entertain herself in the living room.

Wick was having a long bath, enjoying the hot water on the various mostly-healed wounds his body had incurred recently, enjoying the soak in silence as he was given a light lullaby from the ships various wails and moans as it sped along through space. He got out after a long while, lifting himself out of the barrel, then draining it. He pulled on a dressing gown, a cyan coloured plush robe with planes embroidered on the lapels, fixing his watch onto his wrist and grabbing both his Swiss-army knife and his holster. He leisurely walked through the ship to his room to grab some fresh clothes, barefooted over the cold steel underfoot, Cass absorbed in reading from a pile of manga and novels stacked high beside her as she reclaimed on the sofa. As he left, walking to his room, Cass suddenly piped up, “is there a DVD player in this room?” not looking up from her manga as she asked.

“Under the blank screen opposite the sofa, its behind a panel so just pull it down to access it,” he answered disinterestedly, not having to think about the answer.

“Thanks!” she called back, turning the page in her manga as she did. Wick changed in his room, pulling on a pair of pale brown chinos and a loose purple Hawaiian short, covered in flowers, swirling symbols and looming suns set in black. He grabbed his bomber jacket then went into his reloading room to repair it, sewing up the various bullet holes that it had incurred lately.

It took another two days for them to reach the wreckage, both essentially going about their own business, Wick fixing various parts of the ship and maintaining the needy juggernaut of a ship, oiling there, replacing here, tightening bolts, checking voltages, keeping records of what had been used and replaced, digging out lauxes that crawled in the ships innards, the innocuous creatures dancing between the mish-mash of amalgamated electronic and mechanical operations.

When they did arrive near the wreck, they saw, even from afar, that it was in far worse shape than before. It had mostly remained in the same place, though drifting through the field of jetsam and wreckage that clouded around it, but at some point had encountered some further disaster. Asteroids drifted idly within the graveyard, some splattered red from the dried blood of already long dead corpses, signals that a stray asteroid storm had pecked at the carrion of the craft. As Wick drew the ship in closer, Cass lingering behind him, he searched for any sign of an ambush or awaiting predator unable to not notice the further ruination of the ships remains. Small slivers of steel, polymer and glass tinkled and chimed as they connected with the ships hull, that transient, momentary sound the only one they could make before they drifted back out into the soundless vacuum they were stranded in.

Cass looked around as they sailed in, Wick winding the ship through the shifting blockades of ship components, corpses and asteroids. Eventually the pair came in sight of the ships main components, or at least the main of the wreckage. It was spun near over end, its jagged front face now flung to the sky, but more pressingly, it was riddled with fresh holes and gashes as compared to when the pair last saw it. Wick slowed the ship to a halt, hiding in the shadow of a dead rock stabbed with scrap steel and copper as he warily glared at the freshly wounded ship.

“Someone’s been here,” he grumbled, his eyes dancing as he watched ahead of him, his gaze occasionally flicking over to the monitors on the console that revealed what surrounded the ship.

“Yeah,” Cass agreed, disbelieving that an asteroid storm could do this much and still leave being as much small wreckage as it did, “but I can’t see them anywhere around here now… they might have just wanted to blow off some steam, maybe test some new ship weapons?” Cass mused, considering the possibility of an unrelated third party, they weren’t the only ones out here after all.

“There’s closer places and better targets,” Wick added dully, slumping back in his chair as he sighed a half-pensive and half-bored expression falling on his face as he considered something. “But, I can’t see anyone, and there isn’t any good place to hide out here. It’s abandoned space with nothing further than the eye can see…” he muttered, the ships scanners, radar and all else asserting the same. Wick glared at the floating corpse of a ship that drifted silently in the black like the body of a whale drifting through the bottom of the ocean. He grabbed the controls and drew the ship closer, keeping to the shadows and shallows of the cluster of ruins. The ship gave a dull creak as it was pulled through the dull needle of a journey, watching ahead with the pair as they approached the corpse, searching for a place where they could dock.

“The things obviously not pressurised, why not do a space walk over to it and keep the ship hidden?” Cass asked in a hushed voice, searching ahead as she spoke not turning to Wick.

“I want to be able to make a quick escape, and we’ll be easy targets during EVA,” Wick explained, Cass grumbling an agreement, seeing the point. They came to the ship, landing it in a blown out crater on one side, the six inch thick plate bashed inwards with jagged, fang-like, edges. The floor panels shifted when the ship landed, the superstructure of the wreck just barely holding its own cadaver together. The weightless ship rested on the unstable structure, Wick waiting to see if the panels shifted further form the sudden disturbance, but they seemed to hold. He switched off the engines, the ship shuttering down as he flicked a couple of switches and dimmed the lights, switching the ship to silent running leaving only dark, bloody red emergency lights buzzing dully above, making a sound only just within hearing range, forming a suffocating symphony with the humming of the oxygen unit still running.

“Right,” Wick murmured, pulling away from the controls and standing up.

“…I know I should have asked before but do you have any spacesuits?” Cass asked, aware of the slight ridiculousness of her question, but needing to ask it regardless.

“Yes, I do,” Wick replied brusquely, though seeming to recognise why she needed to ask the question. “I keep them stowed away down below,” he added striding towards the corridor before turning down the narrow stair, “I’ll get them, you make sure your pistol is ready.”

Cass watched where he ad left, lingering in the living room, before going to grab her pistol. It was an odd shaped weapon, made of polymer and cast-steel surrounding a ‘chassis’ as it was called of a trigger group and innards. It fed from a double-stack magazine, loaded with 7.65 Parabellum, and had a DA/SA only trigger, being striker fired, the back tip of it poking out from the rear of the slide when the trigger was pulled. She checked that the magazine was loaded, the steel magazine holding 19 rounds, witness holes punched, staggered, for every round. She pressed the magazine back into the pistol, hearing a fine click as it locked into place, before checking her spare magazines. Wick came back up the stair shortly after that, carrying a pair of folded spacesuits under the crook of one arm.

“Take your boots off before you put on the suit, ideally we should wear boiler suits or something but we should be fine,” Wick instructed in a flat tone, a tired but rather active look on his face.

“Right,” Cass agreed, sitting down to pull of her boots, then deciding to take off her shorts and shirt, sitting in her underwear as Wick followed suit, removing his watch. Cass Unfolded the suit, letting it drape down flat, and noticing that it had been modified to accommodate a tail. She shot Wick a cheeky look, a smug Cheshire cat smile plastered on her face as the sour-faced man looked away in silence. She kept grinning to herself as she pulled on the suit, the suits were cream coloured, similar to old soviet suits, though tinner and a slightly better fit though still quite loose made of high quality materials that left Cass wondering where Wick got them… Not that she would actually ask. She took a moment to finagle her tail into place before pulling the suit to about waist height, taking off her watch and placing it on the table before placing her arm into one of the sleeves and pulling it up onto her shoulder waggling her fingers to make sure the gloves fitted before doing the same with her remaining arm. As she did Wick came over and did up the suit, already having finished putting his suit on, bar the helmet.

“Thank you,” Cass stated, nodding to him, which he returned before grabbing his watch and strapping it over the suit, Cass doing the same with her Sea-Dweller before slipping her pistol into the holster built into the suit, hung around a waist height belt sporting a number of clip-latches, covered with a number of components ranging from oxygen bottles and a radio.

Wick himself grabbed his S&W Model 60, affixing the holster to his suit, before grabbing a number of speed loaders and placing them into an ammo pouch just beside it. “The suits have about seven hours of oxygen, but don’t trust that number, it’s an approximation not a permanent fact,” Wick instructed fixing Cass with a serious expression, a toothy scowl on his face.

“I know, I know,” Cass called back in a dismissive voice but still taking it quite seriously. Cass made sure the suit was firmly in place, making a few more checks than Wick himself, before walking towards the airlock with Wick, helmet in hands, making sure none of the lauxes came out with them. She wasn’t sure weather they needed to breath, but she didn’t want to risk them, both for their importance to whatever CLR was trying to kill them over but also because she simply liked the little creatures. Wick locked the airlock’s inner door as Cass pulled on her helmet, a slightly awkward job with her hood. When Wick had his helmet affixed, he slowly began to drain the airlock, checking for any possible leaks, broken seals or bullet holes, until the whole chamber was left as a vacuum. He tapped Cass on the shoulder, getting her to turn to him.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, speaking as clearly as he could, his voice coming through speakers in Cass’s helmet along with a buzzing undertone of static.

“Yeah. Can you hear me?” she returned, getting a nod in return. With the coms check complete Wick strode forward and opened the door, the heavy steel monolith swinging silently in the dead space, only a slight groan of steel rumbling through the suits to the pairs’ ears. They hopped out of the ship, their footsteps lacking any weight, held to the ship only by magnets in the boots of the suits themselves. A dust of thin metal powder, ice and rock drifted about in places, small clustered patches hanging about like swarms of midges. Both turned on flashlights pinned to the breast of the suits, illuminating the pitch black of the ship’s innards.

Wick looked around, taking a few steps forward as he did, testing the plate underfoot as he went to make sure it wouldn’t collapse under him. “You remember where you got access to the ships hardware before, right?” Wick called in a flat tone, Cass hearing it right beside her ear despite him facing away from him.

“Yeah,” turning to look at a door that led further into the ship, half-ajar, “it was further in on the other side of the ship, a service room that seemed to communicate with the pilots deck, I think this section was in-between the engines and the cockpit…” Cass explained, walking over to the door, the flashlight on her chest illuminating it and a floating corpse drifting past it, Cass and Wick surprised but more wary than disturbed. Wick stepped forward, holding his revolver in one hand as he did, pushing the body out of the way, the weightless thing frozen in a half-decomposed state with a smashed jaw as if he had fallen face first onto something.

Or, had been curb-stomped.

The pair peaked around the corner of the door-frame, Cass pulling out her pistol as well, their torches bathing the hall in a dead light, dried blood-splatter glistening slightly under the white light. They continued forward, stepping carefully and slowly, the twisting steel of the ship drilling its sound through the boots of their suits, mechanical echoes of modern timbers shivering in a tired, weightless limbo. A number of crates, tools and various other refuse drifted through the corridor, bumped by the walls as the ship was pulled through space by idle gravity, Wick and Cass shoving them from the path as they walked. They walked through the halls, on the now vertical floor, the panels that comprised it punctured, cracked or simply gone leaving bare the broken, jagged skeleton of a superstructure that made up the ship. Beams, struts and all else collapsed into themselves scraping against each other’s freshly eroded faces in a silent brutality of the dead, sparks of near dead batteries jumping through dull clouds of dust to random exposed shrapnel in blue arcs of power.

As they approached the communications room Cass had used, the ship’s interior seemed to be in a much better state, the number of punctures and shattered panels declining, along with the halls being far emptier…

Almost as if someone had tried not to hit it.

Wick looked around warily, feeling like something was definitely up both with the lack of damage but also the lack of anything in the corridor, or put another way, the lack of cover. “Why are the corridors so empty now?” Wick mused, voicing his Concern to Cass, the neidr having taken point for the moment leaving Wick to the rearguard.

“I think I might know why,” Cass replied, having rounded a corner just as Wick asked. Wick turned to her direction then strode over to her, instantly understanding what she meant. Just ahead of them, roughly close to where Wick had found Cass before, was now just an empty space, the ship completely pierced through, the floor just a few inches from where Cass and Wick stood falling away into space. Wick looked around the cavity, the edges made from mangled and bent steel and ship panelling, bloomed outward on the underside where it had been pulled along by whatever had torn this hole.

Wick looked over the chasm an agitated grimace twisting his mouth, “let me guess, we need to get over that?” Wick grumbled irately, slouching slightly out or irritation.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Cass answered, sighing to himself as she confirmed his suspicion, eyeing the chasm as she tried to figure a way across as Wick shifted about behind her.

“…Maybe we could try and walk around the edge…?” Cass mused, Cocking her head inside her helmet.

“Watch out,” Wick instructed simply, Cass stepping to the edge of the path as she turned back to look at Wick, crouched in a sprinting position near the rear of the hall, lurching forward just as she got out of the way and sprinting forward, his boots clacking loudly on the steel floor, Cass staring at him aghast.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” she yelled just as the man leapt from the edge and sailed across the gap into the corridor opposite, Cass noticing a thin, but sturdy, steel cable twisting behind him, leading back to the wall opposite her, which it had been attached to. Wick grabbed the top edge of the corridor, spinning around the point, landing on his feet on the ceiling before straightening back up a bored expression on his face, bar the slight remnants of a liminal nervousness that could be called excitement. He walked down the wall until he was back onto the floor then attached the cable to the wall, detaching the spindle from the belt of his suit.

“You can come over now,” Wick informed his comrade in a dull tone, though with a note of self-satisfaction. Cass stared over the abyss at him in slight bewilderment.

“That’s one way of doing it,” she muttered to herself as she grabbed the cable, testing it was secure before slowly pulling herself across it. She crossed the gap quickly, stepping down onto the floor nearby Wick. They left the cable pinned up as their way back, then continued down the corridor, the steel tract just as barren of refuse and clutter as the other side of the hole. Their torches shot deep down the corridors as they walked, their light occasionally glinting off the lenses of dead wall lights that lined the flanks of the channel. They finally came to the communications room after another ten minutes, the room sealed shit with a heavy steel door, both Cass and Wick forcing it open after a few minutes of straining against it, the heavy slap of a door screeching along its rails against dried grease and broken hydraulics before locking into the frame set by the door, seizing up.

Cass stepped through the door, flexing her hands as Wick followed after her. The room was rather small, stuffed to the ceiling with computer panels, screens, most blasted out, hung like awnings at their peaks, a centre console sat like a table in the centre of the room. The room was dead, not a single light left glowing, but it was still, un-mangled death, the room remarkably unscathed.

“Are you sure you can get anything from this?” Wick asked, looking around the room with a sceptical expression crossing his face, “it looks pretty dead, to say nothing of the rest of the ship,” he added flatly, watching the suited form of Cass as she bent down close to one of the panels.

“I should be able to, watch,” she confirmed proudly, prying open one of the panels with a screwdriver as she did. Wick regarded here tiredly before turning around to leave her to it, pulling out his revolver and taking point, checking his revolver was loaded, finding five rounds of .38 Special pressed into the cylinder, before locking it back shut and peaking around the door to watch for anyone who might approach them, the comm’s room set in the wall on a corridor, meaning they could come from the right or left. Wick stood by the door-frame, gripping his revolver as he watched through the door, smothered by the silent vacuum around him broken only by the occasional thump that reverberated up his suit or the hiss of feedback from Cass’s radio as she tried to coax the electronics into working.

Cass sat crouched on the worn floor, frozen rubber hard underneath her suit as she worked at the innards, tracing the various paths and voltages to try and find what could be accessed. She was having little luck for the most part, bar from piggybacking somewhat from her transmission hack. She had her head deep into the panels, shining a torch into the carcass of the computer to look for something until she saw a small diagram printed on one of the walls of the computer, showing the layout of a couple hundred boards, cards and smaller components with half melted labels decoding what they did. But, the one that Cass saw first, and made her hopes soar as a Cheshire-cat smile split across her face was a small black-orange square labelled ‘FDR/CVR_2’. She pulled herself out of the panel she was up to her waist into and dashed over to where the box should be, hurriedly prying off the plate that covered, it, the steel dented as if someone had been slammed against it. It drifted for a moment until Cass tossed it out of the way and leant into the hole.

“Yes!” she cried in triumph, catching Wick’s attention.

“What? Did you get it working?” Wick asked, turning away from the door and stepping over as he holstered his revolver.

“Better!” she asserted as she dragged something back out with her, her gloved hands gripping a large black box slightly bigger than a car battery, “I found the Black-Box! This has got all the flight data along with recording from the ship, it’ll tell us everything we could want to know!”

“And that’s why you’re going to hand it over right now,” a voice stated flatly from behind. Wick and Cass snapped to look for the voice, and saw a lone figure wearing an oddly shaped space suit, one that was more reminiscent of a wet-suit, close fitting while wearing a suit over-top of it. Both Wick and Cass flung their hands to their pistols, not waiting a moment. “Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice said calmly, with a smug satisfaction in their voice as both Wick and Cass noticed the muzzle of a barrel levelled to their visors at their left and right respectively, flickering as if they had only just fully appeared visible.

The pair stopped still, remaining frozen. “Good choice,” a voice mused from behind, oily with amused contempt, Cass flinching as she recognized the voice, “now, put you hands up,” the voice instructed, the pair following it after a moment, “that’s it… Nice and slow. Now, hand over the Black-Box,” they finished flatly, holding out a bare hand, not wearing a glove at all to Wick and Cass’s silent surprise. Cass handed the woman the Black-Box, the latter snatching it as soon as it entered her clutch and spinning over to stand by the one who first spoke.

“Alice?” Cass blurted out in a bewildered voice as she looked at the familiar face, Wick regarding her dully through his helmet, “I thought you died!”

“Oh, you weren’t wrong, but thanks to these guys I’m back… though with a few upgrades,” she replied arrogantly, stressing the last word as the swayed her hips, resting on hand on them.

“And in return,” the first voice took over, stepping past Alice as if to shunt her out of the conversation, “she had to help us find you,” they finished with a self-satisfied flare to their voice. They were a bit taller than Alice or Cass, but shorter than Wick or the two armed men stood either side of Wick and Cass, most of his distinguishing features not visible under the suit. The only real thing that could be noted was his voice, spoken with an undeniable feminine air but equally undeniable a man’s voice, spoken with a blanket tone of restrained dignity and mocking confidence, one that made you imagine a thin but smarmy smile to always be crossing his face.

“And I did, didn’t I,” Alice asserted her voice confident, but also pleading. The man ignored her.

“Since you’re here could you tell us why you keep hunting us?” Wick asked in a bored tone, disinterested with the charade ahead of him. The man turned to Wick specifically and stepped forward, having to peer up at the taller man.

“I think you know already, what you actually want to know is why knowing that marks you out to be hunted,” the man smirking at him through the visor over his face, through which Wick could see an effeminate looking face with foppish blonde hair, a number of freckles on one side of their face. “And that answer is unfortunately one you won’t get. Keep them walking, we’re taking them to the ship,” they finished, turning their back before walking out of the room, Alice following after.

Wick and Cass were directed to follow, one of the two goons gesturing with his rifle, a square shaped rifle made mostly of polymer with what looked like a .30 calibre barrel. The pair where led forward down a hall in the opposite direction they had come from, watching the backs of Alice and the man who seemed to be the leader.

As Alice walked along confidently ahead of them, illuminated fully by the pair of flashlights, Cass looked at her closer. The first thing she noticed was a new pair of cat-like ears popping from the top of her head, where her old ones had been now covered by hair, along with a short tail popping from the base of her spine and a number of other small details. But, she couldn’t see whatever it was that made her not need a suit, her skin not even having goosebumps as she stood in an empty vacuum, speaking despite a total lack of air.

He clothes were different too, though, considering they were robbed from what was presumed to be her corpse, that made sense. She was wearing a suit that resembled the ones that were worn by the previous mercenaries that they had met, though now black rather than grey, with rolled up sleeves over a white shirt, a long ruby red silk tie falling from her neck. She had a large pistol under her arm that glinted under the torchlight as she span while walking, a watch strapped to her wrist.

Wick however was uninterested in the resurrected corpse of a woman ahead of him, instead patiently and quietly watching as they were led forward, slowly gaining yet more armed agents that popped unseen from various rooms even sometimes suddenly being stood by a wall where they had not been before you blinked.

By the end, when they stopped at a large vaulted room that seemed to be the blasted out wreckage of an atrium, there were about twenty of them, all armed to the teeth with Spec-Ops gear and with a demeanour to match. “I’ve got to be honest, I’m a little impressed that you got this far,” the man commented, rocking on his heel as he regarded the pair side-on. “But, really, what did you expect to accomplish? A pair of freebooter scavengers like you?” he insulted with a voice full of mirth, striding forward and lifting up the base of Wick’s helmet with his index finger as he gazed at the taller man with a depraved expression of schadenfreude, baring pure white teeth as Wick returned it with a disinterested and bored expression. A frown flashed on the leaders face behind his visor before returning to his arrogant smirk, pushing away at the other man before turning away.

“Tie them up then take them to the ship. You two, go retrieve the experiments from their ship, and don’t dally, we’ve got a schedule to keep,” he instructed drolly, his voice backing out monotone orders as two soldiers disappeared further into the ship, moving quickly as a pair moved up behind Cass and Wick to hand-cuff them.

“Put your hands behind your back,” one gruffly instructed Wick as he pulled out a pair of black cuffs. Wick lowered his hands slowly, brushing them past his hip until they were behind his back, though one was rested at his hip, only his wrist bent back. The soldier snapped the cuff over one hand and went to grab the other. Just as he did a bullet snapped silently through the dead space into the soldiers stomach as Wick fired the revolver he had retrieved from his holster into the man’s stomach. Wick took the undiscovered moment to grab the wounded man and twist him round like a shield before firing at the head of Cass’s guard, the helmeted sphere erupting into a firework of blood, frozen in the absence of gravity. By now the other guards had noticed the break-out, snapping around and firing. Cass and Wick darted behind different cover, some still left in the empty atrium, bolted to the steel floor.

As the guards fired, great red beams of light snapped out of the muzzle’s of their rifles, the blocky weapons slamming down into their hands, the recoil reversed compared to what was normal, though alike to the handling of Wick’s FAL. Wick ducked behind a mangled table, keeping himself low as a few beams lanced overhead or smouldered as they struck the back of the table, the steel quickly burning red-hot from the impacts as suppressive fire was levied against the pair. Cass peaked over the top of her cover, a cluster of vending machines now decorated with bullet holes, and fired a number of rounds at the various assailant, three hitting, but only one seeming to do any damage the one who hand been hit flinging his hands to his helmet to try and seal the puncture in his helmet, speckles of blood drifting serenely as he man writhed to preserve his life, dropping his weapons. Cass was forced back behind cover by a silent hail of bullets and lasers as the various troops advanced, the leader shifting back towards their ship as he barked orders that the pair could no longer hear. Lasers scorched themselves into the steel around them, melting through the thick metal with disturbing ease, as they were supplemented by .308 rifle fire.

They slowly pressed forwards towards the pair, knowing they were trapped in the near empty atrium. The neidr and the scavenger searched for a solution, searching their person and their wits for a solution as they were slowly pressed closer and closer to the edge of death, hearing the cacophonous orchestra that made up the winding laugh of death as they attempted to fend off the attack with increasing drained reserves of ammunition.  

They both decided the same. Wick took something off his belt and pulled a pin from it, looking at it for a moment before allowing the top leaver flip off, sailing weightlessly through the air as they grenade burned down. A guard jumped over the cover, gripping two handed an odd looking revolver in his hands, firing a bullet that bored through the small of Wick’s waist, air bleeding out of the wounded suit. Wick fired rapidly at the man, his shots landing far truer and killing them in short order before landing on a fired chamber. He didn’t take the time to reload instead snapping to stand straight up, just in the moment the other guards had stopped firing to not injure their comrade, their aim already correcting as they saw the cream-suited spaceman, and he threw the grenade at a cluster of them, the white-red painted bomb whipping through vacuum that surrounded it.

It struck the ground and ricocheted, bouncing back up into the air, a long scuff on the thin white paint showing the white steel underneath.

It blew, screeching shrapnel far around it and slamming hard into everything around it, unimpeded by gravity or air resistance, white hot fire burning as they smouldered over the oxidants that fuelled them. It killed five of them, their lifeless corpses stuck standing as their boots held them to the blasted-out floor. The pair turned and ran, not waiting for the confusion to leave, Wick slamming his empty pistol into his holster as he stole the revolver of the man he had shot along with s number of bandoliers, bolting forward as Cass fired behind them, pulling refuse down behind them as they ran. The pursuit continued quickly after, bullets fired through the thin refuse slamming into steel around them digging deep into the metal, bending it, the lasers seeming to have poor penetration by comparison.

“What’s the plan?!” Cass yelled as they sprinted forward, running as hard as they could.

“Fucking run!” Wick roared back in a stressed wail not holding anything back. They bolted forward, skirting around winding corners as Wick led the ungraceful retreat having memorised the route they had been brought down. They ran only with the sound of their own hurried footfalls until they came to the chasm that was bound by a cable. Seeing it just further down the hallway.

“We’re nearly there!” Cass called as they ran, a hopeful tone in her voice.

“I don’t think so!” snarled Alice as she screamed around the corner behind them, leaping of the wall and lunging at the pair as they came to the chasm, claws bared and teeth grit in a desperate, cruel snarl. Wick wordlessly span on his heel to face the woman, looking at her with a disinterested but irate expression.

“Bugger off!” he snapped as he fired at her head only a few meters away, her head snapping back from the impact as she stalled in the air. She snapped her head forward, gripping the bullet between her fanged teeth staring at Wick as he leapt backwards off the chasm’s edge, shooting apart the cable as Cass sailed through the air ahead of him. He looked at her as she hovered in the corridor, admitting to himself that she had done something rather cool as he pulled out a small detonator he had pilfered from the same mane whose revolver he stole. He had seen them laying out what looked like explosives as they walked, but hadn’t actually though he’d get a chance to use them. “I hope this works,” he mused to himself as he pressed the button with his thumb.

Fire. It wreathed the ship in square spirals everywhere below the chasm, though creeping up on one side, thankfully far from Wick’s ship, as the steel whale’s corpse exploded, blasted out and falling in on itself. Wick was blasted back towards the opposite edge of the chasm as light chased after him, swiping at him and only just missing. He slammed his back onto the edge of the chasm, bouncing off as he tried to scramble for a grip until he eventually grabbed Cass’s tail which she dangled down for him to catch.

���Thank you!” Wick thanked in a panicked voice.

“Just hurry up and climb! This really fucking hurts!” she snapped back, Wick following the direction then running to get to the ship, already feeling the dying structure buckle under the sudden strain, sinking uneasily down further from the clustered graveyard of its own remains.

Floor panels fell away, corridors twisted, glass shattered and random jetsam ricocheted about as they ran, the pair knowing that there were still two remaining guards hidden in their ship, if not already having blown up the junkheap of a craft. They had to get there, they had to beat them or they would be stranded. The steel corpse fell apart as they ran, one final writhing bout of rigor-mortis as it tired to drag down the few left who had sullied its ruinous cadaver. They saw their ship just ahead of them, the wall having fallen away into the corridor as the roof peeled back like an opened tin of sardines. They raced to the door, already hung open and dived into the airlock, slamming it shut behind them, not even waiting for the room to pressurise before snapping open the inner door, weapons levied to face the last two spec-ops soldiers.

Instead, they saw the pair of corpses sprawled on the ground, one  having half of their helmet melted, the other having a golf ball sized hole where their heart would have been, the entire company of luaxes sitting on the bodies inspecting them curiously. They looked up at the pair who had just entered, their expressionless countenances prepared for a fight, bathed in the red light of the ship, immediately softening as soon as they recognised Wick and Cass, running over to the later like dogs who had just caught a pheasant. The pair broke out of their bewilderment quickly as Wick raced to the cockpit and threw himself into the seat, wrenching the ship from silent running to max speed as the structure it rested on cleaved away, crumbling beneath the ships landing gear.

[crowandtalbot]

for retail work i always ask at the end about emergency absences: "what is the policy around needing to call out because of an absolute emergency, like if I am on my way to work my shift when a meteor falls on my car and brakes my leg?"

it's a question that gets a laugh from the ridiculous scope and alleviates the awkwardness of asking the forbidden question (anything that might suggest you are not committed to the job to an unhealthy degree).

What you're getting at is 3 things: how they answer, how they respond to follow up questions, and literally what you are expected to do if there is some reason that makes it immediately impossible at the absolute last second to come in for your shift.

When working retail you need to know before you start with the company just how much of your health you are sacrificing, because they will demand you grind your body into the ground working there and then fire you when they need a profit boost at the end of the quarter.

It is usually one of the managers you will be working with that you are interviewed by, and you will need to know how they act when they are uncomfortable and things are not going smoothly.

I have literally worked a retail job that I just quit when I had an emergency, because their policy was so ridiculous. They wanted me to call all of my coworkers before my shift to ask to use an online portal to trade shifts before not coming to work on time because my car had broken down (literally shut down, turns out the slipping I was feeling was the pistons wearing out, the engine was donedone) on the freeway half way to work and I was still waiting on a tow truck to come get my car and hopefully pick me up.

But if I didn't get to work on time then they were going to reprimand me anyway because they didn't have a system to acknowledge emergencies. I had already clocked in a minute late twice in the 6 months prior and it was grounds for being fired.

That's when I realized I never needed a job so badly that it would put me through that again.

Also if the answer is "well we try to not have meteors fall on us so there's no policy per se", that means they will not work with you at all if you have an emergency. They will do shit like expect you to come in after having a stroke or expecting you to do the manager's job of getting someone to cover your shift if you're mugged in the parking lot and need to go to the hospital for stab wounds or in the hospital and in labor.

Life happens, and you need to know what you are expected to do if something dramatic does happen.

[werindialive]

Ahmedabad Air India Plane Crash: 241 Dead, One Survivor Under Treatment

A London-bound Air India flight crashed just minutes after taking off from Ahmedabad airport on Thursday afternoon, killing 241 of the 242 people on board. The only survivor, Vishwaskumar Ramesh, is being treated at a hospital. He was seated at 11A and was travelling with his brother, who did not survive.

Plane Hits Residential Area, Triggers Massive Fire

The Air India Boeing 787 Dreamliner, flying as AI171, crashed into the doctors’ quarters of BJ Medical College in the Meghaninagar area around 1:39 PM. The crash caused a massive fire and thick smoke could be seen rising from the site. Several buildings caught fire, and many residents were injured. Cars parked nearby were also damaged in the fire.

Emergency services rushed to the scene with multiple fire engines and ambulances. Three teams from the National Disaster Response Force (NDRF) were sent to assist with rescue work.

By midnight, 265 bodies had been taken to Ahmedabad Civil Hospital, including passengers and people from the residential area. An exact breakdown is still awaited.

Passenger and Crew Details

According to Air India, the flight had 230 passengers and 12 crew members. The passengers included:

· 169 Indian nationals

· 53 British nationals

· 7 Portuguese nationals

· 1 Canadian national

Among the deceased was former Gujarat Chief Minister Vijay Rupani. His death was confirmed by BJP spokesperson Sambit Patra.

Officials confirmed that the pilot sent a ‘Mayday’ signal - indicating an emergency - just after takeoff. However, the aircraft stopped responding shortly after. The plane crashed outside the airport’s boundary.

The Directorate General of Civil Aviation (DGCA) said that the aircraft had just departed from Runway 23 and then lost altitude quickly.

Government Reaction and Support

Home Minister Amit Shah visited the crash site and later confirmed the survivor’s condition. He announced a full investigation and said the final death toll will be confirmed after DNA tests.

Civil Aviation Minister Ram Mohan Naidu Kinjarapu said he was personally monitoring the situation and praised the quick response of rescue teams.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi called the incident “heartbreaking beyond words” and sent top officials to Gujarat to oversee the response.

Tata Group Chairman N Chandrasekaran said that ₹1 crore will be given to the families of each victim. He added that Air India is working to support affected families and assist rescue efforts.

Ahmedabad International Airport briefly closed operations but reopened later with limited flights, according to an airport spokesperson. This tragic crash has left families devastated and the nation mourning. A thorough investigation is underway to determine what caused the deadly accident. To read top news headlines India in Hindi, subscribe to our newsletter!

[firediaz]

𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 // always accepting !

[ rest ] sender unintentionally falls asleep leaning against receiver

the   118   has   just   finished   attending   a   routine   house   fire   (   an   unattended   stove   )   but   thankfully   nobody   was   displaced.   the   owner   would   have   to   look   into   getting   a   new   stove   and   probably   some   work   done   to   their   slightly   crispy   kitchen   ,   but   at   least   everyone   had   been   okay.

once all   of   their   equipment   was   put   away   ,   the   firefighters   clamoured   back   inside   the   big   red   engine.   eddie   and   buck   always   sat   across   from   each   other   on   rides   (   or   close   enough   )   but   tonight   ravi   had   taken   the   backwards   facing   seat   and   eddie   had   crammed   himself   in   next   to   buck   ,   for   once   not   giving   their   newest   member   to   the   crew   playful   grief.   there   was   the   usual   banter   in   the   engine   ,   chimney   suggesting   they   stop   on   the   way   home   and   pick   up   some   tacos   for   dinner   (   instead   of   their   usual   sit   down   meal   )   ;   hen   agreeing   that   it   would   be   a   nice   change   ;   bobby   waiting   for   a   consensus before   responding   ;   ravi   happy   to   do   whichever   ended   up   with   him   doing   the   least   amount   of   chores;   eddie   saying   he'd   be   happy   either   way   but   was   also   kiiind   of leaning   towards   tacos   as   well.   and   buck? 

the   silence   stretches   on   for   too   long   and   for   a   moment   ,   concern   washes   over   eddie   as   he   looks   towards   his   friend   in   the   dark   cab.   did   they   somehow   get   hurt   and   no   one   noticed? eddie   had   felt   the   weight   against   his   body   but   didn't   think   anything   of   it.   sitting   in   such   tight   quarters   often   meant   you   were   almost   in   someone   else's   lap.   "   buck.   .   .?   "   his   voice   is   almost   soft   as   he   gives   his   friend   a   light   tap   on   the   chest.   the   only   response   is   a   soft   snore   heard   over   the   headset.

@itsbuck

[milliebrown580k]

Your Guide to Renting Out Your Campervan: Tips and Tricks

Introduction

Renting out your campervan can be a rewarding experience, allowing you to earn extra income while sharing the joy of traveling with others. Whether you own a classic Volkswagen camper or a modern, fully-equipped motorhome, this guide provides tips and tricks to help you navigate the process successfully. From preparing your campervan for rental to managing bookings and ensuring a positive experience for renters, here's everything you need to know.

Understanding the Rental Process

1. Legal and Insurance Considerations

Before renting out your rent my campervan it's crucial to address legal and insurance requirements:

Insurance Coverage: Contact your insurance provider to ensure your policy covers rentals. Consider additional coverage options for comprehensive protection.

Local Regulations: Familiarize yourself with local laws and regulations regarding camper van rentals, including permits or licenses required in your area.

2. Setting Rental Rates

Determine competitive rental rates based on factors such as your campervan's age, condition, amenities, and location:

Market Research: Research similar campervans for rent in your area to gauge pricing trends.

Seasonal Variations: Adjust rates for peak travel seasons or special events to maximize earning potential.

Additional Fees: Consider charging for extras like mileage overages, cleaning fees, or optional equipment rentals.

Preparing Your Campervan for Rental

1. Mechanical Inspection and Maintenance

Ensure your campervan is in optimal condition for renters' safety and comfort:

Routine Maintenance: Schedule a thorough inspection, including engine, brakes, tires, and fluid levels.

Safety Checks: Verify all safety equipment, such as fire extinguishers, smoke detectors, and emergency tools, are functional and accessible.

2. Cleaning and Presentation

Create a positive first impression by presenting a clean and well-maintained campervan:

Interior Cleaning: Deep clean living areas, kitchenette, bathroom (if applicable), and sleeping quarters.

Exterior Care: Wash and wax the exterior, check for any cosmetic imperfections, and ensure all lights and signals are operational.

3. Amenities and Essentials

Equip your campervan with essential amenities to enhance renters' comfort and convenience:

Kitchen Supplies: Provide cookware, utensils, dishes, and basic pantry staples for meal preparation.

Bedding and Linens: Offer clean sheets, pillows, blankets, and towels for a cozy sleeping experience.

Entertainment Options: Include books, board games, outdoor gear, or optional add-ons like portable grills or camping chairs.

Listing Your Campervan for Rent

1. Online Rental Platforms

Utilize popular rental platforms to list your campervan and reach a wide audience of potential renters:

Detailed Description: Write a compelling description highlighting your campervan's features, amenities, and unique selling points.

High-Quality Photos: Capture clear, well-lit photos showcasing both interior and exterior spaces.

Availability Calendar: Keep your calendar updated to manage bookings effectively and avoid scheduling conflicts.

2. Marketing Your Rental

Attract renters by promoting your campervan through various marketing channels:

Social Media: Share photos, videos, and customer testimonials on social media platforms to engage potential renters.

Word of Mouth: Encourage satisfied renters to leave reviews and referrals, building credibility and trust among future renters.

3. Responding to Inquiries

Promptly respond to inquiries and messages from potential renters:

Communication: Provide clear and timely responses to questions about rental terms, availability, and amenities.

Booking Process: Guide renters through the booking process, including deposit payments, rental agreements, and pick-up/drop-off arrangements.

Managing Rentals and Ensuring a Positive Experience

1. Screening Renters

Establish criteria for renters to ensure a positive rental experience:

Driver Requirements: Verify renters' driving records, age, and experience with handling similar vehicles.

Rental Agreement: Draft a comprehensive rental agreement outlining terms, responsibilities, and expectations for both parties.

2. Handover and Orientation

Conduct a thorough handover and orientation session with renters before departure:

Vehicle Walkthrough: Demonstrate how to operate essential systems, controls, and safety features.

Destination Tips: Provide recommendations for campgrounds, attractions, and local amenities to enhance renters' travel experience.

3. Support During the Rental Period

Offer ongoing support and assistance to renters throughout their journey:

Emergency Contacts: Provide contact information for roadside assistance, repair services, and local authorities.

Communication: Stay accessible for questions, troubleshooting, and resolving any issues that may arise during the rental period.

Post-Rental Procedures

1. Return and Inspection

Conduct a thorough inspection of the campervan upon its return:

Damage Assessment: Assess for any damages, excessive wear and tear, or missing items compared to the pre-rental condition.

Security Deposit: Process refunds promptly after deducting costs for any damages or additional charges incurred during the rental period.

2. Customer Feedback

Encourage renters to provide feedback on their rental experience:

Reviews and Testimonials: Use positive feedback to enhance your rental listing and reputation.

Continuous Improvement: Address any constructive criticism to improve future rental experiences and customer satisfaction.

Conclusion

Renting out your campervan can be a fulfilling venture, offering financial benefits and the opportunity to share the joy of travel with others. By preparing your campervan thoroughly, setting competitive rates, marketing effectively, and providing excellent customer service, you can create a positive and memorable experience for renters while maximizing your rental income. Whether you're renting out a classic camper or a modern motorhome, these tips and tricks will help you navigate the process successfully and enjoy the rewards of sharing your camper van with fellow adventurers.

[auto2mation1]

Optimizing Operations: The Importance of Thermostats in Marine Automation

In the vast area of the sea, efficiency isn't just a luxury; it's a necessity. Marine automation systems play a crucial role in ensuring smooth sailing for vessels of all sizes. Among the many components that keep these systems running smoothly, thermostats stand out as crucial contributor. In this blog, we'll look into the importance of thermostats in marine automation, exploring how they optimize operations and contribute to the efficiency of maritime activities.

Understanding Marine Automation

Before diving into the role of thermostats, it's essential to understand the fundamentals of marine automation. Modern vessels rely on sophisticated systems to control various operations, from propulsion to navigation. These systems minimize human intervention, improve accuracy, and enhance safety at sea.

The compassion of Temperature Control

Thermostats serve as the beating heart of temperature control within marine automation systems. Whether it's regulating the temperature of engine rooms, cabins, or cargo holds, thermostats play a pivotal role in maintaining optimal conditions. By ensuring that temperatures remain within specified ranges, these devices prevent equipment damage, safeguard perishable goods, and create comfortable environments for crew members.

Efficiency at Sea

Efficiency is dominant in maritime operations, where every drop of fuel and every watt of electricity counts. Thermostats contribute to efficiency by optimizing energy usage throughout the vessel. By modulating heating, ventilation, and air conditioning (HVAC) systems based on real-time conditions, thermostats help minimize energy waste and reduce operational costs.

Preventing Overheating and Freezing

In the harsh environment of the open sea, temperature extremes pose significant challenges. Overheating can lead to equipment malfunction and even catastrophic failures, while freezing temperatures can damage sensitive components. Thermostats act as guardians against these threats, activating cooling systems to prevent overheating and activating heating systems to prevent freezing, thereby ensuring the reliability of onboard equipment.

Enhancing Safety and Comfort

Beyond operational efficiency, thermostats contribute to the safety and comfort of crew members and passengers. By maintaining stable temperatures within living quarters and common areas, these devices create a more pleasant onboard environment, reducing the risk of heat-related illnesses and promoting crew morale. Additionally, by preventing temperature fluctuations in critical areas such as engine rooms, thermostats help mitigate fire hazards and enhance overall safety at sea.

Real-Time Monitoring and Control

Advancements in technology have transformed the capabilities of thermostats in marine automation. Modern thermostats feature integrated sensors and connectivity options that enable real-time monitoring and remote control. Ship operators can access temperature data from anywhere in the world, allowing them to make informed decisions and respond swiftly to changing conditions.

Environmental Considerations

In an era of growing environmental awareness, the role of thermostats in marine automation extends beyond operational efficiency. By optimizing energy usage and reducing fuel consumption, these devices help minimize the environmental footprint of maritime activities. Additionally, by ensuring the proper storage and transport of temperature-sensitive cargo, thermostats contribute to sustainable practices within the shipping industry.

The Future of Marine Automation

As technology continues to evolve, the importance of thermostats in marine automation will only increase. From enhanced predictive capabilities to integration with artificial intelligence systems, the future holds exciting possibilities for thermostat technology. By staying at the forefront of innovation, ship operators can further optimize operations and embrace a more efficient and sustainable future on the high seas.

Conclusion

In the dynamic world of marine automation, thermostats play a vital role in optimizing operations and ensuring efficiency at sea. From temperature control to safety enhancement, these devices offer a multitude of benefits for ship operators and crew members alike. By understanding the importance of thermostats and leveraging their capabilities to the fullest, maritime stakeholders can navigate toward a future of smoother sailing and greater success on the open water.