#first aid kit heavy storm

[emily-the-fae]

autumn aesthetic

He used to play an un-tuned guitar

While he sang about me and he sang about the stars

I used to dream about another time

And now it's all clear that's the only time I wish would come back

excuse me but it suddenly associated and the song is very nice

[magpiesky]

We used to wait

For our heavy storms

To take us away

While something new would form

I wish that I could have known by then

Well now all know

That we're never getting back to those times

Edit: I didnt realize this lined up with the goretober prompt. Fun accident.

[smallest-turtle]

if you want a fun little insight to the vibes of brandon's relationship with his sister you can listen to leaf pile by the front bottoms, i feel exhausted by everyone everywhere, cao dai blowout by the mountain goats, and the pull by now, now . on loop. :)

[moocowmoocow]

A new day awaits me I could be gone today A new day awaits me We could be here to stay

[kiss-theggoat]

Gonna need a part two where the slashers realize their s/o is alive >:’(

Slashers Fix You Up

Slashers Included: Thomas Hewitt, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Asa Emory, Michael Meyers, The Sinclair Brothers

TW: Violence and Gore

Thomas Hewitt:

The wound to your stomach was deep. It tore through deep tissue and muscle, but lucky for you, Thomas knew exactly what to do.

Not only had he been stabbed like that, but he’d become really good at sewing and stitching up human skin.

You woke up, feeling groggy, but immediately recognized the basement you were in. You laid on Tommy’s workbench, shirt off and torso numb.

When you looked down you saw Thomas hunched over you, huge hands trying hard to delicately sew you up, fingers covered in your blood.

You whispered to him, and you could’ve sworn you saw his heart skipped a beat. He jumped up, immediately grabbing the side of your face with relief written all over his face, eyes wide and breath heavy. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he lost you.

Billy Loomis:

Nothing when like it was supposed to that night. Sydney got away, Stu stabbed him too hard, and the worst of all…he stood above you, watching your blood pool on the hardwood of Stu’s living room.

He bent down, putting pressure on your wound while looking around the room, taking deep breaths and trying to think rationally…he needed to get you out of here. He quickly lifted you, trying to ignore your pained groans. He hated seeing you like this.

The moment he got your arm around his shoulders and your feet on the ground, he heard them…sirens. He was conflicted. Relief washed over him. He knew you’d be getting help soon but…if he didn’t run…Syd would tell them everything. He’d go to jail, be found guilty for murder.

In that moment, he didn’t care. He helped you limp towards the front door, pushing it open. You’d lost too much blood…you didn’t even realize that Billy was sacrificing himself to save your life.

Stu Macher:

Stu watched his entire world fall apart when Billy stabbed you. He watched you fall, holding your gushing stomach, blood seeping from between your fingers.

He rushed to your side, hands covering your wound as he laid you back onto the ground.

“Just look at me. Don’t worry, keep looking at me.” He refused to let you look at your wound. He didn’t want you to be scared about how hurt you were. He lifted your hands to inspect your wound…he sighed in relief.

“It’s okay baby…the bleeding is slowing down…you’re gonna be okay…”

Asa Emory:

Asa never expected you to fall into one of his traps. He was beating himself up about it, but there was no time. He lifted you onto his operating table, covering your entire body with gauze.

He started slow, sutures and thread in his precise hands. You were covered in deep wounds, caused by rusty nails…he whispered his apologies, holding one hand as he poured antiseptic over you. It burned, it was unbearable…but you trusted him.

He carefully sewed each wound with a single suture, making sure to reassure you and stop the bleeding whenever it happened. It took him hours, but nothing would stop him from fixing you. Fixing your skin, fixing his love.

Michael Meyers:

For the first time in his entire life, he felt guilt. He felt a storm of emotions, but as he stared at your knife wound- the one his dumbass caused…- he knew it wouldn’t kill you. He’d never felt so terrible and so relieved in his life.

He quickly scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom with shaking fingers. His hands had never shaken before…

He slammed open your medicine cabinet, hard enough to crack the glass, and popped open the first aid kit, sending gauze and band-aids onto the bathroom floor. You’d patched him up plenty of times so it should be easy…right?

Six butterfly bandages, four bandaids, and two complete rolls of gauze later, you felt like you might be suffocated by the first-aid supplies but…he’d tried his best. And, you weren’t bleeding anymore.

Sinclair Brothers:

The blow to the face had broken your eyebrow and sliced your skin, and the fall to the floor left you with a concussion and a sprained wrist. Vincent carried you downstairs gently, knowing he had the supplies to fix you up in his workshop.

All three brothers stayed by your side, and you were never alone over the course of the next week, especially while you were sleeping, until your concussion headache finally went away.

Your face was bruised and swollen and it hurt like nothing else you’d experienced, especially the cut on your eyebrow.

But, every morning when you walked downstairs, you received a kiss on the eyebrow from each Sinclair brother, and they all treated you like you were made of porcelain, even Bo.

[teenidlegirl]

꣑୧ ݁.﹒𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘 .ᐟ

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 ┆ 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ a beaten up spider-man stands on your balcony. you ushered him inside and tend to his wounds. a rainy night of apologies and… intimacy.

. ˚◞ ♡ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕⠀˖ ࣪ ༘ angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, injuries, backstories, mentions of past character death, mentions of blood, feelings, heavy ass tension (unexplainable tension hehe)

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

the shocking plot twist, how marvelous and thrilling. murder mystery novels are simply the best. you were reading the last few sentences of the last chapter until the growling from daisy interrupts your reading mind. setting down the book on your lap, you look confusingly at the golden doodle. before asking her what’s wrong, you follow her line of vision which leads you to the balcony. your heart drops and eyes widen in shock to find a tall figure clad in red and dark blue staring at you, making you gasp. jumping off the couch, you rush to the balcony, glass door sliding in the process. a fresh breeze of rainy air greets you, gently blowing through your hair.

another gasp escapes your lips but in horror. in front of you stands a beaten up spider-man. bruises and scars covering his handsome face. strands of wet hair sticking onto his forehead.

your heart cracks at the sight.

what the hell happened? who did this to him?

miguel, on the other hand, is still mesmerized by you. you’re wearing that nightdress which makes him feel warm every time he sees you wearing it. the pain still lingers but he’s solely fixated on you.

without saying a word, you grab him by the wrist and usher him inside. still mesmerized by you, miguel follows you like a lost puppy. you sat him down on the couch, taking mental note of how big he looks compared to your couch, how small he makes it look.

“give me a sec, i’ll be right back.” audible panic in your tone as you rush to your bathroom for the first aid kit, leaving miguel alone on your couch.

he simply waits for you, remaining silent as his eyes follow your figure until you disappear into your room. miguel didn’t even notice daisy walking up to him and snuggling against his side, an attempt for comfort. his eyes lit up immediately as you walked back into the room with a first aid kit in your hands. he can see the concern on your pretty face.

sitting down beside him, you quickly open up the kit and took out all the supplies you need. anxiety starts kicking in, causing your hands to shake a little which didn’t go unnoticed by miguel. due to your anxiety, you start feeling hot so you swiftly take off your silk robe, leaving you in your nightdress. using a small wash cloth with applied water, you gingerly clean his facial wounds. neither of you speak as you tend to his wounds, silence filling the room other than the chaotic sounds of the storm outside. you try being very careful not to hurt miguel in the process, honestly he doesn’t care but he appreciates how caring you are. after cleaning them, you use antibacterial ointment and apply it on the delicate wounds. miguel’s eyes focused on you, completely in awe of your medical skills. he watches, adores, those furrowed brows and pouting lips of concern. how cute yet pretty you look worrying about him, the asshole who yelled at you and made you distance yourself from him. after making you feel like shit for two weeks, you still care for him.

you still care for his dumbass after what he did? you are something, something rare yet alluring. he has never met anyone alluring as you.

an alluring angel.

you can feel his eyes on you as you continue tending his wounds. it makes you tense a little, increasing your anxiety. his stare always felt intimidating but it isn’t like that this time. but you can’t ignore the rapid beating of your heart, which miguel can definitely hear due to his advanced abilities. it’s like a drum, a fast tempo of a song. he could listen to your heartbeat everyday but not when it’s beating so rapidly due to fear and anxiety. the guilt still lingers but grows stronger as he continues watching you, your delicate hands tending his wounds.

“i’m sorry…” it was so quiet, barely a whisper but it managed to break the prolonged silence. a silence that miguel had enough of.

you stop and look at him with a confused expression, brows furrowed. “what?…”

he finally looks away, looking down at his lap. “i’m sorry for… yelling at you. you didn’t deserve that...” audible guilt in his tone.

your heart aches immensely. part of you appreciates his apology but remembering why he yelled at you in the first place consumes your mind. “no… i’m the one who should be sorry. for invading your privacy was stupid of me, i shouldn’t have done that i—“

“no…” he softly cuts you off but you do so as well.

“no, miguel. what i did was wrong. i fucked up. that was stupid of me to do, betraying you like that.” you look up at him but he doesn’t meet your gaze, only staring in his lap. “i knew should’ve had stopped watching it and yet my fucking dumbass didn’t. so don’t excuse that… it was so fucking stupid of me.”

“i forgive you.”

you stare at him with wide eyes, visibly shocked.

“you’re not stupid… i’m the stupid one…” his head hangs low, afraid to meet your eyes. “i yelled at you and scared you away… it was wrong for me to do that. you’re not annoying or stupid, i never meant any of that…” miguel still avoids your gaze, the guilt consuming him entirely. his head still hangs low and shoulders slumped. after the apology, even though it feels like it isn’t enough, miguel has to tell you the truth. “that video… it’s one of my favorite memories of her…” he said softly but also sorrowfully.

you remain silent, attentive to what he has to say. miguel explains everything, the backstory of his mistake. the miguel of gabriella’s universe dying and him taking his place. recalling how much of an amazing kid she was, an exact replica of him. how much he loved his daughter wholeheartedly and unconditionally. then, he reveals the heartbreaking moment and it shatters your heart. now you understand everything, understand him.

“i’m sorry…” hints of sorrow in your tone. the immense temptation to wrap your arms around him, comfort him with an embrace consumes you. but you can’t, he’s heavily injured and his body doesn’t need anymore pressure. all you could do is place a gentle hand on his forearm, lightly touching him.

miguel’s gaze immediately lands on your hand, a bit surprised by the intimate gesture but doesn’t mind. he relishes the feeling of your soft delicate touch against his roughness, making him feel warm.

you notice his lingering gaze on your hand, making you quickly retrieve it. you don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable by the sudden gesture considering he isn’t a fan of physical touch after what he went through. but little did you know that miguel doesn’t mind, in fact, craves it. a little frown forms on his face when you moved your hand away. he knows you’re aware, mindful of his boundaries but he doesn’t mind it at this moment. not with you.

those thoughts leave his mind when a sharp pain on his back caused him to groan, hunching over with a clenched jaw and furrowed brows. you softly gasp at the sight of him in pain. “where does it hurt?” your eyes scan for the area of pain on his body.

he shakes his head. “it’s nothing, it’ll heal.” miguel said through gritted teeth, the pain consuming him.

“miguel, please… let me help you.” you pleaded, looking at him with a concern look.

he doesn’t need to look back at you to see those pouting lips and eyes of concern. just hearing your worried tone makes his heart warm. “my back.”

without wasting a second, you grab the little wash cloth and other items. as if he read your mind, miguel shifts to the side so his back is to you. by his command, his suit disintegrates but stops at his waistline. a soft gasp escapes your lips. a large bloody cut on his back, it ranges from one shoulder blade to the opposite hip. oh your heart aches at the sight, how painful it looks by a simple glance. instinctively, you slowly reach out with a hand but stop merely a few centimeters away from touching his skin. using your fingertips, you trace the cut just above it without touching. this poor man.

“i’m sorry…” your tender voice rings in his ears like a melody as you continue tracing your fingers. you feel terrible for him. is that really what it’s like? getting beaten the shit out of you on a daily basis? that doesn’t sound ‘super’ at all. supposedly that’s the sacrifice of being a hero, endure the pain no matter what. you wish miguel didn’t have to. he has suffered enough pain, he doesn’t need more.

snapping out thoughts, you quickly start tending to his large wound. another prolonged silence fills the room, the storm still ongoing. flashes of lightning from the distance lit up the entire apartment, followed by thunder which didn’t bother you both. you finished tending his wound with gauze. his suit covers up his back as you pack up the first aid kit.

“thank you…” his soft tone makes you stop in your tracks, looking back at him but he doesn’t look at you, his eyes still facing down at the floor.

a sad smile graces your lips. “of course.” as you turn around and pack up the first aid kit, his baritone voice stops you once again.

“after the mission, i was supposed to head back to HQ but…” miguel paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “coming here was my first thought.”

“what?” you swiftly turn around in surprise to find his brown eyes already looking into yours, finally making eye contact of the night.

(cue “earned it” by the weeknd lmao).

you held each other’s gaze which feels like forever. those gorgeous brown irises stare into your own, as if they’re staring into your soul. words spread around that the eyes are the doorway to the soul. you simply get lost in his eyes, mesmerized by how pretty they are. you’ve never really took notice of that since he’s always wearing his mask. the longer you stare, the tension between you two grows immensely. sudden heat starts developing within you, becoming a bit flustered by the proximity. you catch his eyes glancing down, specifically at your lips before they quickly look back at you. that made your heart skip a beat, a warm sensation in your cheeks.

you are so pretty up close. of course he knew you were always attractive but goddamn — you look so damn desirable. that little nightdress of yours is like a cherry on top, making your appearance angelic. the warm lighting of your lamp does wonders on your features, specially your skin. you look so soft, you must feel so soft. god he has the biggest urge, desire to caress your arm and cheeks but he can’t. that would be too much, send the wrong message and screw up whatever you guys have. acquaintance? friends? yet — it feels more, more than that. miguel still doesn’t know why he feels like this, specifically towards you, and it scares him; terrifies him.

not only he has the desire to feel you but also taste you. his gaze keeps falling down to your lips, practically begging him to press his against them. and by some magnetic force, miguel finds himself slowly leaning towards your face. it’s like you caught him in your web. got him wrapped around your finger. those jewels you have for eyes attracting him closer, deeper in the cave. a pearl waiting to be found and picked from the clam, to be cherished.

seriously, what the hell is going on with him?

and to his surprise, you don’t pull back but instead stayed in place like you’re frozen. your heart pounds in your chest, your breathing growing heavy as you watch him lean closer towards you. why aren’t you pulling back? why are you just sitting there? why isn’t he stopping? what the actual hell is happening?

just as you’re merely inches away from each other, a beep noise comes from his watch. the both of you pull away from one another, pretending you weren’t just in each other’s faces. letting out a groan, miguel checks his gizmo to find a message jess. before he could even open the message, her tiny hologram suddenly appears in front of him through his gizmo.

“miguel, where’ve you been? you alright? you returned the doc ock variant back but you never returned to HQ.” the pregnant woman rests both hands on her hips, a concern look on her face.

miguel curses internally for the interruption, letting out a sigh. “i’m fine, jess. i’ll return in a few minutes. make sure things are still intact before my return.”

she nods at his command. before she disappears, her eyes shifts to the side to find you sitting next to miguel, making her eyebrows raise in surprise but she doesn’t say anything. she’ll definitely talk to miguel about this later. and with, the spider-woman vanishes, leaving you two in silence once again.

without looking back at you, miguel swiftly stands up but instantly regrets it when the pain of the large cut on his back makes him groan.

“wait — you have to be careful.” you stand up as well, hands reaching out but never touching him.

“it’s fine. i like said, it’ll heal. thank you.” he said softly, still not looking back at you as he walks towards the balcony door.

“at least use your watch to get back. the last thing you want is dealing with the storm.” you suggest, following him until you’re a few inches from him.

the tall brunette stops in front of the door. “you’re right.” tapping his gizmo, a colorful portal appears beside him. everything in your living room starts levitating, a low humming noise coming from the portal. just as he takes a step into the portal, your voice makes him stop halfway through.

“i forgive you.” you said, tenderness in your tone.

miguel turns around, a surprise expression illustrated on his face. the both of you hold each other’s gaze until he gives you a simple nod. the corner of his plump lips slightly twitching upward.

“don’t bust up your ass more than it already is.” a teasing smirk graces your lips.

that makes him scoff, rolling his eyes. you and your remarks; he secretly enjoys them. with one last glance, miguel turns back and steps through the portal. it closes and disappears after him, everything stops levitating and goes back to normal.

a soft sigh escapes your lips. what a night. an interesting night, to be honest. the tension still lingers in the air. at least he got medical attention and returned to HQ safely. you hope that large scar will show him mercy tonight, eventually heal.

walking back to the couch, you grab your robe and put it on. you then reach for daisy and carry her in your arms, walking to your bedroom.

“let’s go mimi.” you plant a gently kiss on her furry head as you enter your room.

ᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁. 𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓  ˖ ࣪ ༘  @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[pherelesytsia]

Who did this to you? - 5

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Bruised and broken, Y/N, trapped in a loveless marriage, arrives at her best friend's house, desperately hoping someone will help her, aware she cannot return to the estate of her husband.

Warning: fear, anxiety, Angst, swearing, wounds,

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Faint, scarcely perceptible footsteps resounded throughout the mansion. The world was remote, and the storm had ceased, had travelled across the land, but ruled with an iron fist in her mind. Y/N couldn't find peace, needed a map, a guide to find the trail through the endless labyrinth of greyed memories.

Yellowish shades dimmed the vibrant light of the two lamps in the far corners of the richly decorated room. The walls of wood were silent, did not speak nor chant a forgotten tale of wrath and destruction. Her eyes did not search for the enemy, was safe in the unknown. The heavy curtains touched, forbid curious gazes to fall upon the woman dressed in the tattered and torn garment. The heavy coat caring the smell of alcohol and cigarettes protected her skin painted in wicked colours, deep shades of purple and blue with a hint of greenness, a deep tone of algae swaying in the depths of a raging torrent running wild across the emotionless face of the mountain.

Closing her eyes, Y/N rested her head on the pillow, leaned back, busied herself with her fingers, and played with the hem of the holey fabric covering her frame sparsely. The urge to cover herself, hide to aching wounds, the marks of a fight with the too large coat, at least a dozen of sizes, did not exist. Gazing at the door, she wondered if it was a wicked dream, but steps echoed and Y/N remembered Alfie left to fetch a first aid kit from another room.

Realisation hit her like a wave, a ripple swallowing ships, lonely islands, knew she was safe, and calmness flooded her body and mind. Not a word, not a single prayer, nor a complaint crossed her lips. Memories had fled, failed to overcome the high walls of defence protecting the building, failed to push open the door and shatter the windows.

Floral vines adorned the teapot on the round, dark wooden table. The calmness of his eyes healed the wounds. A friendly, almost encouraging smile graced his lips, partly shielded by the thick, dark beard. The scent of lavender rose and banished the stench of copper lingering in the air into oblivion. Steam was rising from the bowl in his possession. Swiftly, Alfie entered the room and attempted to prevent the warm liquid from spilling over the edge. The dimmed light caressed his features, but fear was beyond the layer of confidence, but Y/N couldn't see it, the fear, agony, and pain.

The hat was missing, revealing tousled hair in the same shade as the freshly trimmed beard. The top buttons of the button-down were undone, like the buttons of the waistcoat. He placed the white ceramic bowl with a golden frame on the table next to the teacup, followed by a bottle of transparent liquid. Alfie didn't push her, didn't ask questions, assumed what had happened, had read the answer her misty eyes carried. He laid the blanket slung around his shoulder on the floor within reach, followed by the first aid kit he had dropped a few times, and dragged the table back. Striding towards the sofa, he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up until the material was above his elbows, accentuating his masculine upper arms. Critically, Y/N eyed him, had heard too much about the ruthless man, but she doubted the accuracy of the unforgettable tales laced in terror, questioned the words, and thought the man was not the feared Alfie Solomons.

Desperately Y/N searched for a way out. Her eyes widened in horror, stared at the man standing right in front of her on the red carpet with the fine black embroidery. His hands were clean, clear of dirt, the marks of a struggle. He dropped to his knees. Flinching she leaned back, pressed herself against the soft material, but she couldn’t escape him. Tears were clouding her vision. He was too close far too close and he placed his hand on her knee, touched her skin in a reassuring gesture, telling her to calm down, not to fear, that everything was alright.

            "May I?" Alfie asked.

An answer was needless, superfluous, wouldn't allow Y/N to close her eyes to find a moment of peace with untreated wounds.

            "You are safe, Y/N/N. I won't call anyone; you can stay as long as you need to heal but it's a matter of time before your husband will search for you and find you.” he breathed.

Bitterly Y/N laughed, was applying pressure to her aching side, didn’t trust her ears, couldn't believe what the man was saying.

            "You foolishly think Thomas is going to set out to find me? Why would he do that?", "He's your husband," Alfie said.

The words sounded plausible, the most obvious thing in the world but not to Y/N. Ashamed, she lowered her gaze and listened to her thoughts, but she couldn’t pronounce the words laying heavy on her heart, unable to say how unhappy she was in the marriage, was longing for love, yearning for someone to let her know she was loved and missed. Alfie wrapped himself in silence, said nothing, watched over the breaking woman, accepted the silence, and moved closer to the edge of the sofa. Wordless the man turned, faced the table, set the ceramic bowl on the floor beside him and dipped a cloth into the warm water.

            "I'm going to undress you." the words shattered the silence.

A cold shiver travelled down her spine and shadows formed into faceless creatures, but they all were grinning, laughing, and dancing around the fire feasting on the wood.

            "Do you think you can undress? If not, I can help you.” Alfie continued.

She did not answer, couldn't, and pressed her lips into a fine line.

            "I wouldn't dare touch you." he clarified.

Faint rivers of crimson escaped the freshly torn open wounds of her lower lip. Self-hatred pulled her into the depths of the sea, hating herself for not being able to speak, for not telling him to finally rip the soaked dress from her skin, free her from her suffering, needed to be naked, didn’t need to be reminded of how weak she was, was a mere woman incapable of defending herself like a boxer facing the opponent in the ring.

            "And not because you are the Shelby's wife, but you are a woman and should be treated as one. I will treat your wounds. Afterwards, I will cook you some food and tea. In the meantime, when you eat, I will set up a bedroom. And as I said, you can stay as long as you need." Alfie explained in a calm voice.

Water dripped and darkened the carpet.

            “I'll wash the dirt and grime off your body and I have got you a shirt and a pair of trousers,” he added.

Patiently the man waited, remained calm, and clasped his hands in a praying gesture on his lap. Y/N consented, had never exposed herself, and he sensed it. She stiffened under his gentle touch. His fingers were rough, seemed as if he had worked his entire life in the depths of the woodland. Like a doll on a thread, a marionette Y/N rose as Alfie demanded it. Heat rose into her cheeks. The clock was ticking. With a thud, the heavy cloak fell from her shoulders and shaped into a pile next to the dark-coloured sofa. The fabric tore. Coldness feasted on her flesh. He undid the brown buttons of the dress, loosened the belt around her waist, and stepped back. Slowly, as if he feared the answer, his eyes slid over her battered body and almost shyly, as if he had never touched a woman, he freed her arms from the dress. Her breasts and intimate area were covered.

The light was not dim enough to make them unseen, to erase them. Like an eagle circling the fields in search of food, he followed the strange trail across her torso, witnessed wounds worse than discolouration's and huffed angered as his gaze fell on the marks around her calves. Marks coiled around her arms, telling a story, letting him know she was being held against her will, forced to stay. Her hands were maltreated, lightly stained with blood, had tried to defend herself from the voracious hands of men. His warm breath brushed her skin. Narrowing her eyes, she remembered who stood before her, but she did not trust the words resounding in her head like a melody. From his trouser pocket, he took out a hair tie, pushed her hair, framing her face like a heavy iron curtain away, and tied it into a loose ponytail at the back of her head. Wordlessly, Alfie pushed her down onto the sofa and lowered himself in front of Y/N, knelt, and inspected the wounds her body bore. He turned to the table and filled two glasses with the very strong liquid. The stench of alcohol filled her nostrils. Y/N wrinkled her face in contempt and turned away.

            "Here drink,” Alfie said.

Brows touched.

            "Seriously, it will help you, believe me," he explained.

Hesitantly, Y/N accepted the glass and guided it to her mouth, but before she could put her lips on the glass, she gagged. Disgusted Y/N turned away, had to collect herself, and she gathered strength, and emptied it. Wrinkles deepened. The taste befuddled her senses, filling her mouth and numbing her tongue. Goosebumps spread over her body like an unstoppable wave. Alfie dipped his fingers into the warm water in the white bowl with the golden frame, took out the cloth, wrung it out and carefully washed her right leg, removing the mud glued to her feet.

            "Do you want to talk about it?", "You don't have to talk about it, but it will do you good," Alfie interjected, sliding his hand carefully over her leg.

Washing the traces of the fight away, he apologised, raised the cloth as he accidentally brushed across open flesh. Gingerly the cloth glided over her body, swept over her calf, but no lust lingered in his eyes, filled with anger and worry, and the very first thing he planned to do during the early hours of the next day was to figure out who had caused the harm.

            "What about your husband?" Alfie asked.

            "If he were my loving husband, then I wouldn't lie on your sofa, covered in blood and grime. He would take care of me instead of you." Y/N whispered, not trusting her voice.

The wood worked, creaked, and sang out.

            "What are you going to do when he calls you?", "What should I do?" he asked.

Pain welled in her eyes, smiled faintly, remembered the unforgettable, the days when he didn't even dignify her with a glance and the touches cold as the unforgiving north, icy and emotionless.

            "Nothing, don't answer the call or say you don't know where I am. I'm sure you'll find a good lie. I can't and don't want to see him." Y/N replied gruffly, couldn't imagine meeting her husband's eyes even in her wildest dreams, knew she would collapse like a house of cards under his stern gaze.

            "Why?" Alfie questioned. "If I had a wife, I would search every house, every forest, and not stop until I find her," Alfie replied.

She was speechless, swallowed, but couldn't swallow the ever-growing lump in her throat.

            "He doesn't love me. He forgot. I waited. He promised to pick me up, but he wasn't there. Thomas was not there to protect me.", "Do you love him?" he questioned.

Do I love him, Y/N wondered.

            "Yes, but he makes it impossible for me to love him. I fell for him when we met. He looked at me differently than the other men who asked my father for my hand in marriage. They all wanted one thing, money, power, wealth, a name many people know, but with him, I had the feeling that he loves me. Me and not the money and all that goes with it, because a Shelby doesn't need even more money. He has everything, money, wealth, all these things a heart desires, and I thought he loved me, but I'm sure he didn't even notice that I am not home, that I disappeared." Y/N breathed.

She was not ashamed of the tears, let them fall.

            "And it's only a matter of time before he finds someone else, someone who can give him what I can't, someone who can satisfy his cravings. Bless him with an heir. A good-looking woman worthy to rule at his side over his empire." Y/N couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't force herself to end it.

            "Why would I do such a thing?" a dark voice asked.

Water dripped down, slid down the darkened coat. The shirt was soaked. The strands of dark hair, dark as nightfall, stuck to his face. His eyes were bloodshot. How long Thomas had been standing in the doorway, Y/N did not know, but she sensed he had heard everything, all the words, the fears and concerns loud and clear, but she was not ashamed of the words escaping her heart.

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[morose-melodies]

worst mistake | yandere! tighnari x reader

summary: tighnari takes you out patrolling with him!

content warning: mentions of attempted suicide and reader gets injured

"stop with the frowning, (y/n)! you need to get out more," tighnari said as he strapped a backpack onto you.

for safety and so that you couldn't run away.

inside the backpack was a first aid kit, an extra pair of clothes for you, and weights. so if you tried to run away, you wouldn't make it far.

tighnari decided this was best for you even though he could sense you from quite some distance, he didn't want you to get away so quickly.

he tied the backpack on in such a way, that you couldn't untie it even if you wanted. "and this time, don't eat any mushrooms."

it made tighnari upset, thinking about all of the times you ate mushrooms just to get away from him, to die.

he was one mushroom away from putting a muzzle on you.

once the two of you were out and patrolling, you came across a few people who needed help and you helped them.

but other than that, nothing happened.

nothing happened until it started raining. the path was getting muddy and slippery, the rain was heavy and loud.

you knew tighnari had sensitive ears but all he could hear was rain, would you have a better chance at escaping?

the rain should wash your scent away, right?

nothing could possibly go wrong. your mind roamed off to the thought of running away as you walked aside from tighnari, his hand tightly gripping yours.

his grip tightening whenever thunderstruck. "I need you to stay near me, (y/n), or else you may get injured."

you silently scoffed but said nothing.

"ahh, the thunder is so loud," tighnari commented, before releasing your hand to rub his head, "my head hurts." He grumbled, stopping in the middle of the trail to rub his head.

You didn't waste this opportunity, you ran away as fast as you could, though the backpack weighed you down.

you push yourself down a muddy hill and that's when you heard tighnari behind you, grumbling, "awh, not now, (y/n)."

you tumbled down the hills, scraping your arm and legs in the process, but managed to get up since this was presumably your last chance to run.

your clothes were now dirty and covered in mud, tighnari couldn't possibly be able to find you now.

you ran as fast as you could, towards what seemed to be a cave.

once getting in, you paused, looking back, and noticed that you were leaving a footprint in the mud. that made things harder.

you walked further into the case, looking around, the sound of rain and your heavy breathing echoing throughout the cave.

you heard a shuffling sound, not so far behind you.

you ran forwards, not looking where you ever going, and slipped into a steep hole. you rolled and tumbled, your perception of the area around you blurry.

you hit the ground abruptly, you didn't move but remained still, unsure of if you could still more or if you had broken any bones.

you felt sore and had a pounding headache.

you felt defeated.

and you couldn't get up due to the heaviness of your backpack.

you lay there for what seemed like hours upon hours, the mud dried onto your clothes and skin. you stayed there long enough to watch the rain become a storm and then cleared up.

this is what you wanted, right?

you blinked, your eyes were dry, though you'd been crying ever since you'd fallen down the ditch.

your finger twitched, before digging into the soil by your side, feeling it as it went under your nails. surely something was broken, something inside of you hurt and it hurt badly.

you and tighnari went out early in the morning and it was now becoming late, the sun setting behind some mountains.

he was never going to find you... and that made you kind of disappointed.

a few minutes later (or at least what you thought were minutes) you heard shuffling somewhere above the ditch, shaky breathing, and hesitant movements.

"(y/n)... I need you." tighnari whimpered, bringing himself closer to the edge, before you could stop yourself, you whined, hoping it would get his attention.

"(y/n)? (y/n)!" He looked over the edge of the ditch and found you, his pears perking up immediately. "i felt like dying without you..." his happy face slowly turned into a scowl.

"shame on you!" He pointed a finger at you whilst bringing himself down into the ditch, "I can't believe you, (y/n)! after everything I told you, you still ended up in a ditch!?"

you somehow felt comforted by his worried bellows.

tighnari kneeled to your side, pinching your cheek with slight aggression as he said, "I guess you need more safety lessons then."

you relaxed and tighnari's eyes widened, "don't you dare! you have to stay up now, (y/n)," tighnari wrapped a hand under your head and one under your thighs, lifting you off the ground.

you didn't have to strength to keep your head up, you didn't have much strength to do anything but breathe, and even that hurt.

the walk home was filled with tighnari grumbling and mumbling about how disappointed he was, how scared he felt when he could find you.

"I was so afraid, (y/n). thought I'd never see you again."

when the two of you made it home, tighnari laid you down in your den, saying, "I wish you didn't run off... again."

he removed your clothes and began to clean your wounds, wincing whenever you'd hiss in pain, apologizing and continuing.

"i couldn't breathe without you, (y/n), I felt... sick without you." He whispered, his finger touching the wound on your cheek, watching as you wince upon contact, "I couldn't imagine a life without you."

what tighnari felt when he couldn't find you was pure panic, he couldn't breathe or think properly, he roamed around aimlessly for hours and hours.

his ears were limp and his tail didn't swish happily as it usually did. he couldn't stop thinking about how he felt, he couldn't stop thinking about the deprivation he felt when you were gone.

he cleaned the dirt from under your nails, kissing each one of your fingers after cleaning them off, "I wish this never happened, (y/n)."

he redressed you and helped you to bed, settling down beside you, his arm wrapped around you, his lips grazing your cheek as he said, "what would I do without you, (y/n)? what could I do without you."

he smiled at you sadly and his ears went limp, his fingers locking around the collar of your shirt, and whispered to you, in a pleading tone, "please, (y/n)... don't run away from me again. i don't think I'd be able to handle it."

[backtothefanfiction]

Nothing Hits Quite Like That First Kiss | Joel Miller x Reader Imagine

Summary: Tensions are about to burst and it’s all because of a splinter.

Word Count: 842

Warnings: some tension, some teasing, a little bit of heavy petting, hurt comfort

A/N: Just a quick little Joel blurb. Realised I hadn’t really given P some proper love lately over here so here’s just a little Joel piece. I haven’t written for Joel before but I hope you like. Also, apologies for the cock block, I could have written smut but it’s late and I wanted to leave something to the imagination.

“Ow, ow, ow!” You sneered.

“Would you just hold still. I’ve almost got it.” He chastised you as he squeezed at the splinter, trying to push it back towards the surface.

“Ouch Joel that hurts!”

“Well if you just held still.”

“I know, let me put a splinter in your finger and see if you like it.” You hissed. “Ouch!”

With one quick pull Joel had yanked the tiny piece of wood out of your finger. You began to whine but he quickly popped your finger into his mouth, sucking on it slightly drawing blood to make sure he’d got all of the splinter and dirt out. Your eyes quickly blew wide in shock before a sudden feeling of wetness between your legs had you looking away in an attempt to hide your sudden arousal.

“I saw that.” He muttered as he dropped your hand and you shifted in your seat on top of the old raggedy kitchen counter sheepishly, your hand quickly tucking under your thighs as he began to step away from you. “Uh uh.” He said chastising you again. He quickly rummaged in a small first aid kit for a wipe and a bandaid before doubling back to you, his hand outstretched for yours.

You rolled your eyes as you pulled your hand back out from under your leg, holding it out to him. Your lips pursed as he wiped the alcohol wipe over the finger. Once your finger had dried, you then watched him intensely as he wrapped the bandaid around your finger.

“There you go, all better.” He said before letting your hand fall and going to place the rubbish in a bin in the corner of the kitchen. “Such a good girl.” He teased as he looked back up at you.

You shook your head as you hopped down off the counter, irritated with how his words incited a physical reaction in you. He had become insufferable. Ever since he first realised you had a little crush on him he had been playing up to it like mad and it was driving you crazy, especially seeing as he wasn’t actually gonna do anything about it.

“You know what Joel, fuck you.” You said as you stormed passed him, your shoulder hitting his as you went.

“Oh come on honey, it was a joke. A JOKE!” He repeated himself.

“Well I don’t find it funny!” You said back to him.

“Honey, honey, please.” He said, trying to reason with you. You had been living with each other at the QZ for a couple months now, his was the only place with a spare room when you arrived. He hadn’t been too happy with being told he had to share the place, but ever since Tommy had left he had to admit shit had gone downhill for him, He hadn’t been sleeping, his mind spiraling and then there was you, like a breath of fresh air.

“What? What Joel? What could you possibly have to say? I get it, I do. It’s funny to you. You think it’s cabin fever or a younger girl’s infatuation like a teenager crushing on her teacher and MAYBE-“ you said stressing the syllables of the word, “but I can’t help it! And it certainly doesn’t help when you make jokes about it okay or tease me just because it amuses you. I’m sorry Joel, okay? I’m so-“

His long strides brought him across the room before you could even process it, his hands flying up to either side of your face as he pulled your lips to his, smashing them forcefully together. You quickly sighed against him, the rest of your words and irritation being neutralized by his soft touch.

When he pulled himself back to gage your reaction your face was a look of shock.

“You just kissed me.” Your words came out breathless.

“Yeah.” He said gruffly, quietly agreeing.

You searched his eyes before leaning back in for more, this time your lips more hungry as you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose as you tried to take all of him in, his scent dizzying. He tilted your jaw open wider, his tongue reaching out to taste you. Your breaths grew shallow as you tried to keep up with his own hunger, his arms snaking around you, lifting your body from the floor. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your legs wrapped themselves tightly around his waist as he carried you to his bedroom.

He laid you back down on the old raggedy covers as he came to sit himself between your legs, his arms quickly fighting to rid himself of his flannel, tossing it across the room as his lips continued their onslaught on your own.

“Joel.” You moaned against his lips, your hands reaching up for either side of his face.

“It’s okay honey.” He said as his hand reached for your own, placing the finger with the band aid to his lips, giving it a little kiss, “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

[virginsexgod69]

1| A Cabin in the Woods

summary Daryl comes across your cabin during a storm and ends up staying

pairing Daryl Dixon x f!Reader

cw use of guns, gunshot wounds, probably some medical inaccuracies

1.6k words

series masterlist

 The heavy rain soaked Daryl to the bone. He was shivering and in desperate need for shelter, at least until the rain stopped. The trees in the forest provided no protection from the elements and in these conditions, building a lean-to to sleep under for the night was out of the question. He continued to trudge through the mud, his crossbow at the ready as he watched out for walkers. Giving up wasn’t an option, although he did feel hopeless. His home was destroyed, he was separated from his friends, friends who he wasn’t even sure were still alive, and then on top of all that, Beth got taken. 

 He wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but he saw a dim light not too far ahead. With the rain heavily pouring, it was difficult for him to see any tracks, which would have been helpful for him to determine if he was about to approach a place where people were already residing. It was a dangerous risk to take, but it could reap worthwhile results, so he followed the light until it led him to a cabin. The only plausible reason for light to be coming from the cabin was that someone was inside. Other people were far too dangerous these days, he wasn’t going to risk it. However, the opportunity to change his mind was taken from him when he felt a searing pain in his upper thigh. He knew what it was immediately, the pain feeling all too familiar, he had been shot. 

“Drop your weapon,” he assumed the shooter said. He didn’t want to disarm himself, but he wasn’t even able to spot the person who shot him. He’d be at a disadvantage if he didn’t comply with the commands. He slowly lowered his crossbow to the ground and raised his hands in surrender. Finally, he was able to get a good look at you when you approached to take his weapon, your gun still pointed at him. Through the darkness and rain, he couldn’t get a good look at you, but he could feel the coldness of your piercing glare. 

“What’re you doing ‘round here?” Your tone demanded an answer and he didn’t feel like fucking around and finding out what would happen if he didn’t give you one. 

“Was lookin’ for shelter. Didn’ know anyone was out here til jus’ now,” he replied evenly. 

“Did I shoot you?” You asked. 

“No shit,” he replied, thinking your question was stupid. 

“Well, excuse me,” you snarked. “That was meant to be a warning shot, but it’s kinda hard to see in this rain.”  He felt a little relieved that you weren’t deliberately trying to harm him, but couldn’t fully relax while staring down the barrel of your gun. You uncocked it and put it in your belt. 

“You can stay in my cabin til the rain stops, but only if you surrender all your weapons.” 

“Fine.” He didn’t want to stay in this rain for a moment longer, especially since he was now injured. He followed you into the cabin, hobbling slightly due to his injury. Once he was inside the lit cabin, he was able to get a good look at you. Your gaze was cold and guarded, but he could tell you were remorseful, at least a little bit. He touched his wounded thigh and looked at his fingers, now covered in his blood. 

“Want me to take a look at that?” You asked. He didn’t like the irony of the person who shot him possibly being the one tending to his wound, so he refused. 

“Nah. I got it.” You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but didn’t insist on anything. “If you say so. I’ll go get some towels and my first aid kit. Don’t try anything funny or dirty my furniture while I’m gone.” He rolled his eyes once your back was turned, annoyed as to why anyone would care about keeping furniture clean during a damn apocalypse. When you came back, you were in different, dry clothes with a towel wrapped around your head. 

“Here.” You tossed a towel at him and he immediately used it to apply pressure to his bleeding wound. He could feel you intently watching him as he pressed the towel, now saturated with his blood, to his thigh. You tossed him another and he quickly switched them out. 

“You sure you don’t want me to take a look?” He hated the pity lacing your voice. You had some audacity to pity him as if you weren’t the one who put him in this situation in the first place. 

“You a damn doctor or somethin’?” He snapped, growing frustrated with your hovering. 

“Never mind, you got it.” You placed the first aid kit beside were he was sitting on the floor and sat down on your couch before opening a book and reading. He was grateful to finally be left alone and continued his attempt to stop the bleeding. He checked underneath the towel and saw that it stopped. Upon closer examination, he saw that it was just a graze. He opened the first aid kit and cleaned the wound with the alcohol wipe in there. It needed stitches, but because of where it was on his thigh, he’d be unable to do them himself. He glanced up at you and you were already looking at him from over your book, hiding a smug look. 

“Everything okay?” You asked. He just grunted in response, not wanting to ask for your help after he was so adamant on refusing it. Even though it would take more time, his wound would heal without stitches, so he just bandaged it as is. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you close your book and set it down. You grabbed his bloody towels, left, then came back with a few fresh ones. 

“Dry yourself off. Don’t need you catchin’ a cold.” You tossed him the towels and he caught them and began to dry himself. 

“You can sleep up here. I’ll give back your weapons when you leave.” You turned off the lights, but let the fire place burn, which Daryl appreciated since he needed to warm up. 

…

When you awoke in the morning, the rain was still harshly beating against your window. You slid out of bed and got dressed before walking into the living room. The sight of a man in dark clothing sitting on the floor of your cabin scared you. You had forgotten about what happened last night. He glanced in your direction, but didn’t say anything. He leaned against the hearth of the stone fireplace with a hand held to his injured leg. 

“How’s the leg?” You asked. You hoped he was doing better for the sake of him leaving soon, but you doubted it. The wound was pretty deep and you didn’t see him stitch it, so he’d be lucky if it didn’t start bleeding again at the slightest movement. You would’ve gladly helped him had he asked, but you felt he was being rude, so you refused to offer your services again that night. 

“Fine.” You could tell that wasn’t all true. His skin looked pale and his forehead glistened with sweat. 

“I’m no doctor, but you don’t look okay. Like at all.” You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged on the corners of your mouth as he frowned at you. 

“Lemme just take a look. I wouldn’t wanna wake up to some dead stranger wanderin’ around my house tryna eat me,” you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Today was a new day and the least you could do was help him out. After all, he wouldn’t even be here had you not shot him. You picked up the first aid kit from the floor where he left it yesterday and sat down beside him on his injured side. He extended his leg toward you and you gave him a small smile in return. The tear in his pants from the gunshot was large enough to where you didn’t need to remove any clothing. You took off the old bandage and examined the wound it was fairly deep. 

“This definitely needs stitches,” you informed him as you rummaged through the kit for sutures. He brought his thumb to his mouth and nibbled on the skin surrounding the nail, but nodded his head in approval anyway. You cleaned the wound and unpackaged the sutures. 

“What’s your name anyway?” You asked while threading the needle. 

“Daryl,” came his reply. In return, you told him your name. You pinched his skin together and stuck the needle through it. You weren’t sure how to sew an injured person’s flesh back together, so you just did what felt right. 

“How’d you find my cabin, Daryl?” You tied the thread, bringing together the two sides of the wound then cut it before starting the next suture. 

“Jus’ came across it yesterday.” You repeated the process and finished the second stitch before starting the third. 

“Why were you outside in a storm yesterday?” 

"This a damn interrogation or somethin'?" he hissed instead of answering the question. To tell the truth, you were interrogating him; one, because you wanted to find out more about the strange man in your home and two, to distract him from the pain of you sewing his skin. 

"I'm just making conversation," you told the half-truth. 

"Got separated from my group a while back. I was out lookin' for em and got caught up in the rain. S'that what you wanna know?"  You didn't respond and instead focused on tying the last knot. You placed a bandage over the stitched up wound and cleaned up your materials. 

"Looks like you'll be stuck with me for a little while longer," you commented as you watched the rain come down even harder than it was last night. His only reply came in the form of a displeased grunt. 

Next Chapter ►

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[astrialuvs]

"In the Shadows of Friendship"

➻ SYNOPSIS : Atsushi, battered and bruised in an orphanage, finds solace in your compassionate presence, forming a silent bond that provides hope amid the darkness.

➻ PAIRING : atsushi nakajima x reader

➻ GENRE : angst, comfort

➻ CONTENT WARNING : abused, slight bullying, mentions of cuts and wounds (idk what else to mention. please tell me if i missed one)

➻ WORD COUNT : 717 words

a/n: i hope i got the angsty ambience | (miss ko na siya 😔🤏)

"I heard he was punished for stealing candies. Tsk. Tsk."

In the dimly lit corridors of the orphanage, where shadows clung to the walls like silent specters, a young boy named Atsushi navigated the harsh realities of his life. The whispers of other children echoed in the cold air, tales of mysterious punishments inflicted upon him by the enigmatic directors.

"These candies. Where were they stolen from?"

"They weren't stolen..."

"Liar!"

Punishments with no rhyme or reason left Atsushi battered and bruised, a silent canvas of pain.

Among the pain and uncertainty that pervaded his life, there was a glimmer of hope that Atsushi could always rely on—you. As a fellow orphanage resident, your heart was filled with compassion, and you had taken it upon yourself to console the young boy. Your presence was a beacon of hope in his world, which often felt cold and unforgiving, every time Atsushi returned from a punishment.

You never dared to question him about why the director is always harsh on him. You lack the courage to do so. So you just stay by his side, offering aid and motivation to keep going.

One evening, after a particularly brutal punishment that left Atsushi's body aching and his spirit broken, he returned to his room. To his surprise, he found you waiting there in the corner, a small first-aid kit by your side. Your eyes held a mixture of concern and empathy, as if you could feel his pain as acutely as he did.

"Sit down, Atsushi," you said softly, your voice a gentle melody in the otherwise somber room, guiding him to a worn-out chair.

His gaze was fixed on the cold floor, an unspoken acknowledgement of the pain etched into the linoleum. You moved with compassion's grace, gently cleaning his wounds with the sting of an antiseptic, making him flinch. Nonetheless, he did not protest. He was aware that this was a routine, a ritual you had established—a brief respite from the struggles that haunted him.

"Why do you do this?" Atsushi finally inquired, his voice barely above a whisper, a delicate thread woven through the silence.

You came to a halt in your interventions, your gaze meeting his. "Because I can't stand to see you hurt. You deserve better than this, Atsushi."

A lump formed in his throat, and he turned away, unable to hold back the tears that threatened to fall like rain in a storm. Your compassion felt like a lifeline in a world that had shown him so little kindness—a lifeline he never knew he needed.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he grumbled, his voice heavy with emotion. "You don't owe me anything."

Your fingers brushed against his skin, a gentle touch that felt like a reassurance whisper in the deafening silence. "I don't do it out of obligation, Atsushi. I do it because you're my friend, and friends take care of each other, right?"

Your words made Atsushi's heart clench. Friendship was a foreign concept to him, a language he was only beginning to grasp. Despite his difficulties, you were a constant reminder that there was goodness in the world, even if it was frequently overshadowed by darkness.

As you finished tending to his wounds, the weight of the room seemed to lift. Atsushi's body felt lighter, as if your presence had temporarily relieved the pain. He looked at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and a newfound sense of belonging that warmed his heart's bitter caverns.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice genuine and heartfelt, a delicate melody in the silence of the room.

You gave him a small smile, your hand resting on his shoulder like a reassuring anchor. "You're welcome, Atsushi, but keep in mind that you're not alone in this." Your warm hand touched his pale, cold hands. A symbol of your support and affection for him.

At that moment, as the weight of his difficulties seemed to lift, Atsushi realized he had found a true friend, a beacon of light in the midst of his darkest days. And he knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, your unwavering support would guide him through, a compass pointing toward a future where kindness and friendship could triumph over the shadows that lurked in the orphanage corridors.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Just to kiss me (Part 4)

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

(AO3 mirror)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five, My Hunger Games Masterlist

summary: You take care of Finnick, in the aftermath.

warnings: mentions of drug use, depictions of a psychotic breakdown, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt comfort, aaaangst, fluff.

required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross <;3

a/n: a short but sweet chapter, I hope. Calm before the storm, etc etc

wc: 2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“....Are you mad at me?.” Finnick winces as you dab at the cut above his eyebrow.

You’re perched on his kitchen countertop, between his legs as he stands and leans towards you. Due to the height difference, it was the easiest way you could get to his injuries; the contents of his first aid kit strewn onto the marble. Still thawing from the cold; your fingers clumsily swipe at the wound. Your eyes are red-rimmed from crying; more out of frustration and exhaustion than anything. Your arms hurt, your back aches, and you’ve got a pounding headache. Finnick almost died and he’s barely fazed; giving you a lazy grin in the soft light of the kitchen.

Admittedly, you didn’t know what to expect from his house. It certainly wasn’t this: a modest home at the Capitol’s edge. You’d expected the sterile white and marble that you’d seen a thousand times over. Instead it feels like a home: warm lamps and clutter and throw pillows. It looks like someone lives a life, here. 

You chewed your bottom lip on the way there, silk slip dampening the leather of the car seats. You were worried; eyes darting between the road and him - looking for jittery hands or glazed eyes. Every bump in the road puts you on edge; you can barely feel the warmth of the car’s heater - sitting in dull cold despite it all. Even Finnick was quiet, bundling you up the stairs and into his room with few words. When he hands you a sweater and joggers, there’s nothing to be said except in the brush of fingers; I’m sorry it hurts. The words die in your throat.

His fingers brush the soft fabric, his hands flat on the countertop. Pressing cotton heavy with disinfectant to his temple, Finnick hisses softly. He takes your hand in his to stop you, momentarily.

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s insensitive, sure, and makes you look insane. The first time you’ve so much as smiled in the past couple hours, and he has no idea why. 

“W-What are you-” You’re still laughing, soft and melodious in the hum of lights. “-What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Uh..” He cocks his head. Despite the circumstances (he thinks you’re delirious from the adrenaline of it all), your smile hurts him in a way he didn’t think possible. “For… everything. You didn’t have to do what you did.”

“You weren’t awake for what I did, Finnick.” And then, softer. “I thought you were dead.”

“I know.” 

You tuck his hair behind his ear. Dirty blonde locs, curled from the spray of lake water. 

“You keep surprising me.”  

“Surprising you? How?” Cradling his cheek now, he waits with baited breath.

“Hmmmm,” you titter, pretending to think. “You’re funnier than I thought you would be.”

He smiles, crooning. “...Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand is still on yours. “And you’re perceptive. You see everything with those freaky green eyes of yours.”

Lidded, his eyes flit down to your lips. He’s in a trance, unable to think of anything but the way his heart swells when you talk to him like that.

“And you’re kind. You were kind to me, on the balcony. You didn’t have to stay, or remember me but you did. And… when you talk to me, it’s like I’m the only person in the world. You’re good at that; making people feel wanted. Making me feel...”

“I like you.” It tumbles out of his mouth, wincing at how desperate it sounds. Suddenly, he’s barefoot on the shores of District 4, gap-toothed and sunburnt. He’s stretching sticky fingers towards the other kids, trying to make friends. To be seen.

“I like you too. I-” you swallow, imperceptibly. He notices the quiver of your lip. “I know it’s not my place. You’re a grown man, and you don’t need a lecture - but whatever you were taking; you need to be more careful. I need you to be more careful-”

“I can’t sleep. That’s why I was taking them.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, free of judgement. You’re not satisfied with his answer, but it’ll do, for now. You don’t want to push him away. Gently, you nod. “You scared me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He presses his forehead to yours.

“Stop apologising, Finnick.” You close your eyes, and lean into his touch. 

You stay like that for a little too long; basking in the warmth of each other. Slow steady breaths to remind the other that you were both alive. When you separate, you brush light fingers at the apex of his cut. It stopped bleeding long ago, split and angry red on his flesh. Peeking out from under his sweatshirt, you see the dull mauve of bruises; older, they couldn't have been from today. Finnick looks as exhausted as you feel. 

"You need stitches." He nods, resigned. 

They're serviceable - likely to scar, but serviceable. His grey-green eyes follow your hands, your lips, the tilt of your head; and suddenly, you're grateful that you've learnt at least one thing from your years with the Junior Peacekeeper Scouts. The rest, you've learnt from your years around the capitol's elite: how to hide shaking hands under scrutiny. You're tying the knot on his stitches when you hear soft creaking coming from the stairs. 

From the kitchen, you see a pale hand wrap around the bannister. Annie, in a nightgown and robe pads onto the hardwood. Her hair flows down her back as she steps into the warmth of the kitchen - like a ghost in sheets. 

"Lucas?" Her eyes are wide and glassy - wet-rimmed like she's been crying. Again, she squeaks. "Lucas?" 

His body language changes, but Finnick doesn't miss a beat. Slowly, he closes the gap. "You ok, Annie?" 

Her voice cracks. "T-think I had that dream again."

You see his Adam's apple quiver. Hoarsely, he swallows. "Okay. Let's get you t-"

"No!" She clenches her fist and stumbles backwards, into the counter. "Please don't- I can't- please don't make me…. Lucas-" 

"-to bed." He says, impossibly soft. You've fallen away to the sidelines as they are framed in lamplight. He throws a glance to you over his shoulder, unreadable. "Annie, let's get you to bed."

He stands in front of her, hands at his side. Hesitating? No, asking for permission. When she pulls at his shirt, manic, he wraps her up. The woman's eyes are frenzied; her breathing speeding up and hands clawing at her wrists and throat. He's gentle when he takes them and places them in his own; whispering something you can't hear. She stills, breathing erratically, but calmer by the minute. 

"Finnick… F-Finnick, I can't-" 

"I know… I know,"

"-where did y-you go? Finnick, I called for you and you weren't t-there. Where di-" 

"I know… and I'm sorry," He soothes. She still can't see you. They make their way up the stairs; where you can hear the dance of their voices. Finnick: low and calm. Annie: frantic, strained. 

You're left feeling bare in the aftermath. Like you've just seen something you shouldn't have. Her face is etched into your mind's eye - terror you've only ever seen on a screen. A voyeur, looking in through a dirty spyglass - gripped with the shame of getting caught. You look around, and reality slams into you at full force. You shouldn't be here. 

You clean up, close to tears. 

It's almost an hour before he comes down again. You've cleared what's left of the first aid kit from the counter, and curled up onto the sofa. Before you know it, you've passed out like that; knees drawn into yourself between plush cushions. Finnick finds you there, wading in fitful sleep. You look peaceful; in his clothes, in his house, nestled in his couch. It feels right, he thinks. 

You start awake, blinking back sleep. You're met with Finnick above, arms full of blankets and pillows. 

"Shit. Didn't mean to wake you." He sighs, collapsing onto the sofa. 

"S'okay." You mumble. Stretching, you move to get up. "It's probably time for me to get going anyw-" 

"-No! I-I mean…" Exhaustion creeping in, he rubs at his eyes. "You must be tired. Sleep, even for just a little bit." 

And then, quieter. "Stay. Please." 

You lean your head back and look at him, tilted 90 degrees. Even from this angle, his puppy-dog eyes claw at your heart. 

"You can take my bed?" He adds, hopeful. 

You scoff. "And where will you sleep?" 

"Down here's just fine…"

"No, no. Absolutely not. Finn, you need rest - in a proper bed with back support, and silk sheets and-" 

He cuts you off with a snort. It's cute, he thinks. When you get passionate and a little mad, you shake your fists at him like a fairytale villain. He shrugs."Haven't been getting much sleep anyways. S'how we got into this mess in the first place."

You purse your lips. There's a grab made at the pillows in his lap, but he snatches it away just in time. You feint, elbowing him playfully, before going for the blanket by his other side. Successful, you ball it up crudely, and stretch onto the sofa. Makeshift pillow under your head you fake a yawn, pointedly (smugly, he thinks). 

"Goodnight." He rolls his eyes at your dramatics. The white woven blanket, the one that had been with you both for the night, ends up on your back. Finnick leaves the extra pillows at your feet, before turning off the lamps. He gives you one last look, before heading to bed. 

"Goodnight." You whisper into the dark as the sound of steps subside. No-one answers. 

~~~

In the morning, you're woken up to the smell of coffee and something sizzling in a pan. Light streams in from where you lie, bundled up in blankets and pillows. A dull ache settles in your bones, as you try to blow away the morning fog - blinking back sleep. Through the doorway to the kitchen, you see a sliver of someone's bare arm. 

Finnick stands at the stove top, dressed in a light tank top and sweats, a flowery tea towel slung over his shoulder. The tip of his tongue sticks out when he pokes at the pan with a wooden spoon; deep in concentration. You walk in and lean on the doorframe. 

"Morning." The pan nearly goes flying, Finnick almost jumping like a startled cat. His hand grazes the heat of a burner, and he hisses in frustration. Without thinking, you leap to his side, quick to guide him towards the sink and run his burn under cold water. 

"Morning," He says despite himself, leaning into your soft touch. You trace the lines of his palm under the running water.

"They say," You're careful to circle around the burn forming at its base. "…you've got your future written out in your palms," 

"And what do my palms tell you?" He says softly.

"It's not that simple, see," You huff. "Like…. roots in a tree. All mapped out before you were even born. This one," you trace one spreading the width of his hand "..is your heart line. It tells me all about the way you love the people around you. It says you give too much, despite yourself. The one below it, is your head line. Right now, it says you're stubborn and…" You laugh. 

"…pig-headed."

"Really?" Unwittingly, he's been reeled in. 

"No. Not really. I wouldn't know, Finn. Made it all up." Your lips pop at the last sentence, grinning up at him. 

"Very funny." His tone is dry, but still he smiles. 

"I've got a friend who's obsessed with it: divination, fate, destiny, all of it. She'll probably give you something a little more accurate than I can." 

He hums. "Does that mean…. you want to see me again?" 

You're standing shoulder to shoulder with him at the sink. You shut off the tap, and grab a piece of toast from a plate on the counter. His plate, most likely. Your answer comes in the form of a flash pink tongue. 

"...Maybe."

"I want to see you again." 

There it is; something red-hot at the base of your chest, spreading like a wildfire until it makes your fingers numb and face warm. You'd die before you admit how what he said made you feel; I want, I want, I want becomes a broken record on replay in your head. 

"I'd like that," You breathe, and then clear your throat. “I’d like that.”

_

_

_

taglist: @starhastoomanyfandoms

[deathmetalunicorn1]

HAPPY NEW YEAR 🤍🤍🤍 I hope the festivities and all treated you well!

I'm dying for one about bad influence friend getting comforted by papa Hades and Jack (and any other characters you see fit for the situation) after a messed up family argument that ended up in disastrous consequences.

Perhaps it happened because of their flopping grades, rebellious behavior, too much talking back with foul language, the smoking habit, and overall the result of a terrible family dynamic.

[The POV would be the friend's, by the way, so the reader in this case would be the bad influence friend and not the family's child, heh 🤍]

- Heavy hurt/comfort, I'm a sucker for that ; v ;

-It was hard for you to accept help, especially from someone so nice like F/N, they were your closest friend and you always made sure to keep them out of the dark side of your life, keeping them away from your bad habits like fighting, smoking, and cussing.

-When F/N all but carried you inside their home, calling out to their family for help, they weren’t expecting to see you looking like you had just gotten the crap kicked out of you, crying, and leaning heavily on your friend who found you.

-Hades was gentle when he took you from F/N, carrying you inside and putting you on the couch, “Jack get the first aid kit! F/N get some towels! Eve brew something hot to drink!”

-They all quickly went off, doing as they were told as Hades and Adam tried to get your hoodie off, finding your torso covered in wounds, both new and old.

-You were a little loopy, as you had hit your head, so you weren’t answering all the questions, as you were going in and out, but F/N was able to step in, “I found Y/N after calling me for help. Their family attacked them.”

-The mood instantly shifted, as they had thought you had gotten into a fight and got your ass kicked and had to clean up your mess, but to hear that your family was the one who did this to you, they were instantly furious and went into protect mode.

-F/N held your hand as your wounds were dealt with, Beelzebub checking your eyes with a flashlight, “Looks like a concussion- a small one at least. Do you feel nauseous Y/N?”

-You shook your head, managing to understand this question as F/N spoke, “Their family aren’t nice- they always yell at Y/N, that’s why I never go to their house, because Y/N doesn’t want me around that.”

-They could only look at you in awe, seeing that you were suffering through and that you kept their own kid away from it, willing to suffer on your own.

-Adam helped tie your hair back, so they could look at your face, seeing the bruises and scrapes, it looked like you had been hit repeatedly and you fell to the ground at least twice.

-Hades was silent in his fury, tending to your wounds gently, working together with Adam and Brunnhilde to get your wounds wrapped.

-He felt guilty, they all did- they just thought you were a punk- a bad influence and that you shouldn’t be around F/N. You were just a kid trying to survive against your own demons, but you did care about F/N because you did your best to keep them away from those demons.

-Once you were patched up and cleaned up, borrowing some of F/N’s clothes, you were feeling a bit better, teasing F/N lightly as you looked down at the Cinnamon Roll hoodie you were borrowing, “I knew our styles were different but damn F/N.”

-F/N laughed, thinking your snark was funny, as they knew you were feeling better before F/N lunged into your arms, hugged you close, wrapping their arms around you, surprising you slightly.

-You felt their shoulders shaking as they were finally crying, relieved that you were okay and you smiled, hugging them back, patting the back of their head gently.

-Once the two of you came back downstairs, you were sat down by Adam, Hades, and Odin, with the others all around the room, you were feeling a bit nervous, seeing the possible interrogation coming, but F/N stayed by your side, holding your hand, comforting you.

-Adam inhaled deeply, trying not to storm out and go after your family, wanting them to explain themselves before he spoke, “Y/N- why didn’t you ever tell us about your family?” you were a bit surprised by his question but responded, “I didn’t want to bother you guys, and I didn’t want F/N to worry.”

-Hades then spoke up, “But you were being abused- we could have helped you!” you smiled softly, but there was no humor behind it, “I’m used to it- it’s been happening for years, so it was nothing new. I know how to handle it. They do this every couple of years when they think I don’t push myself enough with my grades. They will calm down after a few days and it will just go back to the normal crap- yelling at me, telling me I’m worthless- the usual.”

-Adam now looked downright murderous, hearing how your parents treated you- as he believed no parents should ever treat their children like that, and to hear that you were fine with it…

-Odin stood, shadows covering most of his face before he turned to the others, as he was one of the big bosses of the house, “Y/N will stay with us- we have a guest room they can use. F/N- you’ll take them shopping for new clothes and stuff they will need.”

-F/N immediately beamed, agreeing while you were shocked, before you tried to protest, “Oh- you don’t need to do that- I’ll be fin-” Adam put a finger to your lips, halting you.

-He was glaring hard, like he was angry, but you could tell that he wasn’t mad at you, “You suffered enough Y/N- you don’t need to put up a front. You’re safe now. Let us help you now.”

-You didn’t know how to respond, nobody had ever helped you before, others just thought you were a punk, and F/N’s family was no different, despite now knowing truth.

-They were not expecting you to immediately burst into tears, tears welling in your eyes and slipping down while you still looked mostly neutral, completely stunned that they were going to help you!

-Eve and F/N quickly had you in a sandwich hug, holding you close and that’s when this family finally realized how fragile you were.

-Adam softened, cupping your cheek softly, brushing the tears away, “You’ll be safe here- you can stay as long as you want.” You sniffled loudly, trying to wipe the tears with the back of your hand as you thanked him.

-Hades sent a few glances around the room, including one to Adam, and a few nods went around before they told F/N to take you to the kitchen to get some food, which they were more than happy to do.

-When you came back, a sandwich in your hands, you were confused, looking back at F/N, “Do they always disappear in an instant?” F/N just grinned, holding their own sandwich, “You get used to it- c’mon we can go watch TV in my room.”

-You nodded softly as a warm feeling filled your chest- you felt so loved, so safe now, which was more than you could say about your family.

[vcnillazelda]

parties suck

tate langdon x reader

summary: tate gets into a fight at one of tiffany’s parties

tags: fighting, hurt/comfort, fluff, some suggestive behaviour, mentions of making out, tate being kinda sweet??, ooc tate (probably), pre murder house, y/n being y/n, ‘jacob. this isn’t you 🥺’ type behaviour lmaoo

✞———————❖———————✞

you had gone to the bathroom for literally 2 minutes when the party erupted. shouting and a huge commotion of people running to what you presumed was tiffany riley’s front door was all you could hear. you furrowed your brows, quickly finishing the last touch ups of your makeup in tiffany’s overly large mirror. had the police came to bust some drunk teenagers on a saturday night? probably. at least that’s what you thought based on people screaming incoherent words that you couldn’t make out from upstairs.

opening the door, you carefully make your way to one of the bedrooms, peering out the window for any cop cars. you’d have to grab tate if this was the case, your boyfriend’s mother was such an asshole and if tate got snagged by the police he’d be in for one hell of a beating, or at least a heavy, soul-grinding lecture. there was no flashing lights, no sirens, but there was a crowd surrounding two figures. one was a random guy you had caught staring at you and tate a little while before you went to the bathroom to fix your makeup, and the other with blonde hair was wearing a familiar shirt.

“fuck!” you exclaim, realising a few moments after staring at the familiar guy. that was your boyfriend, throwing punches with a stranger. running down the stairs; you bump into an old friend, steven murray, who’s just as confused but also drunk. “sorry..!” you call over your shoulder, quickly rushing to the front door. steven blinks, clearly absolutely lost. “tate!” you yell over the crowd, pushing through the mass of people. you stumble through the last few drunk teens, catching yourself before you fell. “stop fighting-! tate!” your voice definitely catches his attention, and he turns; furrowing his brows in confusion. the stranger’s fist hits tate’s jaw, and he stumbles back a little. your breathing hitches as he’s just about caught by tommy richard (a guy on the football team, and tiffany riley’s most recent fling); who throws tate back into the fight. having had enough, you storm into the middle of the ring the crowd had made, kicking behind the guy’s knee and knocking him to the floor. “stop fighting.” you demand, and steven luckily comes to your aid. “shows over, folks! come on. let’s party!”

the crowd begrudgingly agrees, and the guy; who’s jeans had ripped on the road, knees bleeding down his leg, scowls as he mutters some vague insults about both you and tate before getting up and trudging down the street- probably back home. luckily, your boyfriend only had minor wounds; a cut on his eyebrow and over the bridge of his nose, a split lip and a bruise on his jaw where the stranger had caught him. tate sighs, bruised hand finding your lower back. “you okay, doll? you could of gotten hurt.” he mutters, leaning down to gently kiss your neck. “i’m fine. what the hell was all this about? i leave you for what, 2 minutes?” you scold, crossing your arms. “he was talking about you! i had to do something. boyfriend’s honour and all that.” tate shrugs, brushing his hair from his face. you roll your eyes, snatching tate’s other hand and tugging him back tiffany’s house. “come on then, romeo.” you grumble.

tate smiles a little. you clearly weren’t that mad at him for fighting someone. he follows you obediently up the stairs and into the bathroom, leaning against the countertop as he watches you dig through the cabinets. “this isn’t how i thought this party would go.” you sigh, pulling out a first aid kit. it was light, but would probably have something for your boyfriend’s wounds. tate hums out a laugh. “most parties have a fight, babe.” he turns, leaning his left hip against the counter to look at you. “they don’t, not normally.” you correct, unzipping the first aid kit. a few plasters and some antiseptic wipes. great. that’s all you’d need anyway; tate barely knew how to hold his own in a fight but he had managed quite well even though the guy was drunk. “tiffany’s parties do… normally under different circumstances though.” tate replies with a shrug, watching your hands. “mhm. c’mere.” you turn to him, and tate’s fingers slip into the loopholes of your shorts, pulling you to him as his lower back presses harshly into the counter. you wipe the blood from his face with a few swabs of tissue paper, flushing it away. “sit still, tate.” you sigh as he squirms a little, slipping an antiseptic wipe out of the packet and swiping it over his nose.

tate hisses softly, and you mutter a soft apology, being as careful as you could be to not press too hard. “it’s okay.” tate mumbles, hands grasping your hips. “maybe next time you tag along to a party, don’t get into a fight.” you sigh, voice light yet still somewhat scolding him. “i can’t just let people talk about you the way he did, doll. don’t worry your pretty head.” tate practically coos at you, hand coming up to gently brush his fingers over your cheek. “tate. i’m being serious.” you frown, pressing some plasters over his nose and eyebrow. “not much i can do about that bruise. sorry sweetie.” you sigh, and tate shrugs. “i dunno… you could always kiss it better.” he grins, and you roll your eyes.

you oblige his silly request, lips pressing to his jaw softly as to not hurt him. “there. all better?” you ask, and tate smiles brightly. “all better.” he replies, kissing your lips softly. “come on. there’s a whole party downstairs. or we can just ditch and go back to mine and watch a movie?” you suggest. “a movie sounds good right about now.” tate nods, stealing one more kiss before grasping your hand. “come on then. my parents picked up some new movies from the blockbuster.” you pull tate from the bathroom, and he smiles to himself. tate had only tagged along to look out for you in case you drank too much; he knows what drunk teenage boys are like and he didn’t want you to pass out on someone’s lawn. someone had to take you home. he’d much rather be curled up in your bed with you, an awful movie playing in the background as you both laugh at awful acting and make out halfway through the film after getting bored. that was his perfect saturday night, not some party full of drunk teens dancing poorly and taking jello shots. some would call him boring, but to tate, he’s just a romantic- maybe a classic guy. if that meant he was boring then so be it, he scored you and he couldn’t be happier. besides, parties suck.

[caesariawritesstuff]

Promise

(Arkham! Riddler x Fem!Reader)

● Ao3 ● X ● Retrospring ● Read on Ao3 ●

It’s past midnight. Edward hasn’t been back for hours. You’re laying in bed, trying to get some sleep, but it’s useless. He’s been gone too long. And only a short while ago did you see the Bat-Signal flash into the sky. For most people, it would’ve been a symbol of hope. But for you, it represented everything you hated.

Knowing Edward was out there now, potentially being arrested and shipped back off to Arkham…you couldn’t bear it. Not again. Too many times you’d watched him be hauled off, taken under custody – and never gently, either, always treated so inhumanely. Bruised, bloodied, broken. It’s always you who has to pick up the pieces.

Finally forgoing sleep and with a frustrated heave, you threw the blankets off yourself and let them pile in a heap on the floor. You stood and ran a hand through your hair, eyes straying back to the window. The Bat-Signal was gone now, leaving behind empty darkness in its wake. You sighed, wandering into the kitchen, near the phone, wondering whether it’d be Arkham or the GCPD calling to tell you he’d been apprehended. Anxiety twisted in your gut, and you swallowed down a wave of nausea, putting your head in your hands.

This couldn’t be happening again. You didn’t know how much longer you could bear the waiting, the wondering if this would finally be the night the Dark Knight snapped and lost control, finally beat Edward to such a pulp that he ended up dead. The thought is horrifying, overtaking you like a wild storm, when you hear several loud bangs. You gasped and whipped around, hurrying over to the front door. Through the peep hole, you spotted Edward leaning against the wall.

“Edward!” you gasped, flinging the door open.

He practically stumbled into your arms, catching himself on the doorframe. His nose is busted, already mottled blue and yellow. Blood streamed down his nose and across his upper lip, into his mouth, staining his teeth red. There are several cuts to his forearms and the front of his green suit is ripped, his tie undone, glasses askew. He looks worse than last time. He doesn’t speak, he’s breathing too heavy for words. Sweat coated his brow and down into his chest. You gently grabbed him by the forearm and led him inside, slamming the door behind him.

“What did Batman do to you?” you asked. Even you’re shocked at the Dark Knight’s brutality.

Edward laughed, a low chuckle deep in his throat. “What he always does. Uses his fists instead of his mind,” he answered, sarcastic venom dripping in his tone.

You helped him into the apartment and over to the kitchen table, onto the seat. He hissed between his teeth, clutching his ribs. Blood dripped onto the floor, and you ran into the bathroom, quickly yanking out the first aid kit hiding under the sink. When you return, you found Edward still in his spot, head in his hands.

“He did it again,” he whispered, so low you barely heard him. “He bested me. He beat me. At my own game.” He laughed, high and broken. “Can you believe it?”

No, you couldn’t. For as much as a genius as Edward was, each time the Dark Knight managed to outsmart him, you could never understand why. Edward was right: he had to be cheating. He always had some tool or gadget or ally at the ready to come and save the day. And it was cheating; Batman shouldn’t be allowed to call in assistance whenever he felt like it.

Irritation flickered inside of you, but you were quiet as you filled a bowl with warm water and grabbed a rag. “You can’t keep doing this, Eddie,” you said.

He scoffed. “I’m not going to stop until Batman is dead.”

“And what happens if you die first?” you asked, the words tumbling out of your mouth. Hot and angry, dripping like acid. You spun on your heels to find him staring wide-eyed at you.

“Batman doesn’t kill,” he said quietly. “You know this. Everyone does.”

“I don’t care if Batman doesn’t kill,” you said, approaching him. You rested the bowl onto the table, dipping the rag into it. Slowly, you got on your knees, gently grabbing his wrist, and wiped the blood from his arm. “I care that he beats you. I care that you come stumbling home like this. I don’t…”

The words hang heavy on your tongue. I don’t know if I can do this anymore. They’re right there, in your grasp. Words you’ve thought of so many times before. How much longer can you keep going on like this? Keep tending to his wounds, driving him to clinics so his broken bones can be mended, bailing him out of jail? This has been your life for years, ever since you decided to follow him down this path into the criminal underworld…and at what cost?

“You don’t what?” he asked, an edge in his tone.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, turning your attention back to his wounds. You looked away from his burning stare, wiping the blood from his arms, placing gauze and bandages over his cuts. Some might need stitches and you sighed; again, you’d be the one to stich him up.

He sighed, licking the blood from his mouth. “Don’t you want to know how he did it? Don’t you want to know how he cheated?”

“How, Eddie?” you asked, though the truth was that you weren’t really listening, not as he rambled on about some newfangled gadget Batman suddenly pulled from his toolbelt. Instead, your mind wandered to…other things. Wondering if you were finally at your breaking point.

Because as much as you loved him, you couldn’t bear to see him walk down this path any longer.

He cleared his throat, and you looked up at him once more. Slowly, with blood-stained fingertips, he reached downward and grabbed your chin, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “What’s going through that little mind of yours?”

Ah, of course he noticed that you weren’t listening. He noticed everything. Edward was far too observant for you to get away with anything. But, you set the rag aside and finally stood up.

“It’s nothing,” you said again, because you couldn’t find the strength to say the words. “I’m just tired.”

He was quiet, studying you. But he leaned forward, placing his hands on your waist and pulled you into his lap. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, strong arms wrapping tightly around you.

He whispered your name. “I love you more than you’ll ever know,” he said, his breath in your ear, lips kissing against your skin. “Promise you’ll never leave.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. You weren’t an idiot – you knew what he was asking. And the pain in his voice, the utter desperation, was so raw and real. Foreign words out of his mouth, but they were enough. Perhaps he’d somehow found the bags tucked away in the back of the closet that you’d stashed away months ago, the last time he came home like this. Your back-up plan, just in case. Your heart felt like it was being squeezed by a fist. As much as you hated this – hated being put in this position – you loved him too much to walk away.

“I promise,” you whispered, lifting your head to kiss him. He tasted of blood and sweat, but you didn’t care. Because no matter what happened, no matter what state he came in next time Batman beat him, you had no intention of breaking your promise.

[chr0macide]

Break In 2: The Novelette (Fanfic)

PART 1

got damn I finally finished this. Writers block was wilding on my ass so I hope this didn't turn out like shit lol. I drew a lil bit of art for this fanfic (I say "drew" but a lot of it is just textures from google edited together into a picture lmao). Just 3 pics but yeah I got bored and wanted to draw. Might make a separate post for them sometime so people who don't wanna read or scroll through this can see them.

I recommend reading part 1, there are some references and callbacks that you might not get if you haven't read it already.

Again if you see any grammar/spelling errors please tell me. don't let me just leave that shit in because that's hella embarrassing 🙃

oh also for those who don’t know, the premise of this fanfic is basically just me turning the game into a short story

TW implied sexual violence (not involving any main characters, relatively short section, but its there)

This one is about 16,000 words, alright lets do this

Chapter I – Unsafe Haven

A fork of lightning illuminated the woods as Prince drove down the trail at a snail’s pace. The deluge was so heavy that it was almost impossible to see through the windshield, even with the wipers on. He brought the car to a standstill and let the engine idle.

“We’re gonna have to wait the storm out,” Prince told the kids. “Can’t keep driving like this.”

Stephanie kicked the back of Prince’s seat. “Worst camping trip ever,” she grumbled with her tiny voice.

“Relax. We’ll get there,” the elder brother said, but the truth was that he may or may not have taken a wrong turn through the thick fog.

It had been almost a year since the four kids had butted heads with their not-so-friendly neighborhood mafia. Well, three kids and one adult; Prince had turned 18 a few months ago. They’d been holed up in their house for too long, paranoid that Larry and his mobsters might show up for a little payback. It didn’t help that there had been a string of missing person reports in the area. To their dismay, their own uncle had disappeared, not to mention that the mob boss himself had vanished soon after they’d deactivated him. He hadn’t been sighted since, though, so Prince and Monica thought an outing would help take their minds off of everything.

They had everything they needed. The weather report had been favorable, yet rain was battering their windows. Prince folded his arms as he heard another clash of thunder. His boredom was replaced with panic as the subsequent flash of lightning struck the tree closest to them.

“Everyone out! Now!” he yelled as the trunk splintered and started to topple towards them. The kids tumbled out of the car and ran off as the tree smashed into the hood. The car alarm screamed.

“Could this trip get any worse?” Monica huffed as she walked around their totaled coupé. She popped the trunk and rummaged around inside.

Prince reached out and pulled her away. “Monica, wait, the engine-”

He was cut off as the crushed engine spat out a plume of smoke and exploded.

The kids stared at their flaming car.

“Shit,” said Hadrian.

Prince sighed. “Yeah.”

They looked around. They thought they’d reach the campsite early in the evening, but the storm had stalled them for so long that night had already come. Prince could hardly see the path ahead of them. “You didn’t happen to pull a flashlight out of there before it blew up, right?” he asked Monica.

Monica looked at the first aid kit she’d rescued. “No.”

“Damn. Well… we shouldn’t just stand around, I guess. Come on,” Prince said to the others. They climbed over the fallen tree and set off down the trail on foot.

The muddy path squelched under their shoes and thorns snagged their clothes as they trudged forward. Prince knew they should hurry, but shrubs and tree roots obscured by the shadows threatened to trip them up and send them face first into the dirt if they walked too fast.

Prince pulled out his cellphone as they moved, grumbling in frustration as the rain impaired the touchscreen. He tried to dial emergency services. No signal. He almost bumped into a traffic barricade in front of him while he was shoving the phone back into his damp pocket. “The hell? What is this doing here?”

He felt Monica tug on his sleeve.

“Do you see that?” Monica asked, pointing into the trees. It took Prince a few seconds to figure out what she was talking about, but he spied a yellow light blinking in the distance.

“What is it?” he wondered.

“I don’t know… but look.” Monica gestured downwards. There was a gravel path leading away from the barricaded trail. It looked like they’d be taking a detour.

“Let’s see if there’s a building there,” Monica suggested. Prince was apprehensive about veering off the main path, but he had no clue how far the campground was, if they were even going in the right direction. Maybe this was a better option. He and the other kids followed her.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the origin of the light. Steel walls stretched into the trees. The faint beams of moonlight that made it through the leaves glinted on the razor wire resting atop the fortifications.

A control panel was affixed to the wall next to the heavy-duty vertical lift door. There was the light source: a yellow diode, flashing on and off in the dark.

Prince peered through the doorway. It was already open. “What is this? A military base?”

Monica knitted her brow. “Maybe, but why would they leave the door like this?”

“I don’t see anyone.” The place gave him an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was freezing, and his clothes were soaked all the way through. He stepped inside.

The dwelling had evidently been abandoned for a long time. One ceiling light persevered, shining weakly in the darkness. The floor was littered with trash and a sticky layer of dust coated the tiles. Corroded storage lockers lined one of the walls. The other was plastered with crappy graffiti.

Prince didn’t see anyone else. He beckoned the others inside. However, right as the last kid stepped through, there was another flash of lightning. The panel next to the door sparked and short circuited. Everyone flinched as the door slammed down with a loud bang.

“What the hell!” Prince exclaimed as he turned around. He gave the door a kick. It didn’t budge. The unlocking mechanism had failed. He tried tinkering with the control panel, but all he got was an electric shock. “Ow.”

Prince knew he wasn’t about to break through solid metal. The kids glanced around the room nervously. “Look for another way out,” Prince told everyone.

There was only one other door on the opposite wall. Monica made her way over and gently pushed it open, but it was just a stairwell leading even deeper down into the building. She shook her head at Prince. “Nothing here.”

Hadrian started to open the old lockers, searching for something that might be useful. He grimaced as he came upon one that wasn’t empty.

“Guys. Look,” Hadrian called out. The others crowded around. It was an all too familiar comedy mask that they’d hoped they would never have to see again. “I don’t think we’re in a military base.”

Prince’s stomach churned at the thought of running into Larry a second time. If he was uneasy before, he was on high alert now. In fact, he was so anxious that he nearly leapt out of his skin when something prodded the back of his leg.

The dog whined and sprang away as well before it ran away and cowered beneath a rotting wooden table. Its fur was patchy and matted. Muddy water was still dripping from it, but it looked like it might have been white underneath all that grime. It must have taken refuge here from the torrential downpour too before they arrived.

“A doggie!” Stephanie squealed in delight. She ran to pet it, but it growled and barked at her when she got close. “Mean doggie,” she pouted.

Prince paid no more attention to the dog. If there was a chance that there were gangsters prowling, he and the kids had to arm themselves. He didn’t see anything of use except a broken rack with a few rusty crowbars on it. He picked one up.

“Guess these will have to do.”

He tossed a couple to Monica and Hadrian.

“Hold up, you want us to go further inside?” Hadrian questioned as he caught the weapon.

“You got a better idea?”

Hadrian looked at the metal door, locked tight. “No,” he mumbled.

The group stood at the stairs. It was pitch black. A sense of déjà vu crept over Prince; it reminded him of the creepy basement back in his house. He dug through his pocket for his lighter and flicked it on, casting enough light down the steps for them to descend. The dog padded after them, though it still recoiled as Stephanie tried to touch it again.

They reached the base of the stairwell. Iron bars lined the walls on either side of them. It was some sort of jail. Prince thought the cells were all empty until someone stood up in the one right next to him.

Everyone yelped in alarm at the figure. Prince held his crowbar up defensively, even though the man was caged, but he looked familiar. He held his lighter up to illuminate his face.

“Uncle Pete?” Prince said, bewildered.

Pete waved. He grabbed the whiteboard attached to his belt. Hi Prince! Open the cell? he wrote.

“But I don’t have the key… oh, wait,” Prince said as he remembered that he was holding a crowbar. He jammed it in between the lock and the doorframe and broke the gate open. “But how did you get here?”

Mafia wanted some of my properties. Locked me up here alone when I wouldn’t transfer ownership, Pete scrawled as he stepped out of the cell.

“Oh, man. We were really worried,” Prince said as everyone wrapped Pete up in a group hug. “Wait a second. Does that mean there are mobsters nearby?”

No. Upper levels of the base are abandoned. Everyone is in lower levels.

Prince’s brow furrowed. Pete looked at him quizzically.

“The entrance malfunctioned. We can’t get out the way we came in,” Prince explained. Pete looked pensive now.

Only other way out is elevator on lowest level. Leads to south exit. Don’t know exactly where it is, but we would have to keep going down. Pete pointed at the other end of the jailhouse. More stairs. They were going to be seeing a lot of those.

The last thing Prince wanted to do was to delve into a criminal hideout, but they didn’t have any other choice. “How deep before we start running into mobsters?” he asked Pete as they walked to the staircase and descended further.

Pretty deep. Not sure about the exact level. I don’t th

Pete stopped writing as they reached the next area and looked around warily. It was some kind of common area, just as derelict as the previous rooms, but something felt off. Prince squinted through the dim lighting. The coffee table was caked with dust, but one handprint-shaped patch was clean.

Someone was in there with them.

Chapter II – Hackerman

Monica guarded herself with her first aid kit as a masked mafioso stood up from behind the couch and swung his crowbar at her. The plastic case cracked, but she retaliated with a jab to his gut with her own weapon. He clutched his abdomen in pain as Monica brought her weapon down on his head, knocking him out.

The guy wasn’t alone. Four of his buddies emerged from hiding while Monica was fending off the first, and they rushed the kids all at once. Pete hastily grabbed the crowbar that the downed mobster had dropped. He attacked one who was coming up on Prince’s side. He and Hadrian were kept busy by a couple of other mafiosos from the front. There was a brief scuffle before Pete managed to land a headshot and knock him unconscious as well.

Hadrian tried to lunge at one of his attackers, but the mobster hooked his crowbar around Hadrian’s own weapon and yanked it out of his hands. With nothing to defend himself, all he could do was shield his face with his arms. There was a crunch as the mobster’s crowbar met his forearm. He cried out in pain. “Fuck! Not again!”

The group withdrew further into the room as the remaining mobsters closed in on them. As their aggressors engaged them again, Prince fumbled and dropped his still-burning lighter amidst the chaos. The dust on the plush carpet ignited instantly. A blockade of smoke and fire materialized surprisingly quickly between him and the mafiosos.

“Come on!” urged Prince retreated through the next door. The dog darted ahead of him, spooked by the flames. Pete and the kids followed, but the mobsters had to fall back to the jailhouse to escape the inferno. It had been a quick fight, but Prince was shaking from the adrenaline. He turned to Pete.

“You said the upper levels were abandoned!”

Pete shrugged his shoulders and shook his head cluelessly. They are! I don’t know what they’re doing here, he wrote.

The blaze cast a flickering orange glow into the hallway they’d ended up in. At least this place looked empty. Monica made Hadrian sit on the ground and started fixing a splint to his arm. He sighed in defeat. They’d only just got here, and he was already out of the fight.

Prince cautiously opened the door next to them. A janitorial closet. He’d lost his lighter in the last room. They weren’t going to be able to see a thing once they left the fire behind, so he went inside and investigated the shelves.

He picked up a flashlight and brushed the dust off. “Lucky us.”

“See if it turns on first,” said Monica skeptically.

Prince flipped the switch. He smacked the flashlight into the palm of his hand a few times when it didn’t turn on. Nothing happened. “Damn it.”

He shoved the flashlight under his coat. Maybe they would come across some batteries later. As Monica finished patching up Hadrian’s arm, the group continued to the elevator on the other end of the hallway. Prince pushed the call button. “I don’t suppose this thing will take us out of here?”

Pete shook his head as the doors slid open. The control panel only contained deeper floors. His finger hovered over the button that would take them the lowest. They didn’t know precisely how far down the inhabited levels were, and he didn’t want to be jumped again as soon as the elevator reopened. He decided to select one of the higher ones. Better safe than sorry, Prince thought.

They said nothing as the elevator closed and took them downwards. They couldn’t see anything except the red LED display above the door. The floor number ticked into the negatives until it ground to a halt unexpectedly.

“Hold up. That’s not the level I chose,” Prince whispered. He could hear everyone shifting around in the dark as they prepared for the worst.

The doors opened. The person outside the elevator screamed and fumbled with his phone, almost dropping it. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to see anyone. Prince had his crowbar at the ready, but the guy was clad in a hoodie and jeans instead of one of the tailored suits that the mob usually wore.

“Uh… hi,” said Prince.

“Hey? You guys don’t look like mobsters,” the young man replied as he straightened his sunglasses.

“You don’t, either.”

“’Cause I’m not. What are you doing here if you aren’t one of them?” the stranger asked shiftily.

Prince shrugged. “We ran in here during a thunderstorm. Door malfunctioned. Now we’re trapped.”

The stranger buried his hands in his dark hair. “Are you fucking kidding me? The north exit is jammed? I snuck all the way up here for nothing!”

“You’re sneaking out? Were you a prisoner?” Monica probed.

“Ugh. Yeah, yeah, I was,” mumbled the man, who was now pacing around outside the elevator. “Name’s Helios-”

Hadrian snickered. Helios shot him a look.

“What? It’s a code name! I work for the government. I’m not supposed to tell people my real one.”

Hadrian rolled his eyes. “Sure, dude. Whatever.”

“OK, Helios… why were they keeping you down here?” asked Prince.

“I got abducted during the killing purge last year. They’ve been making me work for them. I’m a hacker,” Helios explained. “I managed to slip away from my station a while ago. They went batshit looking for me. It was a nightmare getting up here, and now I have to go all the way back down,” he groaned.

“Really? So you know where the south exit is,” Prince surmised.

Helios held up his phone. “Yeah. I got a blueprint of this place.” He stepped into the elevator with them, but he pursed his lips when he saw which level they had been heading towards. “Nah. That’s the first populated level. The guards would’ve rocked your shit. Get outta this thing,” he urged, gesturing for them to follow him into the floor they were at: a computer room. Most of the computers were powered off and missing keyboards, save for one, which had been plugged into one of the power outlets. Helios must have been using it.

“Any chance you can fix the door upstairs? I think it short circuited,” Monica inquired.

“No shot. I’m a hacker. Not an electrician. But like I said, I know exactly where the south exit is,” Helios responded. The group looked at his phone as he pulled up his map of the base. He marked the spot where the exit was. This place had a lot more floors than Prince had expected.

“This is going to suck,” he murmured.

“Tell me about it. We gotta go on foot, too, ‘cause this elevator won’t take us to the right place,” said Helios as he beckoned them out of the computer lab.

The corridors here were tight and winding. Their footsteps echoed through the metal walls, rough with oxidization and lined with rusty pipes. Stagnant water still dripped from some of them.

Prince grew anxious as he followed Helios. They’d been walking for a while without reaching any stairs or elevators. “Helios, where are you taking us? We’re still on the same floor,” he questioned.

“Relax. We’re making a pit stop,” Helios replied, waving Prince’s concern away.

“Dude, we don’t have time-“

Helios shushed him. They were in front of a door with a round window. Prince peered over Helios’s shoulder to see inside. He’d taken them to a kitchen, and Prince realized that they did, in fact, need to eat.

“How do you know there’s still food in here?” he asked the hacker.

Helios shushed him again. “I came here while I was on the way to the top level. Lower your damn voice. There’s someone inside,” he hissed.

Prince took a closer look through the round window. The oven was on. There was a mobster leaning against the countertop, facing away from them. Only one. “What is that guy doing all the way up here?” he whispered.

“No idea, but he’s alone. Just go bonk him,” Helios encouraged.

Prince moved forward Helios stepped out of the way. He put a hand on the door and gradually eased it open. Thankfully, the hinges didn’t squeak, so he crept inside until he was right behind the mafioso. Prince raised his crowbar.

The door clicked shut. The mobster whirled around at the noise. Prince faltered. His mouth hung open slightly in disbelief as he recognized the mafioso.

“Isaiah?”

Isaiah was scrambling for his own crowbar, but he paused when he heard his name. “Prince?”

Prince let his arm fall to his side. “What the actual shit? You’re still working for the mob?” he exclaimed.

“Why the hell are you in the base?” Isaiah blurted out in an equally baffled tone.

The door creaked as Helios edged it open. “Prince? You good?”

Hadrian pushed him out of the way with his good arm. “Nice to see a familiar face,” he said.

Isaiah looked even more confounded as Pete and the kids emerged. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

Prince was beginning to get tired of recounting that. “There’s a storm outside. Ran in here. North entrance short circuited. Stuck. Explain why you’re here,” he demanded.

“Because I work here, dumbass,” Isaiah snapped. “You can’t just leave the mafia. They hunt deserters down… not to mention that I got fired from Builder Brothers. The owner found out I had ties to the mob, and now this is the only job I can get,” he muttered bitterly.

Prince scowled, but he supposed Isaiah had a point. “OK, I get it, but why is Larry still letting you work here? You helped us deactivate him.”

“He’s not in charge anymore. Haven’t seen him since that sewer brawl, actually. Someone else took over his duties,” Isaiah revealed.

Prince’s eyebrows shot up. “But a bunch of mobsters ran off with his body. It was on the news. They must have reactivated him, right?”

“Nope. He didn’t show up here, as far as I know. No idea what happened to him.”

The kids glanced at each other uneasily. “Who’s in charge now, then?” said Prince.

“Never met her, but her name is Mary Gearwise.”

“Gearwise? Let me guess, another automaton? Where are all these killer robots coming from?”

Isaiah shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m just a grunt… wait, aren’t you the hacker that escaped a while ago?” he realized, pointing at Helios.

The hacker looked at him warily. “Maybe. Your friend isn’t gonna turn me in, right?” he asked Prince.

“I ain’t no snitch,” laughed Isaiah.

“Then will you help us get out of the base?” Prince implored.

Isaiah’s smile faded. “Man, do you have any idea what they’ll do to me if I get caught with you guys?”

“Come on, at least help us until we start running into goons. You can wear your mask. They won’t know who you are.”

The mobster picked up his mask from the counter. He mulled Prince’s words over as he looked at it. “I guess so.”

The oven dinged. “On a lighter note… pizza’s done.” Isaiah grabbed an old mitt and pulled the serving board out and placed it on the countertop.

Prince had forgotten about the oven. “Why the hell are you making a pizza all the way up here?” Helios questioned incredulously, gesturing around at the soiled kitchen.

Isiah scratched his neck. “I got hungry, and I didn’t wanna share it with the other guys, OK? So I took a frozen pizza up here.”

“You were gonna eat a whole pizza?”

“Shut up. You guys can have some if you want. You probably aren’t gonna get your hands on food again until you make it out of here,” Isaiah told everyone.

As they ate, the dog nudged the door open with his nose and squeezed through. He’d stayed outside, but it seemed that the smell of cooking had enticed him. Stephanie held out a slice of pizza and tried to coax him closer. The dog gingerly took the slice in his mouth and devoured it ravenously.

Stephanie giggled. The dog let her pet him this time. She read the name tag on his collar. “Twado!” she squeaked. Twado wagged his tail.

The dog chewed on the empty pizza box as Isaiah looked at his watch. He pulled a flashlight out from under his jacket. “We gotta go. I better get you guys out of here while most of the base is asleep,” he said as he motioned for the group to follow him.

They reached a crossroad after a while. “Dude, the map says the closest stairwell is that way,” Helios contested, jabbing a thumb at the right passageway as Isaiah turned left.

“Your map is old. We never update those things. I know a short-”

Isaiah stopped talking mid-sentence as a rusty pipe on the ceiling ruptured in front of him. Scalding hot water hissed as it splashed against the cold metal floor and turned to steam. He didn’t fancy third-degree burns. “Damn. Guess we’re taking the long way around.”

They trailed through the narrow corridors behind the mobster in silence until Prince’s soles started to get sore. Too many stairs, but they eventually ran into a door.

Isaiah reached for the handle. “I think—SHIT!”

He jerked his hand back as the pipe next to the door burst as well, but it wasn’t water that erupted. Isaiah ripped his glove off and threw it to the ground as the substance ate through it.

“What the hell is that?” Price exclaimed.

“It’s the stuff we poured into the sewers last purge. Thought we shut off all the valves already. I need to quit coming up here,” muttered the mafioso. “Nevermind. There’s another way in this room.” He turned to the door on the opposite wall and pushed it open.

They were in an old dormitory. The entrance to the stairwell was on the other side of the room. “As I was saying, I think the next level down is… uh…”

Isaiah stopped in the middle of the room and went silent. He looked up at the entresol. More than a few doors were slightly ajar.

“Isaiah? Something wrong?” Prince whispered.

“The doors were shut last time I was here,” he whispered back.

It was another ambush. The mafiosos threw the dormitory doors open and jumped down from the entresol. Prince cried out as one of them landed on him. He lost his weapon as he wrestled on the floor with the aggressor and grunted in pain when he felt something sharp pierce his side. Twado ran over and clamped his fangs around the mafioso’s leg.

Isaiah hurriedly pulled his mask over his face as more mobsters jumped down and confronted him.

“Is that you, Isa-”

He silenced his colleague with a crowbar to the face before he could get his name out. The other two elected to simply charge at him and Helios without any pleasantries. He dropped his flashlight as they clashed.

Prince felt around for his crowbar in the dark as Twado dragged his attacker away. He heard a yelp Monica clocked the mobster on the head.

Pete stood in front of Hadrian and Stephanie as two more advanced on them. They laughed as they brandished their weapons. “Why don’t you put that crowbar down before you hurt yourself, old man?” one of them snickered. Hadrian covered his sister’s eyes.

Prince found his weapon as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He looked over at his uncle as one mobster seized his crowbar while the other delivered a strike to his head, but they turned around as he and Monica came up behind them. Prince tore the blade out of his side and drove it into one of the unsuspecting mobsters’ eyes. She screamed and reeled as Monica aimed a blow at the other mafioso, who sidestepped the hit, but now Prince was coming at him as well.

The mobster made a dash for the stairs, only to run into Isaiah. The two mobsters who’d been accosting him lay in a pile. Isaiah promptly sliced his associate’s throat open using a switchblade of his own. He clutched at the wound and gasped for air, but he could only cough and choke on his blood.

Isaiah scowled beneath his mask at all the noise his victim was making and shut him up with a sharp blow to the skull. He crumpled to the ground, still wheezing and spluttering while unconscious.

That was the last of them. Hadrian picked up Pete’s fallen sunglasses for him. He put them back on as Monica pulled Prince’s bloodied coat off.

“How bad is it?” Prince asked.

Monica grabbed the flashlight from the ground at held it up to inspect Prince’s wound. “Well, since you’re still standing, it’s probably not that deep. I’d put you on bed rest, but…”

She didn’t bother finishing. There was no time for bed rest in this place, of course. There was nothing she could do except clean it and stitch it up.

“They were waiting for us. How did they know you were here?” Isaiah wondered.

Prince shrugged. “We were attacked earlier as well on one of the top levels. I don’t suppose you have security cameras around here?”

“No. Not since…” Isaiah gestured at Helios.

“I knocked them offline while I was trying to escape,” the hacker said. “I know for a fact they’re still down. They couldn’t have seen you.”

Isaiah paced around the dormitory wordlessly as Monica sutured Prince’s wound shut, deep in thought. He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on. We have to-”

He stopped talking as the mobster next to him stirred. There was a crunch as Isaiah stomped on his neck, killing him. Everyone else winced.

“What the hell, Isaiah? That’s not necessary,” Prince admonished.

“Yes, it was. He saw my face earlier. I told you I’m fucked if one of these assholes reports me.”

“He was already unconscious!”

Isaiah got up in Prince’s face, but Helios interrupted their spat before he could say anything. “You two better start getting along, ‘cause we need to make a plan,” he said as he nudged Isaiah away and planted himself between them. He gestured all around at the fallen mafiosos. “We’re gonna be running into plenty of these guys when we reach the bottom of those stairs.”

“Oh. Right. That’s what I was trying to tell you guys earlier. It’s a good thing we ended up in here, actually,” Isaiah said as he disappeared into one of the dorms. They heard him rooting around inside until he came out with a bunch of suits and masks slung over his shoulder, a little faded with age, but still wearable. He dumped them in a pile on the ground. “Ol’ reliable. Everyone put one of these things on.”

Prince pulled a duffel bag out of the pile while he was looking for something his size. “What’s this for?”

“That’s for Twado,” said Isaiah.

Twado gave him the side-eye.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. The boss doesn’t allow dogs in here. You’ll blow our cover if anyone sees you.”

The dog allowed Isaiah to lower him into the bag, but then the group encountered the same problem as last time. Stephanie was sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Maybe we can hide her in the middle of the group again?” Prince suggested.

Isaiah shook his head. “It’s not gonna work. The hallways aren’t wide enough.”

The mafioso drummed his fingers on the strap of the duffel bag. Nobody else was offering up any ideas.

“I know what we can do,” he spoke hesitantly. Everyone looked at him.

Prince blinked. “Well? Spit it out.”

Isaiah held up a hand. “Don’t get mad at me for it.”

Prince’s eyes narrowed.

“First of all, this base is part of a sex trafficking ring,” said Isaiah.

“You better not be about to say any dumb shit.”

Isaiah held up both hands now. “Just listen! We pretend,” he continued, enunciating the ‘pretend’ very clearly, “that Stephanie is one of the girls we abducted—”

“You guys take little girls for that?” Hadrian admonished.

“Look, man, I just work in the canteen. This place didn’t even have a human trafficking branch when I got here. As I was saying, we pretend she’s a…”

Isaiah trailed off as Prince stared daggers.

“Prisoner,” the mobster said slowly. When the elder brother didn’t throttle him, he kept talking. “The shortest path to the exit involves one of the, uh, filming areas, so that’ll be her excuse to be there.”

Helios looked at his blueprint. “He’s right. There’s gonna be another elevator at the end of the filming area’s hallway.” He zoomed in on the location.

Isaiah leaned over to inspect the map as well. “We can ride it to that detention level and act like we’re taking her to a holding cell,” he said as he pointed out a floor below the filming area, “but we can veer away towards the west edge of the base. That place is as deserted as the upper levels. We’ll make our way through there until we reach the lowest level. After that… it gets more difficult.”

“No kidding,” Helios agreed. “That’s where the boss lives. The whole floor is teeming with goons, but the ventilation shafts that far underground are so big that we can fit through them. So, we sneak over to where the elevator is. Get out of the vents while nobody’s looking. Ride it all the way up to the south exit. No sweat,” he schemed as he drew a path with his finger from their location to the exit.

Prince still looked vaguely pissed off, but he nodded. “OK. Fine. Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter III – Incident Report

Prince squinted as his troupe reached the bottom of the stairwell. The fluorescent lights were harsh on his eyes after they’d wandered around in the dark for hours. He scrunched up his face in revulsion as the smell hit him. The filming area reeked of stale sweat and perhaps other fluids that he preferred not to think about.

“There,” Isaiah whispered to Prince, pointing at the elevator on the other end of the corridor. “Hold onto Stephanie and walk in front of us.”

Prince took Stephanie gently by the hand and followed Isaiah down the corridor.

They were alone at first, but Prince was startled as a door next to them opened. A pair of mobsters shoved a girl into the hall with nothing but a worn-out blanket around her shoulders. She stared through Prince with dead eyes as the mafiosos forced her onwards.

The two groups didn’t speak as they passed each other, but one of the mafiosos brushed a lock of dark hair out of Stephanie’s face and leered at her with yellowed teeth as he strolled by. Prince’s hand tightened around his crowbar until his knuckles were white.

Time felt like it was passing agonizingly slowly as they walked. Prince’s face darkened as they passed another door. He could hear the sounds of a struggle inside. A scream pierced the air. He came to a halt as he unwillingly recalled the purge he’d endured. He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced back at Isaiah. His face was concealed, but Prince could tell the mobster was stone-faced from his eyes. So was his family, staring back at him through their masks. The sight was unnerving, even though he knew it was only them.

“Keep going. There’s nothing you can do for her now,” whispered Isaiah.

Prince turned stiffly and continued on their path.

There were no more disturbances. They made it to the elevator without any resistance. Isaiah punched in the access code and pressed the button for the detention level.

Helios sighed deeply as the doors closed. “That was unpleasant.”

Nobody was in the mood to respond.

Isaiah spoke up as they neared their destination floor. “We have to get the Warden to open the entrance for us. There’s a one-way exit in the holding area that leads to the west edge. No one is allowed to use it, but the cams are off, so who cares. Just let me do the talking. And one more thing: the audio feed is still running, so keep quiet until we get out of there,” he told everyone as the elevator reopened. The mafioso took the lead this time.

The Warden was resting his elbow on the desk with his face in his palm. He’d been looking at his reflection in his dimmed computer screen as he styled his fiery orange mohawk with a free hand, but his lidded eyes followed Isaiah as he approached. He stared at the newcomers, uninterested in initiating a conversation with them.

“Markus. New inmate,” Isaiah said.

Markus turned his eyes to the computer on his table. “The boss didn’t tell me of any new arrivals today,” he replied flatly.

“We haven’t notified her about this one yet. You’re the first to know. Good for you. Open up,” demanded Isaiah.

The Warden lifted his head from his hand. He narrowed his eyes again, now in skepticism instead of tiredness. Prince put himself in front of Hadrian, hopefully obscuring the boy’s splint. “Why did a little girl need five people escorting her here?”

“What the hell am I being interrogated for? This is the rest of my patrol group. We just got back. Quit wasting my time and open the fucking door,” Isaiah snapped.

Markus sighed. “Whatever. Cell 047,” he told the mobster as he stood up. The guy was even taller than Isaiah, Prince realized, and he was wide enough that he had to leave his too-small tuxedo jacket unbuttoned. He entered a string of numbers into the keypad next to the entrance. The blast door screeched open. “Get out of my face,” said the Warden as he waved them inside.

Prince looked straight ahead. Whatever was behind all the steel doors lining the passageway, he didn’t want to see. Markus closed the entrance behind them as they walked away.

Everyone did as Isaiah had said and kept silent until they reached the exit. A lone spider was busy spinning a web on the doorframe. Tough luck for him. The door squealed as Isaiah opened it and beckoned everyone through.

“Alright, we’re in the clear,” he said after he shut the exit.

The concrete corridor ahead looked strangely sterile at first, but a thin film of dust had settled on the ground upon closer inspection. Nobody had been here in a while.

“Where are we?” Prince asked.

Isaiah took off his mask and looked back at him as they made their way through the hall. “It used to be the chem sector when Larry was in charge. Miss Gearwise decommissioned it after she took over. She’s more interested in biotech and cybernetics, apparently. Most of her stuff is on the bottom floor, though.”

Prince peered through the windowpanes in the doors as Isaiah let Twado out of the duffel bag. Glassware and machinery were set up on the tables as if the users had left in a hurry. Binders full of notes and documents were still open on the desks. Even the lights were still on.

“Looks like she couldn’t wait to shut this place down,” Prince remarked.

Isaiah didn’t look at him now. He just shrugged.

Prince wished the mafioso would talk a little more, because the silence here was even more eerie than it had been in the derelict upper levels. The laboratory looked too clean and orderly. It felt wrong for it to be deserted. He was almost glad when the blindingly white walls gave way to rough stone and steel floors as they moved yet deeper into the base.

They were surrounded by a mess of tubing and shafts as they walked. There were no walls here at all to hide the plumbing and ventilation systems.

“Where are we now?” Prince wondered out loud.

“Still in the chem lab. Larry wasn’t one for frills. He didn’t bother with dressing the place up when he expanded it downwards,” Isaiah answered.

“You know a lot about that guy. Didn’t you only know him for a few days before we took him out?” Hadrian remarked. Isaiah shot him a glare over his shoulder, but not before Monica elbowed her little brother. The last thing they needed was to piss their guide off, even if he might be keeping secrets.

The mobster’s dark irises looked black in the low lighting. “You know I hate it when people ask too many questions, right? I hear the other mafiosos talking about him sometimes, is all,” he claimed as he turned away.

Maybe it was for the best that he and the rest of the group didn’t talk much. The sound of dripping water and air flowing through the vents suited Prince just fine now, but after a while, his ears picked up something that was neither of those. Thumping? It wasn’t quite loud enough for him to tell.

“Do you guys hear that?”

Isaiah paused. “Hear what?”

They all listened, but whatever noise Prince heard had stopped now. “Nevermind. It’s gone.”

Isaiah pursed his lips in annoyance at the interruption and continued forward. Prince didn’t notice any more strange sounds, and he’d started to think he’d been imagining it until he heard it again, much louder this time. Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked up. The rusted ventilation panel above them was starting to buckle. “Get back!” Isaiah whispered harshly.

The old screws snapped apart and the vent gave way. Out tumbled a stout man in a trench coat. He grunted in discomfort as he landed in a heap in front of the group. He scrambled to his feet after he glanced up and realized he wasn’t alone, but his panic was short-lived as he beheld the bizarre caravan in front of him. They stared back, equally perplexed. The guy looked like he’d been ripped straight out of a generic mystery film.

Isaiah had pulled his mask over his face once more, but he cautiously removed it again when he saw that it wasn’t one of his own associates who had shown up. “Who the hell are you?”

The man hesitated, seemingly reluctant to reveal that, but Pete pushed his way to the front of the gathering. The stranger’s face lit up.

“Peter! It’s been too long!” he exclaimed as he slapped his hand on Pete’s shoulder. “But what are you doing here?”

Pete scribbled a few sentences on his whiteboard. Kidnapped. My nieces and nephews are trapped here as well. North exit broke down. Looking for the other one.

“The north exit malfunctioned? How odd,” the stranger pondered.

Pete turned back towards the group and wrote again.

“Detective Bradley Beans,” Prince read out loud.

Bradley snapped out of his musings. “Hm? Oh, yes, that’s me. I was assigned to spy on the mob’s activities here. I’ve been using the ventilation system to stay out of sight, but…”

He eyed the broken vent.

“Perhaps I ought to lose a few pounds. Very fortunate that I was in the west edge.” Bradley picked his fallen umbrella up from the ground. “Anyway, Pete here was a coworker of mine before he retired. Good to see you again, old man,” said the Detective, patting the old man on the back.

“Wow. How long have you been hiding here?” Prince asked.

“Almost a year. I arrived soon after the last purge. I heard all about your battle with Mr. Clockturn. Very remarkable, though I wish the national guard would have moved in a bit quicker… kids shouldn’t have to wrangle crime lords,” grumbled Bradley, shaking his head. His gaze shifted to Isaiah. “Who is your, er, companion?”

“This is Isaiah. He helped us during the purge. And now he’s helping us find our way out of here,” Prince explained.

“I see. Well, there’s no use in dallying here, then. I was actually on my way out as well. Care to lead the way, Isaiah?” Bradley invited, motioning for the mobster to go on ahead of him. He did.

Maybe he shouldn’t pry, but Prince was curious. “So… you’ve been investigating the mob? What did you see?” he asked as they walked.

The Detective’s face grew serious. “One of the reasons I was sent here was to find out what happened to Mr. Clockturn after his body was taken. I already had a hunch that Miss Gearwise had a hand in his disappearance. The evidence I’ve compiled confirmed it. He’s in here somewhere.”

Trepidation rippled through the group.

“I haven’t seen him, but I overheard the personnel in the cybernetics sector speaking of him. The papers I managed to nick suggest Miss Gearwise has been performing experiments on him, and it doesn’t seem that he’s a willing participant.”

“What kind of experiments?” Prince questioned.

Bradley’s brow was crumpled in worry. “The documents didn’t detail their nature or purpose, I’m afraid. I went looking for some that did, but I came up empty handed… Miss Gearwise has put a lot of effort into keeping her activities secret. I suspect he’s being held in the bottommost level, but it was too risky to go poking around there.”

Hadrian rolled his eyes. “Sucks to be him, but what is he? Who is making these freaks?”

Bradley opened his mouth to answer, but then he frowned, stopping himself. “It’s classified info. I assure you that law enforcement has it handled.”

There was a door in their way, but it refused to open when Isaiah put his hand on the push bar. Prince looked at the keypad next to it. “Please tell me you know the code.”

“No need for that.” Isaiah dug through his pocket for his keycard and inserted it into the side of the pad. The door unlocked with a click, and he shoved it open with unneeded force. The mobster had been quiet, but Prince observed that he was becoming more and more vexed as Bradley recounted his findings. Cops and gangsters weren’t exactly friends, of course, but he thought Isaiah’s reactions were still a little over the top.

Isaiah went ahead, but everyone else was reluctant to enter the new area. A metal bridge was suspended over a wide pool of roiling red liquid.

Prince stepped onto the crossing uncertainly. The fumes stung his eyes. “Isaiah? What is that?”

The mafioso turned around. “This is where we made the chemical we emptied into the sewers.” His shoes clanked softly against the bridge’s metal lattices as he continued across. “We’ll be fine. Just don’t fall in,” he reminded Prince. He seemed pretty sure of himself, so everybody followed.

They heard heavy footsteps approaching long before they could reach the other side. Isaiah redonned his mask. “This is the worst possible time.” He looked back at the door they’d entered from.

The Warden’s huge shadow approached. He kicked the entrance open and stepped onto the bridge, followed closely by four of his pals. “I knew you guys were up to some bullshit,” he muttered as he motioned for the other mafiosos to charge.

Markus looked like he could drop all of them on his own, but Prince knew they wouldn’t make it to the exit before their assailants reached them. His fist clenched around his weapon. He might be able to shove the big guy off the bridge if he was deft enough…

Isaiah had different plans. He jammed his crowbar through a joint in the bridge and gritted his teeth as he strained to pry the two sections apart. Realizing what the mobster was doing, Prince knelt down to help out. They jumped back as soon as they heard the rusty screws break.

Markus held out his arm to stop his cronies from going any further. The bridge section in front of him slanted dangerously towards the corrosive liquid far below.

The Warden shook his head. “Back up. I have a better idea,” he said as he ushered the other mobsters back into the hallway.

Isaiah’s eyes widened. “MOVE!” he shouted as he bolted towards the exit.

Too slow. The lock engaged right before he touched the door. He punched it in frustration. “Damn it!” he roared as an alarm bell rang through the chamber.

“Isaiah? What does that mean?” Prince asked as the hazard lights on the walls blinked on. He looked at Monica as she tapped his shoulder and saw that she was staring at the red liquid under them. It was rising. He looked up at Isaiah again.

“The doors seal automatically when someone brings the liquid level up.” Isaiah pointed at the console attached to the wall. “We have to reactivate the drawdown system, but I don’t know the passcode,” he explained hastily.

Prince’s gaze darted between Isaiah and the keypad. “Won’t your keycard work?”

“Fucking look, man! There’s no slot for the keycard here!”

Helios pushed him out of the way. “Let me see what I can do,” he said as he fished a USB drive out of his sling bag and inserted it into one of the console’s ports. Prince heard him typing as fast as he could while the caustic chemicals hissed and simmered against the bridge’s supports.

“Uh, Isaiah? Aren’t the beams corrosion resistant?” Hadrian asked, his voice quivering.

Isaiah kept his eyes on the framework beneath them as it sizzled. “Yeah…? But we were never allowed to bring the liquid level this high back when the chem lab was-”

He stopped speaking abruptly as the scaffolds creaked and the bridge started to tilt. Everyone shuffled around anxiously, inching towards the locked door. Twado ran back and forth across the bridge frenetically, but there was nowhere to go.

“Quit bunching up like sardines! You guys are gonna collapse this thing faster,” Monica warned. “Helios? How much longer?”

“Chill. I almost got it,” the hacker replied as the bridge continued to waver.

Prince heard something snap below them as the console beeped and the alarms shut off. They all let out a collective sigh of relief as the liquid began receding, but the support beams were already done for. Helios was nearly flattened as everyone barreled through the exit. They heard the bridge splash into the chemicals behind them.

Markus had been watching them through the window on the other door. He slammed his fist against the wall as he saw the intruders escape before moving out of sight.

“That was a bit too close for comfort,” Bradley breathed.

Isaiah glared at him. “Yeah. It was. The vent you guys are looking for is right at the end of the tunnel.” He said, jabbing a thumb behind him. “Find the elevator yourselves. I’m outta here.”

“What? Come on, man,” Prince implored, reaching out to stop him. “At least point out the right shaft-“

The mobster shrugged him off. “No! You guys have dragged me too far into your shit,” he spat. “And Markus saw your faces, you know. He’s probably on his way to tell Miss Gearwise all about you, so get going,” he finished, waving them off. Isaiah turned away into a connecting corridor and left them alone.

Chapter IV – Interlude

The apertures of Larry’s optical sensors contracted in discomfort as the lights switched on. He heard Mary’s high heels clicking softly against the floor as she stepped into his view, a lab coat thrown over her viridian dress. The disgraced crime boss struggled in his restraints, but that hadn’t worked before, and it wasn’t working now. Mary tittered at his efforts as Larry sighed and went limp on the operating table.

“Good evening, Larry. Or morning, rather. I think it’s past midnight,” she laughed, her tone maddeningly cavalier in contrast to what she was about to do. A glower was Larry’s only response.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Mary walked out of his field of vision and opened one of the cabinets in the operating room. Larry could only listen to her preparing the necessary apparatus, her tools clinking against the steel tray. “All I’ve done is try to help you, and all I get in return is insults and vitriol.”

A few wisps of steam seeped from the ventilation slits on Larry’s face. He’d heard Mary voice her false concern for him too many times. “Who do you think you’re fooling?” he growled.

Larry heard the flames roar indignantly in Mary’s firebox. The tools on her tray rattled as she set it down on the stand next to the surgical table forcefully. She wasn’t smiling any more as she walked to the head of the table. She placed her hands on either side of him and leaned in.

“Stop behaving as if you don’t understand me, Larry. You were deactivated by a pack of children and allowed the purge to end early. You are worthless to this organization as you are. You were weak and I fixed you, whether you and your overblown ego can admit it or not,” she hissed, her breath blisteringly hot against his metallic skin. It would have been painful back when he’d still had flesh to melt… but that was a long time ago.

Larry clenched his fists at her words. His claws grated against the palms of his hands. “Overblown ego? You’re the one who painted your casing,” he spat, sneering at the Mary’s conceit.

Mary smirked, her moodiness fading as abruptly as it had appeared. “Ha! Am I vain for taking care of myself? You look like you haven’t been polished in years,” she taunted. The bright lights glinted on her pearly white coating as she stood up straight and returned to her tray of implements. “But I think that’s enough small talk.”

She reached out and loosened the buttons on his shirt. Larry snapped his metal jaws at her hand, but she pulled away before he could catch her fingers in his teeth.

He heard Mary pick up one of her tools. A mechanical buzzing filled the operating theater. He strained against his fetters again. This was the moment he’d been dreading for so long.

Mary loomed over him, the ghost of a smile on her lime green lips. The surgical lamp formed a halo of harsh fluorescent light around her as she brought the metal cutter to his chest.

Chapter V – Judgement Hall

Prince let his arm fall limply to his side as he watched Isaiah disappear around the bend. Helios patted him on the shoulder once the mobster was out of earshot. “We’ll be fine without him. I told you I know where the elevator is. Let’s go,” he said, gently urging Prince to start down the other hallway.

Helios led them now, and he walked fast. There was no telling how long they had before Markus tipped the boss off to their whereabouts. They didn’t have any trouble finding the vent, but Helios didn’t have anything to open it with. “Anyone got a screwdriver handy? I, uh, left mine in my hoodie when we got changed,” he admitted.

Bradley searched his overcoat for his screwdriver, but he gave Helios an odd look as he did. “Agent Helios? Is that you?”

The hacker’s jaw tightened. “Just get the vent open, old man.”

Prince cocked an eyebrow. “You guys know each other?”

Helios looked at Bradley disdainfully as the Detective knelt down and unscrewed the panel. “This asshole was one of the guys who arrested me a few years back. I used to be a part of Anonymous.”

Bradley’s face grew sour at the hacker’s enmity, but he ignored him.

Oblivious to the tension, Hadrian’s eyes lit up. “Whoa! You were in Anonymous? That’s cool as fuck!”

“But you work for the government now,” Prince pointed out. “How did that happen?”

“They gave me a choice when they brought me in. Work for them or go to the slammer. I think it’s pretty obvious which one I chose.”

The last screw clinked to the ground. Bradley moved the vent cover aside and gestured wordlessly for Helios to enter first.

Stephanie faltered in front of the opening, her face blank. She’d been growing quieter and quieter as they ventured further into the base, retreating into herself, but Prince didn’t know what he could do except keep her close. He crouched down to her level and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Monica and I will go in front of you, OK? Just follow us. We’ll be…”

He stopped himself. He didn’t know when they were going to be home.

“We’ll be out of here soon. I promise.”

She nodded silently. The eldest siblings went first. Stephanie slowly clambered into the duct after them.

The passage was wide enough that they didn’t have to crawl, but they were almost bent double as they wormed through the cramped shaft. Prince almost thought he could discern distant screams, but maybe it was only the air rustling in his ears as it rushed through the tunnel around them.

He followed close behind Helios, whose nose was buried in his phone, examining the map as he walked. Prince could see the rooms they were passing through the narrow slots in the vent panels. Dorms. Armories. Warehouses. Computer labs. Workshops and laboratories. He paused as they passed an office.

Monica nearly bumped into him. “Prince? What’s the hold up?” she whispered. Helios halted and glanced back to look at him quizzically as well when he heard him stop walking.

Prince peered through the ventilation slits. “It’s an office. I see Markus.”

Helios and Monica crowded in next to Prince to take a look for themselves. Markus wasn’t alone. They couldn’t make out the conversation, but the Warden was speaking to a woman noticeably taller than him. Her hair, tied into a bun, was unnaturally reflective, and so was her pale opaline skin.

“It’s the boss,” Helios murmured.

Bradley piped up from the back of the lineup, careful to keep his voice low. “We don’t have time to dawdle here, then. We’ve got to get to the elevator before they figure out where we are.”

Prince lingered for a moment longer. Mary didn’t look too pleased with whatever the Warden was telling her. She glanced towards the vent. Her emerald LED eyes met with his for a instant. Prince’s blood froze in his veins.

Mary’s eyes flitted back to Markus before he could react, though, and there was no change in her hard visage. Maybe he was mistaken. She hadn’t seen him. He told himself so, at least.

“Dude? You okay?”

Prince was brought out of his thoughts by Helios’s voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Uh, Bradley is right. Let’s hurry up,” he stammered, suddenly very eager to get moving again.

Helios didn’t delay. They weren’t far from their target now, and it wasn’t long before he spied their exit elevator from behind a vent.

“There!” he whispered, but he hesitated. “I don’t see anyone, though. Is this place always so empty?”

The hall was dark and devoid of mobsters. Nobody could answer Helios’s question, of course. Prince wished Isaiah was here to tell them whether it was shady or not. Either way, this simplified things. They didn’t have to figure out how to get out of the ventilation system without looking suspicious.

They couldn’t reach the screws from the inside of the vent, so Helios stuck his crowbar in between the wall and the panel and pried until the cover snapped open. Everyone squeezed out, but when they stood before the elevator, they saw that none of the buttons or indicators were lit. Prince pushed one. Nothing happened.

There was a shrill bout of audio feedback as the intercoms in the hall switched on. The corridor reverberated with a woman’s bitter, derisive laughter. “Don’t bother. I already disabled it. You won’t be going anywhere, boy. You and your friends have broken into my base and caused me a lot of trouble.”

Prince was too cowed to respond. Monica spoke instead.

“We didn’t break in! Your shitty door malfunctioned and trapped us inside. We don’t even want to be here. Let us leave,” Monica demanded.

“I don’t think so. After all, how many of my guards have you massacred?” Mary reminded them.

“Oh, please. You talk like these kids were the instigators,” Bradley rebuked.

“Detective Beans! I knew there was an informant in here. And now I don’t even need to hunt you down,” Mary gloated. “You came here looking for Larry, didn’t you? You can forget about that. I doubt you’ll be living long enough to see him.”

The blast door at the other end of the hallway opened up. The lights blinked on. The group realized that they weren’t as alone as they thought. They could see the silhouettes of mobsters through the windows lining the corridor, glaring at them through their uncanny purge masks.

“This should be fun,” quipped Mary. The intercom switched off with a thunk.

With no other choice, the group hesitantly made their way to the door. Heat radiated from the adjoining room, though it turned out that calling it a room was an understatement. The cavern was gigantesque. The walls on either side were thick metal. The jagged granite on the opposite side of the entrance was left unrefined, save for the wall of the control room and the mezzanine that Mary was standing upon, glowering down at them from high above. Molten lava churned below the metal platform ahead of them, linked to their door by nothing except a rickety rope bridge. Prince was reluctant to walk across. The thing didn’t look like it would hold their combined weight.

There were footsteps from their rear. The mafiosos were skulking towards them now, brandishing their weapons, compelling them forward.

They were boxed in, so Prince took a tentative step onto the bridge. The boards creaked as he walked onto the platform. The bridge gave way and fell into the lava after everyone had crossed—one of the mobsters had severed the ropes with his knife behind them. Prince looked up at Mary, wondering what her plan was. He couldn’t see much more than her glowing eyes in the darkness overhead.

“Ah, we meet at last… though it seems that some of your allies have deserted you,” Mary laughed. Her voice was shrill and tinny compared to Larry’s baritone, but it echoed through the cave all the same.

They glanced around at each other. She was right. Prince hadn’t been paying attention, but Helios and Uncle Pete had not followed them in.

“No matter. My subordinates will deal with them,” she continued. With that out of the way, Mary looked the gathering up and down as she leaned on her crowbar. “You’re aware there were firearms in the supply depots, right? I know you passed a few of those on your way here,” she told them, quirking an eyebrow.

Prince wasn’t too sad that they’d missed the guns—the rounds would probably ricochet right off Mary’s casing anyway—but Mary’s jeering was making him more annoyed than afraid. “Did you bring us in here for a fight or to talk shit at us?”

Mary narrowed her eyes at his provocation. She beckoned one of the operatives inside the control room. Markus came out and handed her violin to her. She placed it beneath her chin and drew her crowbar across the strings, producing a poignant melody, and Prince immediately heard burbling from the pipeline at the edge of the platform. There was a thin scraping noise as the valve’s handwheel turned on its own.

Everyone retreated towards the other end of the platform as lava spilled out of the pipe, but it streamed until they were backed up to the very edge. Any closer and the heat would start to sear them.

However, as they teetered on the edge, the valve screeched shut and the lava flow spluttered out. The group glanced around at each other, both relieved and confused.

There was a discordant twang Mary’s music faltered. Bewilderment crossed her sharp features. It appeared that she didn’t know what was happening, either. She started to play again after a moment, but the valve made a stubborn scraping noise, refusing to reopen.

Mary scowled deeply. She played a different tune this time. The lava started to drain, but their respite was short-lived as she thrust her violin back into Markus’s hands and jumped down from the mezzanine. There was a resounding bang as her high heels met steel, sending a tremor across the platform.

“Let’s dance.”

Chapter VI – Gearwise

Clang. Whirr. Prince had heard that once before, but now he was ready for it as Mary bolted at him, buzzsaws unsheathed. The blades whined in his ear as he rolled out of the way. He managed to keep all his blood inside him this time, at least for the moment.

Prince didn’t waste time in retaliating, lunging at Mary with his crowbar as she retracted her saws. She didn’t look as tough as Larry. He thought he might be able to take her down the old-fashioned way, but he was quickly disillusioned as his weapon bounced off of her casing harmlessly, barely even chipping her paint.

Mary responded in kind, and her blow sent him off the edge of the platform, but he managed to grab onto the rim, narrowly avoiding a fiery death. Winded, he wheezed and gasp for air as he gingerly dragged himself back to safety… well, relative safety. His ribs were aching like hell.

Hadrian started towards the automaton, but Bradley held an arm out to stop him. “Don’t be reckless. Your arm is injured. Stay out of this and keep your sister safe,” the Detective told him, nodding at Stephanie. The girl held onto her brother’s leg tightly.

Twado rushed at Mary instead, gnashing his teeth, evidently furious at her for striking Prince. She must not have wanted her gilded crowbar to touch the mangy thing, because her lip curled in disgust as she delivered a swift kick to his side. A few of the kids winced as they heard a crack. The dog yelped as he slid across the platform and lay still. Bradley hurried over to check on him.

The dog had diverted Mary’s attention. Maybe Monica had the chance to turn her wind-up key. She tried to edge around the automaton while she was occupied with Twado and reached up to grab it, but she’d barely touched her fingertip to the key before Mary turned abruptly and snatched Monica by the wrist in a crushing grip. She flung the girl at Prince as if she were as light as a ragdoll, and Prince had only just climbed back onto the platform when Monica collided with him, sending both of them off the edge again.

Prince caught the rim of the stage again. Monica could only grab hold of the cuff of Prince’s jeans. He tried to pull himself up, but it was impossible this time with the added weight.

Bradley stood up from where Twado was—the dog seemed fine now—and ran towards them as they dangled from the rim, but Mary sauntered into his path.

Mary opened her mouth, probably to expound another snide remark, but she was cut off before she got so much as a word out. Bradley wasted no time in striking out with his umbrella. Prince thought the guy was about to get knocked out cold, but he must have been even stronger than he looked, because Mary staggered marginally as she blocked the hit with her crowbar.

“That’s another charge of resisting arrest, Miss Gearwise,” said Bradley through gritted teeth. She just laughed wryly.

While Bradley engaged the automaton, Twado bounded to the edge of the platform and grabbed Prince’s sleeve with his teeth, slowly and steadily towing him and Monica up.

Bradley tried to bring his umbrella down onto Mary’s head, but she caught it in her hand. The Detective tried to yank it out of her grasp. She held on.

He recognized too late that he had no way to parry her crowbar now. Mary swung for Bradley’s skull. He reacted quick and tried to evade the blow, but it still clipped the side of his head, knocking his hat askew. He stumbled backwards and clutched his temple, dazed.

Mary grinned viciously and raised her weapon to finish him off, but the look was wiped off her face as someone wrenched her wind-up key. She hissed in displeasure and froze up for a moment as her gears seized, but her disorientation didn’t last long.

The automaton spun around with her smirk replaced with a look of acute loathing. She lashed out and raked Prince across the face with her sharp fingernails before he could respond, leaving several long, bloody gashes behind. A guttural snarl escaped from Mary’s lips as she did, as if it was gravely insulting that the boy would even try to lay his filthy fingers on her key.

She didn’t have time to assault Prince any further, though. Bradley had already come to his senses. He adjusted his hat. Mary glanced over her shoulder as she heard the Detective’s footsteps on the steel stage. She saw movement from the corner of her mechanical eye. Monica and Twado were flanking her from both sides. Even the injured Hadrian had grown tired of being sidelined and was now advancing towards Mary as well.

The automaton whirled around and feinted at Bradley, just to keep him away. She must have realized that at least one of them would get their hands on her wind-up key if she tried to fight them all at once. The mechanisms in Mary’s legs clicked as they engaged. She leapt onto one of the tall stone pillars surrounding the platform, perching on it gracefully.

The group stared up at her. Prince spread his arms in a challenge. “Get the fuck back down here, you bitch!” he roared, his face still bleeding. Mary said nothing. She simply smirked and licked a few drops of blood off her manicured nails.

Monica pulled some gauze out of her first aid kit. Prince irritably tried to shrug her off—“I’m fine”—but she managed to press it onto his face and stem the flow of blood.

Bradley pointed at Mary with his umbrella. “Mary Gearwise, I have reason to believe that you were involved in the disappearance of Larry Clockturn. I demand you reveal his whereabouts at once!”

Mary threw her head back and cackled. “You want to know what happened to Larry? Fine. I’ll show you.” She looked over at the control room and nodded at Markus. He pulled a lever on one of the panels.

There was a harsh grinding sound as the wall to their left slowly parted. They hadn’t noticed it when they came in here, but it was actually an enormous sliding gate.

Everyone backed away as it opened. It might have been some sort of depot, though it was hard to tell though the darkness. The light from a pair of LED eyes pierced through the shadows.

Big ones.

Raucous metallic scraping filled the air as the goliath activated and hauled itself from the ground, exposed gears and levers ticking loudly. Its rugged plating caught the orange glow of the lava beneath.

“What the Hell is that?” cried Prince as the clockwork behemoth took a step forward, making the entire cavern quake.

“It’s the new and improved Larry Clockturn, of course,” Mary declared. Markus emerged from the control room and tossed her violin to her. She started to play again. At the sound of her music, the aperture of the machine’s eye dilated and blazed brightly. Its gaze zeroed in on Prince.

Bradley understood what was happening first. “Prince! Get out of the way!” he hollered.

Crimson light flooded the room as Larry discharged his laser. Prince dived out of the way just in time, but he could still feel the scorching heat against his back as the beam passed him by.

It melted through the steel flooring like butter. The scaffolds holding it up groaned as they started to bend. Prince scrambled to his feet and stared up at Larry as his laser fizzled out. The automaton’s optical receptors contracted to the size of pinpricks and darted around frantically. He seemed almost afraid, but the look vanished almost as soon as it had shown up.

Prince didn’t have time to think about what that meant. The two halves of the stage were dipping away from each other.

The group was separated. Twado leapt across the gap before it became too wide and grabbed the back of Stephanie’s shirt in his mouth, who was slipping down the incline, and lugged her over to Prince and Hadrian. The eldest brother pulled Stephanie into his arms as their half of the platform swayed dangerously above the lava.

Bradley and Monica were trapped on the other side. They looked across at them helplessly. The columns holding them up had thankfully stopped buckling, but there was nowhere to run.

Mary grinned in morbid anticipation as Larry prepared to bisect the platform a second time. His eye dilated again. However, the LED flickered as his laser failed to charge up all the way. Bradley retreated as the beam struck the ground in front of him, but it wasn’t hot enough to melt through the metal.

Mary’s smile faded slightly. “My apologies… I thought I had already disabled his free will. He appears to be resisting my commands. How cute,” she crooned as she drew her crowbar over the strings of her instrument once more.

Larry’s components creaked and juddered as he tried to move, but his gears had locked up. His eye flashed on and off, refusing to even begin charging this time.

Now Mary was scowling. She glared into the control room. Markus shrugged and shook his head at her. She turned towards Larry again just in time to see a masked mafioso clamber onto his shoulder. Mary’s eyes widened in outrage as he thrust his crowbar through a gap in the giant automaton’s casing and triggered his emergency shutdown mechanism.

Chapter VII – AWOL

“Helios.”

Helios frowned. He looked around, but there was no one else in the hallway with him and his troupe. Just the mobsters staring at them through the windows.

“Helios!” the voice hissed again. Oh. It was coming from behind him. Helios slowed his pace and glanced back discreetly, lagging behind the rest of the group. Isaiah was peeking out of the vent they’d come in here from. He beckoned the hacker over.

Helios peered around again. The mobsters seemed to be fixated on the others. He slipped away and reentered the vent before anyone noticed.

“Isaiah? I thought you were done with us,” Helios whispered.

“I changed my mind. We have to move,” Isaiah replied. Helios trailed him cautiously.

“Why? Where are we going?”

“Mary called almost everyone in the base to the primary control room. Her lab is pretty much unguarded, so I decided to snoop around a little bit. I found Larry. Deactivated. Chassis ripped wide open,” Isaiah recounted, knitting his brow as he recalled the scene. “I found the blueprints for his new body.”

“New body? What are you saying?”

“I’m getting to that part! Mary cut his heart out. She made him a new body that she could control. The thing is giant. She’s using his heart as the energy source, and the heart is him, so his original body isn’t gonna wake up without it. She’s going to use the new one on your pals. They have no chance.”

“And we’re just letting them walk into the trap?”

“I need them to stall her, and she was going to lock the base down and have her lackeys kill them anyway if they didn’t show up. I have a plan. Larry’s new body has computerized parts, not just clockwork ones. It helps her control him, but it also means he can be hacked. I’m taking you to the lab. There’s a console there that she used to test him out. It’s got the blueprints in it and everything. I think you can use it to access his network, but you have to deactivate the lava pipeline system first… we don’t want your buddies getting their legs burnt to a crisp before they even see the big guy. I need you to get him to stay still long enough for me to reach him and trip his e-stop. Got it?”

“Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“Good.” Isaiah stopped in front of the spot where a ventilation panel used to be, but he must have broken it open already while he’d been sneaking around. He climbed out and showed Helios the console. “This is the place. Try to do this quietly. There are still a couple guards outside the door,” he whispered to Helios. The mobster thrust a two-way radio into his hands. “Use that to tell me when Larry is immobilized.”

Helios nodded, but Isaiah was already reentering the vent, leaving him on his own. The hacker cracked his knuckles and got to work.

Chapter VIII – System Reboot

Prince watched as Larry shut down and toppled backwards. It reminded the boy of when he’d beaten the automaton in the sewers, but the ensuing impact was much, much louder this time when he hit the ground.

Mary threw her violin at Markus. “Deal with that traitor!” she thundered at him. The Warden reentered the control room and sent some of the operators away. They ran through the door, heading for Larry’s depot. The masked mobster was standing on Larry’s chest now, trying to pry one of the plates open. It had to be Isaiah.

“What are you doing, man? Mind getting us off of this platform?” Prince called out.

Isaiah glanced up at him and held up a finger. Wait.

Prince turned around as a mechanical hum filled the cave. He’d expected Mary to jump down and confront the group, but she was still glowering down at them from the stone pillar. The noise had to be coming from her.

The temperature in the formerly stifling cavern was dropping fast. Prince looked up as a raindrop hit his face. Were those clouds?

“She’s got a weather machine built into her!” Bradley realized as lightning struck the ground right in front of him. An indoor tempest was brewing.

Isaiah got Larry’s chassis open and heaved the metal plate away until the gap was large enough for him to fit inside. His gaze scanned the internal hardware until he spotted the automaton’s clockwork heart. It was strangely amusing how such a comparatively small gadget had been powering a giant robot. He lowered himself through the gears and circuitry until it was within reach and gingerly disconnected the tubes and cables holding it in place. The ticking of the mechanism’s gears slowed down as he removed it. An iridescent mystery liquid sloshed around inside the heart’s windowed ventricles as Isaiah climbed back out of the chassis.

The lava sizzled as rain pattered against it. Prince could feel the electricity in the air before lightning hit the spot where he’d been standing moments before. “Dude! What’s the situation?” he yelled at Isaiah.

Isaiah was too absorbed in his task to respond. He’d already dragged Larry’s real body into the depot before he’d gone to fetch Helios, but he didn’t have a lot of time. He was screwed if the other mafiosos made it here before he had Larry operational. Isaiah sprinted to the corner where he’d left the automaton with the heart in his hands and stooped down to set it back in Larry’s chest cavity. It clicked into place.

The mobster stuck his hand under his suit and felt around for the brazing torch and rod he’d brought with him. He fumbled with the hose for a second before he inserted it into the fuel cylinders on the ground and lit the torch, carefully soldering Larry’s tubes and pipes back onto his heart.

A gale was beginning to pick up. Bradley rolled out of the way as a fork of lightning targeted him again. The wind buffeted him, but perhaps that was a good thing.

The Detective opened his umbrella. The motor inside it began to rumble. He held it up and let a gust carry him towards Mary. She took a swipe at him with her crowbar as he neared, but he veered out of the way and landed behind her. He grabbed her key and twisted it counterclockwise a second time before Mary could do anything about it.

Mary winced as she turned and swung her crowbar wide, striking Bradley in the side. He grunted in discomfort and tumbled from the pillar as the vent cover above Mary popped off and smacked against her head. Pete jumped through and landed on her, casting her down from the pillar as well before he reentered the ventilation shaft and vanished again.

Bradley drifted to the floor with his umbrella and gently touched his feet to the ground next to Monica. Mary hit the ground on the other end of the platform with a crash. She groaned in discomfort as she heaved herself to her feet, but her grousing quickly became a snarl as she stalked towards the Detective.

Pete soon emerged from a vent in the depot. He hastily scrawled something across his whiteboard as he rushed to Isaiah: HURRY THEY ARE ALMOST HERE

Larry’s golden eyes blinked on as Isaiah made the last connection. He sat up immediately and wrapped his huge hand around the mobster’s throat. Isaiah dropped his brazing torch to pry the automaton’s fingers away.

“Get your hands off of me, you asshole! I’m trying to help you!” Isaiah snapped.

Larry’s eyes widened slightly, as if he was surprised to hear Isaiah’s voice coming from behind that mask. The automaton glanced down at his chassis, still wide open. He reluctantly released Isaiah and lay down again. “Get on with it, then,” he spat, still glaring.

Isaiah picked up the sheet of metal that Mary had cleaved away from Larry’s casing and placed it over his chest. He picked up the torch again and slowly ran it along the seams. The automaton tensed up at the searing heat, but he held still.

Isaiah had barely finished when Larry shoved the mobster away and got to his feet. He’d secured the plate just in time, too, because the mafiosos that Markus had sent came charging through the depot doors as Larry buttoned up his shirt and picked up his crowbar.

The mafiosos skidded to a standstill when they saw the reactivated Larry standing before them, tall and terrible. He swung his crowbar into the closest one’s abdomen with quite a bit more strength than necessary, burying the curved end in his innards. There was a nauseating squelch and a strangled yelp from the mobster. A section of his viscera came out with Larry’s crowbar as the automaton pulled it free. The others turned tail and ran back the way they’d came as their comrade collapsed into a convulsing heap, too afraid to even try to fight him.

Isaiah made a disgusted noise. “Ugh. That was overkill,” he mumbled as he kicked the whimpering mafioso into the lava. Larry paid him no mind. He turned to the platform. Mary wasn’t the only one who could leap high. He cleared the gap easily and landed right behind her.

The platform shook as his shoes met the steel platform. The scaffolds finally buckled, sending his end of the stage plunging. He was prepared for that. Mary wasn’t. She lost her balance as the platform sank slowly into the molten rock.

Larry grabbed his tormentor with both hands and hurled her into the lava.

Chapter IX – Exit Path

The mafiosos could only watch as Mary disappeared into the molten rock. Markus stared in disbelief until there was a stir in the control room. The mobsters began quarrelling… then they drew weapons on each other. A brawl broke out.

They were fighting amongst themselves. Prince realized as a splatter of blood hit the windowpane that Larry’s old goons must have wanted him back in charge.

Bradley unfurled his umbrella again before the gale storm died down completely. He took Monica’s hand. They both glided into the depot.

The Detective grabbed hold of the metal plate that Isaiah had removed from the behemoth earlier. “Help me move this thing,” he called out to the others.

They lugged the plate towards the edge of the pit and pushed it outwards until it met Prince’s half of the platform. It wobbled precariously, but they held it down as Prince crossed the improvised bridge with Stephanie in his arms. Hadrian and Twado followed from behind. Larry jumped back into the depot as well, landing disconcertingly close to the group. The kids shrank away as Bradley stepped in front of them protectively and pointed at the automaton. Larry raised an artificial eyebrow.

“Larry Clockturn, you are under arrest for-”

Pete bonked the Detective on the head with his whiteboard.

“Ow. What? He’s wanted for hundreds of felonies.”

The elevator is still disabled. We need his help finding our way out, Pete wrote.

“Yeah, I know a different exit,” Larry muttered, but he nonetheless looked mildly annoyed when the group started following him.

They trailed behind the crime boss—well, ex-crime boss—hesitantly. “We still need to get Helios,” Isaiah mentioned. Before they reached the door, however, they heard the sound of metal scraping against metal. Larry turned back towards the platform.

Mary was clawing her way back up, her pearlescent façade burnt away by the lava, revealing her brassy gold casing. Patches of paint still clung to her, scorched black. She glanced back at Larry warily as she climbed high enough to jump back onto the pillar, then onto the mezzanine. The mobsters had already fled the control room, but she ran inside and disappeared from sight. Fury flared in Larry’s golden eyes as he barreled through the depot doors to pursue her.

Everyone ran out the doorway after him. They were back in the corridor with the disabled elevator, but Larry ran in a different direction.

“Where are you going?” Prince yelled. The automaton didn’t reply.

“There’s an old mineshaft leading to the surface in this direction,” Isaiah answered instead. “It’s always been sealed, but Mary must’ve opened it to escape. There’s no other way.”

They came upon the control room where Isaiah had left Helios, but Larry didn’t wait up as they pushed the doors open to find him.

“Helios, we have to…”

Isaiah trailed off. The room was empty.

“Helios?” the mobster called out. There was no reply. He tried contacting him with his radio, but the hacker didn’t respond to that either.

“We have to move before we lose Larry. Maybe Helios escaped already. Come on,” Bradley said as he ran back outside.

They caught up with Larry as he arrived at the gate to the mine. The blast doors were already open. Mary was on the other side of the decaying tunnel, hovering over Helios, watching him as he knelt in front of the keypad next to the elevator and desperately tried to crack the activation code. She seized the hacker in a chokehold and turned towards the group as she heard Larry’s heavy footsteps approaching.

“Come any closer and he dies!” Mary screeched at them. Larry didn’t seem too worried about that, but Bradley grabbed his arm to stop him from advancing.

“Let him go, Miss Gearwise. We just want to leave this place,” Bradley tried to reason.

Mary laughed, her eyes wide and manic. “Leave? You’re the ones who intruded upon my base in the first place. Slaughtered dozens of my agents. Do you know how much time I spent working on Larry? You brats have ruined everything,” she hissed as she tightened her grip around Helios’s throat. He scrabbled uselessly as her arm, eyes bulging as Mary crushed his windpipe.

Prince gritted his teeth. Mary’s words sent his thoughts racing. The gang of mobsters they’d encountered in the upper levels, even though there was no surveillance there. The door that had malfunctioned and trapped them. The lightning storm outside that had driven them here in the first place, even though the weather forecast had predicted clear skies. Mary’s weather machine…

“No. You lured us in here,” Prince murmured.

Mary narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she snapped.

“That’s why you knew we were here when the cameras were offline. You caused that storm outside. You took that tree down with your lightning. You had that barricade set up on the trail, so we’d come here for shelter,” Prince spoke louder. “You made the door short circuit with your lightning instead of shutting it remotely so we wouldn’t get suspicious…  and rigged those pipes to blow and cut us off in the upper levels, so we’d walk right into those mobsters. You knew we were here the whole time. You set us up!” he finished, jabbing an accusing finger at Mary.

Mary’s lips slowly curved into a smirk as Prince spoke. “Clever boy.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“I needed someone to test my creation on, and you are the ones who deactivated Larry. I couldn’t leave you alive,” Mary stated. Helios wheezed for breath as she loosened her grip ever so slightly.

Bradley shook his head. “Rubbish. I know for a fact you never cared for Larry. It was the Headmaster who ordered their deaths, wasn’t it?”

Mary’s eyelid twitched at the mention of her superior. She ignored the Detective. “Larry, tell me the elevator’s code and I’ll let Helios go,” she said as she nodded at the dilapidated cage elevator and tightened her stranglehold on the young man.

Larry sneered and tried to press forward. Bradley held him back. The automaton’s gears clanked in frustration as he lifted his crowbar to beat the Detective away, but Isaiah elbowed his way to the forefront of the group before a fight could break out. “How about you think about someone other than your fucking self for once?” the mobster whispered harshly as he shook Larry’s shoulder. The automaton griped inaudibly and hardly budged as Isaiah jostled him, but he got the point.

“0625,” he begrudgingly told Mary.

Helios gasped for air as Mary finally removed one arm from his neck and punched the code into the keypad. The rusty elevator doors squealed as they parted. He tried to break away from her grasp, but he yelped as she grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him into the elevator after her. “Oh, no, you’re coming with me,” Mary muttered venomously.

“Hey! You said you’d let him go!” Prince yelled angrily from the other side of the tunnel.

Mary just flashed a grin at him and waved at him as the doors shut. The elevator creaked and rumbled up the mineshaft.

She was gone.

Epilogue

There was nothing to do except wait in morose silence for the elevator to return underground. Prince kept starting at the entrance to the mine, worried that some of Mary’s loyalists might show up, but none did.

The mood relaxed a little bit as Twado stood on his hindquarters and pawed Larry’s legs, whining for attention. He’d been too preoccupied to pay attention earlier, but now the automaton reached down and ruffled the fur on the dog’s head. “Glad to see you too, Twado.”

“He knows you?” Prince asked, surprised.

“He was my guard dog when I ran this place. But he looks like Mary had him thrown outside,” he muttered, shaking his head at Twado’s grubby coat.

The elevator doors squeaked open as the carriage arrived. Prince picked up Helios’s sunglasses from the floor. One of the lenses was cracked. He slipped them in his pocket as the elevator closed and started to carry everyone to the surface. Maybe he’d get to return them eventually if the hacker was still alive.

Isaiah went to sit on an old crate, but Larry pushed him aside. “Is that coal? Finally,” said the automaton as he ripped the lid off and shoved a handful of the stuff into his jaws. The kids watched with profound bewilderment.

“What? You didn’t think I was actually spring powered, did you?” he chuckled. The wind-up key on his back rotated ever so slightly. “This is just a kill switch. I have a steam engine.”

I thought your heart was your energy supply? wrote Pete.

There was a whoosh as the fuel caught aflame in Larry’s firebox. “It’s for emergencies. When I run out of real fuel.”

“It seemed like it was working fine before,” Prince remarked.

“You people ask too many damn questions.”

“No kidding,” Isaiah muttered.

Bradley answered instead. “The heart works too well. It will grind his gears to dust if he relies on it forever.” Larry scowled at him, but the Detective didn’t seem phased. “What are you going to do now?”

Larry was caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you’d retake control of the base. Why didn’t you?” Bradley added.

The automaton laughed bitterly. “Give me a break. Do you have any idea what they’ve been doing to me down here? They can fuck themselves.”

“You’re just now realizing that? You were just fine with their shit before you were the one getting tortured,” Isaiah scoffed, but his temper dissolved into a sulk as soon as Larry shot him a look.

“OK, time for you guys to tell us what your problem is. You said you joined the mafia during the last purge,” Prince cut in, pointing a finger at Isaiah, “but you keep acting like you’ve been here a lot longer than that. What’s the deal?”

Neither Larry nor Isaiah answered, but Bradley looked back and forth between the two of them a few times. “Isaiah is your son?” he surmised.

Isaiah grimaced as the Detective said it. Larry punched the wall next to Bradley’s head, rocking the entire carriage and leaving a dent in the metal. Stephanie clung to Prince. Twado barked and scurried around as the lonely light bulb flickered and swayed on its wire above them. Bradley was looking pissed, but he didn’t retaliate—this was neither the time nor place for a fight, and Isaiah surely felt the same, because he walked between them and stared Larry down until he backed off.

“Guess that was a yes,” said Hadrian. Monica thumped him on the side of the head.

The mood was somehow even more sullen now. Larry had withdrawn to the corner of the elevator. He looked lost in his thoughts, but they couldn’t stay silent forever.

“What do we do?” Prince asked.

“I would call in a raid on this base right now, but we’d have to find some cell signal for that,” Bradley said.

“It’s not a good time,” Larry argued. “The next purge is in eight days.”

Hadrian groaned. “The next purge? You guys do that every year?”

“Shut it. I’m not finished. We need to get somewhere safe. You’re all in even more danger than last time if the Headmaster put a hit on you.”

That name again. “Who the hell is the Headmaster?” Prince questioned.

“He’s the one pulling the strings in all this. It was him who turned Larry and Mary into these,” Bradley responded, motioning to the automaton. “And those two aren’t the only ones who have been subjected to the procedure. I don’t suppose you were privy to his ultimate plans, were you?” he asked Larry.

 Larry scowled at the question, but there was a hint of melancholy on his metallic features. “No, I wasn’t. But that’s not important right now. I know where a safehouse is,” he said as the elevator finally reached the surface. Everyone stepped out as the sun peeked over the horizon. The storm had died out into a light sprinkling of rain.

A couple of miscreants crouched in the dense trees and vegetation, concealed from view. One of them observed the new arrivals through his binoculars as they exited the carriage.

“Well, what do ya know?” said one of them.

“What? Luke, what do you see?”

“Mr. Clockturn made it out… but he looks to be defecting. What a shame, what a shame,” replied Luke, though he didn’t sound very saddened with that.

Brooke laughed. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. Are we gonna take him down or what?”

“Don’t be rash, Brooke. He’s not alone. The meddlers are with him, and there’s gonna be a better opportunity soon. The next purge is coming right up.” the boy said as he stood up. Brooke snatched his binoculars and took a look at the group for herself.

“Come on. Those shrimps have nothing! We can take them,” she protested.

Luke shook his head and started walking away. “No. Last thing we need is to blow our first major assignment.”

Brooke grumbled in discontent, but she acquiesced and followed her brother deeper into the woods.

“Fine. Let them think they’re safe… for now.”