#maybe also get some more beacons and probably also make some sort of wither head semi-farm

[kittycatcarla]

I finally finished the mob farm! Also more progress on the weed expansion

[renwritesstuff]

Samantha Traynor Appreciation Day 1

Day 1- Colonist Upbringing:  I chose the Skyllian Blitz as a focus on Samantha Traynor’s colonist upbringing. With a 26-year-old Sam, the Blitz would have occurred when she was around 16. I imagine the Skyllian Blitz as a September 11-type of event, especially for other human colonies: something to watch unfold while hugging your family tight.

Shouting, Samantha Traynor burst through the front door. “Mum! Dad! Are you watching?!”

A 16-year-old Sam was clad in a burnt orange school uniform, a shield embroidered on the front left pocket. The black slacks were dusty around the ankle cuffs from her abrupt exit out her friend Nicole’s skycar at the end of the cul-de-sac. Her short—normally neat—bob of black hair was tousled from the impromptu run.

Running was highly out of the ordinary for Sam (and not just because she was an asthmatic). As was Sam home at noon on a school day (she wasn’t known to bunk off school. Ever.)

Sam’s schoolbag was already half-slung over her shoulder before she abandoned it by the coat rack. Black (dusty) shoes were kicked off next to the door as the girl tore down the hallway of the prefab.

“No running in the house!” Priya Suresh-Traynor barked back, more strain in her voice than usual.

Then again, it also wasn’t usual for Sam’s mother to be home this early in the day.

Nothing about today was usual.

Geoffrey Traynor called over from the wide living room at the end of the hall. “In here, sprog!”

Sam came skidding to a halt, already breathless from running up the stairs of the unit of prefabs. Wheezing in ragged breaths, she fumbled around in her pockets for her inhaler. A few deep puffs soothed the burn in her chest as she fell into the open spot on the sofa next to her dad.

On the screen covering the wall, a news program was already in progress. The Alliance News Network reporter on the screen was an older gentleman in a crisp black suit. His handsome face was lined with seriousness as he continued his broadcast.

[“—ports are still scattered at the moment, but the Human Systems Alliance has confirmed an attack was repelled from Elysium early this morning, around 05:21 GST. Again: the human colony in the Skyllian Verge, Elysium, has been under communications blackout for the past seven hours after a large-scale attack. Estimates of the dead are upwards of 10,000 and may be as high as a tenth of the colony, humanity’s oldest in the system.”]

“Oh shit fucking hell. It’s true.” Sam sighed as she tucked her knees up under her chin. She coughed slightly as the burning in her chest cleared.

I was hoping—hoping—the other kids had just gotten it wrong. Some fake news chaining its way around the colonies like some sick, shitty joke.

And knocking off school early? Was the entire school, or all of Horizon, in on it?

Just—uhhh—shut up. Let me have my denial.

An arm wrapped around her shoulder gently shook Sam as Geoffrey admonished, “Don’t swear. Especially like that. …Good lord, what are they teaching you in that high school?”

“All the essentials, clearly,” Sam quipped back, her eyes still trained on the screen.

A small crawl feed trailed in the corner of the screen. [“Targeted bombings reported at key locations around Illyria. Wall breaches in five sectors. Coordinated attack leaves colony in chaos and stock futures for Baria Frontiers and ExoGeni Corporation remain in freefall.”]

Thousands of people are dead, probably by pirates, and these arseholes are worried about their bloody stocks? Samantha scowled into her knees. God, I hate arseholes. I hope I never become one.

Gotta get rich first. Then become an arsehole.

Priya’s voice was faint in the other room, clearly on a call with the hospital. “—re we taking in any of the survivors? …then what about volunteers? …when we will know when it’s clear to offer assistance? …Look, Mark, I know we’re all overworked as it is… But this could have been us… I disagree, who are we to know if they’d ‘do the same for us?’ …This isn’t about what-if, this is about—“

A feeling of pride swelled in Samantha’s chest as she listened to the ferocity in her mum’s voice.

“I see the uni got dismissed before the high school,” Sam observed to her father out of the corner of her mouth, eyes still glued to the screen.

“I was still in office hours before the announcement went out. Didn’t even make it to my first class,” Geoffrey returned with a sip of his tea before placing it back on the side table.

“That’s such bollocks.” Sam scowled. “Everyone knew by first period and they didn’t dismiss finally til third. …what’s the time differential?”

A smile curled under Geoffrey’s beard. “Don’t be lazy. You know the time dilation formula. Three relay jumps. Galactic standard time adjustment. Horizon operates on a 37-hour day, Elysium on a 27-hour day. What is the time differential? Tell me my tax dollars haven’t been an utter waste.” The professor’s eyes sparkled in challenge.

Closing her eyes, a series of math formulas popped into Sam’s head. Her fingers drummed on her shin as she worked through the equation. “Ugh, this is such bollocks. Time is utterly absurd on a galactic scale… Because technically they’re like seven months in the future. But—carry the four—the attack occurred around like… lunchtime? Noonish?”

Geoffrey checked his Omni-tool. “Correct.” A hand stroked his chin in pride while his other arm squeezed Sam’s shoulders. “Batarians are already taking credit for it.”

An irrational stab of hatred flashed in Sam’s eyes, her nostrils flaring. “What do those nasty four-eyed buggers have against us?? Bloody slavers who wouldn’t—“

That arm rocked Sam’s shoulders again. “You forget we weren’t here first, Sam. And you forget your human history. Israel and Palestine ring any bells? Land promised to one civilization then given to another? Years of conflict as a result?”

Ughhhh…

This is what happens when your dad is a professor. Everything is a bloody learning experience.

…Can’t I just be upset?

“…can’t I just be upset, dad? This could have been us.”

“You’re right. It could have been. And this was symbolic and they knew it.” There was a hardness to her father’s words, an edge he was trying to keep dulled.

The reporter on the news chimed back in after a few stock videos of past Alliance skirmishes.

[“The Alliance has just confirmed one initial rumor: the communication blackout was broken by a team of heroic off-duty soldiers led by an N7 marine. This team stormed a bunker and managed to activate the emergency beacon system. The SSV Agincourt war frigate is already credited with an unconfirmed 42 ships brought down around Illyria of pirate bands attempting to hold the colony. That number is still climbing as other Alliance Navy ships have arrived.”]

“This is like a movie. I didn’t think this happened in real life,” Samantha remarked. Since she’d heard the news this morning, there had been this heaviness in her chest. A sense of smallness and disbelief.

It seemed so absurd. An entire colony going dark? All communications offline?

Communication is all we bloody have out here. Without it, we’re not the Human Systems Alliance. We’re just Another Backwoods Colony Trying to Make It On Our Own.

And lambs to the slaughter, apparently.

The rumor mill at school had been unstoppable for hours. A few upset parents had swooped in to pick up their kids before any formal announcement had been made. Sam had been hunkered down in the hallway with a pair of friends, Omni-tools out and combing through reports. A few clever custom filters had screened out some of the more ludicrous claims (“Third Contact War with turians nigh (Citadel Council does nothing)!” or “Geth returned from quarian space to conquer galaxy!” or, Sam’s personal favorite, “Civil War breaks out in Elysium over Illyria’s loss in the bioti-ball play-offs!”) all seemed to agree on one thing: a human colony had been attacked.

Nicole had chewed her lip, a number of relatives from (or stationed on) Illyria.

Victoria next to Nicole had tried to be reassuring. The brunette had put a hand on her girlfriend’s wrist. “It’s probably some training exercise gone awry.”

Nodding, Sam tried to feel optimistic. “Or they’re blowing it out of proportion. You know how those gits love their ratings.” She’d snapped her mouth shut at Victoria’s withering glare.

Only when Ms. Steinhold had released them from Applied Statistics had the news started to feel real to Samantha. But the epiphany wasn’t immediate. It was deadened by numb disbelief even as she hitched a ride home from Nicole and Victoria. Even as the car radio repeated the claims back. Even as Sam gasped for breath across the brown dirt of her street and saw other families home, their own wall screens tuned to the news in rapt attention.

Everyone on Horizon—maybe even every human on every colony—had gone home to hold their breath.

It was some analyst who came on later who coined it the “Skyllian Blitz.”

A blitzkrieg. “Lightning war.”

Geoffrey Traynor had nodded at the aptness of the phrasing. “Not a movie, sprog. History repeating itself.”

“I don’t see turians or asari dealing with this sort of ‘history,’” Sam retorted, indignant. It was all she could to keep the smallness at bay, the hopeless misery of feeling hated by the entire galaxy.

Are they really that much more advanced than the lowly humans? No one picks on them? No one tries to wipe out their colonies?

“Maybe it will bring the galactic community closer together,” Geoffrey suggested, his tone neutral.

It took all of Sam’s energy not to scoff. She was filled with childish indignation at this point, an impotent rage that mirrored the latest fire-and-brimstone retired Admiral calling for swift and immediate action against the batarian hegemony. Definitely a better feeling than despair, but without any outlet: what could Sam do?

Mum is organizing off-world volunteers to take care of the wounded. Dad will probably counsel his students and fellow faculty.

And I’m 16 and all I do is go to school and play chess. I can’t enlist for two years, and even then I’d be too bloody terrified to pick up a weapon. Does the galaxy really need someone like me on the front lines?

God, I hope not. Because humanity is fucked.

A fresh face interrupted the latest speculation, much to Sam’s relief. She felt herself getting wound up by all the aimless rage. Some calm heads and facts would be a welcome respite.

[“This is Artermis Kingston, reporting live from Arcturus Station. We have acquired ground footage from Elysium in this firsthand report from a survivor in Illyria. This footage made be disturbing to some viewers due to its violent subject matter. Discretion is advised.”]

A jerky Omni-tool video proceeded to play. It followed a heavily breathing camera operant, a young Black man with terrified eyes. His uniform bore the logo of the monorail corporation of Illyria.

The view swung dizzily back below him, his frantic breathing a constant background sound. A smoldering train could be seen down the line as the man crawled around the raised platform. Occasionally, his frantic breathing formed words of prayer under his breath.

Popping gunfire could be heard in the distance along with the crackle of fires. The noonday sun was oddly cheery in the background as dozens of smoke lines drifted lazily to the sky.

Just below the man, an explosion drew his attention and the camera jerked. The sound decayed to static from just sheer overwhelming noise. It died down though the crackling persisted. The camera ducked for cover for a moment before peeking back up to look.

The central ring of the inner wall of Illyria had just caved in as a swarm of pirates fired into the colony. A dozen Alliance soldiers crouched behind blockade walls below the camera and attempted to repel the invaders. One by one they were picked off.

It sickened Samantha to see their bodies fall limp. She leaned into her father’s side, occasionally burying her face into his sleeve when the camera lurched forward for a close-up of a soldier’s lifeless face.

Zooming back out, one lone soldier with a red stripe on the arm shouted for backup. But when they realized the man next to them was dead, the person clenched their fists in anguish. Pinned down by at least 15 pirates, the last soldier standing should have been dead.

Sam felt fear catch in her throat. This wasn’t a movie. This was really happening. She was watching people die.

Oh God, please be okay. Why would the ANN show this??

…I can’t watch.

Suddenly there was a flash of blue and the soldier wasn’t there anymore. The camera was just as confused as Sam was, the screen panning around trying to find the subject again. Another flash of blue as the camera found and zoomed in on the fray of pirates being torn to shreds by a flashing Omni-blade and surging biotics.

What should have been a massacre was quickly turned against the advancing pirates. They were torn to pieces by a lone combatant who was faster, fiercer and better trained than them. Every moment of hesitation from a pirate or a missed shot was an open opportunity for the soldier to strike and move on.

Sam squinted at the footage.

Is that… red hair? Is that… a woman?

A total badass woman, that’s for bloody sure.

The camera/man sighed with relief as the soldier rummaged through the bodies and found whatever they were looking forward. A moment later, charges were set and a large billboard jutting up next to the hole collapsed into the space, blocking at further incursion.

The video paused as the soldier stood overlooking the rubble, a shotgun primed over one shoulder. Just like at the end of a movie.

Except real life. This woman, this soldier: she was real.

[“The Alliance confirmed the hero in this footage was off-duty N7 marine Lieutenant Annelise Shepard, 22. The Alliance has also confirmed the team that activated the emergency beacon system was also led by Lieutenant Shepard.”]

22… 22??

I’ll be 22 if—when I graduate university… and she—she fought off an army of pirates??

Bloody hell.

How—what could I ever do that would even come close to that? Win the Kepesh-Yakshi Grand Tourney on Illium?

Ms. Kingston winked at the camera before quickly regaining her serious composure. [“The ANN will have an exclusive interview with Lieutenant Shepard—and the other heroes of the Skyllian Blitz—as this story unfolds.”]

The male newscaster returned to the screen with a sober smile. [“Thank you, Artemis. The Citadel Council has condemned this horrific attack on human soil and has dispatched goodwill ambassadors—along with aid ships—to the Skyllian Verge to assist in the recovery effort. The Human Systems Alliance has opened up comm lines for charity and volunteer organizations as well. There is a—“]

Geoffrey patted his daughter’s head, ruffling her hair affectionately, before joining his wife in the kitchen. The Traynor parents quietly discussed the Elysium attack.

Sam feigned interest in the news while also attempting to eavesdrop. Her father was muted with worry, fearing for Horizon in the wake of the attack. Priya was more fiery in her resentment. They’d been through hell to move out to this colony and no one was going to take their home from them.

Something nagged at Samantha that started her down a rabbit hole of extranet articles. It kindled something within Sam that was different from outrage or despair.

It was curiosity.

How could a coordinated attack bring down an entire colony’s communications network?

What sort of comms don’t need a buoy network to function? A buoy network that can be assaulted and brought down so easily?

Sam came across a stub of an article in the research section of the Alliance R&D tab.

“Quantum Entanglement Communication: Practical Applications.”

And started to read.

[mcsmrandomness]

Story Mode Christmas Day 9: Petra

Her footsteps echoed through the forest floor as Petra made her way to her cave.  It was finally time for the deal.  The Wither Skull she had collected hours before was stored in a simplistic chest in her personal cave.  While this may not seem like the ideal hiding spot, it was her safe personal cave.  Monsters couldn’t open chests, creepers wouldn’t explode unless provoked, and no person would come out this far into the woods in their sane mind.  Come to think of it, no one would enter a dimly lit cave in their right mind, either.  So she was confident the skull was safe.

Tonight, she would make the deal she’d anticipated for weeks.  Tonight, she would get that final diamond for her new sword.  She continued through the woods, her pickaxe slung over her shoulder.

Before long, the sun had set, and Petra arrived at her cave.  It was a fairly small crevice in the side of a hill, but its size was convenient since the entrance could be lit by a single torch, which didn’t make it appear suspicious. She had also started her own mine in that cave, and the resulting cavern served as a type of “home base”, but not a “home.” She was a nomad.  There was no “home” for her, but this cave was sort of a safe-house.  

She entered the cave and headed down the tunnels straight to the chest.  Taking a deep breath, she thrust open the lid.  There it was.  The skull was hidden amongst other items including stacks of cobble as well as sticks, string, and some food.  She released her breath and reached in, delicately handling the skull.  Putting it gingerly into her inventory, she closed the chest and stood.  It was game time.

She had exited the cavern and began strolling through the forest back towards town, when she heard shouting and…was that squealing?  It wasn’t that far away either.  Monsters? Probably.  

“Stupid wooden sword!” Wait.  She knew that voice.  Jesse? What the crap was he doing out here at night?  The next thing she heard Jesse shout was “Get out of here now!” followed by more frantic squealing and oinking.  He must have told his pig to run.  That would be the source of the squealing.  Probably smart, but that means Jesse’s…

Well she couldn’t just let him die.  Drawing her pickaxe, she bolted through the trees toward Jesse’s screams.   Bursting from the forest, she found a clearing, the forest clearing she was more than familiar with.  Not stopping to enjoy the view, she charged toward Jesse, who was pinned to the ground by a spider while several zombies stumbled forward as well. Man, he was really in a heck of a lot of trouble this time.  

Just before the spider could sink its fangs into Jesse however, Petra let out a yell and yanked the spider away from him before repeatedly sinking the pickaxe into its filthy spider body.  After several relentless blows, the spider vanished in a puff of smoke.  She faintly heard Jesse shout “Petra!” and swiftly turned around to see the approaching zombies.  Easy enough to avoid.  “Come on,” she faced Jesse calmly.  “Let’s get out of the open.”

Before long, the two had made it back to her cave.  She wasn’t sure why, but for some unknown reason, she felt inclined to help Jesse out and even tell him about the skull, the deal, all of it.  She ventured deeper into the never-ending caverns.  “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Jesse had followed her in silence as they continued to head deeper into the cave.  “Not that this isn’t a really cool dimly lit tunnel, but how far away is this thing you want to show me exactly?”

She chuckled at that. “Careful, Jesse.  You don’t want to get a reputation as a wimp.”

“This isn’t my first time in a cave, Petra.”

“Yeah,” she smirked.  “But have you seen this?”  Turning dramatically, she retrieved the Wither skull from her inventory and held it out to show him.  She knew he’d freak, and she was totally right.

“Woah!”

She smiled at his childish enthusiasm.  “It’s a Wither skull, straight from the Nether.  You’re the first person I’ve shown it to.”

His excitement quickly turned to confusion.  “Wait, you went to the Nether and risked your life for that dusty old skull?”

See, as great a friend as Jesse was, he just couldn’t comprehend some simple things.  Not that it was his fault.  He was just pretty slow sometimes.  “No.  I risked my life for the thing I’m going to exchange for that dusty old skull.  See,” she signaled for them to keep walking.  “There’s this guy I’m meeting up with at EnderCon.  He’s going to trade me a diamond for it.”  She glanced in his direction.  “Doing stuff like this really pays off once in a while.  Literally.”  

The two of them trekked deeper into the cave which was lit by a few more torches than the entrance above, but the tunnel was still just as dark.

Jesse broke the temporary silence.  “So…this guy you got the skull for…what’s his deal?”

The question caught her off-guard.  “It’s…a bit strange, I guess, but hey, everyone’s got their thing.”

Jesse became same old Jesse once again.  “And you never thought to ask ‘Hey!  What’s with your totally normal, not-at-all-weird skull thing?’”

Getting a bit frustrated she responded, “So long as the guy’s willing to pay, I earned that diamond.”

After a bit more silence, Jesse abruptly stopped in his tracks.  “Wow.”

Curiously, she turned to find him looking right at her, his green eyes flashing with…was that amazement?  Feeling a bit unsettled she asked, “Wow what?”

Jesse just shook his head “In a single day you went to the Nether, you killed a Wither skeleton!” Regaining his calm he added, “I mean, I did build a pretty awesome statue but still…it’s pretty sweet being you, huh?”

At the compliment, an insane idea popped into her mind.  “You know, you could come with me.”  Nope. Stupid idea.  Why did she suggest that?  She was so going to regret this later.  To save herself from embarrassment, she immediately turned her back to him and kept walking.  Well, it’s not like she wouldn’t mind a bit of backup. Maybe the suggestion wasn’t such a bad idea after all.  “I mean, if you’re scared, I totally get it, but I wouldn’t mind a little backup.”

Jesse caught up to her. Smiling he proclaimed, “I’d be honored to be your backup.”

Petra couldn’t help but crack a smile.  He was completely serious, wasn’t he?  “Jeez, you don’t have to make such a big deal out of it.”

“Come on, it’ll be amazing!” He smiled even wider.

“Kinda starting to have second thoughts here…”  Lucky for her, though, the conversation ended when they reached the chest and crafting table.

Jesse looked a bit miffed. “You just keep a crafting table down here?”

She just shrugged.  “Comes in handy.  I figured since your sword got busted-”

“You’re giving me a new one?!”  Jesse’s eye lit up hopefully.

“Even better:  You can make your own.”  She smirked.  He actually reminded her of his pig, Reuben, when he got excited like this.  Was that creepy?  Yup, but it was true.  “Just grab what you need from the chest.”

As Jesse rifled through the chest’s contents he asked, “Is all this stuff yours?”

“No.  We’re just stealing from whoever was dumb enough to leave this here.  Of course it’s mine!”  She rolled her eyes.  Again with the slow realizations and redundant questions.  It added to his charm, though.  Maybe that’s why she became friends with him?  He portrayed the weird dork that was inside everyone, and therefore was relatable.  Well, it was a thought at least.

About a minute later, Jesse finished crafting the sword and swung it around proudly.  “See?”  She started. “Isn’t it better when you make it yourself?”  Jesse just smiled.

She led him out of the cave and to the grand bridge that spanned the river.  This spot had an extremely nice view of the city, especially at night.  “Check it out,” she gestured to the town.  “EnderCon is all lit up.”  It was true. A rainbow beacon protruded from the center square, illuminating everything.

Beside her, Jesse sighed. “Looks like Lukas and his ocelots won again.”  He dropped his head.

She felt kinda bad. She knew that Jesse and his team worked hard for this every year, and every year they lost to the Ocelots.  “Sorry, Jesse.  But you’ve got to admit, that beacon looks pretty sweet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed her.  “I just wanted this to be the ear that we finally beat that jerk.”

Lukas.  He was definitely referring to Lukas.  “You know, Lukas may be kind of arrogant, but he has come through for me in tricky situations.  You might want to give him a chance?  Just in case. He’s good at building, that’s for sure. It’s always useful to have a guy like that around, no matter what you might think of him personally.”

Jesse slumped his shoulders and relented.  “Yeah, you might be right.”

Deciding she needed to reassure him, she added, “I’m just saying, if you run into him at EnderCon, try talking to him.”

“I don’t need a lecture on the power of collaboration, Petra.”

“Oh yeah?  How about a lecture on the power of my fists?  It’s short, but deadly.”

“You know what?” Jesse was reluctantly smiling.  “Let’s just go.  Come on, we need to hurry.”  And just like that he took charge, leading the way across the bridge.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

hunger - chapter 9

Hunger master post

Stiles can’t go to the Sheriff’s Department, but he needs to track down Kate Argent. He doesn’t know where she lives, but C. & V. Argent, according to the address that Stiles jotted down on his piece of paper last time he was using Allison’s computer, live over on Parkview Street. It’s a newer area. Stiles doesn’t know it very well. The houses here are big, the lawns uniformly neat and tidy. It’s not the best place to try to walk down the street without being noticed. Stiles imagines he can feel curtains flicking as he passes. He imagines narrow-eyed suburbanites reaching for their Neighborhood Watch information and their telephones. Stiles walks like he has a purpose, like he’s a kid visiting a friend. It’s just on dusk when he arrives at the Argents’ house.

The black SUV and the car he recognizes as Allison’s are parked in the driveway. So C. & V. Argent are her parents.

At least it’s not a common surname.

The house directly across the street from the Argents’ house has no lights turned on. It also has a screen of shrubs planted along the property line which, going by the rest of the neighborhood, are probably against the rules or something, but thank God for rebels. Stiles slips into the yard and hunkers down behind the shrubs. He’s hidden from view now, but has a perfect line of sight to the Argents’ house.

He sits and waits, and feels the phantom press of the dog’s nose against his cold fingers.

Stiles hates Kate Argent for what she did to his dad, but he hates her for killing the dog as well. That hatred is more immediate, less controlled, and the viciousness behind it scares Stiles just a little. She deserves terrible things, and Stiles is afraid he’s capable of them. Not sorry, but afraid. He’ll still do whatever he has to do. He’ll become whatever he has to become.

A few cars drift slowly up and down the street.

Stiles feels a stab of panic when the lights in the house behind him flicker on, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone home. They’re probably away or something, and have them set on a timer. There are at least three newspapers on the front porch that back that theory up. Should probably have stopped their service too.

Stiles wonders if the house is alarmed. He wonders if he could actually break in. He bets it’s warm inside.

When Stiles was a kid he thought the idea of stakeouts was fun. Like sleepovers, except you were supposed to stay awake and eat junk food all night. So, yeah, exactly like sleepovers. Dad always laughed and said there was nothing fun about sitting around in a car all night.

Stiles is willing to bet it was nicer that sitting around on the damp, cold ground all night. He’s hungry too. He hasn’t eaten today.

That break and enter plan is starting to look better and better. There’d be food in the house somewhere. Food, and hot water, and a change of clothes… and an arrest for all his trouble. So it’s tempting, but Stiles isn’t that stupid, and not quite that desperate.

He chews on the strings of his hoodie and ignores his growling stomach.

Dusk darkens slowly into night. Stiles is joined briefly by an inquisitive cat, but it runs away when he tries to coax it nearer.

Stiles watches the Argents’ house.

He dozes, probably, and startles awake when the front door to the house bursts open and Allison strides out, tugging her coat on.

“I’m going to study with Scott!” she yells. “What are you going to do? Ground me?”

Her dad, who has followed her outside, looks ready to do just that, but then a woman with short red hair—Allison’s mom?—comes out and puts a hand on his shoulder, and wow, she’s wearing an expression that would wither Stiles’s balls at a thousand paces.

Allison storms over to her car, and climbs in and drives off.

Stiles is surprised she doesn’t do a burnout just for effect.

Her parents go back inside.

The night gets colder.

The cat doesn’t come back.

 ***

 Stiles is terrible at stakeouts. He wakes up close to dawn, shivering. He has a sore throat and a headache from the cold. Allison’s car is back, and he slept through that, and her dad’s black SUV is just pulling back into the driveway. Stiles didn’t even hear it leave. The sky is softening from darkness into dawn. Faint touches of pink and orange precede the sun.

Stiles shoves his cold hands under his armpits, and watches as Allison’s dad pulls a couple of black bags out of the back of the SUV. He’s wearing all black again, and looks like a one man special ops team. Was he in the Preserve again? How long was he out there? And what the hell is he even looking for?

Stiles remembers that Allison said her dad was paranoid about the mountain lion. It’s almost funny. The guy’s dressed like he can take out ISIS singled handed, but one large kitty is proving elusive? Apparently Mr. Argent is all talk—or, in this case, all dress—but no action. He’s probably compensating for something.

Stiles watches him go inside the house. A moment later a light is turned on inside, and then off again, and then one comes on upstairs and stays on.

If Allison has only recently moved to Beacon Hills, then presumably her parents have too. So there’s a chance they’re not involved in setting up Stiles’s dad, like Kate is. Kate, Stiles reminds himself, and some as yet unknown person from the station. But clearly Allison’s dad is still super shady.

Stiles hunches over and chews on the strings of his hoodie in the vain hope it will convince his stomach he’s eating something.

 ***

 Scary red-headed Mrs. Argent leaves for work at the same time Allison leaves for school. The black SUV stays in the driveway. Either Mr. Argent doesn’t have a job, or he works from home. Stiles remembers that business name he found online: Argent Tactical Solutions. That has Allison’s dad written all over it.

Stiles really wants to break into their house and see if there’s something there with Kate’s address on it. It’s probably down to all the Encyclopedia Brown books he read when he was a kid, but he’s pretty sure people just leave useful information lying around, right?

That might be his low blood sugar talking.

Okay, because it’s not unreasonable that maybe there’s an address book or something in the house—probably in the study, or by the phone or something—but also Stiles’s luck hasn’t exactly been great so far, has it? Like, there isn’t a step he hadn’t somehow fucked up.

He closes his eyes as he sees Kate raise her firearm. Hears the shots. Hears the dog yelp and hit the asphalt.

His throat aches and his eyes sting.

What the fuck is he doing? Staking out Allison’s parents isn’t going to get him any closer to Kate Argent. For all he knows they don’t even talk.

This is stupid.

Stiles is stupid.

He climbs to his feet, his cold body aching, and heads back to the park.

 ***

 The trash can in the park gifts Stiles with a half-eaten burger. He picks the ants off it, pretends he can’t smell the way the mayonnaise is already turning, and eats as much as he can. Then he spends the next twenty minutes trying not to vomit it up again.

It’s gross.

He cries.

 ***

 That night Stiles is woken up by some tweaker yelling at him. When the guy pulls a knife, Stiles runs. He goes back to the house across from the Argents’ place, because, at this point, where else has he got to go?

 ***

 He’s woken some time before dawn by Mr. Argent’s SUV pulling into the driveway. This time, he’s not alone. A deputy’s cruiser pulls up on the road, and Kate Argent gets out and swaggers over to Allison’s dad.

“Chris,” she calls out, the smirk evident in your tone. “Been hunting?”

It’s too dark to see his expression, and his voice is pitched too low to hear a response.

“You’ve lost your touch, big brother!” Kate responds with a laugh as she closes the space between them.

“Haven’t you got work to do, Kate?” His voice is louder this time, and Stiles thinks he’s trying to hide his irritation. He’s not doing a great job of it.

“It’s a ghost town tonight,” Kate tells him. “Besides, I told Dad I’d check and see if you’d had any luck bringing down the alpha. Clearly you haven’t.”

“Clearly,” Chris echoes, his voice flat.

Kate laughs again. “I’ll catch you around, Chris.”

He doesn’t answer. He just nods curtly and watches as she walks back to her cruiser.

When she drives away, he stares after her for a very long while before he grabs his gear out of the SUV and goes inside.

 ***

 Stiles tries his luck with a another trashcan burger later that day. He vomits it up immediately, and doesn’t stop vomiting. He drinks water from the tap beside the maintenance shed in the park, ignoring the sign that warns it’s non-potable, and vomits that up as well. After that he starts shivering which is weird because he isn’t cold. He’s burning up instead.

He doesn’t remember walking to Scott’s house. He’s pretty sure his brain is boiling. He has a vague idea that he’s very, very sick, but food poisoning shouldn’t make him that sick though? Right? What if he’s got meningitis or something instead? He doesn’t remember walking to Scott’s house, but that’s where he wakes up. He’s in the bath, and Melissa McCall is placing a damp cloth on his head, and he flails so much when he wakes up that he saturates them both.

“You have a fever,” she tells him in that no-nonsense way. “I thought I told you to stay here, Mischief.”

This is probably a hallucination, right? Some sort of comforting near-death experience to ease him into oblivion without panicking. It’s nice, but he wishes it was his mom here instead of Melissa. Fuck realism.

“Scott?” Melissa calls out, and the bathroom door opens.

There are too many people looking at his junk, Stiles thinks, but he’s really too weak to care.

“I’m going to get him some more Tylenol. Make sure he doesn’t drown in the meantime.”

“Okay.” Scott takes his mom’s place beside the tub. “Hey, Stiles.”

Stiles’s mouth moves, but he’s not sure the word actually makes it out or not. He stares at the ceiling for a little while instead. The paint is peeling in one corner. It makes it seem more like a home, Stiles thinks, these little bits of wear and tear.

“I’m really dirty, huh?” he mumbles at last.

“What?” Scott asks, his forehead wrinkling. “No, dude. You have a really high temperature. That’s why you’re in the bath.”

“Oh.” Stiles fights the urge to close his eyes. There’s a towel wadded up behind his neck, and it is possibly the most comfortable pillow ever invented. “I was pretty sick.”

“Yeah, you were,” Scott agrees.

“How…” Stiles wrinkles his nose. “How did I even get here? Like, how did I find my way? How did I walk?”

“You didn’t,” Scott says, looking worried all of a sudden.

“What?”

“I found you,” Scott says. “In the park.”

“What?”

That’s impossible. Beacon Hills isn’t a large town, but Scott found him? In a random park in a random street curled up behind a random bush? No fucking way. That’s impossible.

Stiles squints up at him. “How… how’d you do that?”

“This is going to sound really, really weird, dude,” Scott says. He chews his bottom lip for a moment. “I, um, I smelled you?”

Yeah.

Yeah, Stiles is definitely having some sort of near-death experience.

The bath is very nice though.

He closes his eyes and dozes.