#neither of the dreams feels like a nightmare despite ... everything. I feel anger once provoked and then numb after I start the attack.

[lemememeringue]

I've been having some uncharacteristically violent dreams since I got sick

[sleepyfan-blog]

Fandom: Dreamtale

Characters: Dream Sans, Nightmare Sans, nameless ocs

Warnings: violence

Summary: (pre-apple incident) Dream is headed home when he sees a group of monsters and humans surrounding someone and hurting them, and steps in.

Word count: 2,476

Dream had just come back from the village, carrying several books that he was pretty sure that Nightmare would love - along with a small satchel of groceries. While neither he nor Nightmare strictly needed to eat, the guardian of positivity loved to cook - and he delighted in the fact that the monster food he made, depending on what he was concentrating on and how much magic he allowed to go into the dish that he was making, had different effects. There was also the fact that Nightmare was... He had rather suddenly become quite *clumsy* since the villagers started to regularly visit the two of them. Of the two of them, his older brother had always been the more graceful of the two of them, but lately...

Lately Nighty had been withdrawing further into himself, hiding in the branches of their mother when the villagers came to speak to them... Dream wished that he wouldn't, as he really hoped that the mortal beings could see just how wonderful and caring Nightmare was, and that they would stop with the awful rumors that persisted that the guardian of negativity was cruel or harsh. He really wasn't! But... Dream could guess that the other didn't like the glares and comments muttered under the humans' and monsters' breath, pitched at a volume that they intended for his brother to hear, but not for him.

It caused the guardian of Positivity to bristle a little, but Dream genuinely had no idea how to handle the situation. When he tried to begin to bring up the hostility that the villagers had towards Nightmare, the other guardian would shut down - or dully ask if he believed what they said about him. Not that Dream ever did believe them when they said awful things about his older brother and the golden skeleton told the other so. Which cheered the other up in the past... But the whispered *comments* and his brother's supposed clumsiness was starting to get worse, and Dream  had been seriously considering asking the villagers to leave.

While their attention on him was... Flattering at times, and he delighted talking to people, the guardian was genuinely worried about his older brother's health - and there had been several instances of beings travelling from further from their world, staying briefly at the inn at the village... And then trying to steal an apple from the tree. Not that anyone ever succeeded - between the two of them, the emotional guardians were capable and effective fighters when the situation called for it. Dream was going to talk to Nightmare before taking such a drastic step, however. And he knew that he would have to word his arguments very carefully, as he knew that Nightmare night not take his idea very well - protesting that he was perfectly fine "and to please continue to enjoy talking to the mortals, little brother. I'm fine and I want you to be happy."

But... But Dream knew that part of his happiness depended on Nightmare's own - as well as his safety and continued well being, and if... As he suspected, but Nightmare never confirmed - that the villagers were... were hurting his older brother, things would have to change. Although why Nightmare was letting them do so, instead of defending himself, Dream could only guess. Maybe Nighty thought that things would only get worse? Or... or that he would take the villagers' side over his own brother's? The Guardian of positivity mentally shook himself, focusing on his surroundings and pushing himself to smile - eagerly anticipating the way that Nighty's eyelights would widen - and maybe even turn into stars - when he showed the other the books he'd bought for the other.

The... the injuries that his older brother kept getting was another reason for the food that he had purchased, as monster food healed injuries instantly, although how much depended on the quality and size of the dish that one ate. Not that Dream had told Nightmare that one of the main reasons why he started cooking a bunch more - and keeping the food around their small home, rather than giving it away to those who came to visit them - was for the other's benefit. He knew that Nightmare ate the food, and while Dream did hope that it was simply because he enjoyed the taste... the positive spirit was worried that it was due to the clumsiness Nighty was suffering from in recent years.

Dream was most of the way home, when he heard angry shouting. His gaze snapped up and he froze for several seconds, staring as he saw a crowd of a dozen monsters and humans, all crowded around something - or someone.

A tall, tan and grey bunny monster jeered "That's right! You fucking take it, you miserable piece of shit! You're to blame for all of our pain and woe! My datemates broke up with me and it's your fault." the monster struck out at something and an agonized cry came up from the center of the circle.

"Yeah! It's your fault I-I'm still grieving for my pet rock after it died years ago!" a light haired, freckled human hissed, striking out at the same being. Another, slightly weaker cry from the center of the circle of angry beings came up, this time followed by a heart-stoppingly familiar pulse of magic.

Dream felt himself drop everything in his hands as he instantly teleported to where they were standing, throwing his arms out wide as he tried to shield his brother, who was curled up in a defensive ball, his clothes dirty and what he could see of the other’s hands (which was the only uncovered part of his older brother that he could see) were covered in cracks that from which his magic was bleeding “Stop! Stop it right now!” Dream demanded, tears gathering in the corners of his eye sockets.

The group of assailants all stopped moving, their eyes widening in shock and uncertainty. The bunny monster who had spoken earlier stammered out “D-dream? Th-th-this isn’t what it looks like! H-he… th-that demon provoked us.”

Dream glared a little at the speaker, doing his best to stay calm, despite the fact that he bristled at the other's insult. His normally warm and kind voice had a hard edge to it that they had never heard before "Nightmare is no more a demon than I am. I have known him all of my life, which has been far longer than any of yours.  You will apologize to him for injuring him and then you will leave. I will be speaking with the leaders of the village to make sure that you will be punished appropriately for striking an unarmed person who did not fight back against all of you. Depending on what is... I may ask them to banish you permanently from the village, and to never return to this area. I am speaking to all of you who were involved on the unprovoked assault on Nightmare."

"I... B-but Dream ple-" One of the other monsters - a bear started, their eyes widening in shock and dismay, their ears pressed flat to their head, voice trembling with fear and anxiety "P-please d-don't send us away f-from you! W-we couldn't s-stand that..."

"You did not always live here, and the village exists only so long as the inhabitants are not a threat to the tree of feelings or to either one of us." Dream snapped back, golden eyelights shining brightly with righteous anger, his voice still uncharacteristically sharp and harsh. "Leave us now, or once my brother is healed, I will insist that all of you leave the village for the rest of your lives." They fled the scene of their crime and as soon as Dream was certain that no one would immediately show up to potentially attack Nightmare, he knelt down beside his other half, his hands immediately alight with green magic "N-nighty are you awake? Please say something!" He desperately wanted to ask why the other didn't try to defend himself, but he didn't want Nightmare to think that he blamed the other for others hurting him.

"I... D-dream? Th-they're r-really violent and I don't want you to get hurt..." Nightmare groaned out, his violet eye lights barely lit and shattered.

"There's no one here but the two of us, I sent the idiots who hurt you away from here. I... H-how often has this happened? Why... why didn't you tell me?" Dream asked, his voice shaking a little as he concentrated on healing the other, pushing past his stress and worry. Healing magic required calm feelings and a steady stream of magic.

"Because you... You like talking to them and I... Th-they're hardly ever that bad... I d-don't know why they h-hate me b-but I want you to be happy." The negative guardian explained, shakily reaching up and brushing something warm and wet from Dream's face "Hey... D-dreamy don't cry? I'm okay... I'm okay, I promise."

"B-but I'm happiest when you're happy, Nightmare... a-and you've been suffering for stars know h-how long and I've been so terribly selfish and ignoring your needs and health. No more. I will speak to the village elders to get everyone who's been hurting you banished from the area. I don't care if I have to hurt them a bit in order to g-get it through their dumb mortal heads that I r-really mean it." Dream promised, filled with determination and a fierce desire protect the other "Please tell me the n-names of everyone who's been hurting you. I mean it." It was getting more difficult for him to heal the other - but he was going to take the other's pain away. He needed to focus.

"I... Dream..." Nightmare began, looking away from him, seemingly unsure as to how to respond. "I don't... They don't react well to my a-aura, I think. But if you try to p-push them away I... I fear that they might try to g-go after me more for... For telling you about it and for twisting your mind with my evil ways and dark words or s-something like that that."

"If they can't handle both of our auras, then they shouldn't live so close to us! We've lived her for much, much longer and I don't care what they want. We were created to protect the Tree and one another. I've failed to protect you in the past... but I promise you Nightmare, I'll do better. Starting with making the villagers leave. We've had to deal with more greedy beings trying to take from the tree since the village started to grow in size, and started to attract more of the mortals who live elsewhere here." Dream answered back fiercely, shaking his head a little, frustrated that he was crying more - he didn't want to make Nightmare feel worse than he already was!... And he just stopped using green healing magic, despite the fact that the other was still bruised - though his bones had stopped leaking magic. There was one other thing he could do - but if Nightmare found out that he did it again... The other would be unhappy. But he'd just have to be careful, and he did just go out to buy groceries, so it should be fine, right?

"I... No you didn't fail in your duties! I hid what the villagers were doing from you because I didn't want you to worry or be upset about it... Because I know that you like being able to interact with others... that you enjoy the attention that they give you." Nightmare responded, voice shaking a little "And thanks for the healing, I'm feeling a lot better now."

"I just checked your stats, I know that you're at less than half of your HP, Nighty. Just... Give me a minute to collect myself and I'll finish healing you, okay?" Dream responded, closing his eyes and taking in a couple of calming breaths, feeling terribly guilty for feeling so out of sorts. Nightmare was the one who was injured, after all.

Nightmare lightly touched one of his shoulders, a worried frown appearing on his face "Okay... It's not like the body I'm inhabiting is in danger of dusting, if you want, we could go back for the groceries I saw that you were bringing home earlier and we could cook together? and I promise I'll eat as much of it as you want me to."

Dream shook his head a little, a determined expression flashing across his face, calmer now, though knowing that he wasn't going to be able to access more true healing magic for a little while. Not that Nightmare needed to know that "Yeah but... Let me fix you up before we cook, alright?" green-tinged golden magic surrounded the negative guardian for several seconds, before fading away.

Nightmare blinked, a warm and grateful smile appearing on his face as he hugged the other back, saying gratefully "Thank you for healing me, Dream. I... I'm sorry for hiding this from you, I just... I wanted you to be happy!"

Dream smiled back, brightly, and very glad that he was able to stop himself from wincing - as Nightmare had hugged his ribs tightly - which was one of the places where he had caused the injuries that he had transferred from Nightmare to himself. He transferred the rest of the damage to his legs, making sure that he didn't overdo it and break his own legs - as Nightmare would notice if he was limping "I'm happiest with you, when both of us are genuinely happy, Nightmare. That's always been true, and it'll always be true. Let's go home, alright? And we can talk about how to deal with the villagers bullying you, okay?"

Nightmare grimaced a little, letting the other go as he set off for their home "... You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope! I want you to be happy and safe." Dream responded, feeling a slight trickle of magic down one of his legs, grabbing a monster sweet from one of his pockets and popping it in his mouth. It wasn't nearly enough to heal all that it was done, but it helped "Hey, I've got some candy in my pockets, do you want one?"

"I'm fine- they're usually far too sweet for me - besides I don't need the HP bump - even if monster candy only gives you ten." Nightmare said with a shake of his head, walking over and picking up the discarded bag of groceries, glancing through it, smiling a little "This all looks delicious."

“I’m glad that you like it - let’s head home.” Dream responded with a bright smile as he took Nightmare’s free hand with one of his own “We should walk - it’s such a nice day…”

“Sounds good to me.” Nightmare responded with a small smile.

[ourforbiddenworlds]

One | Prelude

Part 2

“For God’s sake, answer the damn phone.”

The vast height of the control tower allowed him to clearly see the airstrip. Despite the darkness of the night, he could see the monstrous silhouette of the Boeing, and, at his feet, the twinkling lights aproaching, after absolute chaos had fallen around him.

His words went completely unnoticed, despite not having bothered to hide his growing panic. He tried to communicate once more, pressing the call button on the screen quickly with his cramped hand, but when he pushed the cell phone to his ear, the continuous tone of lost call made him desist.

«Great. Now what?»

“Bishop told us not to communicate with the outside” He ignored the nervous voice of the flight controller behind him and for five minutes he paced from one side to another in the semicircular area. The room, almost full of people who, at any other moment should have been monitoring the takeoffs and landings, now just sent orders to divert flights to nearby airports and suspend all activity in its entirety.

In spite of his growing agitation, he sat down in a vain attempt to calm his nerves, still watching through the window, the vast concrete surface, and the colossal machine which gave no signs of life.

There was a tension in the air, like the calm before the storm. An uneasy feeling that something horrible was happening in front of their eyes but nobody knew or dared to utter a word, only observing the bright screens of the computers before them.

He was desperate to know what was happening.

He returned to the screen of his cell phone, scrolling through his contacts absentmindedly and calling his superior directly to alert him of the matter. He knew that his nervous state was causing him to act irrationally, an unpleasant fear of something non-existent gave him goosebumps. He stared at the name on the bright screen, weighing the attempt to call again, despite already knowing it would be in vain.

“Any news from Bishop?” The question was barely a whisper. As he raised his head, he ran into the flight controller who had just spoken. His eyes, behind the rectangular lenses, expressed concern, and he did not seem able to control the movement of his right hand, which trembled slightly at his hip.

“I don’t think he’ll contact the Tower until he has a clear idea of what’s going on.” He sighed heavily and put the device in his pocket, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and standing up. “I’ll see if he needs help down there, maybe there’s already news.”

«Maybe.»

The controller nodded once and returned to his chair.

Considering it for a moment, he decided to leave the room, but even after he had closed the door and was approaching the stairs, he could still hear the nervous voice of the controller.

“We haven’t even received any sign from the cabin, no call or movement, everything just… turned off. What the hell could’ve happened?” The question hung in the air, causing discomfort and uneasiness within his chest.

«Nothing good.»

He thought, as he opened the outer door and the cold night air hit the skin of his face. The lights of the police patrols and the CDC agency blinked around the mechanical beast that stood quietly in the middle of the runway.

«Nothing good at all.»

~~~

«Oh god, this is not happening… It’s not happening.»

“черт возьми!”

She spat blood into the sink, closing her eyes and curling forward, as the images swirled around her and the small room turned into a haze of strobing colors.

Her hands trembled. Her whole body trembled, covered in a fine layer of sweat that was rapidly cooling to the environment, and the thin fabric of her pajamas clung to her uncomfortably. She rubbed her face frantically fighting against the images that plagued her mind; the forest, the snow, the cabin of the plane full of corpses, and those red eyes mocking her from the dark.

«Calm down.»

She fought the nausea and a wave of something completely different suddenly gripped her body. All her muscles tensed, alert to an imaginary danger, and the hand that had so busily been scraping the scabs of dried blood from her skin, held the left side of her head, while her other hand went straight to the worn tiles above the wash, leaning all her weight against the wall, while struggling to control her panting.

Her heart beat with fury within her chest and the sound of the falling water was dulled by the sound of her pulse against her ears.

«Breathe.»

She shook her head, once… twice, still without straightening her body, feeling the water slip from her face and wet hands, but she did not open her eyes to the implacable whiteness of artificial light. She leaned her elbows on either side of the sink and bent down to take a sip of water. Cold as ice, but it did well to stop the nausea that stirred her empty stomach.

She jerked off the shirt and threw it to the floor. Her cotton pants followed, and she found herself naked and trembling in the middle of the small and cold room. Pulling back the shower curtain, she opened the hot water and entered inside quickly.

«Fuck… cold cold…»

Though the sensation was shocking at first, as the water began to warm up it helped soothe her convulsive body and the tension in her limbs. She usually enjoyed moments like these, when she could be alone with her thoughts and let the water fall on her body and act as a protective curtain to the outside world. But it was no longer the outside world which was suffocating her.

She knelt, letting her sweat-covered hair be washed by the spray of water.

Her mind went over and over again the memories of her dream. There was no point in trying to ignore it. Running away from it would only make it worse… Whatever was happening. This time she could remember every feeling and image, every sensation that had gripped her body. She hated to admit it, even inside the four walls of her apartment, with a double lock on the door… she felt vulnerable.

«No.»

That thing… was making her feel vulnerable.

She sighed heavily. No, she was not going to let something like that intimidate her. She needed to find an answer, not succumb to fear. She roughly untangled her matted hair with her fingers, and rinsed her soap-coated skin under the spray of water, caressing the uneven skin on her left shoulder blade.

She inhaled, thoughtfully, and closed her eyes, letting the sensation of running water overpower her senses.

Despite the fact that some scenes were harder to remember than the sensations they provoked (When she was young, she had been terrified for weeks trying to remember the reason) she could see it clearly now, remember him (him, it had been a him?) vividly. It had pursued her, and she had tried to escape between her dreams. But… had it been like that?

Had it all been an accident to have been there? Had she sensed something and her psyche had flown freely to the cause of it? Or more terrifying … had she been dragged against her will by that being?

Could that thing have the power to see her… even now?

«Stop.»

She turned off the shower quickly, grabbing the towel and protecting her body from the cold.

«But what if it had all just been a bad dream?»

«What happens if not? Consider the possibilities, don’t run away from this fact.»

She grabbed the damaged remains of her pajamas and walked towards her room at the end of the hallway, her hands trembled slightly as she entered the dark room, restraining the impulse to recharge herself in the doorway and stay there, without having to cross the three meters that separated her from the small lamp next to her bed. Fear.

She was afraid.

The blood did not frighten her, neither did the darkness. Her thoughts were focused on a more frightening certainty.

The presence that had brought her out of her dream state was too real to be easily ignored, still hovering over her mind, huge and menacing, after having made its way like a battering ram against the walls of her aching consciousness.

But she not only felt fear, but disgust at how her mind had been invaded so easily. And anger towards the being who had penetrated her.

Dreams were deceptive things, but there was always a difference between the imaginary and the real shit.

She frowned.

«Stop acting like an idiot.»

Still staring at the lights on her alarm clock from the doorway, she walked a few steps and stopped abruptly, cupping her head.

«Fuck my life.»

She had been sick for two full weeks, and the cold that had gripped her had wreaked havoc on her body. She had missed work and had not been able to leave her apartment because of muscle pain.

Everything seemed to overwhelmed her now, the sounds, the lights… and now apparently the simple act of sleeping had become a literal nightmare.

And what if everything was just a product of fever? She had taken an aspirin for it, and she fucking known that was not very recommendable in case of nasal catarrh.

She crossed her room in three strides and turned on the lamp; the orange light illuminated the scene in front of her. She observed everything with imperturbable tranquility, and outside of her apartment the sirens and vehicles of a city that had been active while she rested were heard.

She pushed the blankets away roughly and sat on the mattress, deciding to take her cell phone already charged from the bedside table, waiting a moment for it to turn on.

When the notifications began to arrive, one of them caught her attention above it all.

N: Turn on the television. Airport. I can’t give much information.

Wait.

«Airport?»

The sound of the sirens increased, passing by outside her apartment. It could be anything, whatever thing on that city, but a foreboding began to form in her chest.

She stared at the luminous screen, and a chill ran through her body.

«Чёрт возьми… What was happening?»

~~~

22:00 pm

He passed the side of the police patrols and the CDC, which had begun to empty the cabin of the plane. Large black and rectangular bags were slowly being pulled out the escape door, and the officers, covered from head to toe in protective suits, were hauling them to one of the empty cargo areas of the airport.

At first he had watched from a distance, with his hands in his pocket, absent-mindedly playing with the outline of his cell phone. He had begun counting how many bags they were carrying from inside the cabin to the maintenance area, but with a lump in his throat he realized that it would take much longer than he had expected.

He had been working with Bishop for the past two years, monitoring the circulation of airplanes and souls, as flight controllers usually called passengers, looking for some anomaly, something that disturbed the usually busy activity inside the airport.

“You’re good at this, Nikolay,” his supervisor had once told him, when he mentioned the monotonous calm in which he was subjected day after day. “If there is someone who can detect anything in this place, it’s you. Airports are so plagued with security that only someone crazy would try to cross the Threshold under so many noses.”

“First you tell me that I’m a good agent and then you send me to work in a place with no activity? I’m really sorry, sir, I don’t want to be rude, but I think that’s a waste of time.”

The man watched him with cold blue eyes. There was no anger, but rather a calm and very subtle exasperation. He played with the fine pen he had on the table, while the young agent stood still in the middle of the office, back straight, feet slightly apart and hands clasped in front of him, resisting the urge to twist his knuckles.

“I don’t do it for wasting, agent.” The man used a different tone at the end of the sentence, and he wondered if it was to remind him of his place, or perhaps a form of simple intimidation. “As I said, the security in that place is incredibly high and whoever wants to enter using this route would have to be very dangerous and damn mad.”

Nikolay observed the old agent sitting behind his desk, doing his best to avoid his blue eyes. He knew where the conversation was going on.

“Forget about the underworld and the gangs that roam the edge of society and that you considered a pain in the ass during training. You know perfectly well what kind of madness I’m talking about, agent.”

His boss drilled him, scrutinizing his reaction. Nikolay thought about replying, but closed his mouth and nodded solemnly, fully understanding the implication after the last question.

He left the office without saying another word.

Choosing between working in the New York sub-world, as he had done since the beginning, to monitoring for anomalies at the country’s largest airport, he had chosen the latter, both for the smell and the possibility of participating in something relatively new, since the operations at the airport had been approved only five years earlier.

He did not love his work, but in one way or another, it was necessary.

For months he had been anxious, waiting for something, anything, to break up the monotony of his work, and now that it was happening in front of his eyes, he never expected to feel so damned guilty about it all.

He never expected that 200 people would have to die for it.

«What the hell happened here?»

A feeling of helplessness began to grow inside him. It was a cold and paralyzing feeling, just witnessing and not being able to do anything about it.

«Anything could’ve happened. A terrorist attack or even a human error? Maybe cabin decompression?»

«Bishop. I have to find Bishop.»

Bishop was there to inform him of any anomalies he heard or observed. If it was an epidemic, terrorist attack, or even a failure of the plane itself, the relevant authorities would take care of the problem, and for them, it would just be a false alarm.

But as an agent, he needed be prepared to act only if it was necessary.

He briskly walked to the nearest cargo section, watching from a distance as the flight operators and other officials emptied the cargo compartment of the plane. The wind beat against his face and body incessantly, and the noise of the sirens in the distance mingled with those of his heartbeat. He did not see Bishop among the black silhouettes going in and out of the cargo section, so he assumed that the man was already inside the cargo terminal.

The whole scene felt like something out of a horror movie. He walked quickly in the darkness of the night, listening to his footsteps against the concrete of the runway. It was almost the new moon, and only the artificial lights of whitish and orange color illuminated his way, but in some sections the darkness seemed to throb like a living creature.

The wind at JFK airport was relentless… it never stopped. It bombarded his face in all directions, bringing to his nostrils the salty air of the Atlantic coast, the scent of the damp earth, the dust that accumulated over the entire length of the runway, and a strange, penetrating auroma. It was nauseating and made him frown, losing his train of thought.

He stopped abruptly, grimacing at the wind that lifted a cloud of dust around him, stinging his eyes. He shook his head for a moment, in a vain attempt to clear his mind. He inhaled, once, then twice, filling his nostrils with the various scents, trying to capture the unknown smell that had disturbed him.

The wind whipped his hair again and he shielded his head with his jacket hood. This time the wind blew from the west with unusual warmth, but there was nothing unusual about it, other than the smell of fuel and dust that it left on clothes and skin.

A chill ran down his neck and ruffled his hair under the waterproof hood. Suddenly he felt overwhelmed and exposed to an invisible presence hiding in plain sight.

He was not afraid. That was not what he felt. But rather, it was an uncomfortable sensation within his body and the hairs on his arms began to bristle. His senses were alert to any sign of danger; his hearing sharpened, trying to perceive every noise in the wide expanse of concrete, without capturing anything unusual. He resumed the march, walking faster and faster as he approached the cargo terminal, leaving the plane stopped in the middle of Terminal 4 like a sleeping beast whose passengers were eaten as victims of its hunger.

The shift supervisor, a stout man holding a notebook in his gnarled hands, looked up as he approached. Under the artificial lights, the shadows on his pale skin deepened the wrinkles on his forehead, giving his face a gargoyle appearance.

He smiled a little, knowing that maybe it was not just appearence.

“David.”

Nikolay nodded as he passed by, crossing the large metal doors that opened outward like a wide, black mouth.

David Ivanov. It was not his real name, of course, but while he had been working there, everyone knew him as David, and he had gotten used to it. It was like a second skin which concealed its true form in the eyes of others, a simple detail that came with the protocol of his work, but in spite of that, he was grateful.

He almost stumbled over a small suitcase that had been left at the entrance hold, but managed to stabilize himself and enter in a hurry. The interior was flooded with orange lights that hurt his eyes, which were accustomed to the night. Workers came and went with luggage belonging to the victims, sorting each briefcase, each box, bag, and utensil, labeling everything. They worked in silence, prey to a feeling of uneasiness that overwhelmed their ability to think. A state that the young man shared.

He looked around the great vault, from the entrance, finding the huge structure of metal and aluminum, whose roof was lost rising above his head meters and meters into the darkness. It was composed of huge corridors divided into sections with dozens or maybe hundreds of things accumulated throughout the years.

Much of it was just silhouettes blurred by the shadows that the lights could not penetrate, and Nikolay walked directly towards a group of workers gathered in the middle of the main entrance, which connected the long corridors.

Upon arriving, frustration fell into his shoulders.

“Where is Bishop?” The young supervisor in charge jumped to hear the sharp tone of his voice, and Nikolay did everything possible to show a patient face. He had been carefully calm, but now his annoyance overflowed and he needed all his self-control not to use it against the workers in front of him.

«Calm down, don’t get upset about something you can’t solve.»

He thought, as he breathed in rhythm, controlling the anguish that had begun to form inside his chest.

«It can be anything. People die every day.»

He was thinking about the plane, but nausea rose in his chest at that last thought.

He forced himself to think coldly, even though the strange feeling of guilt returned to play with his emotions, but it was reasonable and he should not feel sorry for this. The number of victims had already been estimated. The danger had already passed, and the relevant authorities were going to find the cause of such an unfortunate incident in a matter of hours.

Right?

«Nobody else needed to die.»

“Eh … I don’t really know. He was here a few minutes ago, talking to Regis Airlines. He was a little dismayed by piece that wasn’t listed on the manifesto.” He handed the luggage list to Nikolay and ventured into one of the unloading areas.

That uneasy feeling returned, but he pushed it away from his mind with the same reasoning he had used before. There was no time to get upset or show sadness about what had happened. He followed the man down a long corridor crammed with boxes and suitcases, the manifest of the plane under his arm and his heart beat uncontrollably in his chest.

The first thing he thought when he saw it, was that it was beautiful.

Terribly beautiful, in a macabrely appealing way. The drawings carved in the old well-preserved wood denoted a care and detail that only the hands of an avid sculptor could create.

But the appreciation was quickly overshadowed by the horrible and almost palpable sensation of a danger that drowned any attempt to calm his inner being.

Inexplicably, his first impulse was to walk around the enormous rectangular object, breathing in the faint smell of earth and something more acidic, almost undetectable to all but him, but unpleasant to his senses.

He still did not dare to touch the polished surface of wood, even though his gray eyes were sailing over the arabesques and dismal skeletal figures that covered what, in his opinion, was a work of art. He took a step forward, glancing around at the deadly-looking skeletons that stared back at him with dark, empty sockets.

Eventually, he stroked with the tips of his fingers over the smooth texture of one of the skulls, carefully following the opening line of the gates. His arm tensed at a sudden impulsive thought. Finally, with one last look, he stepped back and put his hands in his pockets, letting himself be carried away by the furious pounding of his pulse against his eardrums.

He did not hear what the supervisor was saying beside him as he explained the conjectures of the origin of the box, his head was a whirlwind of plans of action, numbers he would have to call, strategies he would have to use, but a single thought returned again and again to emerge in front of all the others, overshadowing his forced logic with a perpetual panic.

It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, however, when he touched its surface, he felt a visceral urge to break the thick lid finely decorated with his own hands and beat the hard wood beautifully carved, splintering the closed gates until the thing was unusable to anybody or anything.

He knew he could do it.

«Calm down»

“Are you okay?”

“It’s beautiful.”

The supervisor frowned a moment, looking back at the coffin in front of them. “Yeah, I guess so. In a creepy way.”

“Yeah..” He played with the cell phone in his pocket, thinking over and over again of his desperate attempt to call a certain person on the contact list earlier in the night. “But it’s beautiful, in a strange and twisted way. We can not deny that there is beauty in the grotesque.”

He could not take his eyes off the huge object and its hypnotizing affect, so he forced himself to look at the manifesto, as he swallowed a wave of nausea from the unpleasant odor coming from its slits.

Such an object should not have gone unnoticed in customs, unless someone had wanted it that way. The coffin had to be more than nine feet long, four feet wide, and three feet high. He was only five ten, and if it were standing vertically, it would rise above his own head, offering a threatening and frankly intimidating vision. He could not imagine what kind of being might need the use of such a huge object.

«I would not venture to create such risky conjectures, Watson.»

“Bishop was trying to contact the airline in Berlin He wanted to find out if it had been registered in the manifest before leaving Germany.”

“Did Bishop tell you where he was going before he disappeared?” He handed him the list after a quick check. In it there were only records of wholesale shipments of mundane things, medicines, condoms… nothing that made mention of a gigantic Gothic coffin.

“He didn’t say anything, but I saw him head towards the packaging section. To the west wing. He probably wanted to talk to the airline away from all the hustle … hey!”

As he spoke, Nikolay had once again approached the sinister coffin, holding the doors with both hands and unceremoniously opening one of them. He needed to see.

The smell was incredibly strong, and he pursed his nose at the stinging in his eyes, but the supervisor did not seem affected by it.

“Dirt?”

“Yeah … weird, right?”

He was agitated, and could no longer hide it. He observed the damp and smelly earth, hoping that maybe it would give him the answer he was looking for, while his mind cataloged every detail he saw.

He examined the hatch carefully, stroking the wooden edge and the hinges, careful not to touch the earth inside, until he found what he wanted. He listened to the supervisor’s steps behind him, approaching cautiously.

“We think it belongs to the antiques trade for collectors. We have one or two of these cases a week.”

His fingers played with the internal bolt, observing the wood worn around him, and the colorless marks on the inside of the door.

Then he examined the dirt. Black and damp, it smelled even worse up close, but he could not see anything else in it. There were no pieces of grass or even pebbles. It was completely clean of any impurity, but it was not until he lit his blackness with his portable flashlight that he saw it.

Holding his breath as he watched the movement in the light, nearly imperceptible, undulating. The little creature glistened as it rose to the surface, to re-enter its damp, blackish hiding place, fleeing from his light.

When the man behind him approached, Nikolay had to grab his hand before he touched the inside.

“It’s just dirt.” The man said, pulling away with a frown.

“We don’t know what else it contains. It’s better to wait for the analysis from the CDC.” He swallowed, turned off the flashlight, and carefully closed the coffin, wiping his sweaty hands on the leg of his pants. He stepped back and looked at the box once more.

“What do you think it is?” The supervisor had watched Nikolay’s face as he inspected the object, and at this moment the man looked sick under the artificial lights of the vault.

“Just a collector’s item.” Nikolay lied, without looking at the man. He tried to regulate his breathing and the growing feeling of panic.

“It will be a damn long night then.”

“Mmmhmm.” He breathed, once, twice, feeling the nausea seize his stomach one more time.

“Hey, Dave, you really feeling ok?” The supervisor had noticed the paleness of his face, and the sweat that had begun to permeate his forehead. He nodded, taking a moment to calm down.

He was about to turn around and abandon the strange object, but a thought crossed his mind. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and watched the supervisor with a smile.

“May l?”

“Bishop doesn’t want the press to know anything about this.” He said but didn’t dare to stop Nikolay. They had been there for a while and their concern for everything that had happened was taking its toll on the mental state of each and every one of them. The worst thing that could happen was that the journalists believed they were concealing something pertinent to the plane, when possibly both events had no relation at all.

“I’m going to need a reference to investigate possible traffic, trust me.” He began photographing each angle of the object quickly. He knew that Bishop worked faithfully in adherence to protocol, one of the many reasons for his longevity in office and his good reputation, both at the airport and the agency where they both worked. One of the hardest rules was not to spread to the public anything about the investigations being carried out.

But he did not have to know about it, and neither did the press, or even the Agency.

The photos were not intended for them.

“Where did you say Bishop went again?”

“Packaging section. The area isn’t in use at the moment. All of the workers are in the first area.”

He turned to the man, who looked downcast and pensive, watching the huge coffin in front of him. Nikolay approached slowly, swallowing when thinking about what he intended to do next. He placed a hand on his shoulder carefully, making him look into his eyes.

“Thank you. Go take a break. Have a coffee and eat something, I’ll find Bishop on my own.”

The man seemed confused first, hesitating at the strange idea given by the young agent. An instant later his face seemed to relax, and he blinked and nodded slowly, without leaving Nikolay’s gaze.

“Yeah… I think I’ll do that.”

Nikolay squeezed the man’s shoulder giving him a final smile before leaving him, walking as quickly as he had arrived, still with his cell phone on the hand, and with the adrenaline running in his veins.

The vision of the strange white worm was still etched in his mind, as well as the internal hinges and the black, damp earth with the nauseating odor. He walked by the side of some workers quickly. When two police officers appeared in his field of vision, he returned his cell phone in his pocket.

The packing area was the furthest, and therefore the most isolated. It usually had more activity during the day, but there was a section only accessible by authorized personnel, where the largest objects were prepared for international flights.

He crossed the central area without looking anyone in the eye. After a year of work almost all the airport officials knew those in the control area and he did not need to show his identification, but still he did not want them to interrupt his snooping.

It had always been easier for him to identify the different aromas, and he took a deep breath, letting the plastic scent of suitcases fill his nostrils; the odor of glue from the packaging tapes and the aroma of naphthalene were the most common in that place.

The smells of the people around him came later, and as always, it was a blow to his senses. He wrinkled his nose when faced with rancid sweat; it was not much worse than the smell from the coffin he had inspected earlier, he told himself gravely, as he cataloged the people around him.

«Artificial bamboo. That stupid fragrance that he always uses and has recommended me so many times»

This part was not easy, but it was not impossible.

«There you are.»

He followed the trail quickly, and frowned again when he saw that it led to an area completely isolated from the hustle and bustle of the central area. He slowed his steps, taking care not to make noise at the possibility of encountering something unexpected.

«Breathe, slowly.»

A last gust of wind whipped the air around him, running through the storage corridors, drawing odors from the farthest places of the huge place full of things straight to his nose, he stopped abruptly.

He could hear the distant voices only fifty meters from where he was standing, turned off by the huge corridors and swallowed by the darkness of the vault. He took a deep breath, refusing to believe what he had picked up, and started walking slowly, toward the entrance to the packaging sector.

The light was a dim, sickly green, and shadows dominated the deserted place. Anything could be hiding in that place, he thought, so he kept a distance from the center of the corridor, walking carefully behind the boxes, and making no noise.

He assured himself that there was nothing there, but the beautifully adorned coffin kept coming back again and again to seize his mind. The coffin and its damp, nauseating dirt. Then, there was the white worm fleeing from the light. He questioned if his actions were the best. Should he call the Agency and warn them about what was happening?

But nothing had ever happened in this place before. Nothing that made one suspect that they would use an airplane for such purposes, under the eyes of hundreds of people. Was he too naive to expect positive results, after everything he had seen. Everything he had heard?

You know perfectly well what kind of madness I am talking about, agent.

She would know, of course. She would always tell him and throw it in his face in the most unfortunate moments. When logic and reasoning were essential to act, not emotionality and false hopes.

Even so, and with all his hopes that things would turn out well in the morning, that everyone would finish their work without incident and that the officers and the government will solve the cause of the tragic end of Regis Airs passengers, he kept hidden between the boxes and the wide, dark corridors, observing and listening attentively to any movement strange.

He forced himself to think, with all his training, that what he had previously smelled was not blood.

But, as he moved, the smell became more unpleasant, and it mixed with iron.

Iron. It was too strong.

«Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?!»

He had not noticed the soft purr yet. He had been focused on tracking the scent of the missing man. He did notice the strong smell, wrapping him like a shroud, bringing with it a horrible sense of imminent danger.

It was ammonia. This entire time, the smell had been ammonia.

He gave no sign of fear. He remained calm, and just as he had been trained, he dipped his hand inside his jacket stealthily, and wrapped his fingers around his service weapon.

Flickering red glow appeared in his peripheral vision, followed by a low growl from the darkness to his right. And he jumped, but not because of the suddenness of its appearance, but because of the incredible height of it.

Threatening and intimidating.

And then his cell phone began to ring from within his pocket.

[hellstate--rp-blog]

↪ b a s i c s ;

N A M E: Luciano “Luca” Santoro A G E: 33 P L A C E   O F   O R I G I N: Sicily, Italy G R O U P: V. A. Medical Center O C C U P A T I O N: Trader F C: Justin Baldoni

❝ There is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given day. ❞

↪ p e r s o n a l i t y ;

P O S I T I V E   T R A I T S: dutiful ; cunning N E G A T I V E   T R A I T S: reticent ; greedy

↪ b i o g r a p h y ;

L I F E   B E F O R E   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

Nearly seventy years ago, the streets of Sicily were ruled by two rival gangs: the Marcellos and the Costas. The two had been against each other for decades, fighting an endless battle for a prize that neither of them would ever get. Territory, drugs, money, fame. All of this sparked greed within their hearts, clouding their morals and sense of compassion. For many, this had become a spectacle. Like watching a brawl on television and betting on who would win. Many had placed their faith and futures into the hands of the Costa empire. Out of the two, they seemed to be the one with more power and unlike their rival, also had a passion for the working class and making Sicily a safe place for its natives. The Marcellos, on the other hand, seemed to put their main focus on the distribution of drugs, not really caring who they hurt in the process or what may come of the city if it became even more dangerous than it already was. Soon enough, the city had become split as many people chose their sides and proceeded with confidence. Antonio Santoro, who was a working man, had unknowingly picked the side of recklessness. It had started as a simple job taken up by a simple man. The young Santoro boy was to tend to the delicate plants that were tucked away in an abandoned warehouse right outside of the city, and in turn, Marcello was willing to pay him handsomely. But like any other job, a good production eventually meant raises and the inevitable promotion that accompanied it. With this, the door to the ‘company’ finally began to open up and Antonio saw it for what it truly was: an abomination. Becoming the delivery boy also included collecting money and when that could not be delivered, he was told to use force if necessary. This quickly turned dark as blood began to cover his hands and the nightmares began to worsen. The man was growing sick of it and eventually, the Costas began to pick up on this. A meeting was quickly arranged and before he knew it, Antonio had become a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He was playing the fields, working for Marcello as a front so he could collect and gather information from the Costas.

Years passed and the bloody feud had grown worse. With the news of a mole surfacing in the Marcello side, a witch hunt began to unfold. It didn’t take long before they realized that Antonio Santoro, the man whom they had grown to trust, was also the man who betrayed them. Loyalty was one thing that was heavily emphasized and it was also the one thing that Antonio could not deliver to them. He said goodbye to his wife, Eleanora, and told her to seek shelter with the Costas. Then, Antonio awaited the fate that he had brought upon himself. News of the murder of the rat who betrayed the Marcellos quickly spread and his wife soon became grief stricken. The Costas had shown a surprising amount of regret for Eleanora received news that she was pregnant. They graciously took her in, promising to take good care of her and avenge the loss that she had suffered. Reluctantly, she agreed and nine months later, she gave birth to Stefano. Life for Stefano had been sheltered, but with the environment that he was raised in, was not boring. Each day brought something new. A quote unknown, a lesson unspoken, a song unheard. There was always something to be learned and with this, came the interest in Sicily, his hometown. Everything that had attributed to its history became something that Stefano studied until he knew it like the back of his hand, including the death of his father. Upon learning about this, an indignant feeling quickly consumed him as he relayed the past decade of his life and thought about what could have been different had his father not been murdered. He took this problem to the head of the Costa family, Alessio, and began to strategize the downfall of the Marcellos. At first, Costa took this as nothing more than a phase, but as time went on, he saw the fire that grew in Stefano’s eyes and knew that this would be a lasting hatred. Together, they began to plot out exactly how to overcome the Marcellos once and for all. Despite his mother’s pleas, Stefano decided to take an active role in this. Eventually, the two succeeded and the Marcello name was just another part of Sicily’s rich history.

Stefano Santoro’s heart never did become free from his rage. Instead, it consumed him even more, provoking something deep within him. Even with the love of another, he was unable to shake the feeling. Despite this, he married Alessio Costa’s daughter, Adriana and started a family of his own. Luciano Santoro was instantly brought into this world that was filled with anguish and greed. Despite his father’s best efforts, he couldn’t hide this from Luciano. The need for more had encased his heart, making him unreachable. He Imagined a world in which he was on top with his wife by his side, despite the fact that Adriana was a Costa before she was a Santoro. Luciano’s father knew that as long as Alessio Costa was alive, this dream would not come true. Desperate to rise above himself, he began his long plan to overtake the Costa empire and rule Sicily according to how he wanted it. This betrayal wasn’t something that Alessio had not foreseen and because of this, he had kept a close eye on his son-in-law. Seeing how passionate he was, Alessio knew that he would not be able to win this fight. With the majority of his men turning on him to join Stefano, he knew what had to be done. In order to prevent certain death, he fled to America in hopes that this would suffice as a surrender. Now, Stefano stood before Sicily with more power in his pinkie than both Marcello and Costa combined. His wife soon became fearful of her husband and his capabilities and she decided to follow her father’s steps. Without a word, she packed her bags and took Luciano away from the toxic environment that had been created. Together, they lived alone in the projects based in Los Angeles, California.

With this second chance at life, his mother began to seek comfort in the church and Catholicism soon became a part of daily life. Luciano, however, with the strong resilience that was passed down from his father to him, sought comfort in academic success. Starting in preschool, Luciano began to study as if his life depended on it. For him, it was more than just school. He attached his mother’s sacrifices and his father’s mistakes to success, wanting to rise above the crime, while still attaining enough money to support his mother. Using this as fuel, he began to accelerate in his studies. Luciano was able to skip his kindergarten class and move forward into first grade. From then on, teachers began to notice how gifted he truly was and in order to help him with his goal for academic success, they started giving him more advanced assignments. As the years passed, his mother met another and moved on from his father. Their love seemed to be something that surpassed everything else and they quickly got engaged. Before they could get married, however, it was discovered that Adriana was pregnant. The wedding got moved up so that they could begin their new family ‘the right way.’ Nearly two months earlier than the estimated delivery date, his mother gave birth to a girl. As soon as Luciano’s eyes watched her, he fell in love. Holding her in his arms, he promised to never let anyone hurt her and to protect her until he was no longer alive. This promise, as cheesy as it may have been, heavily impacted the way his life continued. Months passed and his mother began showing troubling behaviors which were quickly diagnosed as postpartum depression. Despite the fact that he was no longer the ‘man of the house,’ Luciano took responsibility for both his mother and his sister’s wellbeing, not yet ready to pass the role on to his stepfather. He spent late nights changing his sister’s diapers and early mornings making breakfast and coffee for his mother. At a young age, he was being depended upon by his whole family and their delicate ecosystem.

Luciano moved into high school and his sister began to grow up, releasing some of the stress that had consumed him in grade school. He walked his sister to her school each day and walked her home. Together, they would find joy in the little things. Counting how many red cars they saw, competing to see who can run to the corner the fastest. It was these small moments in his day that kept him grounded, but as honors classes turned into AP classes, he found himself growing stressed again. As a result of this, Luciano decided to join the school soccer team. Though he had never played it as an organized sport, he was able to make the varsity team. This alleviated some of the stress that he felt and also provided an outlet for any anger or negative emotions that he encountered. The next three years of school seemed to pass with ease and luckily, all of his hard work paid off. Luciano was named the Valedictorian of his class and was accepted into Harvard University with a generous scholarship. Though leaving Los Angeles also meant leaving his family, Luciano now trusted his stepfather with their lives. After earning his Bachelor’s Degree, he moved on to Harvard Law and soon after, became an intern for a law firm. Just as his father and his father before him, Luciano started from the very bottom. Getting coffee and making sure the office was stocked with doughnuts, while tedious, was not satisfying for him. He began to plan his way up the ladder, making connections with his boss and learning information from other lawyers. Before he knew it, Luciano had become a lawyer. Case after case, he was successful and many looked toward him with both jealousy and admiration. At a young age, he was surpassing his elders and getting clients that were well off in terms of money. This career was rewarding and with a lot of hard work and dedication, he was able to buy his mother her own house and support his family.

L I F E   D U R I N G   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

Cheyenne, Wyoming was nothing special for Luciano. As a favor for a friend that he had met in college, he took on an easy case for a low amount of money. Upon landing and leaving the airport, strange things began to occur. People had become sick at an alarming rate, but Luciano thought little of it. He called his little sister, letting her know that he had reached the city safely and that he was healthy. However, as he was speaking with her, he began to hear the terrified screams of another. Hanging up on his sister, he immediately rushed over. He watched as a sickly young woman let out unearthly groans of anguish and began to attack innocent people. Everywhere he looked, the images of the vicious and feral attacks haunted him. Gore covered the city and Luciano was beyond terrified. He had worked with criminals before and defended their cases, but when it came down to it, he simply didn’t have to stomach to deal with this. The moral part of him tried to help those who were sick or hurt, hoping that he would be able to save them. Each time, however, he was unable to do so. It took him a while to accept, but finally, Luciano began to come to terms with the fact that this was the end of the world as he knew it and a new chapter was beginning.

Violence had become widespread and this was the difficult part for him. Even though he knew what he had to do in order to survive, he found it hard to commit these sins. For the first few months, he managed to live in the city without killing anyone or anything. But as the outbreak worsened and the population fell apart, Luciano found that crime was now something that was necessary to his survival. Many times, he tried to venture past the city to find his sister, mother, and stepfather. Each attempt, however, ended in failure. With killing and stealing now becoming a part of who he was, he found himself seeking comfort in the Bible and praying to God. While most people lost their faith, Luciano seemed to strengthen it. Finally, he worked up enough confidence to find his family. Packing up his bags, he worked his way down to his childhood home. His mother and stepfather were found in the living room, laying in pools of blood, but his sister was nowhere to be found. Pictures around the house were taken out of their frames, giving Luciano enough evidence to believe that she was still out there. There was no time to waste and he immediately began his desperate search for his sister. He worked his way back to Cheyenne, knowing that if she were still alive, she’d be on her way to the city that Luciano had been in when the outbreak first became a reality. He meticulously searched the country as he made his way back to Cheyenne, but unfortunately, his sister was nowhere to be found.

L I F E   A F T E R   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

The loss of his sister was difficult to deal with, but not impossible. He knew that wherever she was, she would want him to continue living and not give up. This served as fuel for him and he became determined to succeed, even when he did not want to. Even when he could no longer see her or speak with her, he was still wrapped around his little sister’s finger. Using his charming personality, and cutthroat lawyer traits, Luciano was able to survive. He managed to live while minimizing his kill count, choosing to solve his problems diplomatically. It took a while, but he finally began to feel secure enough in the city to join a survivor group. Though many of them looked nice and inviting, the V.A Medical Center seemed to attract him more due to the spacious outlay of the building. While he enjoyed being and living with other people, he also found that growing attached to people meant getting hurt. This also impacted his decision to become a trader as it allowed him the freedom he needed and prevented him from growing restless.

As a child, he had prayed with his mother. However, as he did so, never believed that there was a God out there. He was a firm believer in science and evolution, finding that to be a more realistic view. But as things worsened and his emotional well being was put on the line, he found himself connecting with this part of his mother and began to pray. While he does not bring up religion or faith to others, he is also not shy about his beliefs. Spending time in the local churches and carrying a worn out copy of the Bible became essential to his psyche. For him, repenting for his sins and asking for forgiveness is the only way he can continue surviving. The killing, whether warranted or not, fill his dreams and evoke regret within him, making it impossible to live a life without hatred. This feeling, however, does not typically extend out toward anyone. Instead, it festers within him and creates a strong self-loathing for himself. To him, it reaches further than the idea of death and sin. It shatters the very image he had worked so hard to create for himself and all of the efforts he’s put in so that he can separate himself from his father. Now, however, his actions have put him head-to-head with his father.

Luciano, while seemingly level-headed, faces a war within himself. On one side, he wants to survive. But on the other, he does not want to turn into his father. This causes a great amount of emotional turmoil for him and though he is living successfully now, he feels as though the path of destruction has already been taken. No matter how much he prays and confesses his sins, he feels as though it’s not enough. All of the pain and suffering that he has brought onto others makes it difficult for him to live with himself and since his image has already been ruined, he’s tempted to follow his father’s lead. His whole life, he’s taken the harder route and persevered in areas where he should have failed. Now, it feels as though the failure is inevitable and that no matter what he does, he will not fall far from the tree. Luciano is just clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, his spirit is not beyond the path of salvation.