#they were born raised trained to be a tool weapon attack-dog

[miss-tc-nova]

A SOLDIER’s Memories - Cloud Strife x Fem!Reader Pt 4

AAAAH! I’ve been working on this for a couple weeks writing and deleting and rearranging and editing and aaaahhh! 

Part 4: SOLDIER’s Honor

                It’s been five years since I lost everything important to me, since I lost my reason for living, and since my promotion to SOLDIER First Class. Now I’m just a glorified dog doing as the master says. Since the disappearance of the top SOLDIERs, I’ve become Shinra’s scapegoat figurehead for the program. They raise me up to symbolize peace and protection and even female empowerment as the first female SOLDIER, encouraging others to join because “even a slum rat can become a hero.” I’m the ultimate underdog who rose to the top, but they’ll never breathe a word of the true story.

                Some pests have been attacking our reactors. This AVALANCHE group is quickly climbing the list of those to that need to be eliminated. What bothers me most is that there are rumors that a rogue First Class SOLDIER is among them, but with so few of us, I can’t think of a single one that’s gone missing without cause.

                The Sector 1 reactor has just been destroyed. Pulling a cloak over my uniform, I plan to do a little investigation. The rebels are supposedly hiding out somewhere in the slums. If I can stop them, I can prevent some serious Shinra retaliation and prevent innocent lives being ruined; at least that’s what the little cat-bot begged of me. With the hood up to hide my face, I take my leave.

                I start at Sector 8, planning to intercept the rebels or work my way back through the sectors in search of them. Shouts and gunfire catch my attention. Bolting in that direction, I find a single man standing among a heap of fallen Shinra officers. The rumors appear to be true: he’s clad in a First Class uniform.

                “I suppose it was to be expected that standard infantrymen wouldn’t stand up to you.” I announce my presence, drawing my favored weapon and revealing my title.

                The man whirls on me, wielding a strikingly familiar sword. Before I can question him, I catch sight of his face and I black out for a second.

                The man grimaces but quickly regains control. His entire body tenses, grip tightening on the hilt. “It’s been a long time. Maybe you can put up a fight.”

                “You…” I utter in disbelief. “They told me you were dead.”

                “Guess they lied.”

                There’s something different about him. Then I see the glow in his eyes; he’s been exposed to mako. The blood drains from my face when I remember that SOLDIERs are monsters born from mako. He adjusts his weapon and I take a step back.

                “I don’t remember you being a coward,” he says. “But maybe they don’t hold standards for us First Class like they used to.”

                “Us?” I repeat, stunned.

                His chin rises in defiance. “That’s right. Ex-SOLDIER. First Class. Same as you, remember.”

                This is nothing like the man I remember; he’s dark and confrontational. Whatever they did to him, they ruined the Cloud that I had fallen in love with. Not only that, but he seems to think he was SOLDIER. My thoughts race as I try to understand what I’ve fallen into.

                “What’s wrong with you? Did you blow up the reactor?” I snarl, frustration and hysteria building. His silence is answer enough. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

                His weapon rises, prepared to strike. “Are you going to fight or not?”

                “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but it’s over.”

                “Sounds like a fight then.”

                Shinra infantry have standard sword training, but tend to have higher proficiencies in firearms; Cloud was no exception. However, mako exposure enhances a person’s physical abilities, including muscle mass; it doesn’t exactly make up for skill though. So while I’m impressed he can even wield the Buster Sword, he’s probably barely a match for even a Third Class SOLDIER. He’s easy to dodge and clearly has yet to build the real muscle to fight with such a heavy weapon for long.

                I divert his sword again, but can hear more yelling in the distance; more troops are on their way. I could put a stop to Cloud’s nonsense right now; take him to the ground and drag him back with me. The problem is what Shinra will do with him when I do. The company is very iffy about its employees, let alone when they leave, but Cloud is not only acting as if he were SOLDIER but he’s also threatening every life here in Midgar. Shinra would destroy him. If I take him back with me now, they’ll kill him for sure.

                Once again, I prevent him from tearing into me. “Listen to me, whatever AVALANCHE is doing, it needs to stop.”

                “I don’t take orders from you.”

                “I’m not playing around! You need to get out of here and stop terrorizing Midgar!”

                Cloud prepares to launch another attempted onslaught, but my reinforcements are just around the corner.

                My weapons drop and Cloud’s brows knit together. I take one last chance to take in his face, to truly process that this is Cloud Strife, and then I pull my hood back up and stride away in a back alley. Before I get out of range, I pause.

                If I get caught here, I’m in deep trouble. But if he gets caught…

                Turning back, I see he’s surrounded. He hasn’t built the stamina to fight with the Buster Sword so the troop surrounding him now has a fair chance of taking him down. He backs away from them and I watch on, fighting with myself about what I’ll do if he’s caught. It’s his greatest fortune that a train passes beneath us, which he takes to make his getaway.

                The Shinra employees disperse and, for a moment, I stare at the spot where I found him, where I discovered that my lost love is still alive.

                Spinning on heel, I storm down the alley. Tears muddle my vision but I continue. Every step is agony; I want to chase him down, throw him against a wall, and scream and cry and demand answers. There’s not a trace of those old feelings—feelings that I’m still suffering over. I’ve been left behind to mourn the past while he’s masquerading as a SOLDIER. I spent years in a self-loathing hell and he just turns up out of nowhere like we’ve never met before. I’m furious and enraged and…sad.

                “Ah, there you are, lassie.” A crowned, bi-pedal feline hops from a ladder. “I was comin’ to warn you that they spotted the terrorists…” At my feet, the cat peers up at me, suddenly not as eager as he was before. “Are you alright?”

                “Did you know?” I manage to get out in a dark tone. Amongst my tsunami of emotions, it’s amazing I can speak to him so evenly. He takes a step back. “Did you know it was him?!” Before he can scurry away, I snatch him up and hold him against the wall by his neck. “Answer me! Or I swear I’ll scrap you for parts and use your pelt to shine my boots!” When he stammers, I scream, “DID YOU KNOW WHO HE WAS?!”

                He frantically waves his hands. “No! I don’t know who they are! All I know is that they call themselves AVALANCHE and that there was a SOLDIER among them!”

                “Don’t toy with me!” I snarl.

                “I swear! I haven’t even seen their faces!” For a robot, he’s pretty genuine. I don’t know if he’s telling me the truth or not, but I won’t get any information out of him like this.

                I attempt to control my sigh, trying to release the anger but hold in the sadness. My fingers uncurl, letting my informant fall to his feet. Mildly ashamed of myself, I turn away from him.

                “So…You know these people?” he asks with caution in his voice.

                “I know the SOLDIER,” I mutter bitterly.

                “Then perhaps there’s a way to negotiate with them. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

                I shake my head. “There’s nothing between us. He’ll try to cut me down if I get in his way.” Each word comes with spurs—painful to say.

                “Come on. I need you to try. There’s talks of how Shinra’s gonna deal with these terrorists and hundreds, maybe thousands, of casualties could happen!” he begs. It’s the same line he got me with last time.

                I don’t know this cat; I don’t know who he works for, who’s controlling him, or what he wants. I came to investigate the reactor bombing because it was in my best interest as well. He says he’s trying to prevent the loss of human life, but he’s got some sort of line in Shinra; he’s got to with information like this. That being said, if there’s even a trace of a connection between him and Shinra, I could be signing my own death warrant.

                “You realize that I’m a Shinra employee, right?” I snap. “Why should I help you? Why the hell would you ask a First Class SOLDIER to try and prevent whatever the hell the top dogs are up to?”

                His ears droop a bit as if I’ve just crushed his hopes with my bare hands. “Because you seemed to be the only SOLDIER with any honor left.”

                Memories of my best friend ranting and stomping about proclaiming the honor of SOLDIER as the most important thing a SOLDIER could have blinks in my brain like a faulty light at the end of a dark road. Guilt is now swimming among the debris of my sanity. It provokes the grief and antagonizes the resentment.

                “You think SOLDIERs have honor?” I retort, the prevalent anger rolling off me. “Well you’re fucking wrong!” He hurries up the ladder, out of my reach. “We’re just mutts doing as the master says before he puts a bullet in our brains for being disobedient! He says heel, we do; he says, roll over, we do; he says kill! We! Do! Doesn’t matter who or when or why!” I shake a fist at him. “Where’s the honor in that?! Huh?! So don’t you fucking try to sweet-talk me into another one of your damn intervention schemes because the last thing I need is to explain that a talking, robot cat convinced me to ruin Shinra’s plans while there’s a fucking gun against my head! Got it! I don’t wanna be part of your little hero game! It’s not gonna turn out in your favor! So leave me out of it!”

                Wanting to get out of this situation, to forget everything, I continue storming down the alley.

                “W-Wait! You’re the only one who can help me!” he calls out.

                “Didn’t you hear me?! Fuck off!” I shout, leaving the cat behind.

                At the Shinra compound, I end up locked in my room where everything and anything is a tool in a vain attempt to relieve this agony. 

[cleophantom]

Alright, presenting the Lunar Thieves AU! It's an AU of Pokemon Moon (specifically Moon) where the female protagonist (Selene) and other characters become Phantom Thieves.

The major theme is failed parents, the effects thereof on thier children, and overcoming such an obstacle to become a better, stronger person while mixing in some of Persona 5's themes of rebellion and rehabilitation.

The major characters are as follows

-Selene

The protagonist. A Wild Card (because of course). Her intial Persona takes the form of Atalanta. The main focus in this version of Atalanta is her abandonment by her parents and being raised by bears. Her thief suit is based on the design of Lunala as well as the aesthetic of a sort of Catwoman-esque thief. Like Ann, but without the sexualization. Her weapon is a tonfa, a nod to the crescent bits on Lunala's wings.

-Hau

His Persona is Kamehameha. I figured that Hau's Persona should be a Hawaiian figure, and Kamehameha I didn't seem like a bad one. One bit of symbolism here is that Hau's Persona is the First of his lineage, despite Hau's status as Hala's grandson. It represents Hau's desire to escape his his grandfather's shadow and make a name for himself. His Thief Suit resembles the appearance of Inceneroar, the "heel" nature of it allowing it to fit in with the darker tones of Phantom Thieves, while taking inspiration from the Masked Royal.

-Hau's Father

His palace is set in the Alolan headquarters of his company, which he views as a military base from which he carries out his assault on his enemies. His cognitive version of Hala is a giant monster that storms outside the base, voicing his disapproval and attacking. Other cognitions are seen either as other monsters assaulting the base, or as captured POWs whose labour is being exploited to fuel the war machine. To Hau's father, success has become everything. You're either an enemy, or a tool.

Hau's father is the first Palace owner encountered. Up until that point, the only Persona activity had been clashes with Team Skull members using the Metaverse to commit crimes with the help of the artificial Persona, Skull. In many ways, Hau's father serves as a dark reflection of his son. He, too, wishes to escape the shadow cast on his life by Hala. He became obsessed with achieving great success, at any cost. He turned to dangerous and illegal methods of training his Pokemon to ensure they could win any battle. He also became the head of a corporation in Kanto with ties to Team Rocket, seeing their partnership as a legitimate strategy that proves his mettle as a businessman. When Team Rocket fell, Hau's father continued the illegal activity in order to keep his company afloat.

By the time the party faces him, he's adopted a sort of Senator Armstrong Darwinist mentality. That only the strong survive, and they do so by casting off any rules but their own and crushing the weak.

-Gladion

Gladion's Persona is Whateley, named after the Whateley family from the HP Lovecraft story "The Dunwhich Horror." In the story, the head of the family, Old Man "Wizard" Whately, uses his daughter, Lavinia Whateley, as a vessel through which the spawn of elder god Yog-Sothoth could be born. The Persona is specifically based on Wilbur and his more monstrous brother, both of whom existed solely for the purpose of bringing Yog-Sothoth to the real world. Wilbur met his end when he stole the Necronomicon in desperation and was attacked by a dog, while the more monstrous brother was hunted down by the scientists from the university from which Wilbur attempted to steal. The symbolism is in how both of them were left with no aid from either their absent father or their mad mother. The more monstrous brother is closer to what the Persona Whateley represents: abandoned by his mother and father and left to make its own way. Gladion's theft of Type:Null also somewhat parallels Wilbur's attempted theft of the Necronomicon, and Wilbur's accelerated aging plays on Gladion having to "grow up fast" outside of Aether Paradise.

-Magearna

Magearna in this AU fills the "temp navigator who knows how the other world works" role, as well as being the user of Metanav. Magearna can detect distortions in an area thanks to her empathic abilities. The traditional "list the owner's name, distortion, and crime" bit is just there to help Magearna home in on the distortion and take those nearby there. This facet of her abilities are also what let her serve as a navi. She encounters the protagonist as a result of a hidden lab belonging to Mohn being unearthed. Magearna was found motionless, but reactivated at Selene's touch. She claimed not to remember anything from before her activation, but felt a strong desire to aid Selene.

And now it's time for her Tragic Backstory™. So, like the Dex says, she was made by an Alchemist/Mechanic as a gift for the king's daughter and as proof of his abilities. Magearna served as the princess' nursemaid, and treasured serving the girl. Though, the latter grew colder towards Magearna as she got older, as the Pokemon reminded the princess that her mother viewed her as a burden. Eventually, Magearna attacked a suspicious man that turned out to be the Duke. The Princess, King, and Magearna's creator were outraged by this (which Magearna felt intensely thanks to her empathic abilities), and ordered that she be destroyed for her crimes. Magearna escaped her pursuers, but she was left in great emotional pain from the incident. She could not face it so instead she forced herself to try and forget the events and attempted to emotionally hollow herself out. Her body eventually broke down, leaving her soul-heart in a state of dissociation for hundreds of years.

Eventually, Magearna is forced to confront her Shadow, and (after the song-and dance of P4) resolves to try and face her pain slowly, saying that doing so is the only way to truly overcome her trauma. This awakens her Persona, Brutus.

Brutus is infamous as a traitor, but he was also a man who attempted to do the right thing in felling Caesar before the latter could become a monarch, and a philosopher that followed the school of stoicism. Stoicism teaches that the path to happiness is accepting the moment as it is without allowing oneself to be controlled by desire or fear. The noble traitor aspect ties into Magearna attacking the Duke, but the stpocism aspect represents Magearna confronting her past trauma and a reverse of the dissociation that Magearna spent so much time immersing herself in.

She remains a Navi after awakening to Brutus, though her lines do change.

-Lillie

Lillie's Persona is Medusa. This incarnation of the legendary gorgon focuses on her being wronged by the world. Though Posiedon wronged Medusa, she was transformed into a monster because Athena could not retaliate against Poseidon. This version combines both interpretations of Athena' act. Medusa's transformation was a curse meant to bring her lower, but it granted Medusa the agency to protect herself. Lillie awakens to Medusa in Lusamine's Palace out of frustration at her helplessness and disgust at Lusamine's nature. So often wronged by the world, Lillie turns that strife into power in order to protect herself and those she cares about.

-Lusamine

Lusamine is a Palace owner and user of the artificially awakened Persona Hera. Her Palace is Aether Paradise, her distortion is, well, paradise, and her crime is "abuse". Yeah, just "abuse". Child, animal, of authority, all kinds of abuse. She appears as an angelic figure, and by that I mean she's a humanoid with wings and a flaming sword, with a wheel that resembles Arceus' behind her wings at all times because Lusamine IS that vain. Her deal is the whole "if you're not beautiful, then I don't need you" mentality she's got. Hera was artificially awakened via some Nihilego toxin-based drugs and Lusamine must take Persona Suppressants to keep her Persona from killing her. As a result, Shadow Lusamine can also wield Hera. Hera was chosen as a perversion of motherhood, namely because of the story of Hera casting Hephaestus off of Mount Olympus when the latter god was born deformed and disabled. Its essence was combined with psychological data from members of Team Skull to form another artificial Persona, Skull. Hera and Skull have the ability to summon and control shadows. Her treasure gets stolen (said Treasure being a set of 2 letters: one informing Lusamine of Mohn's disappearance and another from Mohn about how he's on the brink of something big and once he's done this, he'lltake time off work to spend more time with the family), and the palace collapses. Strangely, thiugh, Lusamine doesn't experience a change of heart, which puts everyone on high alert. Team Skull goons end up kidnapping Lillie and taking her to the real Aether Paradise. The rest of the Thieves infiltrate it like in the prime universe, and they find Lusamine saying some strange shit when they encounter her: mankind is nothing but a plague that feeds on itself. It's a horrible black spot on an otherwise pristine universe. Her Shadow didn't mention anything like that, so the group is even more confused. She ends up using Nebby to tear open portals to Ultra Space, which temporatily grants power to use Personas because of its unspecified connections to the Collective Unconsciousness. Shadows and UBs pour into the real world, with the Kahunas and Island Guardians doing their best to fight 'em off. The party is forced to flee and help clean up the Shadows. It turns out that the obligatory evil god took Lusamine as its host in order to continue her plans.

-Guzma

Guzma is another Palace owner, and he posesses a Skull persona. Guzma's Palace is the mansion in Po Town, which he views as a shrine to his power. His Palace collapses before his Treasure can be taken when Lusamine gives him those temporary death drugs Shido took. This results in a battle at Lusamine's Palace where Guzma uses Skull to control his own shadow. He loses, of course, and the party leaves Guzma to confront his Shadow. He ultimately accepts it and it fuses with Skull to become Hell's Angel. Yeah, his persona is Hell Biker, SMT lore to connect to Guzma and all. For those who don't know, Hell's Angel was a man so consumed with hatred of himself and of society that he turned into a demon. That's basically Guzma's schtick with Team Skull, too.

-The Obligatory Evil God™

Guess who's back? That's right, it's Nyarlathotep. He manipulated certain events involving Ultra Space (Nebby appearing on Earth, Mohn getting sucked into the Ultra Wormhole, and others) so that he could begin the process of merging reality and Ultra Space so that Necrozma would eat all light and kill humanity as a result. Ture to his nature, Nyarlathotep has grand old time taunting the party about his plans before siccing Necrozma on Nebby. Phase 1 of the final boss begins against Dawn Wings Necrozma. Then Nyarlathotep intervenes and fights the party himself in 2 phases, first as the Mother Beast form Lusamine took after merging with Nihilego, then as a more "normal" Nyarlathotep that's kind of a mix of the Great Father from P2: IS, his true form from P2:EP, and the Mother Beast. Then he releases Lusamine, as reality and Ultra Space are now so merged that he no longer requires a host, instead taking the form of Tatsuya from the "Other Side". Then he directs the party towards Megalo Tower, where Necrozma is absorbing enough light to return to its original form. The final boss is Necrozma, who--predictably--has an impossible-to-survive skill in the form of using Light That Burns the Sky over and over. How? Nyarlathotep steals everyone's Z-crystals and uses them to power up Necrozma further. The obligatory will-of-many power-up happens and Atalanta evolves into Coyolxauhqui: the decapitated moon goddess and devourer of the sun. She fulfills her role and absorbs a lot of Necrozma's excess power, overwhelming it with light and defeating it. Nyarlathotep isn't fazed by Necrozma's loss, though. Reality and Ultra Space are merging, and he'll soon just be able to modify reality the way he used to. That's when Philemon intervenes, and combines his power with that of Lunala to force Ultra Space and regular space apart once more. Nyarlathotep, pissed off beyond all measure at losing again when he was about to finally win, transforms and attacks Philemon. Philemon tells the party that they have more than proven the strength of man and Pokemon and asks them to leave Nyarlathotep to him. The party takes advantage of Lunala to flee back to normal space.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (8/16)

The final preparations before Savage’s would-be rescue.

Zombie Savage AU | 4k | warnings for body horror, past child abuse, murder fantasies, suicidal ideation | also on AO3

Master’s laughter echoes through the Mandalorian palace, it slithers into a tiny dirty cell on Mustafar and sullies the bloody fields of Orsis. It coats the amorphous unknown space where Savage must be held prisoner right now, pulsing, keening, writhing, and it’s all Maul can do to trace and retrace the edges of scratched s-patterns a bored commander must have left, over the course of weeks or years, on this twelve-seat durasteel conference table. It’s all he can do to feel the old lightning, and then fixate instead on the plush of his armchair, furred and bright against the scars on his bare back. Its muted softness under his metal buttocks. Such dissimilar sensations, and yet: that child on Mustafar could never have anticipated either.

That child on Mustafar, the apprentice, the shell kneeling hopeless in his cabin—none of them could have imagined the magnitude of this betrayal. None of them would have dared.

A phantom snake wriggles slowly out of his left heart, and Maul opens his eyes. The holocam blinks its standby mode light. The debrief, at last, is over. He’s told Death Watch—told Kast and Saxon and Jagrub and Ventress in this room, and by broadcast, the two-hundred-seventy most trusted supercommandos staffing their new ships—told them every little detail he knows about Sidious.

About the Sith.

It was the only tactically correct course.

They are committed now to recovering his brother. Death Watch liberated this Separatist dreadnaught from its bored commander, and another one too, and they have each swapped out their beskar and weapons for gear manufactured outside of Mandalore. An unpopular but vital precaution, Kast had insisted, never quite explaining why. The unfamiliar equipment will impede their attack, but Maul hadn’t bothered to argue the point. He’ll have them run drills to adjust to the new weight of their blasters and armor every parsec of their approach, and still, in the end: nothing will make a difference.

They are, after all, going to attack Lord Sidious.

They are going to provoke the most powerful being in the galaxy.

They are committed to their death.

Nobody else seems to accept this yet, despite the two hours Maul has spent patiently explaining the Sith lord’s empyreal power, His intentions and wiles, His provenance and destiny, His secretiveness, His honeyed barbed tongue, His skill with twin ‘sabers and His speed and the bite of His lightning and the way He always countered before Maul had even thought of his next move. His glorious plan for the galaxy, for ancient revenge—or at least the parts of it that He revealed to His throwaway apprentice—everything sprayed out like bright arterial blood. The blockade of Naboo. Iram Radique’s nuclear device, purpose and status unknown. The new ex-Jedi pet. It’s more than Maul ever shared with his brother. More than Savage ever cared to hear, and maybe, if back then he’d…

Maul told Death Watch of the training regimen his Master devised for His sentient weapon, recited the qotsisajak, called down Bane’s words and the acrid ghosts of Malachor. He’s laid out everything, in case it holds a single clue for anyone among them, the merest shred of advantage, from ancient secret philosophies down to the bite of the dinko. Whatever legacy was his to betray, he did.

(He went against everything he was ever raised to be, and yet: perhaps worry should have dogged Lord Sidious’ every step, ever since the moment He beat Maul and left him hopeless, abandoned and irresponsibly alive. The apprentice will reach for any weapon to gain his victory, will tear the Master from His throne with power and wit and perfidy. Perhaps this betrayal is simply a foreign compulsion, born of those dreams every night now when Maul returns to the floor of Sundari palace to attempt to trap magic inside his murdered brother. Lately, those dreams have been filled with determination, hunger, as Savage rises metal-studded and animate and swears, “This weapon will not rot until I tear the monster apart. I’m close now. I’ve nearly—” An hour after waking, the urge to burn everything down usually appears to fade from Maul’s veins, but perhaps…

Perhaps loyalty to the Sith was the last thing Maul had to shed, in order to take his revenge. His victory. Publicity and disclosure, after all, are just another kind of weapon, one that will ripple on long after the blow has been dealt and the dealer, in all likelihood, killed. Where one wretched apprentice foundered, an army may yet succeed. Might be able to save—)

He has made his choice. Everyone in this room is going to die.

Kast and Saxon are in the corner talking in rapid Mando’a, but Maul can still make out a few words. ‘Nite Owls’, ‘two weeks’, ‘reinforcement’. They’re making plans, as if there was still a future for them. It hasn’t sunk in yet.

It probably won’t, until they too have felt the enormity of Sidious’ presence, and by then it will be too late. Maul would laugh at their fervor, their trust—their aphid idiocy—if not for the fact that they’re pausing every few words to look over at him, bare faces slathered with inapposite pity. Besides, he’s counting on lunacy: he only revealed the truth because he knew it wouldn’t change anyone’s mind. Just in case, he delayed the briefing until the plan was announced to the entire army and the decoy ships, already commandeered. Death Watch cannot back out now, not without the appearance of cowardice, even if their minds could grasp the true grandeur of the Sith, and, by contrast, the abjection of the discarded tool they retrieved from Stygeon’s secret prison some months prior. Manipulated, disillusioned, beaten until there was nothing in him but survival: and now, the worst fool of all, Maul will trade away the only thing he has left for a meager sliver of hope.

In Sundari, Maul chose life. He relinquished his hold on magic and his brother’s hand and stood and begged and was dashed against the floor again and again and again. He survived. He knelt and mourned and abhorred his weakness—his failure, and the insuperable pain of it, when those as weak as his brother were never supposed to deserve anything more than death—and he dreamt and learnt that his wallowing in safety was but a second betrayal against his brother. In the Master’s clutches, Savage lives. For months, he has lived. Suffered, while Maul idled. Another chance! Another look! Another gentle touch, another show of gross ineptitude, another grumbled deprecation of the training that made all that Maul is, another promise beyond the ever-dreaming hollow, “She raised a weapon for Her revenge.” Any other promise. Anything at all.

Maul would barter everything in exchange.

He will.

He shall not allow himself the craven comfort of denying it. In his pounding phantomsnake-infested hearts he knows: not even this total betrayal of the Sith will give them the power to free his brother. They are all going to die.

Maybe they won’t. There is little chance that after weeks in the Master’s custody, Savage is still anything approaching sentient, despite what Ventress may have claimed, despite the presence Maul feels every dream, the connection. Hope is a foolish pursuit. Whether they extract a corpse or his brother, though, they’re going to locate Savage today, they’re going to fly straight towards him in their stolen ships, and they’ll carry him out. They’ll leave, as quickly as they can. Maybe Lord Sidious won’t even be there. He’d left that child in its Mustafar cell for months on end. He did not even bother to torture Maul on Stygeon for more than a few hours Himself, preferring to pass on the duty, and Savage was weak even before Sidious touched him. Why watch a failed apprentice’s failed apprentice? A still-breathing corpse? Maybe no-one will have to face the Sith lord. Maybe an army will succeed where a lone fighter… Maybe—No. Enough. Maul always believed his Master’s training stripped him of the last dregs of cowardice, but apparently, he was wrong: he’s bargaining. He’s sheltering in false comforts. If he is going to lead them all to their deaths, the least he can do is admit the inevitable.

The least he can do is stand up.

Death Watch must be getting impatient. As soon as Maul forces himself to raise his eyes—turning away from the coddling indifference of the holocam—Jagrub starts talking. “Mand’Alor? Vercop’ashnar verborir—” and then she lets out a jumble of other words, even more unfamiliar, before she cuts herself off.

She’s not one of those, usually, who address him directly. Maul understands Death Watch’s tendency to converse in Mando’a—if he is to avoid appearing an outsider and risking another schism, replying in kind is indispensable—but his early training held no space for anything that would not advance the revenge of the Sith, let alone the languages of minor regional hegemons, and neither Kast nor him prioritized resuming the lessons interrupted when Sidious attacked Sundari. Jagrub’s brow bunches up with the effort of simplifying her words to a level he can understand. “We should… Permission to send… scouts to find more of Rook’morut'yc?” A frustrated grunt. “No, what will he… Weapons? Goore.”

Kast glances at Jagrub, and then at Ventress. She must decide the suggestion is urgent, because she explains in Common, “Jagrub is talking of slugthrowers. Impossible to deflect with a lightsaber. Mandalore has not fought a war against the Jedi in centuries, but they were more effective than blasters then, and enough should remain as heirlooms or in museums to furnish our army. A delay of a few days to retrieve them, if you believe that Savage will survive that long. Else, we’ll make do with the five we currently have.”

Jagrub says something else.

“Shut up. And yes, we should fetch Kuma and T’bas from Zanbar, they’ll like a challenge. There must be some records of electricity-resistant clothing somewhere. Or we could jury-rig a lightning arrestor to carry around. Lightsabers, force lightning… no need to counter his eloquence, as we know him for the demagolka he is.” Kast is grinning, or at least showing her teeth. “Regarding secrecy, we’re using that mysterious connection to locate Savage. Is there anything else we’re missing, ‘Alor?”

Fools. Fools all and sundry, and Maul will die with them. “Millennia of Sith planning have culminated in this one Man, to raze the Jedi temple and usher in our—their victory.” He pauses, but it does not appear to have penetrated at all. It never impressed Savage, either. “Lord Sidious will asphyxiate us with His mind. Nothing whatsoever will make this a fight of equals.”

“Poison gas.”

Maul veers around at the sound of her voice, and so does everyone else: Ventress hasn’t said a word in days. She’s still leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed and uncomfortable, but now, she’s also fully engaged with the discussion.

“It’s simple. Poison gas. If we can’t get close to the fucker without getting choked, we’ll go the sneaky route. Don’t look at me like that. I have forty-seven reasons of my own to want him fucking obliterated.”

“An honorable fight for an honorable enemy,” Saxon answers. “Poison for the Republic wasp. I like it.”

Kast does, too. For a while the two Mandalorians bounce suggestions off each other, for different airborne soporifics and sedatives and what’s possible to whip up in a reasonable timeframe and the relative utility of commandos ingesting antidotes versus air filters versus building up immunity, while Maul ignores any invitation to contribute. While he systematically throttles the sprouting futile hopes that this plan might actually work. Ventress is looking fascinated and dismayed and bored by turns, and Jagrub comms two dozen strangers.

Finally, Kast dismisses Saxon—the smirk Ventress levels at Maul is vexing, but he does not bother puzzling it out—and then she faces him directly. Her eyes are a little too sharp and kind when she asks, “Lord Maul? Should we use her Sith magic to locate Savage now, or would you prefer a break?”

“It’s not Sith magic,” Ventress says.

Something has been pulsing inside Maul’s throat. Maybe the absent worms are breeding, or another thing has moved into the vacuum where secrets used to live. Maybe it’s the hope, still undead. The anticipation. Maybe it’s terror. Lord Sidious will never be easier to face, even if Maul delayed it for a thousand years. Already, his cowardice has kept Savage in pain for months. He answers, “Now.”

Kast nods, and Jagrub leaves too. The door closes.

Ventress laughs.

Let her think what she will about Kast’s decision to stay by his side. Let her parse it as caution, fear, a confession of frailty on his part: Asajj Ventress is the least of his concerns. Sundari and Dathomir gnawed Maul down to pale bones. He knows his place. His face. His failures. It is a weakness, if minor, that Maul has learnt so quickly to acquiesce to the peculiar Death Watch custom of the buddy system. (“It’s easy to settle every argument with a fight to the death,” Saxon had answered Savage’s question at the victory feast, glancing back over to where Kast was crushing the knuckles of Jagrub’s hand in what could have been a fist. “Tempting, too. Klows there has always been a dick. But we need to watch our numbers if we want to keep Mandalore, and that’s why she needs a buddy to hold her back when murder is overkill. We all do.”)

It’s an admission that they still need her alive for now. An acknowledgement: of how easily he could kill her. Even a failed Sith will eclipse her thousandfold. Let her laugh.

Let her believe that when in a minute he bows his head and bids her enter and work her bastardized Sith rites to find his brother, it is a reenactment of the same ritual she and hers forced upon Savage and his family and even those impostor brothers that Death Watch have been rounding up. Let her gloat, as if he does not plan—in the impossible future after he faces his Master—as if he does not plan as soon as they return to hold her head still and present her neck.

As if he will not gift his brother the liberty of cutting her throat.

Savage flinched hard and often in those early weeks, Maul remembers, whether from his own intrinsic ungainliness or a focused fear of misstep, of lashing out, of punishment, and so it took longer than it should have, to taste the difference in terror on the day his apprentice knelt and declared he had a murder to confess. When he warned that Maul should be prepared for Savage to attack him at any moment: that his body was a tool already once used to kill someone he loved, Maul took it as a hubristic boast of strength and the emotion as a weakness to exploit for loyalty. He did not yet appreciate what it must have taken, to make anyone this afraid of his own hands.

How it would feel, to call someone’s weapon your brother.

That he would one day look at the person who wielded Savage.

That he would keep looking.

That he would allow her to breathe, walk, talk; that he would plan to let her touch his mind; that he would smell approaching vengeance and he would force himself to know its present uselessness. Its impotence. Ventress will die soon, by the Master’s hand or by Savage’s, but nothing will ever put anything back to rights even in that impossible future where Death Watch’s fatuous plan actually succeeds. Maul remembers how weapons are forged. He’s never seen one un-created.

(“The Mother has raised me as Her weapon,” Savage promises, every dream, every night. There is no reason to choke him silent with magic anymore, but Maul does.)

Let Ventress enjoy her empty triumph. Her last few worthless days. Maul looks down to see his own hand trembling, impatient, and Kast in the corner of his eyes moves closer though she must know she is superfluous. He shakes his head. The urge stays.

“The bond between apprentice and Master is rare. Multiple strong links centered on a person, even rarer,” he intones, pacing, instead of giving in. A stall, perhaps, but an explanation of the hidden intricacies of the force will do Kast good. The silent dam has been breached, and there is a perverse sort of pleasure now, even, in freely passing on the knowledge Maul pieced together on his knees with no aid from the Man who called himself Master: and to a witch and a mere force-null. “But the connection between people—beings—matter, isn’t. Even now, the living force flows between me and you, invisibly and frail for your weakness but ever-present, between me and her and her and you and the ship and the blaster and everything that surrounds us. We are not separate. The force feasts upon us all, and we consume it in turn. The weak remain ignorant: buoyed and tossed in a sea of all our making; a rally cheering around them, stoking their enthusiasm. The Sith understand it. Manipulate it. Wield it. I can make this ship groan. I can force a room of men to stew in terror and bloodlust…”

He allows himself to forget the self-control necessary for effective mission planning and execution. There is no stale meeting-room air entering his trachea, no difference between the air and his lungs, no plush armchair or indifferent holocam, and then he returns to the amorphous space where Savage is, or his body, writhing in a pile of spectral worms and lightning. Sidious in all his eternal glory looms over him. Sidious will die for taking the only person that has ever been Maul’s, for stealing his future, for pretending to give meaning to Maul’s pain when He always wanted not an apprentice but a weapon. Sidious will—Sidious looms, and Maul hits the floor and the ceiling and the floor again, unmoored because he abandoned the hand he could have clung to, in a vain instinct for survival, the dead hand he tried to keep with magic he did not know, as useless a plea to the force as asking his Master for mercy, and Sidious laughs. Maul and his army sidle into the Master’s prison, and Sidious—

A gasp, and he looks up. Kast’s knees are attempting to buckle, but she does not retreat: instead, she stares at Maul for the first time not with gratitude or exasperation or rankling worry, but awe. It fades into determination. Perhaps, she can be taught yet to fear the Sith.

“I can feast on their response. I can survive on the miasma of my own hatred alone. I can… choose not to connect at all.”

“Is there a point to this or are you just bragging?” Ventress sneers.

Maul breathes until the frenzied mirage dissipates. “A powerful Sith may reinforce that natural connection in the living force, until the exchange between him and his apprentice is anchored, amplified, incessant. He can push towards the apprentice whatever he wishes and draw out what he requires. That is the bond between apprentice and Master. The Jedi use a pallid imitation to guide their padawans. The Nightsisters of Dathomir bind their victims with it, and pretend that it is procreation or destiny, when all the living force is is power the strong exert over the weak. With a single connection, I might contact my apprentice—my brother—and I may fail, but since—” a foul taste— “since Ventress is tied to him as well, she believes she can use our shared connection to triangulate his whereabouts.”

“Essentially,” Ventress says. “If long-winded, overly simplistic and culturally chauvinist. These bonds, and my Sisters, are far more ancient than the Sith. Stop stalling and sit down, will you?”

He returns to the armchair, and Ventress follows. Her spindling finger creeps towards his forehead.

“If this was a trick, you are dead,” Maul whispers. Somewhere behind his back, he can feel Kast draw a weapon.

Ventress laughs again. Up close, the sound is just as grating, but slightly more brittle. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she says. “I have no interest in you, failed Sith. I would sever my connection to Savage Opress yesterday if I could. As soon as possible, I will. Do you want to find him or not?”

It doesn’t feel the way Maul expected, in his heart of hearts. No will hollows him out, as Savage once mumbled, and his hands are his own still. His palms stay poised atop his knees, expectant, lazy. They don’t want to move, and there is no reason to: they are weighed down with rage and bottomless grief. He is alone. Savage is gone, or someone else is—someones, the only people who ever accepted him, who saw him as more than a tool or an annoyance, slaughtered without reason, and now he is trapped, surrounded by those who called down their death and who would see him murdered too, who threatened as much, and he wants to kill them. He can’t. He must stay. He must come even closer, mess with dangerous magicks no-one still alive knows anything about—oh Sisters, why didn’t you tell me what using Opress would mean—must allow this connection to trace and sever the bond that is drowning him. He will do whatever it takes. He will live. There is no-one else left. Maul’s feelings grow and twist and slowly shade alien, until he could almost redraw the boundaries to Ventress’ mind—don’t you dare mess this up now—and then he opens their eyes in a cramped dark space.

They keel over and retch.

They bring up nothing but spit, despite the rancid air and the dull burning ache in their torso. They—he—the body reaches up to inspect the pulsing gashes roughly where a zabrak’s hearts would be, but something clatters when they attempt to touch their wounds, and the hand will not move. Shackles? They yank and tear, then retch again. Something slithered out of their chest cavity. Something lives inside them. They crouch and gasp, and gradually they remember: they must be careful not to catch their metal arm in any of the debris patching up their ruined skin. They already grew used to this once. They’re accustomed to the smell, the pain, this room; have learnt it over years or days or months in this sunsetless hollow. There is no decay, they know, in this space devoid of mold and insects, no relief, no rebirth. No life without brothers. No rest. No vengeance without direction; no death without the monster’s blood. Not yet. They have accepted their purpose. They are Her last weapon. They should not have flinched. Something is wrong. Something new is wrong.

Something… They remember. They’re here to find—my brother—the nightbrother—Savage Opress.

They look around.

The floor is nondescript, covered in bowls of rotten food. The ceiling is low, gleaming durasteel. A spaceship, most likely. A cell, but no manacles. There’s no sign of Sidious or any of his goons. There must be another clue, a location, a direction… They close their eyes and reach out. There’s life nearby. There’s—

They remember their purpose. They know where they are headed; they are close, so close now, to finding the location of Her enemy. They just need to keep moving for a little longer. Soon, the Mother will see Her enemy burn.

Soon, Her weapon at last be allowed to—

“Lord Maul!”

Kast is bent over them, shaking their shoulders frantically. They flinch back into a soft plush headrest and raise their—raises his hands to push her away. Maul stares at his fingers. Flesh and blood, the way they always have been.

Ventress is sprawled at his feet. She’s sallow in the bright electric light, shivering, and she rasps out, “He’s in orbit over Entralla. We need to move.”

[thedcdunce]

Hardware

“I never thought about dying before. It makes me want to live.” - Hardware

Real Name: Curtis “Curt” Metcalf

Gender: Male

Height: 6′ 1″

Weight: 170 lbs (77 kg)

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Black

Abilities:

Genius Level Intellect

Martial Arts

Firearms

Equipment:

The Hardware

Skylark

Curtis' Personal Car

The Hardware

Custom Handgun

Universe:

Dakotaverse

New Earth

Citizenship: American

Base of Operations:

Hard Company

Alva Technologies, Dakota City

Parents:

Mitchell Metcalf; father

Denise Metcalf; mother

Marital Status: Married (Barraki Young; wife)

Occupation:

Businessman

Inventor

Scientist

Education: College graduate with seven scientific degrees

First Appearance: Hardware #1 (April, 1993)

Abilities

Genius Level Intellect: Curtis Metcalf is one of the most brilliant scientific minds on the planet. He has created breakthroughs in metallurgy, computer science, nanotechnology, and plasma weapons. Curtis is also Earth's foremost expert on Cooperative technology having studied and reverse engineered devices aboard Icon's lifepod.

Mechanical Aptitude

Electrical Engineering

Mechanical Engineering

Computer Hacking

Martial Arts: Curtis Metcalf is a good hand-to-hand combatant, having been trained by his father in the martial arts.

Firearms: Skilled in the use of various types of firearms of his own design.

Equipment

The Hardware: All of Curtis Metcalf's superhuman abilities derive from a sophisticated suit of armor called the Hardware. There have been several different versions, labeled 2.0, 3.0 et cetera.

Shell: The basic armor is a plasticized metal alloy of Curtis' own design. Using a device called the Shell Forge, Hardware coats his body from head to toe with this material.

Superhuman Durability: Once polarized, the shell serves as a skintight, impact-resistant foundation upon which his external armor rests. Though not bulletproof, the shell is highly bullet resistant and can easily shrug off small caliber gunfire. It also has ablative capabilities that offer protection against low-level energy attacks like electricity and laser beams.

Superhuman Strength: The shell has programmable polymers integrated into its structure. Initially, the shell amplified Curtis's strength fifty fold, meaning that he could lift 5 tons under optimal conditions. However, Hardware's battle with the SYSTEMatic Mark III indicates that Curtis has significantly increased the shell's strength augmentation abilities.

External armor: The external systems of Hardware's armor are stored within the nano-robot housing pods in his helmet and shoulder pads. These systems are constructed by nano-robots, microscopic machines that are released via main control systems in the helmet. The external armor is powered by high efficiency batteries called power packs installed in the shoulder pads.

Skylark

Curtis' Personal Car: When he became Hardware, Curtis Metcalf was initially reluctant to use his personal car for crimefighting. However, he soon realized his car would be useful in situations like undercover operations in which his other vehicles like the Skylark would be too conspicuous. To this end, Curtis made extensive modifications to the car to improve its effectiveness as a crimefighting vehicle. Curtis has owned two cars. The first was a 1992 Lotus Esprit, which was destroyed by the costumed assassin Volt in an unsuccessful attempt to kill Metcalf. The second was a 1996 Dodge Viper GTS, which first saw action when Hardware aided his father Mitch Metcalf in bringing the crime boss Top Dog to justice. This car was destroyed by a missile fired by one of Top Dog's henchmen. He did not immediately replace it with a third car.

The Hardware: The armor comes with a versatile arsenal of weapons and tools.

Omnicannon

Plasma Whip

Retractable Sword

PLASER (Plasma Laser)

Energy Field

Fluid Gun

Custom Handgun: In his civilian identity, Curtis usually has carried a traditional handgun for self-defense. However, he increasingly found himself facing superhuman foes that could not be defeated with a mere gun. So, Curt began developing high-tech, easily concealable weapons to fulfill this need. Most notable of these is his watch, whose face flips up to reveal a hidden compartment containing a miniature version of his Omnicannon shell. In weapon mode, the watch uses pressurized gas to propel the shell toward a target with enough explosive force to destroy a car. Due to its small size, the watch only has enough ammo for one shot and lacks computer targeting systems, requiring Curt to manually aim it. A pressure field of Curt's design prevents the mini-shell from being accidentally detonated if he bangs the watch against a wall or similar hard surface.

History

Curtis Metcalf, alias Hardware is a superhero vigilante operating out of Dakota City. He is a genius inventor who has designed an advanced armored exo-skeleton with an immense arsenal of technological weaponry. He wages a one-man crusade against crime by night, fighting against his former mentor, Edwin Alva, and the international syndicate S.Y.S.T.E.M.

Origins

Curtis Metcalf was a child prodigy from a working class neighborhood, born to Mitchell and Denise Metcalf. At age twelve, famous inventor Edwin Alva took notice of his gifts and developed a personal interest in him. Alva paid his way through the top schools in the country, Curt graduated from high school at age fourteen, and got his first college degree at fifteen. After completing his education on scholarship, the only requirement was that he would come to work at Alva Technologies, where he was given an enormous salary, his own staff, and the freedom to work on anything he wanted. This paid off, and his inventions made millions of dollars for the company. Throughout his life, he considered Alva to be the closest thing he had to a friend, and more of a father than his own dad had ever been. Believing he should receive a higher share of the profits he generated, Curtis asked Alva for a pay raise and found out what the old man really thought of him. Alva had absolutely no respect for Curtis as anything other than a useful servant, and regarded their relationship as dog and master.

Enraged, Curtis tried to quit his position but was contractually obliged to never work for a competing company. Instead, he turned to blackmail. Searching for a blight on Alva's record, he instead discovered that his boss was a complete monster who was also a major figure in the covert international crime network S.Y.S.T.E.M. After submitting the evidence he had found to the proper authorities, Curtis was completely ignored. The level of power and corruption Alva had achieved permeated the legal system, and made it impossible for him to be taken down by conventional means. Instead, Curtis decided to bring him down himself. Making use of the vast technological resources at his disposal, he created an advanced suit of armor that allowed him to fight against the criminal enterprises of his enemy by night, using the alter-ego Hardware. Alva struggled every night against the high-tech dreadnought, unaware that he is funding his own arch-nemesis, who operates out of his basement.

From the beginning of his career, Hardware battled with all types of villains, most of whom were hired by Alva to kill him. From the body doubling assassin Reprise to the tech-inspired Technique, none of them could best the armored avenger. Within months, Hardware relentlessly picked Alva's organization to pieces, costing him millions of dollars. However, one day Edwin Alva discovered Hardware's true identity and appeared in his hideout! Alva's original rage turned into something else. Impressed by Curtis' tactical abilities and courage to stand up to him, Alva made him a stunning offer. In return for Hardware's protection and occasional help, Curtis would be made his second-in-command and allow him to dismantle Alva's criminal organization. Curtis accepted the deal, believing he could shut down the bad parts of Alva Industries and S.Y.S.T.E.M. easier this way. But first, he would need new armor.

New Armor, New Beginnings

In the months that followed, Alva seem to be living up to his end of the bargain, divesting from his criminal operations and training Curtis in the intricacies of running a multinational corporation. Deciding to go out with a bang, Alva decided to announce his retirement at the grand opening of Utopia Park. But when riots break out, Alva decided to take the safety of Utopia Park into his own hands. Donning a new prototype armor, Alva sacrificed his life to save a group of people from being crushed.

[qveensbury]

silver bullet

A/N: Also on AO3. Gun trigger warning.

Hiashi had his reasons. He was strict but had reasons.

Neji always took his side. Hanabi succeeded in training. Hinata would never voice her opposition.

Hiashi counted himself blessed: battles with pubescent children didn’t add to his gray hairs.

The local werewolf population did enough.

He thought frightening his daughters and nephew with stories of men trapped in the bodies of wolves wouldn’t have as strong of an impact as giving them the tools to live to tell their own stories. Words didn’t save lives; skills did. If his children were going to survive in this world, they needed to have the weapons to kill.

So the children trained vaguely aware of the howls that crescendoed with the waxing moon.

Don’t lose. Hinata chided herself. Focus. She squinted her eyes to get the target to stop moving.

“Nee-chan-” Hanabi blurted swinging her legs “-I doubt a werewolf would give you that much time to --”

Hinata pulled the trigger.

Hanabi tsk’d. “No bulls-eye.”

“Hanabi enough.” Neji slid off the table. “Hinata, how about we call it a night?”

“No,” Hinata reloaded her gun. “Another round.” She took in the shooting range ignoring her sister and cousin. She inhaled deeply.

Hanabi’s jab and teasing didn’t sting. Hinata had grown a shell to neutralize her younger sister’s immature comments. It was her father who could hurt her. Not that he meant to -- Hinata knew that. But, Hinata needed some reassurance and Hiashi didn’t know how to give that.

Hinata exhaled locking in on the target. Hiashi taught her how to fight and Hinata was a star pupil.

 +

 Neji sat back and watched how Hinata adjusted to the group. Kurenai, her private sensei, submitted her name for Konoha 12: problem solvers and skilled hunters who sought innovative ways to keep the population at bay.

Hinata approached Neji, a member, about joining.

“You’ve grown a lot Hinata. I think if you want to do it, you should.”

“What’s this month’s craving, Shikamaru?” Ino plopped onto the couch at HQ. She looked at Hinata, “Last month it was businessman and the month before that cats or anything that smelled like one,” she turned to Shikamaru, “Is this month gonna be easier? Like dojo owners?”

“There’s no thread right now.” Shikamaru scrolled through the newsfeed and police blotter. “It’s never been that easy anyway, Ino.”

She shrugged, lazily examining her hair. “I was hoping the newbie would get it a little easy her first full moon.”

“Hinata won’t need it. Didn’t you see her trial? She’s a straight shot,” Naruto blurted out.

Neji raised his eyebrow and look at his cousin. She bowed her head but he could see her blush.

It was true: Hinata had bloomed into her own right as a strong warrior. Neji owed his life to her prowess.

The two of them were sneaking back into the house when an alpha corned them. Luck was fickle, giving them one enemy but a powerful one. Neji tried to divert his attention to let Hinata get away, but in his attempts to divide, he was conquered and wound up under the alpha’s paws.

The alpha raised its claws and slashed at Neji’s forehead. The cut stung but Neji felt how shallow it felt.

He blanched. How long would it toy with him before killing him?

“Neji-nii-san!” Hinata called out.

“Hinata ru--.” The words died in his throat as three shots rang out striking the wolf in its vital spots.

His cousin ran over and pulled the dead body off of him.” Are you okay?”

“I just thought about the lecture Uncle Hiashi is going to give us. I think I’m as okay as I can be.”

TenTen bumped her shoulder into Neji and brought him back to the present. “Don’t make that face. If she’s old enough to protect humanity, she can get a boyfriend.”

“I’m not making a face.”

TenTen scowled and it took Neji a moment to realize she made it to mock him.

“Besides,” he shook his head, “Hinata will do what she wants. I can’t stop her. I might as well make sure she’s prepared.”

 +

 Kiba offered to buy Hinata a drink following her first day at K12.

They had a unique relationship with the werewolves. Shino had always rounded out their trio but never feared the monsters like they had.

Kiba mastered bravado before he conquered his fears. The Inuzukas bred werewolf hunting dogs and family members passed stories about the beasts they killed on the dinner table along with the meal. He was the youngest in the clan at the time, born at the tail end of a particularly brutal pack’s dominance.

Kiba could pretend he was brave by comforting others.

So, he recounted the Inuzuka war stories to Hinata knowing she shared his fears and learned not to storytell when Neji was around.

One day, the story stuck in Kiba’s throat.

“Kiba.” Hinata placed a hand on his forearm. “It’s okay to be afraid. Just don’t let your fear keep you from fighting back.”

Kiba flinched at the accuracy of Hinata’s words. Tears pooled in his eyes but he wiped them away.

“It’s okay.” She smiled shily.

Kiba knew the dangers of paralyzing in battle. But she was his age and knew how to fight through her fear to fight for someone else. Hinata is amazing and terrifying.

 “They’re gonna call you ‘Silver Bullet’.” Kiba placed the cocktail in front of HInata.

Hinata shook her head. “The last Silver Bullet was a child prodigy -- Hatake Kakashi. It might go to Neji or Sasuke. Even then Shikamaru would beat me out for the title.”

“Don’t discount yourself because you have defied expectations at every turn, Hinata,” Shino chided.

“I just think there are stronger more experienced warriors on the team that would get the honor before me.”

Kiba opened his mouth to further protest but his eyebrows jumped from furrowed to raised. “Naruto!”

Hinata caught herself before she spit her drink in shock. “Kiba,” she hissed. She turned to Shino for support, who glared at their friend behind his sunglasses. “Kiba stop.”

“Naruto, you gotta sec,” Kiba smirked, standing up to sling a casual arm around him. “Shino and I were trying to convince Hinata that she’s our generation’s ‘Silver Bullet’.”

Hinata stared into her drink.

“I could see it,” Naruto mused.

She blushed.

“TenTen’s a great shot and she’d give you a run for your money but I wouldn’t count Hinata out. You’re a really great shooter.”

“T-thanks! A lot of practice,” Hinata tried to deflect.

Naruto let out a slow whistle. “If you’re at that level on practice alone, you’re more amazing than I thought.”

 +

 Hinata grabbed the extra cartridge and slammed the car door shut. The radio messages played over and over in her head as she ran.

Naruto alone facing an entire pack. Corner of Main and 3rd. Back-up not requested.

Neji would kill her but she was too close not to do something. Maybe it was luck that made her shots hit true when that alpha had Neji pinned.

Hiashi had taught her better: practice beat luck.

Her breath left her in visible puffs but Hinata couldn’t feel the cold.

The growls and yelps crescendoed and Hinata took her gun out of its holster.

An odd sense of relief washed over her as she stopped to survey the battle. Naruto had managed to kill three of the five wolves in the pack but the alpha and beta remained.

Break down the task and analyze.

She took a shot at the beta but it moved the bullet nicked it in the side.

“What are you doing here?” Naruto hollered.

Both wolves turned. Hinata felt the atmosphere shift.

“Giving you a fighting chance.” She took another shot that lodged in the alpha’s thigh. The alpha growled and Hinata felt the hair at the nape of her neck raising.

What had Shikamaru said this month’s craving was? She reached for a second gun. It was capricious this month, something he and Neji barely noticed. Hinata flicked the safety took aim.

The alpha lunged and the pattern sprung from her memory.

Light-colored eyes.

“Hinata!”

She fired two shots before jumping out of its path. There are two. She located the beta in her periphery.

Naruto cursed checking his pockets for another cartridge. “Hinata, you fit the profile for this month’s--”

“Craving. I know. I’m not leaving.”

“What do you mean?” He glanced up after finding one and swapping it into his gun. “I’ve got it.”

Hinata didn’t respond taking aim and hitting in the alpha in the side as it dodged Naruto’s bullet.

“Last I checked your eyes are light colored too.” Hinata retorted.

Naruto hit the beta and it yelped. The sound raising goosebumps and Hinata braced for the retaliation.

She shifted to get a better view of the werewolves. Wait for the right moment.

The alpha turned and pounced to attack Naruto. It couldn’t see Hinata’s shots to dodge in time.

Naruto’s mouth fell open as the alphas’ body fell to the ground. He let out a low whistle. The beta ran away its injury reducing its speed. He lifted his gun to fire at its retreating figure and it let out a final whimper when the bullet landed.

Hinata caught her breath returning one gun to its holster. “Was that all of them?” She approached Naruto.

Naruto nodded his jaw tightening. “What were you thinking?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“The pack caught me off guard and too many of us fit the description.”

“So you’d be the martyr.” Hinata frowned. She couldn’t keep the emotion out of her voice.

“So I’d do what I could and weaken the pack.” Naruto crossed his arms and tilted his head further down at Hinata taking advantage of the height difference. “And you swooping in without backup? That seemed like a good plan?”

Hinata choked on the response that flashed to her brain. But it was you. “I was close when I got the dispatch.” She shook her head hoping to clear her head. She didn’t meet his gaze returning her second gun to its position.

Naruto snorted leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. “Geez Hinata give a guy a break. I’ve been trying for weeks to impress you and you swoop in and steal my thunder. How uncool for your crush to save you.”

Crush? Hinata’s eyes jumped to meet his.

Naruto’s phone rang: It was the HQ’s ringtone.

“Hello? … Yea Sasuke I’m still here both arms attached...Hinata provided backup...When have I ever done anything reckless?”

Hinata snorted stifling a laugh. Naruto glanced at her and beamed focusing back on the phone call.

“We’ll debrief when we get back to the base. Bye.”

Hinata exhaled trying to dispel her anxiety and to be cool as he turned his full attention back to her.

“So?” Naruto prompted.

“Crush?” She squeaked. She failed.

He blushed remembering his faux complaint. “Yea.”

“Oh.”

“O-oh?” His curiosity gave her some courage.

“Maybe throwing yourself into danger isn’t the best strategy to get my attention.”

“Oh?” Naruto smiled, quirking up an eyebrow. “Maybe we can talk about better strategies on the way back to HQ or over coffee.”

Hinata smiled back, blushing. “That’d be nice.”

A/N: i’m a sucker for Naruto praising Hinata