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[theutopiachild-blog]

@tcmmygun​

The Network never gave up. Once they dug their claws into their prey, there was no escape - except they were never quite prepared for a loss as the woman they captured managed to slip free from their grasp and disappear. That was over a month ago and Jessica was as far away as she could manage. She knew it wasn’t so easy, however; they were a bunch of stubborn bastards and every turn she took was another step into danger. The Network liked to keep her working, but it was never enough to wear her down until she snapped; they weren’t going to hurt her as much as they did with her father.

It still didn’t stop her from looking over her shoulder every so often, expecting to see one of their hitmen following her. They wouldn’t get far, even if they tried. But she didn’t want to get ahead of herself, not now when she was walking the streets at night; she was done for today and making it back to her temporary place of hiding. As she passed by the third street, a noise coming from its alleyway had her stopping. It was faint, but she heard it; the indistinguishable sound of breathing. It was enough incentive to grab the handgun from inside her coat.

Posing the weapon in front of her, steady, the woman presented the person who appeared with an unyielding expression, her tone calm as she made sure that her target was just the perfect height to threaten their vision, “Stay there, explain who you are, and then I’ll decide whether to shoot you or not, understand?”

[theutopiachild-blog]

>>Purple Void<<

antiimagic

Money was never an issue for Jessica; she stole, instead. There was always the power of persuasion in the form of her handgun, and enough subtlety, in order to benefit her whenever she entered an establishment; she robbed them blind, but worked her way around CCTV to prevent her person from being recognised – and all under the space of a minute. Having been raised from the ages four to ten by Krystos, surrounded by his intellect and defence skills, she was given enough knowledge and training from him to earn herself a reputation of being dangerous; even The Network were clever enough to place a warning on their database on her. It still didn’t cease their pathetic attempts at sending their hit men after her – and they never learned, never stopped, even when the said hit men were no longer breathing.

–They tried, tried, and tried again. But Jessica only pushed and pulled back harder.

It was in this instance, as Jessica made her way onto the front step of the home she intended to pay a visit to, that she found herself without money. Under normal circumstances, it would be of no issue to her, but it was easier to rob a corner shop than a petrol station because the latter was a sure-fire way of waving a white flag and declaring her presence in defeat. She had some moral value left in her, but it wasn't going to be given to this home-owner. At her attempt of a welcoming smile, albeit somewhat strained, the woman made her way to the front door and knocked, stepping back for an instance whilst she placed her unyielding gaze on the frosted glass for any sign of movement. It took far longer than Jessica was willing to wait for, and she contemplated moving onto the next home, but there was the shadow of a figure appearing down the hallway.

With her feigned smile, the woman placed her attention on the other as soon as they opened the door – and in a wispy tone, highlighted with a slight kindness, she presented her reason for calling at this household. “I hope I didn't disturb you…sir,” thereabouts; he didn’t look mature enough to be home alone, but Jessica couldn't give a shit. Parents or no parents, she needed the money, “but my mobile has run out of battery, and I was wondering if you have a phone I could use to contact my mother and tell her I’ll be running a bit late?”

[theutopiachild-blog]

Do you know if there's any more utopia indies in the world? I was thinking of making a wilson and i was so excited to see this account!

[Hello, hello! Unfortunately, I don't know of any other Utopia roleplayers (such a shame), but I'd love to see your Wilson! I also have a Lee blog, if you ever want to interact with him. The username is 'usethespoon' :) ]

[theutopiachild-blog]

r0rschach:

–Pages from the Utopia Experiments Comic Manuscripts by Paul Miller

[theutopiachild-blog]

Here’s to us, the rotten children: They made us into violence. Your bones, your skin, it’s all been turned into ash. Here’s to us, those born of violence, turned into a war-ground.

We are beauty and fire; ash we may be, but we are stronger than them. (CNS)

[theutopiachild-blog]

[theutopiachild-blog]

[theutopiachild-blog]

When they say her name, they mean it to be bitter. When she hears them say her name, she knows that it holds power.

The Never Book (via auideas)

[theutopiachild-blog]

——-

As Jessica slowly traced her eyes over every line and ridge that made up the male’s face, who lay dormant in the hospital bed, she was ultimately decided that he was most certainly her elder brother; they had the same brow-ridge, sharp nose, and permanent creases under their cheeks. Indistinguishable. The last she saw of her brother was from the comfort of their father’s arms as he stole her away from Mr. Rabbit, leaving behind her brother as dead weight; he was an old experiment, after all, and Philip Carvel held no love for him as much as he did Jessica. It was one or the other, not both. For the young girl in his arms, all she could concentrate on was the terrifying alarms that flashed a demonic red, lighting up the underground tunnels that led away from The Network laboratories, and the panic-stricken face of her father as he watched Pietre walk towards them with open arms; the deed was done, and Jessica took one last glance at her brother before the fire exit door sealed him in. It was two years later when Jessica came to terms that her brother was gone – that, as she pressed the trigger on the gun that Krystos gave her to train with, it was time to concentrate on survival and forget about the demonic red lighting that highlighted her brother’s perplexed, searching face.

–however, thirty-one years later and it all came crashing back down on her. The Network’s hitman with ‘Where is Jessica Hyde?’ on his lips, who hunted her down alongside Lee, was the second moment she saw her brother and she hadn’t known it.

“Pietre,” her voice was level as she smoothed her hand against the top of her brother’s, fingers entwining with his as she stared at the closed eyelids that hid his usual vacant stare; some people called him dumb, retarded, but Jessica knew he only lacked emotion, even more so than herself. His unsettling quietness hid a much more sinister complex, and one that was formed - twisted and trained - by their father through experimenting, made worse after being raised by The Network once the scientist left his first-born behind. Jessica was aware of how many her brother killed whilst enquiring her whereabouts, but her only justification for his actions was the argument that The Network took advantage of his damaged state and encouraged his killer side. A lot of what the organisation did angered the woman - framing them with murder, falsely telling Grant’s mother that he killed himself, and various other events that shaped their once-meaningless lives -, but they weren’t forgiven for forgetting her brother’s name; they weren’t excused for replacing who he was with the simple nickname of ‘R.B’. He was the boy that their father fed chemical-laced raisins to, the boy who suffered through a childhood he could never reminisce about, the boy who grew up thinking the right way was the wrong way – but he didn’t deserve to be just the boy.

“I’ll make sure that everyone knows you as Pietre, not Raisin Boy.” Jessica gripped onto his hand, allowing a thinned smile to grace her hardened features as she moved closer to her brother, before pressing her side against his chest and resting her head under his chin that was full of a beard. The individual hairs scratched her forehead, but she could only concentrate on the slow-rise of her brother’s chest and the feeling of the warm puffs of air that came from his nose tickling her scalp. It strangely comforted her, and the thinned smile turned into a content - albeit despondent one - as she thought how horribly ironic it was that the one man who left him behind was the one man who shot him, and who was ultimately responsible for the doctor’s explaining to Jessica that her brother was unlikely to pull through. 

Peering up from under her brother’s chin with an expression of adoration, the woman released a quiet, uncertain giggle, “Would you be angry at me for not shedding a tear for you? I panicked when daddy shot you, and I cried then, but I think you need to die now. You need to go.” Another dry giggle came from the woman as she lifted her body up somewhat, her hand reaching up to hold the side of Pietre’s face as she whispered, “It’s nearly over. We have a few things left to do, but it’s nearly over. We've nearly found Mr. Rabbit. We don’t need to keep hiding daddy’s manuscripts, keep on running away, because they’re all going to burn.” Her latter words were forced out from gritted teeth, laced with distressed desperation, before her expression stilled and her eyes remained fixated on Pietre’s face in avid concentration. Expected to see some sort of reaction. It was a few moments until she moved, concentrating on her next task at hand which was to shave off her brother’s beard and leave him presentable for death; she was unmoving, however, after she was done. She refused to leave his side, even when Ian informed her that they needed to move as soon as possible. “He deserves somebody giving a shit about him, Ian.”

–She was only removed from her brother’s side when unknown men kidnapped her and Ian, stealing away Jessica’s chance to see the moment when Pietre finally opened his eyes.

“Get on the fucking ground now.” The reception returned was bland; there were a few disgruntled looks, but none took heed of her words and remained in the exact same position as they were – save those who shifted around in their seats, focusing their attention on the mad woman who had confidently strode up to the cafe counter and turned to face her audience with the intention of them listening. None whatsoever. This was an area renowned for gang activity, where the community were immune to threats and events that would otherwise shake the news; it was simply another day to them, but Jessica had other plans. She wasn’t here to make the news, or recite a doomsday message, but to gain the necessities needed for her long journey ahead – it was food and money she needed most, and the closest establishment with those requirements was Skipper’s Cafe. It was the best she had to work with, but her audience was less than pleased to suddenly be disturbed during their lunch hour. “Did I fucking stutter?” Her last word trailed off into a question, though her tone was hardly light as she surveyed the select few who decided to challenge her gaze. 

It didn’t take long for Jessica to garner a reaction as a teenage male stepped forward, returning her focus on him with a shit-eating smirk as he approached the older woman with his right hand firmly placed on his crotch – and with a lilt known to the area, decided to voice his opinion on the matter with attitude, adding fuel to the fire that was already burning inside of Jessica. Speak. Do it. ‘We heard ya, darlin’. Ya wantin’ some’tin? I got ya somethin’ right–’ squeeze of his crotch “–here.” The voice of reason choked off into a strangled noise that couldn’t have been human as the hand that was covering his crotch dissolved into a mass of dark red gristle, the cocky silence replaced with a dull bang in the after-math of Jessica retrieving her handgun from inside her jacket and pulling the trigger on the some’tin that the teenager ultimately decided she was wantin’. 

–The spotlight was hers.

“I’ll say it again: get on the fucking ground now.” Chairs were pushed, tables shifted, and the cafe erupted into a symphony of panicked shuffling as the customers dropped to their knees and placed their hands behind their heads; they knew now, knew to listen to the mad woman, and so remained in their positions as she made her way over to the counter and emptied the cash register whilst retrieving as many food stuff as she could. Nothing was too extreme - too over-board - for the woman with power in her hands, even for the smallest amount of beneficial items; she was raised to survive, to self-preserve, and make sure that nobody or nothing held her back. Even if that meant shooting a teenage boy’s dick off – an entirely new, exhilarating experience for her. It was the same boy she stepped over to make her way out of the cafe, her backpack larger than ever with the essentials, and it was his blood that found herself listening to the faint sound of sirens approaching; they were attracted to the sounds of terrorism like a moth to light, and Jessica spared no hesitance in pulling the straps of her backpack tighter and immediately start striding down the path towards her vehicle. Krystos had always engrained in her mind that ‘if the act benefits you, then do it, but it only becomes a crime if you get caught’, and Jessica remained loyal to his beliefs by following his simple rule; she never got caught. Today was going to be no different and, with Krystos smiling at her in the mirror, she placed her backpack on the passenger seat and prepared for the rest of her journey in search of her brother–

–except, maybe not.

As she glanced at her rear-view mirror, she was greeted with one of the customers from the cafe pointing towards her vehicle with two policemen concerned. “Shit,” was her comment as she watched them approach her almost immediately, but she was one step ahead - always one step ahead - and the woman pulled out from the curb before they could turn back around and run towards their van. It wouldn’t be long before they caught up with her, especially in such heavy traffic that was typical for a weekday, and Jessica was less than accustomed to the side-streets within this vicinity. Being somebody who’s sole survival depended on organisation, it was the closest she ever felt to being disorientated, and for a few seconds she felt…frightened. This wasn’t how the scenario, the plan, in her mind was meant to go and the strenuous thoughts that constantly strung together out-comes distracted her attention off the road for the amount of time it took for everything to twist into a disaster. 

By the time she reached the main bridge, crossing over the river that ran towards the next city, traffic was a lot more free and there was the possibility that she was going to remain undetected as soon as she broke off from the last set of lights – except when her eyes wondered over to the river and her thoughts drifted into a melody of unanswered ‘what next?’, it wasn’t the green light she saw from the set of traffic lights, but a sudden entwining of red and orange before the reverberating sound of shattering glass and thundering structure hitting the ground from the right of the bridge caught her attention. Explosion. It was over in seconds, but as Jessica lifted her head up from the wheel where she had instinctively ducked down, her breathe was ripped from her lungs as she noticed the single body lying across the front of her vehicle – he wasn’t moving, and the woman realised that he wasn’t alive. The experience wasn’t foreign; she was surrounded by death, but her head automatically pressed back against the seat as her vision blurred for a few seconds, nausea crawling from the bottom of her stomach and urging up her throat as she realised that he wasn’t the only fatality in the sea of up-turned vehicles. As she blindly reached for her backpack - no way in Hell was she going to stay here - there was no time to react as another explosion shook the bridge, causing the river below to bend under the sudden shift that took place, and the resulting disruption sent the vehicles around her into a blind panic; nobody was quick enough to get away, not even Jessica Hyde, and she felt the shunt before the pain as another vehicle connected with hers.

“Did Krystos love you?” It was a question that Jessica hadn’t expected from the man across the table, carefully eating the slop that the cafe he took her to provided; even a dog wouldn’t eat this shit. As the man stared at her, expecting an answer, the woman only returned his gaze with pure vexation – he had no right to ask her that. No fucking right. But he knew that she had a nightmare about the night Krystos was tortured and killed, watched her from where she’d handcuffed him to the fireplace in the abandoned house they slept in. After his last and final bite of his slop, the man placed his fork down and regarded Jessica with sincerity in his words, his eyes remaining fixated on hers as he spoke softly, “I think a child needs love.” There was a moments silence as the man lifted his hand and extended it across the table, “My name is Pietre.” But Jessica refused the hand, offering him sharp silence instead, “Do you have nightmares a lot?” Instead of answering, the woman stood up from her chair and declared they were now leaving.

–She needed the rest of the manuscripts, not an emotional one-to-one about the man who raised her.

It was all she could do not to release a distressed cry as Pietre brought her to the very tree in the field that Krystos was tied to, tortured, and his innards pulled out; she remembered it all vividly, watching as he was killed in her place from the safety of the stone wall. At first she wanted to scream, turn away and forget about the manuscripts, but part of her mind blacked out and the next thing she saw was the handgun she held against Pietre’s temple, feeling the warmth of her tears tickle her cheeks that she couldn’t remember shedding. “Why – why did you bring me here?” Her throat felt dry as she encouraged Pietre to speak with a harder press of her handgun, but she garnered no reaction from the emotionally stunted man. It wasn’t until later on that she would find out that he was her brother, but right now – right now, he was dead.

With a voice too calm for somebody with a handgun against their head, Pietre looked dead ahead of him as he spoke about the reason for bringing the woman here – for uncovering distressing memories for the young girl who hid them away for thirty-one years. “I was the one who killed Krystos. We tied him to the tree and tortured him on your whereabouts, but he wouldn’t give us any information. I was only fifteen. He wouldn’t tell us where you were.” Before Jessica could decide on whether to kill him, Pietre continued, knowing well that she would ask why she was brought here, “I wanted you to know that you were loved–”

“–Because I wasn’t.”

The first thing she tasted was dust from the cement where part of the bridge had been destroyed from the barrage of cars. Her head was throbbing with pain and her ears rang from the sudden intrusion of noise, and all she could feel was the coldness of the shattered glass from where her body pressed against the front window. It took a few moments to collect her surroundings, but she was well-aware that her vehicle had flipped on upside-down and the seat-belt had snapped from the violent force of multiple cars slamming into hers; it was a miracle that she was alive, but the fact that she couldn’t move from the waist down worried her. Anything but paralysis. Fuck, she’d even been shot in the kneecap, and she would take that again over the possibility of her losing the ability to walk; she had too many things to do, and it wasn’t going to be ruined by whoever caused those explosions. For one brief, horrifying moment, her mind drifted to The Network and what they were capable of – but they’d be too stupid to resume their search of her with such a massive scale of terrorism. However, there was a part of her that believed they would do something such as that; they were merciless, and the experiment inside of her was priceless. They desperately needed it back.

–But Pietre would know what to do, because he was already concerned for her safety over his as she watched from her position as he crouched down and looked inside the vehicle. A choked giggle escaped her as she noticed that he was sporting the fuzz she last shaved off – she liked it. Made him look like a gentleman. However, panic over-whelmed her and she reached out with her free hand to grip onto her older brother’s forearm, securing his stay as she attempted to will away the tears in her eyes – but her voice betrayed her as her words came out raw, scratching at her throat, the desperation she held for his return barrelling into her plea, her search finally over, “Pietre – Pietre, Mr. Rabbit is dead. But daddy fucked up, and he injected Janus into me, and Mr. Rabbit knew.” Her last words were full of anger as she gripped onto her brother’s arm harder, but as her vision returned back from the grey haziness they were prior, she realised that the man she held wasn’t Pietre. 

–God, it hurt. It hurt so damn much.

“W-who the fuck are you?” Jessica retaliated, shifting from her position with little process, but it was more than enough to move away from the stranger. “I don’t need your fucking help. Touch me and I’ll fucking stab your eyes out.” As she moved backwards, the absent pain that she expected immediately made itself known in the form of shooting up her spine, causing her to cry out and the tears that were originally shed for Pietre came spilling from her eyes. With a quick glance towards the stranger, Jessica felt her voice break from the shock of the pain, “Just…just fucking get me out of this car, arsehole.” She could see her backpack and handgun, wedged between the dashboard and broken window, and once she was free of the vehicle she would be able to grab her belongings and run. If her legs weren’t broken, that was.

BEYOND SURVIVAL.

theutopiachild​

“–NO!!! DON’T DO THIS! DON’T YOU DARE DO THIS! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED ME! WAKE UP!–”

All words give way to incoherencies as scream after scream escapes, tearing at the boy’s vocal chords. Small hands still covered in lacerations from the shattered glass, and abrasions from the asphalt reach out, grappling at the sheets, clawing through the fabric until fingers curl into the older boy’s shirt. Searing hot tears cascade down his face, but this isn’t any kind of typical crying with staggering sobs. It’s endless manic screams until Owen is choking on his own spit and tears. His small frame shakes with each convulsing sob. 

He feels heavy hands on his shoulders. Less about comfort. More about restraining. But that’s like trying to tame a feral animal. Owen lashes out. Even for a twelve-year-old, Owen knows how to pull a punch. Or maybe it’s more like adults who never expect kids to get violent. Funny how adults think that way, but are always so quick to hurt children. Owen was taught better than to be physically aggressive from the get-go. Use your smarts. Not your fists– unless necessary. But he can’t think of what his brother taught him when the only response his brother is giving him now is a flatline.

They’re trying to take him away, far, far away from him, but this is where Owen belongs, this is his home– right here, between his hands, palms pressing against the torso, desperately seeking out a heartbeat. More adults are trying to control him. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and your goddamned control– he’s all swinging fists and kicking feet. Knocks down the useless IV stand, the useless heart monitor machine, the useless adults. The boy clambers onto the bed. He tears off that goddamned useless oxygen mask. Shaking hands settle onto the sides of his brother’s face. Owen swallows hard before straining a smile.

“C’mon. You’re just– you’re just kiddin’ ‘round, right? ‘cause this ain’t funny. You’re not– c’mon, c’mon, wake up. I–” The boy breaks out into a laugh. Blinks hard as if this is all one fucked up nightmare he’ll wake up from. But at this rate, he’s going to want to go to sleep forever, and never wake up. A world without his brother isn’t a world worth living in. “Don’t leave me behind. At least, take me with you. I can’t– I can’t do this without you–” His voice catches in his throat as a new wave of tears rushes in. Closing his eyes tightly, Owen caves in on himself. He rests his forehead upon his big brother’s forehead. One last time.

“–you promised.”

Owen Grady doesn’t believe in any afterlife. No Heaven. No Hell. Once you die, that’s it. Nothing more. Nothing beyond. Consciousness ceases, thus leaving your body to decompose into matter the planet and its lifeforms can use. We will return to where we came from.

He’s no scientist, but he is a pragmatist. Runs on logic. It’s logic that makes you adaptable, and adaptability is what you need to survive. But even Owen knows that’s there’s more to life than just surviving. You gotta live. And to live, you gotta have heart. It all sounds cliche as Hell, and even worse– it contradicts his rational nature. But it’s what his brother taught him. Those are the only teachings of another that Owen will carry with him. There’s no logic behind visiting a passed one’s burial site. Or in his brother’s case, the seaside where his ashes were cast off into. Orphaned kids don’t get burials. Better to just cremate them. Owen never had any say in the matter. All he got to do was hold the jar of ashes. He didn’t grab fistfuls of the ash to throw into the water. He just hurled entire bloody jar into the ocean. It was insulting. His brother is too extraordinary to fit in that jar. The social worker who was with him that day didn’t try to comfort him. You can’t comfort a kid like Owen who’s always been highly aware of people’s bullshit.

Maybe it’s bullshit of Owen to stand at this bridge, looking out into the waters where somewhere below is that jar. Is this too sentimental? Or maybe he’s crawling in his skin for being faced with his raw vulnerability– something the man is constantly in denial of. But here he is anyways. After the war, Owen spent most of his life on Isla Nublar. He would only leave the island on special occasions. One being this annual trip to the bridge. But since shit hit the fan with InGen, Owen’s been all over the world. Safety and security are things he’ll never have again. He’s a wanted man. To popular culture, he’s “that crazy species rights activist dude”. To international organizations, he’s a threat to be terminated. What would his brother say about his life now? Would he be disappointed?

Maybe the answer comes in the way a small hand reaches for his. Owen looks down to see Nix’s hand clasping onto his larger one. This is the only time Owen brought someone with him to the bridge. After a prolonged pause, Owen shifts his hand to interlock their fingers. His brother would call him fuckin’ crazy, but he would be proud. Doing what’s right is what matters most. Always. Saving this kid’s life, and putting Owen’s own well-being on the line everyday to protect him– right decisions the man will never regret.

“Owen, we need to go.” // “Yeah.” // Owen lets his gaze linger on the waters for a few more seconds, then turns to begin walking. Nix follows his lead. They venture deeper into the city. The metropolis empire sets Nix on the edge. When you’ve spent your entire life in an isolated glass chamber, then an urban environment is definitely going to have a jarring effect. Owen keeps the kid close. Never let him out of his sight. They need to hop cities soon. If it’s not InGen on their tail, then there’s always someone else. They’re dressed in typical civilian clothes. For the sake of blending in with the crowd, Owen and Nix act like father and son in public. Although Owen would never truly consider himself as the kid’s dad or anyone’s dad, because– well, how the fuck are you supposed to be a good dad if your own dad was a sonuvabitch?

The pair are heading towards the nearest stairwell that leads down to the metro station. Suddenly, Nix comes to an abrupt halt. Owen sees amber-gold flecks flickering in the boy’s eyes. Nix is onto something. There’s no time for words. Nix grabs Owen’s arm, pulling the man down with him onto the ground. Owen doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, but he instinctively shields Nix with his body. A split second later, the building to their right explodes. The rebound force of the explosion throws vehicles across the streets, the ocean of civilian bodies in all directions. Deafening thunder. Strident ringing in the ears. A cloud of smoke and dust swallowing everyone’s vision. Screams and mayhem erupt in the air. A cacophony of sounds. Three seconds pass. Another explosion. One that causes a chain reaction of vehicles at nearby intersecting colliding into one another. More chaos. More hysteria. 

As the dust clears out, Owen lifts his head. The ringing in his ears still won’t die down. There’s a streak of blood running down the side of his face, but nothing is broken or fatally injured. Vertigo has a hold on him. It’s only thanks to Nix that Owen can reel his senses back in. “Owen! Owen! Are you alright?” // “Yeah– I’m fine. Jesus. C’mere. You okay?” // “Yes. But you need to get up.”  With the boy’s help, Owen pulls himself upright. Everything around them is a blur of mass destruction and casualties. Owen’s eyes widen when Nix suddenly moves away from him. “Hey! Where’re you goin’?!” He chases after the kid to see him by a vehicle flipped upside down. Before Owen can stop the boy, Nix grips at the vehicle’s doorframe, then rips it off with his bare hands. There’s too much insanity happening around them for anyone to notice, but Owen is still barking at the kid. He stops when he sees a young woman inside. “Shit.” Owen crouches down on one knee to look inside.

“Hey,” he says. Voice is hoarse. Spits out the dust molasses in his mouth, then shouts louder over the roar around them. “Hey! You okay? Can you move?”

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It’s a molecule. It’s Janus. This is what they’ve been looking for.

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utopia meme: one character per episode [1x01]

   - Lee

[theutopiachild-blog]

Being The Network’s prioritised target, Jessica found herself being unable to remain in one vicinity for an extended period of time -- she had to constantly be on the move, or risk getting caught and returned back to their pyramid prison, where arduous interrogations and pathetic torture would be back in her daily routine; it was something she wanted to avoid, if not to prove that she was much stronger than them then it was to preserve Krystos’ memory. Having worked alongside her father, he was the last person to save her when her father could no longer retain his mind, and the most she could do was respect the skills he gave her; from safely handling a gun and disarming the enemy in less than three moves, to being able to manipulate and deceive those who would benefit her greatly whilst prioritising her self-preservation. Krystos’ death wasn't going to be wasted by her getting caught in the most oblivious, idiotic, and quite frankly embarrassing way -- more importantly, not by a silly girl who reminded Jessica of Becky; God, even thinking about her riled the woman up.

It happened whilst Jessica found herself seconds away from being able to disappear from one of The Network’s hit-men, after she had managed to take to the ground and make herself scarce in the industrial vicinity on the outskirts of town. The main reason she attempted to break into one of the abandoned warehouses was to settle in for the night - there was no possible way that she could return to her flat - but instead of entering the property, she was left facing one of the vultures that were trained to track her down. Without confronting the gentleman, Jessica decided to risk the chase and give way to the possibility that he was alone; there was no indicators that there were more of them to follow, and the woman knew that The Network preferred working on a one-to-one basis. Much more personal.

--It would have gone smoothly, if only they were both alone.

However, Jessica had almost forgotten that most people reacted negatively to being faced with a handgun, and the young woman she had threatened to remain quiet with it as she hid behind a shipping container released more than enough noise to earn getting hit on the temple with the end of it. It was an instinctive reaction - just a slip of her hand. And if she had to transport the young woman’s body into one of the containers in order to remain undetected, then so be it -- but she never accounted for her to stir, and Jessica thinned her lips as she imagined, just like Becky, that she was going to have to deal with a talker. 

“You wouldn't shut up, so I had to knock you out.” It was the truth, and Jessica placed emphasis on her reason for harming the young woman in a bid to get her point across; she wasn't going to waste her time in dealing with her noise. Leaning forward somewhat, the woman fixated her listless gaze on the other, speaking her next words in a much calmer manner -- although not enough to lose her sincerity, “I’d suggest keeping quiet, or we’re both going to wind up dead. And I'm not going to die because of some silly little girl.”

“Ugh, what happened?”

[theutopiachild-blog]

I’m made up of black coffee, untamed hair, and poorly supressed anger.

The Never Book (via auideas)

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>>Blue Haze<<

“Hello,” the woman spoke quietly towards the feline that was perched on the wall in front of her, returning a wide-eyed stare just as she was; there was a wariness shared between them, albeit a mutually respected one, and the first one to make a move was Jessica. A childhood included the presence of an animal - a dog, popularly - but the closest Jessica ever got to owning a pet was the various lethargic mice she saw in The Network laboratories whilst her father worked; she wasn't supposed to be in the laboratories whilst her father worked, but Philip Carvel preferred to see his daughter for as long as possible. Jessica knew that she wasn't allowed to touch things, ‘See with your eyes, not your hands, Jess’, because the chemicals he dealt with were dangerous and he would never forgive himself for any harm that might come to her.

--Funny how the mind corrodes, because Philip Carvel forgot his own promise and now Jessica was hurting more than ever.

Running her fingers from the top of the cat’s head, down his spine and eventually his tail, Jessica lightly smiled as her touches were approved with loud, rumbling purrs. As she pulled at the cat’s tail, she released a snort that gradually turned into a giggle,  “It’s a good thing my brother isn't here, because he had a habit of eating animals when he was younger.” Her tone wasn't disturbed, but more amused as she scratched her fingernails behind the cat’s left ear, “Daddy’s experiments on him changed his emotions, and when our mother brought home a rabbit for Pietre to bond with, he decided to kill it instead. But--” As the cat pushed against Jessica’s hand for more strokes, the woman tilted her head with a softened expression,”--I think he would have liked you. He liked the colour blue, and you have lovely blue eyes.”

[theutopiachild-blog]

utopia meme: [1/3] dynamics: ↳ grant + jessica

“I’ll keep you safe.”