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darkjanet2 · 2 years

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Drusilla’s Soul- Ch. 20

Minato Municipal Odaiba Gakuten 7:45 AM

The next morning TK was walking to school, he noticed the kids, teachers, and the policemen gathered outside the school. TK had to find out what happened.

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” asked TK.

"The school was closed due to a crime scene," the black-haired boy explained.

“What?” TK was shocked, he couldn’t believe his ears.

“The body was found in the boys’ locker room this morning,” said the blonde boy.

“How did that happen? Who killed him?” asked TK.

“I don’t know. The kid started a fight at recess yesterday, so he was taken to the principal's office and put in a dentition. The janitor found the body this morning, and he called the police to report the death. " said the black-haired boy.

“Were there any stab marks or anything?” asked TK.

“Well, he probably had a puncture on his neck, because his blood was drained,” said the blonde boy.

‘A vampire!’ thought TK.

“Uh, did the police find out?” asked TK.

“Yeah, the police analyzed the body. And there was blood written on a wall that said, ‘Angelus was here’.” said the blonde boy.

TK's face turned pale and his spine grew cold. “No way!” shocked TK.

“Whoa, man! You okay?” asked the black-haired boy.

At this moment, TK regained his composure and calmed down.

“Uh, yeah, I’m okay. That was really scary,” said TK.

“Yeah, hella scary. That’s one evil serial killer,” said the blonde boy.

“I, uh, I gotta go. Thanks for telling me this,” said TK. He ran back in the opposite direction, and the two boys looked at each other.

“TK!“ A girl cried his name and he responded. It was Kari at the park along with the Digidestined. She waved to come over here.

Just when TK joined the group together, he told them Angelus was still alive.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me! We thought Angelus was dead!” shocked Davis.

"True, but he's back now. He must have survived an explosion at a temple in 1900. And now he has invaded Japan." said TK.

“That’s impossible. Did you say the boy was killed by Angelus?” asked Izzy.

“Yes, and there was blood on the wall say ‘Angelus was here,’’ said TK.

“Oh, my God. This is bad,” said Yolei. She didn’t like the sound of that.

“What a horrible thing to be doing,” said Joe.

Izzy opened his laptop and typed his keyboard and he searched it on Google. He typed The Boy was Murdered in School. Then he found the results. He clicked one of them. There was an article that appeared on the computer screen.

A young boy was found dead in Minato Municipal Odaiba Gakuten.

An 11 years old boy was found dead in the boys’ locker room around 7:30 AM.

The police identified the boy Zeke Tatsuo who was a student of Minato Municipal Odaiba Gakuten. The principal told the police he started a fight at recess and put him in detention until he had to go home at 6 PM.

“Why was he put in detention so late at night? That doesn’t sound right,” said Matt.

"That detention is supposed to last 10 minutes or 2 hours. No one ever put them in detention at night,” said Tai.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Izzy.

“So… what do we do?” asked Mimi.

“Can I go and use my camera? I want to investigate this school,” said Kari.

“Are you sure, Kari? You’ll get caught,” said Davis.

“Don’t worry. I watched Harriet the Spy.” smiled Kari.

“This may be risky, but it’s worth a try,” said Izzy.

“Yeah, you have to be careful not to get caught,” said Tai.

“I have an earpiece walkie-talkie, a tracker device, and a camera,” said Izzy, as he opened up his backpack.

“Where did you get these?” asked Cody.

“I bought them from Amazon, of course,” smiled Izzy as he installed those devices.

A few hours later, the paramedic cleared out the body from the boys’ locker room. They put the dead boy in the body bag and took him away. Outside they put the body in the ambulance and drove away.

The principal told the police about the incident and the teacher told reporters that his student used to work with him.

“He was a good kid. Despite his troublemaker, he wouldn’t have been put in detention,” said the teacher told the reporter.

Then the principal told the students and teachers that the school was closed due to a crime scene this week. They would return for 2 weeks. He apologized for the inconvenience.

All the teachers and students went home when there was nobody left. After they left, Kari scanned the area to make sure there was no one in school. So she was ready to sneak in.

“Okay, the coast is clear,” said Kari, talking to Izzy on the earpiece walkie-talkie.

“Great, the mic is working fine. The pink dot is you on the map screen, so I’ll guide you here. You got the GoPro that connects to your phone. And you have a camera on my laptop. So, good luck, Kari.” said Izzy.

Kari nodded as she proceeded to enter the school. She used her picklock to open the lock pad, when it unlocked, she removed the chain from the door, and then she unlocked the door. She went inside the school when there was no one there. She walked through the corridor of the hall. She had to find the boys’ locker room somewhere. She noticed the map on the wall, she then pointed to the map to look for the direction, she moved her finger through the map and then she found the boys’ locker room.

“There’s the boys’ locker room. I’m definitely not going in there,” said Kari.

“It’s okay, there’s no one here,” said Tai.

She walked down the stairs and she found the boys’ locker room. However, the door was locked. So she used the picklock until the door was unlocked. Kari entered the locker room, then she found the dead body outline on the floor.

“Guys, I found an outline of a dead body,” said Kari.

“I can’t believe that bastard killed a kid,” said Tai.

“Poor thing,” said Joe.

Kari flashed her camera on the floor. She glanced at the wall. There was blood written on the wall that said ‘Angelus was here’. Without hesitation, Kari took a picture of the wall.

“This is really creepy,” said Kari.

“Is Angelus back?” asked Cody, slightly fearful.

“Yeah,” replied TK.

“I don’t like the look of this. He had written it on the wall with the boy's blood," said Joe, disgusted and fear.

Sora shook her head in disbelief.

“Come on back, Kari. It’s time to get outta here,” said Izzy.

“Right,” Kari agreed as she left the school.

Meanwhile at Ken’s house at 3:40 PM

Ken looked at those photos that Kari had already taken at school.

“This is the most gruesome image that I have ever seen. So Angelus is… still alive?” asked Ken.

“Yeah. No doubt about it, Angelus survived the explosion from the Chinese temple. He came to Japan and killed people,” said Matt.

“Oh, my God. That’s impossible,” said Ken.

“Angelus killed a kid last night. No kid ever put in detention overnight!” said Tai.

“That’s ridiculous. What did he do?” asked Ken.

“He picked a fight at the recess. He was sent to the principal's office and put in detention,” explained Kari.

“Until 6 PM,” added TK.

“6 PM?! For the detention?!” shocked Ken.

“Yup,” nodded Tai.

“That’s no way. A vampire sneaked into school and killed a child. Why didn’t they send him home at 3 PM?” asked Ken.

“You know, I feel sorry for the loss of their son,” said Sora, in sympathy.

“Yeah,” said Mimi, in sympathy.

“Now what do we do?” asked Davis.

“Angelus is still on the loose, we can’t let him kill any more people,” said Tai.

“Can we… can we contact Drusilla?” asked Cody.

“What?” asked TK

“What makes you say that, Cody?” asked Izzy.

"Well, Drusilla has a soul, doesn't she? She’s a good vampire and she can able to stop Angelus,” said Cody.

“Uh, I don’t know, Cody. She might get traumatized if she meets Angelus again. She has PTSD,” said Joe.

“Is there anything we can do?” asked Cody.

“Maybe Drusilla has a Facebook account,” said Mimi.

“Hmm, I’ll go check her Facebook,” said Izzy.

Izzy opened his laptop and logged into his Facebook account. He typed Drusilla Keeble on the search bar and pressed enter. He found the name, Drusilla Keeble in the result. The same woman in the avatar. She lived in San Francisco, California.

“I found her, guys,” said Izzy.

Meanwhile at Hilton Tokyo 4:15 PM

Drusilla stayed at the hotel. She had already called Blade and Whistler earlier this morning and they were on their way to Japan. They would arrive within ten hours.

Flashback in a few hours ago

Drusilla turned on the news. There was an incident at school where a young boy was murdered. There was a written in blood on the wall that said Angelus was here.

“Oh, my God,” muttered Drusilla in dreadful.

Did he kill a child? This is worse.

“I have to call Blade,” Drusilla picked up her phone and called Blade immediately.

At Blade’s Lair Los Angeles 7:50 AM

Whistler was in the mechanical room welding something. Then he heard a phone ring. He stopped welding and came to pick up the phone and answered the phone.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Whistler?” she asked.

Whistler recognized her voice. “Hey, kid, long time no talk,”

“Yeah, it’s great to see you, Whistler. Listen, I need your help. It’s urgent,” said Drusilla.

“What do you need help for, Dru?” asked Whistler.

“Well, I hate to say it, but Angelus is still alive,” said Drusilla.

“What? Wait a minute, kid. You said he was dead.” said Whistler.

“I know, but he must have survived from the temple. The vampire just told me last night,” she said. “Angelus and his minions arrived in Japan. I saw this on the news, Angelus killed a young boy at school last night. And I’m still here in Japan on a mission trip. These vampires are still coming after me, and I don’t know what to do.”

“That can’t be good. Are there vampires here?” asked Whistler.

“Yeah, this is going to be a huge problem. If I don’t finish the mission, I won’t be able to go back to San Francisco,” said Drusilla.

“Well, how long have you been in there, Dru?” asked Whistler.

“About 2 weeks since I was in the hospital. Some creatures called Digimon attacked in the city,” said Drusilla.

“What the hell is the Digimon?” asked Whistler.

“Those kids talked about Digital Monsters, realms, devices, and some shit. Listen, I need you to come and help me with those assholes,” said Drusilla, placing her hand on her temples.

“Alright, we’ll be right there. I’m going to contact Blade quickly and we’ll be there within 10 hours. Just stay put, we’ll arrive as soon as possible,” replied Whistler.

“Thank you, Whistler. Please hurry,” said Drusilla hung up her phone.

Meanwhile in Downtown Los Angeles

While Blade was driving out of town, the phone started ringing, and the number Whistler appeared in caller ID on the radio screen.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Hey, Blade, I got some bad news here. Drusilla has a mission trip to Japan. She said Angelus was still alive and he killed all innocent people in Odaiba. So we gotta get over there and help Dru out.” said Whistler.

“Wait, Angelus? I thought he was dead,” said Blade.

"True, but he survived the blast at the temple. And now he’s back,” said Whistler.

“Is he that strong?” asked Blade.

“Yeah, he’s strong but deadly,” he replied.

“Looks like I’d like to meet him face to face,” said Blade.

“We have to get to the private jet. So get ready and pack your weapons here,” said Whistler.

"Alright, I'm on my way," Blade sped up through the highway and headed to Whistler's hideout.

End Flashback

Drusilla glanced at her phone on the lock screen, it was 2 more hours before they arrived. She sighed, and she then noticed double notifications on Facebook and messenger on her iPhone X. This person’s name was Koushiro “Izzy” Izumi. To her curiosity, she opened the Facebook app and clicked the messenger icon. She opened the message request and said:

Hello, Drusilla. My name is Izzy Izumi, and I can help you take out Angelus.

‘Wait, he can help me?’ thought Drusilla.

She accepted and replied to his message.

“Hello? This is Drusilla, who is this?” she typed.

“Hello, Drusilla. How are you?” Izzy typed.

“Um, I’m fine, I guess. May I ask who am I speaking to?” Drusilla typed.

“My name is Izzy Izumi. And I heard you’re a vampire with a soul.” he typed.

“How do you know that?” she typed.

“I found this on the website that you were sired by Angelus. He made you insane when he turned you into a vampire, correct?” Izzy typed.

Drusilla was hesitant, then she typed. “Yes. And how do you find out, Izzy?”

“Would you like to introduce our friends? TK told us about you.” Izzy typed.

“Wait, are you a friend of TK?” she typed.

“Yes, I am.” Izzy typed.

“And you’re a Digi-whatever it is.” Drusilla.

“I’m a Digidestined. The crest of Knowledge

“Knowledge? What does it mean?” Drusilla typed.

“A person who has knowledge, facts, and truths is conscious of them.” Izzy typed.

“Oh. Then I’d like to meet your friends. Just give me a second, I have to boot up my laptop.” Drusilla typed.

“Okay.” Izzy typed.

One minute later

After Drusilla logged into her Facebook account, her webcam had turned on, and she met the group Digidestined.

“Hi,” said Drusilla, feeling a bit shy.

“Hi, Drusilla. I’m Izzy Izumi. And these are my friends Tai, Matt, Sora, Joe, Mimi, TK, Kari, Davis, Yolei, Cody, and Ken.” said Izzy, introducing his friends.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Drusilla,” said Joe.

“Same to you. Well, this is a bit awkward. So what is this all about? Can you tell me why you are helping me to stop Angelus? He is dangerous.” said Drusilla.

“We know, we heard about him on the internet. That day, the school had closed because of the murder case. Kari went to investigate the school earlier and took those pictures of them,” Izzy said, then he asked Kari. “Kari, can you send these photos to her?”

“Sure,” Kari replied, she sent those attachments to Drusilla.

Drusilla opened those attachments to see these horrible graphic images. The first of the dead body outline of a young boy. And the second picture was blood written on the wall ‘Angelus was here’. Her face went pale as a ghost.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“Are you okay?” Izzy asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “He… he was my Daddy.”

“Huh? Daddy?” asked Davis.

“Uh, is he your father?” asked Izzy.

"No, but… I called him 'Daddy' and I called Darla 'Grandmother'. How can this be? I was sure I defeated him a long time ago. He killed people, didn’t he?” asked Drusilla.

“Yes, the body was found this morning in school. So, Drusilla, I wanted to know what happened when you were turned into a vampire,” said Izzy.

"But you guys are just kids. I don’t know if I can tell you my story,” said Drusilla, shrugging her shoulders.

“It’s okay. We’re here to support you. You can tell us.” said Tai.

Drusilla sighed, “Okay,”

Drusilla told the Digidestined her story about the demon she had become. She was a young Catholic woman who used to live with her mother, her two sisters, and her uncle in London. She went to the Cathedral to confess her sins where she didn’t realize Father Donavon was killed by Angelus and impersonated the priest.

As she was confessing her sins, her seeing things were affront of the Lord. The two men died in the mining crash. Then Angelus tauntingly told her she was the Spawn of Satan and told her to become evil. She refused to be evil and she wanted to be pure.

In the evening of twilight, she went home after the cathedral, questioning her head what he meant. As she entered her home, her family was all tied up in each chair, Angelus grabbed her and tied her up in a chair. Angelus removed the cloth from the table revealing sharp objects such as pig splitter, machete, saw, and bolt cutter.

Uncle Fred was stabbed in the stomach with the machete and his intestines were torn apart so that they coiled up around his neck to choke him to death. Stephaine was killed with a machete, exposing the thoracic spine of her back and pulling out her spine to kill her instantly. He was giving Hannah a horrifying makeover while he killed her sister Hannah. Hannah's face was carved as an ear-to-ear smile and her fingers were cut with a bolt cutter. He plunged his hand into her chest and tore out her heart. Hannah's eyes flashed white and she died. The last was Angelus raping Drusilla's mother in front of her, while her mind had begun to deteriorate.

After her mother was raped and killed, Angelus walked unconscious Drusilla as he was about to sire her. Drusilla headbutted Angelus and shoved him hard and ran away from him.

The nuns took her to a convent so she could be protected from the demon. The nuns put up the spiritual barrier so the demons never entered here. Unfortunately, Angelus forced his way to destroy the barrier and began slaughtering all the nuns and the screaming died down. Darla, his sire, appeared in the convent and the two of them were kissing each other until they heard her mumbling and they stopped kissing and looking at her. Angelus decided to make her one of them.

“....Angelus made me insane before he turned me into a demon,” Drusilla finished her story, her eyes were filled with tears in sorrow and sadness.

The group of Digidestined was shocked, disturbed, sorrowful, sadness, and distressed about Drusilla’s story.

“I see. So that’s what happened,” said Izzy, placing his hand to his head, feeling distressed.

“I’m… I’m at a loss of words,” said Ken, he was disbelieving her story was extremely sad and traumatic.

“I’m so sorry, Drusilla,” said Sora, sympathetically.

“It’s okay, dear Sora. I’m getting used to it,” said Drusilla, wiping her tears.

Yolei and Mimi were crying, while Kari cried silently. Davis was distressed by it, too. TK hid his tears in his bucket hat while Matt placed his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder to comfort him. Cody hugged Upamon crying silently, Tai turned his head away while Agumon comforted him.

Breaking silence, Joe cleared his throat. “Um, Drusilla, that was an awfully traumatic story to listen to. You have experience with PTSD. Well, I’m not a doctor yet, but we’re here to help you.” said Joe.

“Why do you want to help me? And what are these creatures with you?” asked Drusilla.

they’re Digimon,” Izzy said. “We have those Digivices to make them Digivovle.”

“Oh,

“Digivolve? You mean evolution?” asked Drusilla.

“Yeah, with my Digivice, Agumon will turn into Greymon, MetalGreymon, and WarGreymon,” said Tai.

“Is Agumon strong?” asked Drusilla.

“Of course I am!” said Agumon.

“I see. Well, I don’t know where you do guys get these devices and… Digimon.” said Drusilla.

“We have these Digivices fallen from the sky at summer camp,” said Tai, showing his original Digivice.

“And we have these from the computer,” said Davis, his Digivice D-3, the same device, but different colors that TK, Kari, Yolei, Cody, and Ken have.

“And how do you it?” asked Drusilla.

“Well, when you’re in trouble, you have a Digivice and you yell out ‘DigiArmor Energized’. You can use Digi-Egg when you Digivolve into Armor Digivolution. For example, I Armor Digivolve to Nefertimon.” said Gatomon.

“That’s cool. I wish I had a Digimon, but I can’t. I’m a vampire, you know.” said Drusilla.

“Yeah, we know, but you look normal in that state,” said Izzy.

“Want me to show you?” she asked.

Drusilla’s face morphed into a vampiric face, heavy ridges marring her eyebrow, under her lilac eyeshadow. Her blue eyes turned into blazing yellow eyes with catlike pupils. She had razor-sharp fangs. The group of Digidestined screamed.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” cried Drusilla.

“Oh, my God! Her face!” cried Mimi.

“Fuck! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry. You guys hate me because I’m a monster.” said Drusilla.

“My God. Drusilla, is that Angelus what turned you?” asked Izzy.

“Y-yeah. I’m very sorry. I can put it away.” said Drusilla, shamefully.

“No, Drusilla. You look beautiful in that form,” said TK.

“Really? People are frightened about my nature,” said Drusilla.

“In demon’s nature, yes. So that’s what vampires look like,” said Joe.

“You sure you have a soul?” asked Tai.

“Yes, I’m a good vampire with a soul. And I never want to hurt people,” said Drusilla.

“That girl you had bitten, the gypsy put a spell on you to have a soul, am I right?” asked Izzy.

“Yes. It’s been so long since I lost my soul. I became a psychotic vampire like me, speaking in riddles, talking crazy, and killing people. And I got my soul back, I didn’t remember anything until I realized what I had done. I killed a child with blood on my hand. The devil made me do it. Angelus was the one who made me! The devil made me do it!” cried Drusilla, she hung her dead, sobbing, hugging herself, her nails dug her flesh drawing blood like a talon.

“I’m so sorry, Dru. You didn’t deserve it,” said Joe.

“Yeah, it’s not your fault. It was Angelus’ fault that he made you a demon,” said TK.

“TK’s right. We’re still supporting you,” said Patamon.

“Really? But you’re scared of my form,” said Drusilla.

“We’re not scared of you, Drusilla. Your true form is so cool,” said Davis.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes. No matter what your appearance looks like, you still have a soul and save innocent people. Remember you fought LadyDevimon? I thought you didn’t stand a chance, but you have the power to turn into a vampire,” said Matt.

“You are strong, Drusilla,” said Kari.

“Th-thank you,” said Drusilla.

“No problem.” smiled Tai.

“Uh, you forget that I’m also a seer,” said Drusilla.

“Oh, like a fortune-teller?” asked Mimi.

Drusilla shrugged her shoulders, “Something like that. I can see those color auras in you.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tai.

“Tai, your color is orange and resembles the sun,” said Drusilla.

“Sun? Wait, you mean my crest? That’s a crest of Courage!” exclaimed Tai.

“Courage… are you a courageous boy? What does it mean to you?” asked Drusilla.

“It means to face your fears and help others and yourself,” said Tai.

“Really? You are brave. And what about you, Matt? You have a blue aura and it resembles a Yin-Yang. What does it mean to you?” asked Drusilla.

“The Crest of Friendship. It means having people you can fully trust, and being trusted by them, able to help each other in success and comfort each other in failure,” said Matt.

“I… I have friends now. I saved my friends from the alley,” said Drusilla.

“Who are your friends?” asked Matt.

“David and Britney,” she said. “I met them at the nightclub.”

“Nightclub?” asked Tai.

“Yeah, they already knew I’m a vampire, but they believed me,” said Drusilla.

“I see. You saved your friends from other vampires,” said Izzy.

“Sora?” Drusilla asked.

“Yes?” she responded.

“Your aura is red. This shape is like a heart. Is it love?” asked Drusilla.

“Yes, that’s a Crest of Love. It means you want to cherish and protect others,” explained Sora.

“Love… My Spike and I used to be together for 18 years, but not anymore. I made him a vampire when he protected me and treated me like a dark princess. When I regained my soul, I no longer needed him. Now that I am in charge, I can take care of myself." Drusilla said.

“You broke up with Spike?” asked Sora.

“…Yeah. But I have a new lover, Leon. But I didn’t turn him.” said Drusilla.

“Okay, you have a new lover,” said Sora.

TK rolled his eyes.

“Izzy… Your aura is purple and it looks like a binocular,” said Drusilla.

"As I mentioned before, it is a Crest of Knowledge. Truth is borne from knowing the truth. Izzy said, "I know you're a seer, and you know everything."

“And you know anything about me. Mimi, your aura is green and it resembles a teardrop,” said Drusilla.

“It’s a Crest of Purity. Mimi replied, "That means you have a pure heart, you protect people so they can behave unselfishly.".

“Purity… I have a pure soul to protect people. I wish to be pure in His sight,” said Drusilla.

“You’re a Catholic?” asked Mimi.

“Yes. Joe, your aura is silver, it resembles a cross. Are you a Catholic?” asked Drusilla.

“Uh, no. This is my Crest of Reliability. I am a Shintoist,” Joe replied. “Reliability means being able to trust others and taking steps to protect them.”

“I see. TK, your aura is yellow and it resembles a shooting star. What does it mean to you?” asked Drusilla.

“Crest of Hope. It means never giving up hope, even in the darkest of times.

Hope that things will turn around, that everything will get better.” smiled TK.

“Thanks, TK,” Drusilla said. “Kari, your aura is pink, and your symbol is stylized as the star. What does it mean to you?”

“It's the Crest of Light. That means the light shines through the darkness for you, and you refuse to bow down to evil," replied Kari.

“With this candle, I will light your darkness, and banish the spirits of darkness around you,“ said Drusilla.

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” said Kari.

“And lastly, Ken. Your aura is lavender. Your symbol is like a lotus. What does it mean to you?” asked Ken.

“It’s the Crest of Kindness. "It means showing compassion and empathy to those who need it, even to yourself," Ken explained.

“You’re a kind person, aren’t you, Ken?” asked Drusilla.

Ken blushed modestly, “Uh, yeah.”

“What about me? I have a crest, too.” Davis blurted out.

“Ah, I forgot that one. Your aura is gold. This symbol looks like a letter M. What does it mean to you?” asked Drusilla.

“The Crest of Miracle. A miracle is...well, miraculous. A miracle can turn the tide of battle in many situations, everyone moves forward, leading to miracles.” said Davis.

“I see. You’re a miraculous boy,” said Drusilla.

Davis chuckled.

Drusilla laughed. “Even the Bible verses tell you about your virtues.”

"Uh, yeah, but we aren't very religious. Izzy replied, "We're just Digidestined.".

“Right, sorry,” Drusilla said. “What about these two? Don’t they have their crests?”

“Oh, Yolei has two crests: Love and Purity. And Cody has two of them are Knowledge and Reliability,” said TK.

“They both have Digi-Eggs to make them Armor Digivolution,” Kari added.

“Oh, I see,” said Drusilla.

A call came to Drusilla's phone, an ID called Whistler.

‘Whistler.’ thought Drusilla.

“Um, can you excuse me for a second?” she asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” said Izzy.

She walked to the corner away from her laptop, she turned back to her human face and answered the phone.

“Hello?” she responded.

“Hey, Dru, we’re here,” Whistler said. “Blade is going to aid you. And we have some weapons too.”

“Great. Where are you now?” asked Drusilla.

“We’re at the factory in Kawasaki. The place is called Kojo Yakei. We've got vampires to take care of, so meet us there,” said Whistler.

“Alright, I’ll be right there,” Drusilla hung up her phone and walked to her laptop they were still on the webcam.

“Sorry, guys. I have to go. They’re waiting for me,” said Drusilla.

“We’re coming, too,” said Tai.

“No, you stay here. I can’t let anyone get killed,” said Drusilla.

“We can protect our partners. We’ll look after them, even you,” said Gatomon.

“Gatomon’s right. We want to help you, too,” said Kari.

“How would you feel if your parents were worried about you?” asked Drusilla.

“Our parents know Digimon, Drusilla. Please, we want to help you,” said TK.

Drusilla couldn't argue with them, so she had to accept what they said.

Drusilla sighed, “Alright, fine, you can come. But don’t do anything reckless.”

“Thanks. So, where are we heading?” TK asked.

“Kojo Yakei,” she answered.

#tktakaishi #digimonadventure02 #crossover #btvs #drusilla #mattishida #vampires #buffythevampireslayer #digimon adventure #angeltheseries

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thesportssoundoff · 5 years

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“No point in a deceitful lead in, you’re gonna watch anyways” UFC in Greenville Preview

Joey

June 20th

How to describe this card. Hmm. Pointless feels almost too harsh. Inconsequential? Whatever word you choose to describe 12 fights of nothin' I'd suggest you use it to your hearts content. This card is a mix of pointless yet fun action fights and just plain pointless fights. This card by and large is just a collection of fighters either coming off a win or having snapped a losing streak all doing stuff. There's little to no name value and it's just a collection of fights. At the same time being fair TO the fights, some of these have big action quality on paper. The main and co-main event are great fights and beyond that you have a few interesting fights at women's flyweight, Luis Pena's return to 155 lbs against a returning Matt Wiman, a welterweight action fight throwdown and some interesting stuff at middleweight. It's a meaningless filler fight card but it's got potential to be worth your time should you sit in for it. Ready?

Fights: 12

Debuts: Deron Winn, Eric Spicely

Fight Changes/Injury Cancellations: 3 (Markus Perez OUT/Bruno Silva IN vs Deron Winn/Bruno Silva OUT, Eric Spicely IN vs Derron Winn/Cody Stamman OUT, John Lineker IN vs Rob Font)

Headliners (fighters who have either main evented or co-main evented shows in the UFC): 4 (Renato Moicano, John Lineker, Korean Zombie, Kevin Holland)

Fighters On Losing Streaks in the UFC: 1 (Syuri Kondo)

Fighters On Winning Streaks in the UFC: (Dan Ige, Kevin Aguilar, Montana De La Rosa, Andrea Lee)

Main Card Record Since Jan 1st 2017 (in the UFC): 23-17

Korean Zombie- 1-1 Renato Moicano- 3-2 Rob Font- 2-2 John Lineker- 3-2 Randy Brown- 1-2 Bryan Barberena- 2-2 Kevin Holland- 2-1 Alessio Di Chirico- 2-1 Montana De La Rosa- 3-0 Andrea Lee- 2-0 Ashley Yoder- 1-2 Syuri Kondo- 1-2

Fights By Weight Class (yearly number here):

Bantamweight- 2 (30) Featherweight- 2 (28)) Middleweight- 2 (20) Women’s Flyweight- 2 (18) Women’s Strawweight- 1 (16) Lightweight- 1 (39) Heavyweight- 1 (16) Welterweight- 1 (34)

Light Heavyweight- (22) Women’s Bantamweight- (8) Women’s Featherweight- (6)

Flyweight- (7)

2019 Number Tracker

Debuting Fighters (15-37)- Deron Winn, Eric Spicely

Short Notice Fighters (15-20)- Eric Spicely, John Lineker

Second Fight (36-9)- Anderson dos Santos, Ariane Lipski, Jair Rozenstruik

Cage Corrosion (Fighters who have not fought within a year of the date of the fight) (12-22)- Matt Wiman

Undefeated Fighters (21-25)- Deron Winn, Jairzinho Rozenstruik

Fighters with at least four fights in the UFC with 0 wins over competition still in the organization (8-8)-

Weight Class Jumpers (Fighters competing outside of the weight class of their last fight even if they’re returning BACK to their “normal weight class”) (16-13)- Luis Pena

Twelve Precarious Ponderings

1- So who needs the win more in this main event? Both guys are coming off losses and both guys are giving ground in the 145 lbs division that's actually kinda sorta in need of some new faces. After Volkanovski and Zhabit, Max Holloway doesn't have much remaining and Frankie Edgar, should he win the title, probably isn't long for the MMA scene either. Both fighters were finished in their last fight but both have interesting in roads to the title. Renato Moicano has a low key solid resume with wins over the likes of Calvin Kattar, Jeremy Stephens, Zubair Tukhogov and Cub Swanson and as one of the rare young-ish upside-ish Brazilians with some steam, he may not be too far away from a title shot. Conversely the Korean Zombie remains a sneaky popular fighter (when FS1 numbers started tanking toward the end of the deal, the Korean Zombie vs Yair and Bermudez did reputable numbers) who is always in exciting fights. Injuries and a military assignment might've taken away his prime but he's probably still good enough to be in the mix as they say. It's worth remembering he probably beats Yair Rodriguez if he doesn't get hit with the hail mary elbow. That said, ya can't rewrite history so what we're left with is a really fun action fighter who has had two fights since 2013 and one of his wins was over a guy who wound up eventually retiring in 2018. Not exactly a resume for success in 2019. So who needs this more? The Brazilian fighter who has twice failed in his "step up" fight (subbed vs Ortega, TKO'd vs Aldo) or the Korean Zombie who may have seen his title window violently closed vs Yair Rodriguez?

2- Trying to think of how the featherweight fights down the stretch shake out, I wonder if the winner of this fight gets Zhabit in September and the runner up gets Ortega.

3-I've referred to this as a "Let's See Who's More Broken?" fight and while that may be harsh, I can't act like one of the bigger question marks about this fight isn't trying to figure out who is more cracked.

4- If Renato Moicano has a weakness; it's that he lulls defensively and tends to struggle when he's forced to handle pressure. Brian Ortega beat him by wrecking him to the body and never giving him space to breathe despite Brian Ortega eating a ton of shots. The Korean Zombie's career has been earmarked by wars upon wars and you'd have to assume that in terms of PRESSURE (not movement or footwork but just pressure), he can replicate Ortega's gameplan while hitting a lot harder. The question is whether he becomes too predictable offensively because Moicano's fight processor runs at high speed and he has great vision.

5- I feel like Rob Font is such a throwback to when bantamweight was kinda getting thicker and dudes like him were considered vital pieces to the developing puzzle. Now he's just a guy passed over by like ten other bantamweights. That year and change between debut and his second fight really put a stop to that.

6- Is the winner of Andrea Lee vs Montana De La Rosa the #1 contender? At the rate Valentina is fighting at, she could realistically fight the winner of this one in the fall.

7- I'm not entirely sure what John Lineker's complaints were about regarding not fighting often enough. They tried to book him to fight in 2017 in December and he got yanked. They tried to book him in December of 2018 and Cruz got yanked and then HE was hurt so they rescheduled it for January and he got hurt (or never recovered) and so Lineker wound up fighting in April. It's not like they're not trying to get him fights, he's just having a tough time making it to them.

8- If it's true that Allen Crowder apparently asked for $100,000 for the Greg Hardy rematch, I wonder if he could be theoretically one loss away from getting sent out of the org. Makes his fight with Jair Rozenstruik a bit more intriguing.

9- Why is Ashley Yoder vs Syuri Kondo on the main card over Kevin Aguilar/Dan Ige, Luis Pena/Matt Wiman or Winn/Spicely? I know card placement is sort of irrelevant but this seems particularly egregious.

10- Alessio Di Chirico is 2-2 in the UFC and showcased some promise in his last two fights vs Oluwale Bangbose and Julian Marquez. I wonder if Di Cihrico is going to be what we all expected Marvin Vettori to be? Kevin Holland should be a good test for both guys since Alessio rarely makes mistakes and has the power to pop Holland if he decides to get momentarily stupid in there. Holland has pretty much every physical advantage and when guys at 185+ fight, cardio kinda doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

11- Cannot emphasize how great of a fight Kevin Aguilar vs Dan Ige figures to be.

12- The image of 5'5 Deron Winn fighting at MW in the UFC cage is going to make me pine for seeing Gustavo Balart in the UFC.

#MMA #Greenville #UFC #Korean Zombie #Renato Moicano #Fights #Lineker #Font

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writingismyhappytime · 7 years

Text

Bucky Barnes (Part 10)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language, Extreme Violence

"Do you think he's okay?" You fret, sitting beside Steve in the car as he drives down the freeway, his knuckles tight on the wheel. The traffic is thick, but the soldier doesn't seem phased as he slips in between the cars, driving like a maniac.

You do your best not to flinch every time he has to hit the brakes, or when he accelerates to a point you're forced back against the seat.

Maybe you should be wearing a seatbelt, but the pressure on your side is too much and you can't stand it.

You snuck out of the hospital wearing a borrowed pair of scrubs, which you'd ditched for one of Steve's shirts and a pair of blue jeans that are just a size too big but still wearable.

You hope Steve knows where he's going, because he's not following a GPS or any maps. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, and he's been mostly quiet the entire trip --- you'd only been gone two hours, and you know the others must have noticed already.

Would they assume you and Rogers left together? Usually just being in his presence is intolerable, he's so righteous and inherently good, it annoys you. Nothing is ever black and white, and you know the captain has to have some bad quirks or something.

"Bucky can hold his own, he's always been able too. As long as they don't use his trigger word, we should be okay."

"What if he's not where the tracker says? What if they know about it and they left it behind as a diversion?" You'd snuck the marble in his back pocket last minute, more so because you figured they'd take you and you wanted them to be able to get you back.

You never imagined Bucky would trade places with you.

"Then we keep searching," Steve replies, his voice terse. "We keep searching until we find him. He would do the same for us."

True.

You sigh, letting your head rest back against the seat. You stare out the window at the passing cars, chewing your lower lip nervously.

You never thought you'd end up in a predicament like this.

"I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me." Steve suddenly says, and you loll your head in his direction with a sinking feeling. Great.

"What?"

"What are you?"

You blink. "What?"

"What are you?"

"What the hell kind of question is that, Rogers?"

His eyes flick over to you. "Are you human? From an alien race? A different realm?"

"Are you fucking stupid?" You arch a brow at him. "No. I was born in Connecticut. Why?"

"When we were falling off the building, you used your power to stop us from hitting the ground. I thought you were unconscious, but when you looked up at me your eyes were glowing, and it wasn't human."

"You're fucking with me."

Steve scowls; he hates that you talk so crudely, he doesn't understand how Bucky stands it. "No, I'm not. I'm Serious. Your eyes were too bright and your power --- I thought you could only use it with your hands."

You snort, crossing your arms. "You don't know anything about me, Rogers."

He's learning that.

"So tell me." He says after a moment, glancing at you. "I don't want to be unprepared for anything. It's going to be a brutal fight getting Bucky back, and I need to know I can rely on you."

"Well I haven't let you die yet, have I?" Not that it's not crossed your mind.

"That doesn't mean you won't if you see a better opportunity."

You huff.

"Look, I'm pissed you sold me out and got me sucked into the Avenger nonsense, alright? But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you die or kill you, that's not who I am. I bake cakes for a living, or at least I did. The worst thing I'll ever do to you is put laxative in something you eat and watch you suffer."

Steve grimaces.

Somehow he doesn't doubt that.

~~~~~~~

"Are you sure this is the right place?" You whisper uncertainly, your stomach twisting as you look. It's looks like some kind of lumber mill, piles of planks and thick trunks of trees everywhere. You can see cranes and trucks parked behind a large bobwire fence, and the lot is a mix of dirt and concrete, as if they paved half and then gave up.

It's creepy as hell.

"This is where the tracker leads." Steve murmurs, squinting his eyes. His gaze is sharp as he overlooks the area; it's too quiet, he doesn't even see any guards.

They might have the wrong place, or be too late.

"Do you see anyone?" You're on your knees in the dirt and grass, your side throbbing. You're trying to stay as quiet as possible, but your chest is tight, heart pounding so hard you feel as if everyone should be able to hear you.

"No."

"Where does it show he is?" You brush a strand of loose hair behind your ear; you'd lost your hair bow somewhere, so now you're having to contend with your hair getting in your way. You'd only started leaving it down because Bucky liked it better that way.

"Fifteen feet from us."

"But that's impossible unless he shape shifted into a dumpster."

Steve grimaces.

Hmm.

You tug your lower lip between your teeth thoughtfully.

"What if they're under us?"

"What?"

"Underground. This could just be a cover. They're under us."

Steve frowns; they might be, but how did the two of you get down there? Where's the entrance, if there even is one, to this underground facility?

~~~~~~~

Bucky strains against his bonds, held down to the silver chair. His metal arm is useless against Hydra, and he feels helpless, strapped down, listening to the machines around him. He flexes his fingers as he looks around. He's been here before, to this place. It's a halfway point between facilities, buzzing with enemy agents, hidden below a lumber mill that's operational during the day; the perfect cover.

His eyes flick up to the humming, luminescent lights, seeing the dust falling from the ceiling. He shifts his hips, feeling something hard in his back pocket, but he doesn't have time to worry about it.

Are you dead?

Did you die from your injuries, or from the explosion on the roof? He couldn't see what happened, he'd blacked out and woke up in this chair.

So far no one has come to him, he's been alone for at least ten minutes. There's computers opposite him, screens lit up but not showing anything. The screens reach up the walls, casting a ghastly glow about the room as the only other source of light.

He grinds his teeth as he strains again.

If you're dead, if Steve couldn't save you, Bucky knows everything is pointless. He'd went with Hydra to save you, but if you didn't make it ---.

"Ah. You're awake."

Bucky grimaces, cutting his eyes at the bald man entering the room, two white robed scientists behind him. He narrows his eyes at them, dark hair framing his face.

He's going to have to kill them all if he wants to leave.

The man speaking is bald, his skin tight on his face and his eyes dark. He's smiling, but it's all teeth, reminding Bucky of a shark.

"You don't know me, but my name is Johann. I've been keeping track of you for a few years now," he clucks, gesturing at the scientists. "Hope you don't mind, but we need to run a few tests."

Bucky jerks immediately at the steel holding his arms out along the chair, glowering at the scientists cautiously approaching them.

"You're not who we wanted, but we'll settle for you." Johann rambles as he sits down in one of the rolling chairs at the computers, scooting it across the floor towards Bucky. "We really wanted that mutant friend of yours."

"Mutant?" Bucky arches a brow, taken back. He wouldn't use that word to describe you at all --- you'd probably punch someone if they said it to your face.

"Yes. That's what those born with abilities or different are being called these days. She's a strong one, isn't she? You know I knew her mother, Abigail; she was a lovely woman, a brilliant scientist. Shame she died in that fire."

Bucky stares at the man.

Your mother? He knows your parents died in a fire when you were a child, but you'd never elaborated any details. Did you know she was a scientist? Did you know anything about your parents?

"Did you kill her?"

"Me? No. The fire was a pure accident as far as I know." Johann picks at his nails, and Bucky eyeballs the scientists. The chair he sits in is made of metal, not exactly comfortable and with steel manacles --- or at least some kind of metal strong enough to hold him. One of the scientists is talking on the buttons of the chair behind him, a long arch running above his head.

"I figure she didn't know she was pregnant and was exposed to some questionable research, explaining why her child ended up as she did. Or, it could just be nature, the world is changing after all."

The man talks too much.

Bucky squirms, his restraints tightening.

"She's a strong one, that (Y/N). I imagine she'll make a great recruit for us."

"You won't be able to control her." Bucky grinds his teeth as his head is forced back, a white bar being placed around his forehead to hold him still. His heart is hammering in his chest, but the way the man is talking --- you're alive?

You survived?

"Funny, everyone always says that. Doesn't matter how strong the will, it's easy to break people when you know their weakness. And thanks to Cody, we know all of hers."

So he thinks.

Bucky knows you better, though he won't dare say that. You're not the same person you were ten years ago, you're not a kid.

They're undestimating you.

~~~~~~~

"I can cause a distraction, see if I can't lure them out," you offer after a moment, tired of kneeling.

"They already know we're here. There's cameras all over this place."

"Then why the hell are we hiding? Let's fucking storm the place!"

"Just the two of us?"

"You have any better ideas?"

"We don't even know where the entrance is."

"Then by God let's find out." You grunt, and use his shoulder to help push to your feet; yeesh he's hard as hell, is that his armor or are his shoulders really that muscled?

"What are you doing?" Steve gasps, but you ignore him as you step out from where you're hiding, annoyed. You're too impatient and acting stealthy isn't your forte.

You'd much rather break shit and get some attention.

Your raise your hand as you spy the large yellow crane.

That should make a big boom, right?

You crook your finger, slowly pulling your arm close to your side. It's as if something latches onto the neck of the crane, the rough machine groaning and creaking as its lifted off its side. You shut your eyes as it collapses over, dust immediately billowing into the air as it crashes onto the fence and dragging half of it down.

There.

Now they know you're knocking.

You glance at Steve, seeing the incredulous look on his face. How the hell did you do that? You just moved your finger, you didn't even strain --- you're much stronger then even he gave you credit for, and he's reluctantly admitting you're sort of impressive.

Your power is immense, and yet you managed to hide from the world for so long.

You start forward, lifting your hand and acting as if your running your fingers against a wall. Equipment and logs topple as you pass, your power reaching out and dragging them down.

If no one pops out in the next ten seconds you're going to start ripping the building apart.

"Stop right there!"

Aha!

You cut your eyes to the left of the building, seeing black-armored men running out from somewhere to the side --- so the door is hidden, is it?

"Mind if I drop in for a bit?" You ask as you turn to face them, smirking. "Hope I'm not interrupting tea time."

Steve rolls his eyes from where he crouches. He saw where the men came from, the door must be hidden in the form of some of the equipment. He waits, knowing without doubt you can handle the men coming at you, you're a strong woman and you literally don't need his help, you'd only get mad at him if he intervened.

So, he waits until you have the soldiers trapped between a truck and a crane before standing, his legs tingling from how long he knelt. He walks to your side, quirking a brow but not commenting at your handiwork. You're impressive, he'll give you that much.

"So, where next?" You ask brightly.

Steve sighs, and begins walking for the hidden door.

This should be interesting.

~~~~~~~~

Bucky strains desperately against his bonds, his skin burning as needles pierce his flesh, digging into his veins. He knows they're giving him another sedative, something else to keep him contained while they do their fucking tests. They want to see how the serum inside of him is doing, and eventually they'll activate the darker side of him all over again, make him a murderer and a monster.

The bald man is merely sitting in his chair, chin propped on his fist with a bored expression. He'd obviously rather be somewhere else, somewhere more exciting. Really, he thinks the girl would have been a much more interesting capture ---- they already know everything about Bucky.

He tilts his head back as lights suddenly flash orange in the room, and he slowly swivels in his chair.

Intruders?

Not very shocking.

"I figured the captain would show up soon enough for you," he yawns, pushing the chair and letting it roll to the computers. He taps the keyboard, and seconds later the screens all light up, cameras angled around the facility.

He brightens as he recognizes you, following the patriotic captain down the narrow flight of stairs, your fingers trailing against the wall.

"Well, look at that! Your lady friend has come here without any intervention from us at all! Really, I'm surprised she's out of the hospital, she lost quite a lot of blood on that rooftop." He sounds cheery, as if commenting that a beloved neighbor has come to visit. Bucky tenses the instant he sees you, a closeup of your face revealing how pinched your expression is, how tired your eyes are.

Bucky stares, his eyes flicking down to your side as there's another camera angle, showing you and Steve striding forward cautiously --- what the hell are you wearing? Is that Steve's favorite shirt? Bucky can tell by the pocket on the front, the ink stain at the bottom.

Are you still hurt?

Why the hell would you risk yourself coming for him?

"Should we continue the tests?" One of the scientists ask uneasily, a new needle much longer than its predecessors, hovering above Bucky's flesh arm.

"No," the bald man says after a moment, looking gleeful. "Don't waste it on him, I want the enhancer used on the girl the first moment we capture her. I don't want the girl dead, I know she's already injured so she can't have much fight in her. Bring her in here when she's caught," he adds, and Bucky realizes he's speaking into the radio at his shoulder, alerting the other armed guards. "I don't care about the captain, just the girl. Do not hurt her or I'll rip your heads off your shoulders, understand?"

Oh no.

No.

What did he mean, enhancer?

You're already strong, too much power and you'd destroy yourself and everything around you.

You never should have come here! He can't let them get you!

~~~~~~~~

You cross your arms, watching as Steve effortlessly knocks the armed guards out of the way with his shield, using it like a battering ram. You trail behind him, glancing through the open doors curiously; you see lots of scientists, cowering back behind their desks of bunsen burners and mysterious bubbling vials --- okay, really, it's just computers and nerdy losers at them with shocked expressions, but that's not the idea you have of Hydra.

They must all look diabolical.

All the doors slam shut as you past, the locks jamming and breaking so that there's no way out. You definitely don't want any surprises running out at you, especially since you're behind Steve, after all. You keep your hands to yourself, shivering at the cool air of the facility; why does it always have to be so cold?

"Where are we going?" You mutter, keeping right on Steve' heels; you feel like it's too easy, that the two of you are walking through mostly unhindered. Shouldn't you be swarmed with guards? You didn't exactly come in sneakily.

"I'm following the tracker."

"How, exactly? Is it imprinted on your eyeballs?"

Steve sends you an annoyed glance; that mouth of yours is so irritating.

He ignores you, his steps determined. He glances around, hearing more shouting voices, and the slamming of doors as the two of you pass aren't exactly helping hide your location. He doesn't say a word, he knows what you're doing is actually helpful, you're watching your back the best way you can.

You send and uneasy glance behind you as you hear footsteps, and eek, quickly ducking as a bullet pings off the wall by your head. Your hand lifts, and the gun flings itself out of the soldiers hands and to you, your fingers curling tightly around the heavy barrel; jeez this things weighs a ton.

Steve jerks around instantly, grabbing the gun out of your hand and quickly firing it, hitting the surprised soldier in the shoulder and sending him spinning around. You blink, surprised, before Steve is grabbing your arm and dragging you behind him as he begins to run, knowing the sound of the bullet is going to be bringing more in your direction.

"You didn't have to shoot him!" You gasp, doing your best to keep up with him but failing miserably, your side suddenly roaring to life to remind you that it's injured, and you stagger.

"If I didn't he would have come at us," Steve replies stiffly, slowing when he remembers your injury. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." You grunt, pulling out of his grip. "Now how much farther?"

"Just that door," Steve hesitates, looking down at the marble held in his hand. The black marble is completely smooth, and he can see the numbers in feet reflected in the center. He's been following it the best he can, but it's not like reading a map.

"Then what are we waiting for?" You huff, and stride forward without another thought. The door opens before you touch it, slamming open against the wall just as you enter the room.

"Bucky!" You gasp, seeing him strapped down to a chair; he's thrashing, trying to get out of it, but even his forehead is strapped down. You stiffen as you see the white coated doctors who'd been behind him, both of them staring at you with wide eyes. You glare at them, your eyes flicking over to the man sitting in the chair in front of the computers, grinning.

"You!" You gasp, recognizing him before before. He's the one who attacked you in that stupid fucking jungle a while back!

"Hello again," he says coolly, bald head gleaming in the flickering lights above. You can't remember his name, it had never been important to you, but you're incredibly pissed that he kidnapped your boyfriend.

No, not your boyfriend --- that's definitely not what Bucky is.

"What the fuck are you doing to him?" You demand, taking a threatening step forward. Bucky is staring at you, a sick look on his face. He's straining frantically against his bonds, which must be pretty tough since he can't get out of them.

"Nothing now that you're here. I'm very glad that you survived, (Y/N)," the bald man says as he slowly rises to his feet. "Still injured though, aren't you?" He nods, and your eyes flick down, tensing as you see the red flecks on the outside of your shirt.

Shit, are you bleeding again? Did you tear your stitches when you'd started running? You hadn't even felt it.

Oh well.

"I'm fine," you snap, your eyes flicking to Bucky's shackled arms. How the hell do those things come off!? "Now let him out of that thing!"

"Fine. We don't need him in it now." the bald man shrugs, although the scientists send him frightened expressions; they definitely don't want him out of it. "You don't have to hide behind the door, Captain America, I know you're there."

Oh.

You don't glance behind you, just cross your arms. Steve reluctantly steps to stand at your shoulder; he'd been trying to keep his presence unknown, maybe to lend a surprise attack, and he sends an uneasy glance on either side of him. He's not entering that room, it's too closed in and fighting will be difficult.

You step forward brazenly, knowing none of them will be able to touch you as you desperately reach for Bucky.

"You shouldn't have come," he mutters softly just as your hands close around the shackles on his wrists, and you sent him a look.

"Shut the fuck up, you damsel in distress."

He snorts, and the bald man arches a brow curiously.

Hmm.

He reaches back, pressing a button on one of the computers, and within seconds the constraints are removing themselves, sliding back to free his limbs. You hesitate, straightening slightly in worry, wondering why they're letting Bucky go.

Steve suddenly yelps, and you turn just in time to see him duck, raising his sheild hastily as gun shots suddenly echo down the hallway. He's forced to move back, leaving the door open, and you hear Bucky yell after him, rising to his feet and making it to the door.

The bald man suddenly says something in a different language, sounding like harsh gibberish to you but it makes Bucky freeze in his steps.

"Bucky?" You demand, seeing his entire body tense, and he makes a furious sound, almost like a pained animal, his hands rising to cover his ears desperately. You stare at him, wanting to go to him but unsure.

"What are you doing? Stop!" You start for the bald man thoughtfully, but he merely laughs, sidestepping you and causing you to crash into the desk, scowling.

"Get the girl in the chair and hold her there," he orders, and you scoff, your hands rising protectively. The two scientists, who you expect to attack you, merely cower back in the corner, faces bloodless.

Oh.

Your eyes go to Bucky as he turns slowly, long hair falling to frame his face as his eyes rove to yours.

It's no longer your Bucky, is it?

You feel your stomach drop as you stare into those dark eyes, finding them cold. It's as if his soul has been drained out of his body, locked away in some corner of his mind, letting something else take control.

"Bucky?" You ask uneasily, your hands faltering.

"Do as I order!" the bald mans snaps, annoyed when the soldier under his control doesn't immediately move to do his bidding. "Put her in the chair and hold her there."

Oh hell no!

"Don't!" You gasp, raising your hands defensively as Bucky takes a step towards you; three long strides and he'll have you, but you're not going to risk yourself. "I know you're not Bucky, but he's tough, so I'm not afraid to beat the ever loving shit out of you, asshole."

You mean every single word.

The bald man chuckles. "What fire, you have! You don't have to fight him, in fact, this is going to be good for you. We're just going to give you a little shot, one that is sure to enhance your already natural abilities."

"Bullshit," you grunt, and decide you don't want to hear anymore. The bald man suddenly gasps as you lift him up into the air, and he feels as if a hand closes around his torso, lifting him up like he's weightless. You throw him at Bucky, who scrambles to catch the man controlling him as you make a mad dash out of the room, sliding out of the door and running the best you can in the direction that Steve disappeared.

Your steps are loud against the tiled floor, and you cast a nervous glance behind you, seeing the scientists leaving the small room and going in the opposite direction.

Oh shit.

Okay, so magic words make Bucky crazy, you'd forgotten that. Now what's the magic words to turn him back!?

Where the hell is Steve when you need him!?

~~~~~~

Steve curses as he crouches behind a door, his shield dented where it had taken so many bullets at once from a machine gun. He's only a hallway down, he'd managed to lose those firing after him, but he needs to get back to you! Shit, he'd left you with Bucky!

He peers around the edge of the door, and takes his chance, sprinting back down the long, winding hallway, sliding as he cuts a corner too quick and ramming his shoulder into the wall. He grinds his teeth as he shoves himself forward, only to raise his shield immediately as he sees a soldier racing towards him, gun aimed.

"Fucking fuck!"

Well, you're nearby.

He hears a yelp, and he lowers his shield slightly, seeing the soldier slam up into the ceiling and than crash to the floor, not moving. You huff as you stagger to a stop, your eyes flicking to Steve's in relief.

"They --- they brain, brainwashed Bucky!" You pant, shuddering as you hand closes over your side. "He's all psycho right now!"

Shit!

"They triggered him?" Steve demands, grabbing you and pulling you to his side. He sends a nervous glance at your side, but your hand is covering it, so he can't tell if you're bleeding or not. He can tell you're winded, but he hopes you can make it.

"We can't leave without him," he mutters, stooping to grab the gun off the floor. He checks the chamber, then lifts it against his side, determined.

"How do we fix him?" you ask softly, leaning back against the wall. You can feel the sweat beading on your forehead, and you don't want to admit it, but you're pretty sure you tore some stitches. You don't want to leave Bucky either, he's only in this mess because of you, but --- well, maybe you shouldn't have come after him so recklessly.

Or at least brought some reinforcements.

~~~~~~~

You hit the floor hard, covering your head as the wall above you explodes. You shudder, curling your knees to you desperately as debris flies through the air --- this is the second time a wall has nearly fallen on you, dammit!

You crack open an eye, dust billowing through the air as you try to see.

Okay, so this is one of your worst ideas, you're sure. You slowly push yourself up, gazing around at the disaster of the room. You can see Bucky and Steve struggling across the large, open room you and the captain had dashed into a few minutes ago to avoid the gunfire. It's mostly empty, just some tables and chairs and lots of columns holding the room open.

You stagger up to your feet, twisting around in worry as you see some soldiers shove open the door; you'd blocked it with aforementioned tables and chairs, but obviously it's not holding. You glare across the room at them, your hands rising threateningly.

"(Y/N)!"

Oh crap.

No!

You shove your hands forward, and immediately a table goes sailing across the room, hitting the door and collapsing instantly. Cody flinches back, but you hope you hit him at least. You turn your attention to Steve and Bucky as they grapple, your hands flowing to the two of them.

Steve grits his teeth as something closes around his waist, tight and unbreakable. His boots slide against the ground as you drag him back, separating the two of them so that they can't hurt each other.

There.

"Now let's not fight," you hiss between your teeth, taking a few steps towards them. "Bucky, seriously, not isn't the time to be all crazy!"

He ignores you, his soulless eyes focusing on you as he remembers his initial order; to put you in that chair. He strains against your hold, but he can't break out of it. You arch a brow, seeing him strain, but it makes no difference to you; you can hold him there for hours if you want.

"Okay, wake him up or something!" You say to Steve, releasing him. You cut your eyes at the door, seeing more and more furniture topple. "Use you bromance powers!"

"Bromance?" Steve sends you a look, not understanding the word.

Get with the times, Grandpa!

You growl in frustration, only to flinch back as the blockade explodes, wood and metal showering the room. You shriek, immediately raising your arms to shield your body, but you don't feel a single bit touch you. You blink as arms close around you protectively, your eyes flicking up --- how the hell did Bucky move so quick across the room?

Wait.

Shit.

You go to dart forward immediately, but his metal hand suddenly closes around your throat, cutting off your shrill voice as he rams you mercilessly into the wall. Your hands curl desperately around his hard wrist, gasping; he's not choking you, just holding you still, not hurting you at all. He shielded you from the debris, you can see pieces of wood decorating the floor around the two of you.

"Bucky!" You squirm against his grip, but it's fucking metal, not much you can do about that. "I don't mind this position normally, but now isn't the time!"

His brows actually furrow at the comment, and for a split second, you swear his eyes flicker. There's another blast, and he looks behind him, Steve being thrown through the air by the next fireball.

Cody!

Dammit!

None of this is going according to plan.

You writhe in Bucky's grip, feeling it tighten fractionally. You can always shove him away from you, blast him across the room with a slam of your hand against his chest --- but you're afraid you'll actually hurt him that way. The force of it could crush his bones, collapse his lungs or damage his heart. You've never really had to use your powers defensively, so you're not sure what all they can do, and it would kill you if you really hurt him.

It's why you haven't escaped, even though you know you could.

"Bucky, please," you whisper, tears of frustration building in the corners of your exhausted eyes. Your eyes flick down, feeling the dampness of your shirt; so far no one's noticed the blood steadily soaking through, so so much for all those transfusions you got earlier. His grip around your throat tightens, and you choke, suddenly unable to speak. You smack desperately at him, clawing his any flesh you can reach, but he doesn't relent, his attention elsewhere.

Ugh!

You see a rather singed Steve stagger to his feet, his clothing smoking from the heat as Cody strides into the room. Cody's glaring, flames enveloping his lower arms as he throws ball after ball of fire, Steve's desperately raising his shield up to defend himself.

How can Bucky just stand there, letting that happen? You've never seen him like this, so... not himself. How much control does the other guy have? Is it like flicking a switch?

Fuck, Steve's gonna be a roasted nut if no one does anything!

You raise your hand sharply, only to hiss as Bucky's fingers curl around it, clamping tightly before he pins it against the wall by your head, glaring down at you.

"Don't make me hurt you," you rasp, your throat stinging in pain. He just looks at you, as if he could give a shit less.

The Bucky you know isn't this weak where he'd allow someone else to control him, you believe he just needs a headstart.

What if you kick him in the balls? That generally hurts any guy no matter their pscyhoness, right?

Worth a shot.

You bring your knee up sharply, hitting him right between the thighs, and he sort of lets out a breathless squeak before he starts to bend in pain. You take the opportunity, smacking as his shoulder hard enough to send him skidding across the floor, inhaling sharply as the grip on your throat disappears.

Shit!

Your hand rises immediately, and you know there's a handprint on your skin, an outline of those awful metal fingers. You stare at the man you slept with just the day before as he straightens, brows furrowing in anger as he squares off with you.

He has orders to follow.

"Bucky, stop," you plead, giving him one more chance. You'll take care of yourself, you won't let yourself be murdered by him or forced into any kind of servitude. What if you just knock him out? When he wakes up will he be normal, or still an asshole?

"You know you lied to me," you say after a moment, straightening. Your hand goes instinctively to your side, pressing against the wound that's starting to burn. "You said you'd be back soon, but you weren't. You never should have lied, to my face!"

You're still salty over that.

You twist, slashing your hands through the air. Cody yelps as he feels an invisible wall slam into him, sending him sailing through the air and into a trio of soldiers that have been standing back, not wanting to get involved in the fighting. You thrust your other hand back out in front of you as Bucky starts for you, effortlessly stopping his approach.

Okay.

"What do we do!?" You demand of Steve, seeing him limping towards you out of the corner of your eye.

"We get out of here!"

"What? But we came here for Bucky!"

"You're bleeding, and I'm on fire," Steve grunts, patting down his shoulder hastily. "We need to ---."

"No! We're not leaving Bucky, we've been through too much to get him!" You growl. "You clear a path and I'll drag his sorry butt behind us until we get out."

"You can't ---."

"Don't fucking tell me what I can and can't do, Captain."

Steve sighs.

"Well, I see you're certainly making a mess out of my compound."

Steve looks over, glaring as he sees the bald man step into the room, Cody finally getting to his feet, his face badly bruised.

"I ordered you to get the girl, wait are you waiting for?" the bald man demands of Bucky as he strides farther into the room. He has a gun in his and, and it's pointed directly at you and Steve; is the captain bulletproof or just his shield?

You're definitely not.

Bucky strains forward, and his feet dig and slide against the floor, but he can't even make your arm tremble. You glare at him, your fingers splayed out in front of you. Steve steps in front of you protectively, raising his shield to make sure the bullet would hit him first.

"Turn him back!" You command, strands of your hair clinging to your face as you glare at the bald man. "Right now!"

"He's one of our soldiers, he has no choice but to follow us. It's all he knows." The bald man retorts, and you guess that's his version of no.

"You turn him back, or I'm going to turn you into a pretzel," you growl, and this time, you mean it. You narrow your eyes at him. "I will break your bones and wrap them around your neck until you're screaming, and I will make sure you feel every second of it." Your voice is cold, furious, and the bald man merely smiles.

"You'll be a wonderful addition to our team," he merely says, and fires.

Tags: @riegan, @miss-evil-one, @theonlyprincessoftheworld, @1voice-behind-the-silnce, @lilmissmoony, @lizandbooks, @isaxhorror, @shayx5, @theonlyprincessoftheworld, @iamwarrenspeace @bigdaddyfairywinkle @itstrashleydude. @scarlet-witch-baby. @davros2004. @vidiasnow. @samijolles. @soaringren. @sophs-the-name. @naturalistamisslyn @sarahfhealy @tienna-lauferson16

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #sebastian stan #avengers #avengers fan fiction #telekinesis #hydra #evil bald men #bucky barnes fan fiction

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shiningamongdarkness · 5 years

Text

Chapter 12. Move with caution

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX

Chapter 12 Move with caution

Matilda felt exhausted that morning, so much that she almost fell asleep in the elevator. She was nodding a little during the entire descent until she was shaken by the beep announcing the arrival on the low level. Between talking to Dr. Armstrong to explain in detail everything Doug had communicated to her, then ask for help to provide her with some additional information about it at the Foundation, and also do her own research online... the truth was that she had hardly slept, and only until then did her body begin to resent it.

She was definitely not in a position to drive an hour on the road, but if she wanted to arrive on time at the hour she had agreed with Cody, she would have to leave now. She didn't even take breakfast, and instead, she just filled her thermos with coffee from the hotel dining room, and immediately went to her vehicle. Her mother would have been very angry with her if she had heard about this, so it would be better not to tell her.

The coffee, as well as some music resonating in the stereo of the rented car, seemed useful in keeping her awake enough to prevent a crash. In fact, she was lucky; much of the road she traveled almost alone. Upon entering Portland, it was when traffic hampered it a bit, and the alternatives offered by the GPS did not seem entirely favorable.

By mid-morning, and between twenty and thirty minutes after the coffee was finished, Matilda was already moving along the street of the Starbucks which she would meet her old friend. She parked on the sidewalk in front of the place, but before turning off the vehicle and getting out, she took a quick look at the dashboard clock; It was twenty-eight minutes past eight; perfect time to make the call she had been procrastinating throughout that morning; and no, it was not the call to Eleven, but another that she knew would end up being a shorter drink, but more bitter than that.

The psychiatrist selected the Eola Hospital number from her contacts, along with Dr. Scott's extension, hoping he was already in his office and did not have to call him directly to his mobile phone. The right thing would have been to call him long before to tell him about her express trip. However, her head had been a suitcase of stuff from the moment she touched that photo, going through the call in which Doug's death was suddenly informed, until that exact moment. And, of course, there was the fact that it was a call that she didn't want to make at all but was necessary; more for Samara than for Dr. Scott, of course.

Luckily, if it could be called that, the doctor was already in his office. Matilda did not go around much and informed him about the matter directly. And as she anticipated, he didn't take it all right. The day before, Matilda had promised to share with him a report of everything she had observed during that time with Samara. And obviously, he interpreting this change of plans at the last moment as an excuse to take back that obligation. Little he cared about the fact that she had used the death of a fellow psychiatrist as her motive.

"You and I had a deal, Dr. Honey," John said in the phone, while she got out of the vehicle with her briefcase in hand and her bag on her shoulder.

"And I didn't say I wouldn't do it, I just won't be able to today." Matilda crossed the street quickly while the traffic light in the corner was red. "I think that what I am telling you clearly falls into the category of personal emergency."

"How convenient.

"There is nothing convenient in this," she replied sternly. "A colleague died, in case it was not clear."

"A week ago, as I understand it."

Matilda had just opened the cafeteria door when she heard him say it, taking her a little out of her serenity. She hesitated for a while on how to react but pushed herself to do so.

"Did you know about this?"

"Sure," said the good doctor, remarkably indifferent. "I didn't know him in person, but he was acquainted with some friend. The question is, why didn't you know until now if you were such colleagues?"

Matilda felt the immediate impulse to answer a couple of things to that hurtful comment; a couple of things that her mother would surely not approve at all. But, as always, she had to take a deep breath and stay as calm as possible. Sooner or later that would stop working, she was sure.

She looked around the store once inside, until she saw her friend, Cody, sitting at a round table on the right side, with two paper cups on it. The place was relatively alone, although with enough people to feel moved. Cody also saw her from his seat, perhaps since she entered, and greeted her with one hand; she returned the greeting in the same way and approached him.

"Listen, just tell Samara that I will see her at night if possible, or tomorrow without fail."

"Now I am your messenger boy?"

"Don't push me, Scott," Matilda snapped, somewhat higher than she should. "I'm not at the mood this day."

"That's not new."

She didn't think it was possible, but that morning the good doctor was even more desperate than usual.

"Just tell her..." Before she could say anything else, the communication was cut off, leaving her with the words in her throat, and silence on the other side of the line. Matilda lowered her phone incredulously, reaching to see how the screen showed that the call was over, before turning completely black. "He hung me up!" She exclaimed exalted, turning to see Cody, who had stood up once she was at his table. "I can't believe it. Is he twelve years old?"

Cody smiled funny.

"Bad start of the day?"

"I've had worse," she replied simply, and then allowed herself to place her briefcase on the floor next to the second chair at the table, and her bag on it. "I am really sorry. Have you been waiting for me for a long time?"

"No, take it easy," the professor replied, retaking his seat an instant after her. "The Uber left me not long ago."

"Uber can take you to another city?" Matilda questioned curiously, to which Cody shrugged.

"I suppose if the driver is willing and there are no more than four hours of travel."

"I will reimburse you, I promise."

"Don't worry about it now."

Cody took one of the two cups of coffee and putting it in front of her. To her surprise, they had written on the side with a black marker: "Matilda."

"I bought you a late coffee. Do you still like it?"

"Everything with caffeine is acceptable right now, thanks."

She had finished all the coffee in the thermos during the road, but that mattered little. She took the paper cup and took a small sip. Just what she needed, although perhaps what occupied the most was a breakfast.

"Thank you for coming, Cody, really."

"You have nothing to thank, Matilda. The boys of the Eleven Foundation must take care of our backs, don't you think?"

Cody's tone seemed somewhat sarcastic, although Matilda supposed he was trying to be funny. Anyway, she managed to draw a smile on her lips as she drank her coffee. Cody smiled back, but his expression became serious almost immediately.

"I couldn't tell you last night, but I'm sorry about what happened to your friend."

Matilda sighed, somewhat uncomfortable at the mention of that subject, she had to accept.

"Thank you. I hadn't talked to him in years, and the truth is that I still have troubles locating him in my memories. I am ashamed to say it, but I had to look for him on Facebook to be able to clearly remember who he was. But it is still something shocking... that a person speaks to you for a minute, and shortly afterward simply... is no longer there."

Cody looked at her somewhat strangely. Matilda's gaze had focused on her coffee cup, which she moved slightly with her fingers to spin it. Cody may not have the ability to read people's minds and intentions, but he seemed to perceive that she was not talking directly about her deceased colleague.

"Matilda?" He exclaimed after a while in which Matilda had remained silent. His voice made her react and looked up again.

"I'm sorry..." she hurriedly apologized, and immediately began to check her briefcase to take out a folder in which she had several sheets printed on the hotel before leaving." Last night, I talked to Dr. Armstrong, a Ph.D. professor, and asked him to tell me everything Doug told him about this case. Also, I asked the Foundation to investigate everything possible in this regard as well and send it to me as soon as they could."

"Did you talk to Eleven about this?"

The mere mention of her mentor made her shiver for a moment, but she immediately recovered.

"Not yet," she replied blankly.

"Why not?"

"Because it is complicated." She took the file and placed it in the center of the table. "Right now, I think she feels I can't handle alone the case of the girl I talked to you before. And if she also finds out that I'm getting into another matter at the same time, she'll think it more."

"So you asked for help to the Foundation Trackers without telling Eleven?"

Matilda detected a certain tone of recrimination in him, which was not precisely disguised.

"I didn't say it was commissioned by Eleven," she justified herself, a little defensively. "No one questioned me, so I didn't lie to them."

"Of course they didn't question you, we all know you're Eleven's favorite, and disobeying you is like disobeying her."

"What?!" Matilda shook a little when she heard such a statement. Babbling, doubtful of what to answer, and had to take a second to take a deep breath and calm down. "That is not true!"

"Whatever you say, boss," the glasses boy replied, smiling playfully and raising his coffee toward her. "What I want least is to contradict you."

Matilda's cheeks turned red at once.

"Leave that. Yes, I will tell Eleven everything, but when we know more about it."

Matilda was stunned. That was the perception that the rest of the people of the Foundation had of her? She felt again like at school, when in each classroom she was her classmates, most of the time older than her, accused her of being the teacher's favorite, and even it’s pet, just because she applied more effort and dedication to studies than them. But that was the first time she heard someone calling her "Eleven's favorite," and of course it wasn't right; if so, why would she have said she was not qualified to handle that case? Or... hadn't she said it exactly?

She began to wonder for a moment if perhaps she had overstated her reaction to her mentor's words. It is said that brilliant people, colloquially called "geniuses" for stating the friendliest nickname, are not able to deal with criticism very well. She never considered herself of that type of person, but maybe it could be true depending from who in particular came such criticism. Anyway, she tried to quickly get rid of those thoughts that the only thing they did was distract from the important.

Matilda cleared her throat then and retook a deep breath to regain her composure.

"I didn't think the Trackers were going to find much, but in fact they did. Look."

Matilda slipped the file a little towards her partner, who took and opened it, keeping an eye on it. It took a few minutes, but Matilda managed to notice how Cody's expression reflected the feeling of confusion and haste she had had the first time she read it.

"All these cases...?" Cody murmured, and although he failed to finish his question, Matilda answered with a resounding yes.

"Do you think the same as me?"

Cody kept reading for a while longer and then left the file on the table again. He removed his glasses and stared thoughtfully at his own drink.

"A shining that gives her the ability to reach people at a distance, like Eleven," he concluded quietly, and Matilda nodded; it was the same as she had thought. "But to affect people in this way, it has to be something else."

"Like an illusionist, right?" Not like you, but something more conventional."

"She would have to have a much higher capacity than just conventional. I had never met an illusionist who could affect someone without being in front of him. It would be a combination... quite creepy."

He put on his glasses again and took a couple more sips of his coffee.

"It could be something new that we have never seen before, like your other case. But whatever it is, it's hard for me to believe that a ten-year-old girl can do that..."

"You and I were younger when our skills strengthened," Matilda said calmly, but Cody shook his head slowly.

"I didn't mean precisely her ability, but..." He then extended his hand to the file, opening it, right in one of the newspaper reports that spoke about a person killed in a horrible car crash in which his body literally had been shattered," such acts..."

Matilda was silent, feeling the weight of those words fall on her head and shoulders.

"A shining like this, in a person with psychopathy… It could be something very, very dangerous…"

"Let's not draw conclusions yet," the psychiatrist said, closing the file again on her own. "The APD thing was just a Doug theory; it might not be that."

Cody looked at her incredulously.

"You say a kid could do that to so many people without having some kind of disorder?"

Matilda looked away and shrugged slightly.

"I just say that I prefer not to label anyone until we completely review the facts."

Cody leaned back as a self-reflection to her comment.

"You're right; I'm sorry," he said slowly, and continued to drink his coffee, somewhat embarrassed. "Do you know where she is now?"

"Not exactly. Last night I tried to contact the social worker in charge of her case, but it was a bit difficult. I gave my number to her supervisor, but I haven't received any call. Maybe we should go to Family Affairs personally."

"Well, let's do it," Cody agreed, and immediately took his cell phone to find out how to get to those offices. His expression, however, reflected concern. "But if that is what we believe... we must move with caution."

"That's why I have you here with me," Matilda joked, winking at him. "With you by my side, I have nothing to fear from any illusionist, right?"

Now it was Cody's turn to blush, although he tried to hide it by crouching his face to the phone.

After finishing their coffees, and Matilda a Muffin to fill her stomach, they took a taxi to the Family Affairs and Children's Services offices, to look for Adrian Wayne, the man Matilda had spoken to last night. However, upon arriving at that site, Matilda and Cody would find out about some more than rugged events that happened just that night, and that Mr. Wayne was not there at the time.

— — — —

Adrian Wayne was the chief supervisor at Portland Children's Services, at the downtown's offices. He was an Afro-American man, tall and of medium build, very short curly hair, almost shaved. He and Emily Jenkins had started working on this job at nearly the same year and had been close friends for a long time. When the opportunity arose, any of them was a candidate to be promoted to supervisor, but Emily gave him the place even before the contest began. Wayne never knew for sure why, but he assumed that she was already dealing with enough bureaucracy in her current position to also get involved in administrative matters. Luckily, Wayne wasn't afraid of such challenges. The long road he had traveled from his parents' modest house in New York to there, he had made with his own feet and carved with his own hands. But of course, it would be quite superb of him to deny the tremendous additional support he had received from the people he appreciated along that path; precious people like his parents, like Emily, or like police officer Mike Barron, a trustworthy and straight man who had become almost like a second father to both Emily and him.

And now, one of those precious people for him had just died just last night; and while driving to his office that morning, he was unaware that another one of them was one step away from following the same fate.

He was already less than eight minutes away when his phone began to vibrate inside the pocket of his bag. He maneuvered as he could the steering wheel with one hand, while with the other, he took out the device. He slowed down a bit so he could put one eye on the screen and another on the road. However, all his attention had to focus on the screen once he noticing the name displayed: R. Vazquez, abbreviated from Robert Vazquez, homicide detective, colleague, and Mike's friend, and liked to think that his as well.

He felt a small lump in his throat when he saw that name again among his incoming calls. Vazquez had been precisely the one who spoke to him last night to notify him of what happened with Mike, and he had the horrible feeling that he was now calling him to share another misfortune. The best scenario, on the other hand, was to assume that he just wanted to give him more detail about Mike or his wake.

He answered the call and put it on the amplifier so he could listen to it in the speakers of his car via Bluetooth, while still driving.

"Hi, Vazquez. I hope you're better this morning," Wayne greeted in a tone that tried to be jovial, but not too much considering the situation.

"On the contrary, I am afraid," replied the speaker, the detective's rather serious voice. "I don't know if you were informed already, but if not, I thought it was better to call you."

"Is it about Mike?"

"No," Vazquez replied dryly. "Or at least, I still don't know. It's about Emily Jenkins, Mike's friend who works with you."

Wayne was stunned; he hated being right in his horrible feelings.

Vazquez briefly told him about the situation, about what happened at the pier with Emily and the girl she was in his care. Wayne, incredulous, mentioned that he talked with her a little after Mike's new, but her reaction at that time was not even close to being able to give some clarity to such a confusing situation. The police officer also informed that both were at the Providence Medical Center. He was there too, waiting for either of them to react and be able to take her statement. Without his request, Wayne immediately turned around, taking the lane in the opposite direction he went initially, to go to the hospital now.

On the way, he telephoned Nancy Strewell, his partner in the Adoption Department, and who was in charge of Lily Sullivan's case to find her a new home. The last thing Emily had informed about it was that Nancy had already found a family interested in adopting Lily and she wanted to introduce them that same Friday. Given the situation, however, it didn't hurt to inform Nacy about it. She was really shocked and worried about what Wayne told her. He was not able to say so much since he had to have his attention on traffic, also to the fact he still didn't know much either. He also informed Nancy about the hospital where Emily and Lily were, and that there, the police in charge of the case could tell them more. Nancy said she would go straight there, and shortly after they cut.

As soon as the call ended, the music of his cell phone sounds again in the speakers. Half a song later, he decided to remove it because he was so involved in everything he had just been informed that he did not even pay attention to it. He chose better to search between the radio stations if there was any news that talked about what happened. It took a while, and he almost turned around, but he found a commentator's voice who spoke about an incident on the docks.

".. According to witnesses, the woman crossed the security gate with her vehicle at full speed and headed straight for the riverbank. Workers on the docks managed to rescue the woman and the girl, and immediately alerted the paramedics and the authorities. The state of both is still unknown to the public, as well as their identities. However, unofficial sources inform us that the woman could be suspected of having burned her own home a few hours before the incident, and escape from the police escort..."

"Burned her house?" Wayne released like a thought out loud. "For the love of God, Emily. What did you do?"

He still couldn't believe that any of that could be true. Emily? The Emily he knew? Burned her house and thrown into the river with a girl in her care? No, it could not be true. There must be some kind of misunderstanding, something that Vazquez or that commentator did not know.

"I'm a psychiatrist and colleague of Doug Ames," he suddenly recalled that he had spoken that mysterious woman the night before. "He called me a few days ago, just before he died. He wanted to ask me for help on this case, about the girl in this incident. I just found out about his death, and I need to talk with the social worker who took care of the girl. It's imperative…"

What was all that she said? What was the meaning of all that? Shortly after that call had entered, Vazquez's came in telling him about Mike, almost as if that had been some horrible omen. And now this was happening... Who was that doctor? Did she know what was going on? Did Doug know anything? and now he was dead too. The bodies seemed to accumulate around him for no reason, and he didn't understand in the least why...

Upon arriving at the hospital, he rushed through the emergency department to the small waiting room, next to the information and reception area. He looked around the room until he spotted Vazquez, talking on the phone while walking from side to side. Wayne approached him, and upon noticing the policeman indicated with his hand to wait a second until his call ended. Robert Vazquez was a tall man with brown skin and black hair, with Latin features. He had broad shoulders and a pair of scars not discreet on his face; one in the left eyebrow, and another in the upper lip, on the right side; the latter was the least visible unless someone paid due attention. Wayne always wondered what interesting story there would be behind them, but he had never dared to ask.

When his call ended, Vazquez put his phone inside his jacket's pocket. Wayne, for a few moments, could see his gun in the inner sheath, stuck against his right side. Wayne had never been a fan of weapons, not even a little, no matter how much his father had tried to be. Once his phone was in his pocket, Vazquez fixed his dark, hard-eyed eyes on the newcomer.

"Wayne," said Vazquez, expressionless greeted him extending his hand, which Wayne accepted.

"Vázquez, how are they?"

The detective sighed and ran his right hand through his hair, from front to back.

"The kid seems fine," he explained in a serious and severe tone, typical of detectives with more age and experience, although he still wasn't even thirty-five. "She swallowed some water, but they are watching her. Your employee... she doesn't react. They say she fell into a coma."

"My God," Wayne said, stunned. "In the news, they say she set her house on fire and then threw herself into the river with everything and her car deliberately. That's right?"

"I don't have all the details about the house yet, and it seems that firefighters are still deliberating. However, everything seems to indicate that the fire started from the inside, with gasoline as a catalyst. I was talking to my partner a few seconds ago, and he told me that an employee at a gas station in the center said he had filled a gallon to a woman whose description matches to her. On the river, the officers escorting them to the headquarters declared that she deliberately deviated from the route, and apparently witnesses saw her driving erratically along the highway. The dockworkers claim that the car crossed the safety grid at full speed, without even stopping. You know that I don't usually believe in the press, but in just a few hours there has been enough evidence to prove that its version is correct."

"It can't be," Wayne said, still skeptical, and allowed himself to sit in one of the waiting chairs. "What the hell happened last night?"

"I don't know. First about Mike, and then this." Vazquez then sat down in front of him. "You told me you talked to her last night."

"Yes, to tell her about Mike."

"How was she? Did you hear her altered?"

Wayne didn't know how to answer that. Altered? He wasn't sure if he could describe her that way, but calm was definitely not the right description either.

Before he could answer anything, he saw someone out of the corner of his eye, and by mere reflex, he turned in that direction. He immediately recognized Nancy, a thin, short woman with dark blond hair and black eyes. She wore an executive style suit of pants and a black jacket and was carrying in her arms a briefcase, a bag, and coat. Seeing him, she approached them, resonating her high heels against the floor, and both men stood up.

"Wayne," Nancy exclaimed, just before giving him a light hug as she could.

"Nancy," Wayne returned the greeting and hug, then separated. "He is Detective Robert Vazquez. He was Mike's colleague."

"Nice to meet you," Robert murmured, equally devoid of much emotion, and also extending his hand.

"The same," said the woman, notoriously affected. "What is happening?"

Wayne gave her a quick synthesis of everything Vazquez had told him, and the policeman complemented it with some details as well. Nancy reacted with the same disbelief as Wayne.

"I can't believe it. Mike killed himself, and Emily burns her house and throws herself into the river? All the same night? How did all this happen?"

"Mike didn't kill himself," Robert declared firmly, and even some aggressively. "Don't say that again."

Nancy and Wayne exchanged an intriguing look.

"Do you think he was murdered?" The dark-skinned man crossed his arms.

Vazquez let out a deep laugh, and then scratched his nose with a finger, and gave a big breath of air; apparently, he had some allergies.

"The bosses don't, but I'm sure something else happened. You knew Mike. He was a religious man, he loved his family. Why would he shoot himself in a parking lot? Why would he do that to Madeline and the children?"

Wayne could not pretend that he disagreed with his claims. Mike, a detective, dedicated to his work, his family, and his faith... definitely did not seem like the kind of man who would do something like that suddenly. But, if it wasn't that... what could it have been? Wayne's mind began to work in a forced march.

"And then this," the policeman added, pointing toward the hallway. "Do you really think it's a coincidence?"

Coincidence? No, two misfortunes occurred the same night, the possibilities dictated that there had to be a relationship between them. Wayne moved a little away from them, turning away. The last weeks began to pass in quick motion in his head, including all the strange and suspicious events, or out of the place that he had simply chosen to ignore, turn to the other side and pretend that he had not seen anything... but that now they began to make enough sense.

"What are you trying to say, officer?" Asked Nancy, confused. "Do you think Emily had something to do with Mike's death?"

The brown-skinned man ran his hand through his hair again, perhaps as part of some kind of nervous tic.

"I don't know. I only know that Mike Barron didn't commit suicide, and in that, I would bet my life. And although I don't know what exactly, I also know that something is happening here, and we do not see it.

"It's the girl," they heard Wayne muttering suddenly, drawing their attention.

"What do you say?" Nancy asked. Wayne then looked up at them again.

"Lily, the girl in Emily's care, the one in the car. She somehow has something to do with all this."

Vazquez raised an eyebrow in bewilderment, and Nancy was not entirely far from it.

"That's ridiculous," said the social worker.

"Ridiculous?" Wayne's tone suddenly took a much more determined stance than before. "Two good friends are dead, and a third is in a coma, and it all started when that girl appeared."

"Two?" Said Vazquez curiously. "Which two? Who is the other?"

"Doug Ames. He worked as a Child Psychologist with us. He died a week ago..."

"In an accident in his bathroom," Nancy interjected before he went on. "He slipped and hit his head."

"No, that's what everyone supposes because the police never determined something else."

"Because maybe there wasn't something else!" Nancy snapped, somewhat annoying. She allowed herself to leave her things on one of the chairs.

"What about Diego?"

"Who is Diego? Vazquez intervened again, who looked more than interested in everything they said. Wayne was about to answer him, but Nancy stopped him.

"No, enough, Wayne. Just listen to what you say. What happened with Diego's parents was a terrible thing, but it was an act perpetrated by a child with problems, which has nothing to do with this."

"Maybe we have another girl with problems here, and we don't know," Wayne added, notoriously defensively.

"Hey, calm down, friend." He heard Vazquez speak at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

"You don't know what you say, Wayne," Nancy continued, who also seemed aversive. "Doug's was an accident, we still don't know what happened to Mike, and I assure you that nobody forced Emily to jump into that river. Emily was acting very strange for days, I saw it myself. Evidently, Doug's death affected her more than we expected, and she almost took that poor girl in despair."

"She's right, Wayne," Vazquez said. "All this is strange, but you don't have to lose your mind and make baseless accusations."

"No, you didn't know Emily like me," Wayne said, quite sure. "She is one of the strongest women I know. Burn her house, jump into the river in her vehicle. She would never do something like that!"

He raised his voice of more, and that clearly had disturbed a little the solemn and quiet space of the living room. He also won some inquiring looks from the nurses. Wayne took a deep breath, trying to calm down a little, before continuing to speak.

"Listen, I won't say I know what's going on here; I think none of the three can say that. But whatever it is, it has to do with that girl. Doug, Mike, Emily; they all knew it, and now they are dead or in a hospital bed. And last night I received a call from an alleged doctor whom Doug had contacted regarding Lily, and she was urged to speak with Emily. Do you also think it was a coincidence?"

"Which doctor?" Nancy questioned, more involved than before. "What are you talking about? Who was?"

"She told me her name... Her last name was Honey," he began to feel his jacket and the pockets of his pants. "Her number... she gave me her number. She asked me to pass it on to Emily."

He took his wallet out of his left pocket, and then a yellow post-it where he had written Matilda's number. He then extended it to Vazquez, who analyzed it for a few seconds, before putting it in his own pocket.

"I'll investigate it."

"Listen to yourself," Nancy said forcefully, but not enough to be reprimanded by the nurses. "I know you two are affected by all this, and I understand it. But don't want to take it out with an innocent. Let us first wait for the investigation of what happened to give us some light." She turned to Wayne, looking for something common sense on his part. "Meanwhile, we have to decide what to do with Lily. This Friday I was going to take her to meet a new couple who wants to adopt her, but given the circumstances, I'll have to delay it."

Wayne nodded, and then ran his hand across his face, carving it.

"It will be the best. I don't think we want to put her in another family until I'm sure she has nothing to do with this."

Nancy snorted annoyed but restrained herself from making any other comment.

"While I will try to find out who this Dr. Honey is," Vazquez pointed out, and immediately took out his phone intending to make another call, but failed to make it.

"Not necessary," they heard someone say behind their backs, and all three turned at the same time. Entering through the door of the room, and walking straight towards them, they saw a woman with brown hair and blue eyes, and a young and thin man, with blond hair and glasses. The woman stood directly in front of them, with a very firm presence in her posture. "Sorry for the intrusion. I am Dr. Matilda Honey. He is my colleague, Professor Cody Hobson."

The thin man just smiled and nodded.

"You were the one that called last night?" Said Wayne, somewhat surprised.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne, it was me," the woman replied calmly. "In his office, they informed us of what happened to Miss Jenkins and told us that we could find you right here. We hope not to arrive at the wrong time."

Wayne didn't answer anything, but Nancy prepared to step forward on behalf of everyone.

"What do you want?" She questioned them, almost like an accusation. "Why were you looking for Emily and Wayne?"

Matilda rearranged her bag on her shoulder because it was falling a little. She then returned to her secure and firm posture, and to her stoic and calm gaze.

"We need to talk about Lily Sullivan. In a private place, preferably."

Nancy turned to see the other two. It seems like they didn't understand where that was going at all, and she was in a very similar situation. However, Wayne seemed the most intrigued and eager to hear what those two strangers had to say. Some of this could perhaps give you clarity.

END OF CHAPTER 12

Author's Notes:

—Nancy is a secondary character of Case 39 movie, in charge of finding a foster home for Lily. As we didn't see so much about her, I will take some freedoms about her personality and history.

—Robert Vazquez is an original character of my creation. Although he is based on the context of the Case 39 movie, he is not a character that has appeared directly or indirectly in it.

#Matilda Wormwood #matilda #cody morgan #Before I Wake #wayne #Lily Sullivan #case 39 #shining among darkness #resplandor entre tinieblas #wingzemonx

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myurbandream · 7 years

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Sentinel Wars(3/?)

Thanks to all the lovely people who left comments and asked me about this little plot bunny… I have written more.

On AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3:

Rex sticks close to Kenobi for the rest of that first duty shift. (And the following shift as well, because apparently Kenobi is a crazy person who works through his down-time and probably never sleeps. Now Rex knows where Commander Skywalker gets his bad habits from.)

Those twelve hours are the worst control Rex has ever had over his senses since he first manifested as a Sentinel. It takes every ounce of his self-control not to get lost in his head. All of his senses are clamoring for his attention, constantly focusing in on Kenobi’s scent, his voice and his breathing and the blood rushing in his veins, the shine of his eyes and the pale-on-pale tracery of scars on his hands. Barely an hour since he synced to Kenobi and Rex finds himself fighting the urge to tuck his nose under the fall of copper hair at the back of the Jedi’s neck and lick-

(mobile users, there’s a cut here…)

After that, Rex looks for the first opportunity to take Kenobi by the elbow and shove him into the nearest empty conference room.

“Captain, what-”

“Just-” Rex fumbles, putting both hands up to grip Kenobi by the shoulders. “Just hold still.”

He closes his eyes, finds the tang of disinfectant on the floor to anchor himself to reality, and lets go of his hearing. It’s always been his strongest sense, and it’s the one aggravating him the most right now. He keeps that sharp chemical scent at the forefront of his mind and allows the gentle thump of their echoing heartbeats to pull him under.

Finally free to wander, his brain starts cataloging: this is what Kenobi’s breathing sounds like, the beat of his heart and the rumble of his stomach. This is the sound of his clothes against his skin, the susurration of his tunics as he shifts position, the brush of hair along his collar…

Obi-Wan isn’t entirely sure what Rex is doing, but there’s an extremely strange floaty feeling coming from his new connection to the Captain’s mind. His emotions have gone blank and soft, quieter even than a dreaming mind produces - it’s almost like the clone is sedated or unconscious. Obi-Wan has only felt that kind of emptiness from people in medical beds.

He doesn’t like it.

Obi-Wan reaches out across the empathic bond and nudges at the Captain’s mind, trying to wake him up.

Rex jumps like he’s been doused in cold water. His eyes fly open and his hands clamp onto Obi-Wan’s shoulders. A string of Mando'a expletives leaves his mouth, and: “Don’t do that! Uh, sorry, sir.”

“No, sorry, I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan apologizes, waving his hands uselessly in the space between them. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Your mind went away and it was… uncomfortable.”

“Kriff,” the Captain swears, letting go of Obi-Wan’s arms to rub his hands over his face. “You felt that? How do you feel- Nevermind, don’t answer that right now. I want to know, but… Later.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan nods, filing a mental note to discuss their empathic connection after his shift ends tonight. “Then what are you doing right now?”

“I’m trying to finish syncing with you,” Rex explains, with not a little frustration. “Whatever happened at the briefing, it’s not usually like that, at least not with us clones. It takes time to sync to someone, and I think, despite… this,” he waves one hand between them, “whatever this is, it isn’t complete. I still need to finish the process.”

“Alright.” Obi-Wan mentally files that away as well, one more question to ask Plo or Quinlan or another Jedi about, as soon as he gets the chance. “What does that mean for right now? In layman’s terms, please.”

“I need to deliberately get stuck on you, at least once with each of my senses.” Rex glances at the chrono on his wrist guard. “It’s gonna take time, and I know you have work to do, but we’ve got to at least start the process or I’m at risk of an uncontrolled zone-out.”

Obi-Wan frowns thoughtfully. “It’s better to initiate it yourself in a controlled manner than put it off until it happens on its own?”

“You make it sound like a forest fire,” Rex says, smiling faintly. “But yes, that’s basically it. I need to focus one sense on a specific, present object, something to keep me anchored, and then let another sense fixate on whatever it wants - which at the moment is you. That’s how syncing works. The whole point is that I’m automatically tuned into you, so that if I get lost somewhere else I can find my way back to you.”

Obi-Wan manages not to twitch, but it’s a near thing. That sounds… intimate. He gives himself a mental shake and forcefully refocuses on the conversation.

“What I did just now, to wake you up,” he says, thinking of how Rex had startled free from that floating blankness at his mental poke. “Would that be helpful or harmful to do again?”

Rex pauses, giving the question due thought. “It definitely pulled me out of focus,” he muses, biting his lip for a moment. “If I’m zoned out unintentionally, it would be the fastest and most effective way to anchor a Sentinel that I’ve ever heard of. If I space out during a battle, that could literally save my life. But if I’m using my senses deliberately, you could break my concentration just when it’s critically needed.”

“So it depends on the situation. If I’m not there with you, or at least on comms with you, I won’t be able to tell whether you’re dangerously distracted or deliberately focusing on something.” Now that is problematic, incredibly so. Obi-Wan rubs at his beard absently. He can’t see an easy solution. It’s a worry for later tonight, though.

“For right now, then, what should I do? What do you need?”

“Right now I need to work on syncing with you, properly, not that… instantaneous thing that happened during the briefing. I need to get lost in my senses, one at a time, with you as the focal point.” Rex explains. His brows furrow as he pauses, thinking. “But… since you can apparently pull me out of my head at the first sign of rain, maybe I can speed up the process a little. I think…” He falls silent, staring into the middle distance for a moment, and Obi-Wan feels his mind ticking away lightning-fast across their bond.

“Yeah, I think it’ll work,” Rex decides. “I’m going to do all five senses at once. I can’t anchor myself that way, so you’ll have to pull me out of it like you did just now, but it means I don’t have to take the time to do each sense individually. I’ll go under all at once, and you give it a count of five minutes or so, and then snap me out of it.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Obi-Wan doesn’t like how risky this idea sounds. It seems a lot like the Sentinel equivalent of learning to free-fall by jumping off the North Tower at the Temple.

Obi-Wan hated that class.

“Not a clue.” Rex grins with all his teeth, and it reminds Obi-Wan very much of Cody’s predatory smirk right as they closed in on the Separatist forces on Christophsis. “But honestly, to do this properly we’d need at least forty-eight hours in seclusion, and we don’t have time for that. I’m improvising.”

“No wonder Anakin likes you,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Alright. I’m setting a timer. Five minutes exactly.” He taps through the functions on his wrist comm, setting it to beep at him when the allotted time is up. Then he silences his comm calls, just in case. If anyone really needs him, they can hunt him down physically using his comm’s location tracker. “Ready when you are.”

Counter to his earlier brashness, Rex suddenly looks hesitant. Obi-Wan almost doesn’t want to ask, but: “Is there a problem, Captain?”

“Something you should, uh… I should point out that taste is one of the five human senses. Sir.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes dart down to Rex’s mouth entirely without his permission. “Ah. Yes. What, um…?”

“Just your hand,” Rex blurts, twitching before visibly holding himself still. “If I could…”

Obi-Wan removes one of his gloves and offers up his empty hand, trying to stay relaxed and pliant. Rex cups both his palms under the back of Obi-Wan’s hand and steps closer, a little to the side, rotating Obi-Wan’s arm at the elbow so he can bring Obi-Wan’s bare wrist up to his face, pressing his nose to the skin at the edge of Obi-Wan’s tunic sleeve.

Rex inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering half-shut and locking with Obi-Wan’s gaze, holding them together. Obi-Wan tamps down hard on his instinctive reaction to that expression.

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Rex murmurs, a deep bass rumble appearing in his voice. His breath is warm on Obi-Wan’s skin, making the hairs on his arm stand up under his sleeve. “Start your timer.”

Then Rex presses his open mouth to Obi-Wan’s wrist, the tip of his tongue brushing skin, and Obi-Wan’s mind goes temporarily blank right along with Rex’s.

Obi-Wan fumbles for the button on his wrist comm. This is going to be the longest five minutes of his life.

After a long moment of existence without time, only sensation, Rex surfaces up from his senses like a bubble floating to the top of a pool of water - more gently than he can ever remember doing before. Normally, getting pulled out of a sense-trap is a shock to the system, breaking his concentration as forcefully as possible. But this feels like… like waking up on a rare rest day as a kid, with no alarms, just the quiet return of awareness of the world outside his mind.

Rex blinks and closes his mouth, lips dragging over the pale skin of Kenobi’s wrist, and realises just then that they haven’t moved at all. He lets go of Kenobi’s hand and drops his eyes in the same moment, stepping back and swallowing down his embarrassment.

He feels about a thousand times better, more focused, more in control of his senses. A little embarrassment is worth it.

“Thanks,” Rex murmurs.

“Did that help?” Kenobi asks, watching him carefully.

Rex nods. “What did you do to wake me up? It was different than the first time.”

“Waking up is a good metaphor,” Kenobi muses. “When you focus on your senses to that extent, it feels like you’re unconscious, or lightly dreaming. So I… I just pushed you towards consciousness, like waking up, just… gently.” He gives Rex a hopeful look. “Was that better?”

“For a deliberate zone-out, absolutely.”

“Then I’ll be sure to do so again in the future for similar circumstances.”

They stare at each other for a moment, silently evaluating the experience. Almost as one, they nod and turn together for the door of the conference room.

As they step into the corridor again, Kenobi puts a hand on Rex’s arm, holding him still for a moment.

“If you need another moment, to center like that again, or just a moment of quiet, or anything else,” Kenobi waves his other hand expansively. “Don’t let it fester. I could feel your frustration building. Just tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen. Alright?”

“Yes sir,” Rex says.

Kenobi raises one eyebrow eloquently.

“Yes, Guide Kenobi.” Rex tips his own eyebrow right back. If Kenobi isn’t in charge of him when it comes to Sentinel matters, then Rex can call the man whatever the hell he wants.

“Better, I suppose.” Kenobi sighs with elaborate exasperation, but he’s just barely smiling as he turns and walks away down the corridor. The Jedi has a good sabacc face, and another brother might not notice, but Rex is synced to him now, at least partly. He can see the minute flickers of Kenobi’s pupils, the twitch of muscles in his cheeks. He knows what a suppressed smile looks like.

Being a bonded Sentinel isn’t anything remotely like Rex thought it would be. He’s not sure how it’s going to work out - the connection between them is only hours old - but it’s been interesting so far. Good, really, even with the constant surprises. He’s looking forward to finding out where it goes.

~ to be continued??? ~

#my fic #sentinel wars #crossover fic #star wars #the clone wars #the sentinel #obirex #obi-wan kenobi #captain rex

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tomoneofakind · 7 years

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It’s been awhile since I posted anything. I was letting laziness get to me. Plus I wasn’t happy with how my last posts were turning out. The only way that I’m going to get better is to put more posts up and keep moving forward.

*SPOILERS, SPOILERS, SPOILERS READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

Last weekend, I went to see two movies that I wanted to watch since they were announced as potential Oscar nominated films. Wind River and Battle of the Sexes. I’ll be putting up Battle of the Sexes later.

Inspired by actual events, Game tracker and hunter Cory Lambert (Jeremy Renner) works with FBI rookie agent Jane Banner (Elizabeth Olsen) after he discovers the body of a local Native American girl frozen in the wilderness of the reservation.

Right away, after the opening of the Indian girl running through the snow bare foot and afraid, the area felt desolated. The winter setting of the movie was on an Indian reservation in Wind River, Wyoming. There were not a lot of people that inhabited the reservation and mountains shown in the movie. It almost felt like a ghost town and nearly impossible to live in during the harsh winter.

Renner and Olsen were OK with their performance. When I saw them, The Avengers and The Marvel Cinematic universe came to my mind. I couldn’t see Cody or Jane at times but Hawkeye and Scarlett Witch. What has the MCU done to me.

Anyway, bad jokes (although I’m not sure if that counted as a joke) aside, the character I liked the most was by the local Chief of Police Martin Hanson (Gil Birmingham). Something about his role was my favorite. I didn’t pay much attention to the cast besides Renner and Olsen. The rest of the cast felt like throwaway to me. They either get killed or don’t get seen or mentioned again. I couldn’t tell you about the rest of the cast except for the family of the girls victim had a slightly memorable role. I even forgot that Cody had a son and wife in the movie. The focus was on another child Cody had in a movie that had a tragedy that set up his character.

The film doesn’t have a lot happening, at least until the end, which had a great climax. The two opposing parties had a tense standoff that was great and frantic. Everyone was trying to claim domain and power over an area and situation that really no one should have been able to say was theirs to control. But no one was able to diffuse anything until Banner step in and screamed FBI claiming federal law to control everyone. It took a rookie of the whole situation to finally get ahold of a lawless type of situation.

Overall the film has a western feel. This movie is considered a Neo Western genre. I can see how the genre overlays a western genre story over this movie and see many similarities. I liked how technically the girl wasn’t killed by anyone but killed by the cold and hemorraging. She was running in the beginning trying to escape from being raped and attacked. Her attackers while responsible for her death didn’t kill her, mother nature was the true killer determined by the medical examiner of the town. It helped to set up a revenge story we help was going to be scarce. Otherwise, if she was murdered and the FBI would have intervened and the film could have been over in 10 minutes. It was good to get some sort of law with Banner. She was a rookie and very much an outsider when she announced that she was from Florida. She was upset when the medical examiner didn’t rule the death murder. I liked the getting exposed to injustice she saw for the first time.

The movie even foreshowed, to me, an event at the beginning of the movie. Cory at the beginning is hunting Wolves or Coyotes I believe from attacking sheep. He kills one and the rest run away. He is a hunter and out to stop his targets and gives them a chance at the same time. *MAJOR SPOILER* He winds up killing everyone involved with the girls death and spares the one ultimately responsible for the moments. He gives the attacker after he confesses to the attack and give him a chance. The same chance that she had. Run Barefoot in the snow to the nearest highway. He needlessly went out with a whimper calling the victim a bare warrior to run as far as she did from him.

That’s all I got, anyone have any questions or comments. Please leave some. Thank you for reading.

Wind River Thoughts It's been awhile since I posted anything. I was letting laziness get to me. Plus I wasn't happy with how my last posts were turning out.

#Acacia Entertainment #Elizabeth Olsen #Jeremy Renner #Murder Mystery film #Neo-Western #Revenge #taylor sheridan #Wind river

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jersey109-blog · 7 years

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Browns vs. Redskins: 5 questions with Riggo’s Rag

We caught up with Jacob Camenker of Riggo’s Rag to learn more about the Washington Redskins before the Cleveland Browns head to Landover this Sunday.

Well, it sure has been a busy cheap nfl jerseys Friday.

The Cleveland Browns reportedly decided to part ways with Josh Gordon today, just one day after he announced he wholesale jerseys was entering a rehab facility, putting his NFL return on hold indefinitely.

He was set to return for the Week 5 game against the New England Patriots, but was still going to be out for Sunday’s game against the Washington Redskins, so the preparation will not be cheap jerseys changed.

This game was supposed to be Robert Griffin III‘s return to his former hometown, but a Week 1 injury will have him in a sling instead of getting any revenge on his former team. It will be up to Cody Kessler to do that.

To learn more about the Redskins before Sunday’s game, we caught up with Jacob Camenker of Riggo’s Rag to gain some insight as the Browns look to pick up a win for the first time this season.

1. Was this game one that was circled on the schedule during the preseason because of the potential RG3-Cousins clash?

JC: This was definitely a game that many thought would be an important battle. It was supposed to be Robert Griffin III’s return to Washington and his chance to get revenge on the franchise that eschewed him in favor of another guy. Instead, he ended up getting hurt and is now on injured reserve.

I think it would have been really fun for the Redskins if they had gotten a chance to play RG3. The team knows his weaknesses, so they would have gotten to game plan against the athletic quarterback and really make his day difficult. Unfortunately, that will not happen. The team will at least get wholesale jerseys china a chance to see what they can do against rookie quarterback Cody Kessler.

2. Who is one player on offense who can have a big day against the Browns’ defense?

JC: I think that Matt Jones is primed for a solid day on Sunday. The Browns do not have the best run defense, aside from Danny Shelton, so the team should be able cheap jerseys china to exploit this as a weakness. The Redskins want to run a balanced offensive attack, and the main way to do that will be to get the ground game rolling.

I would not be surprised to see Jones break the 100 yard mark for the first time this season on Sunday. He looked strong against the New York Giants, and their run defense is formidable. Cleveland’s will have a tough time stopping the second year back, and that will open things up for Kirk Cousins and the passing game. This could be crucial to helping the team emerge victorious.

3. Will Josh Norman be cheap jerseys from china taking on Terrelle Pryor throughout Sunday’s game?

JC: As long as Joe Barry is the defensive coordinator for the Redskins, nothing is written in stone. However, with Bashaud Breeland expected to be out, I would imagine that Josh Norman will be covering Terrelle Pryor on a majority of the snaps. Kendall Fuller and Quinton Dunbar are likely going to see a good chunk of action, so the Redskins will not want to put the young players on the opponent’s best receiver.

With that said, Barry is liable to change his mind at any time. He kept Norman off of the opposing No. 1 guys for most of the first two weeks. That yielded disastrous results. Hopefully he has learned his lesson and will put Norman on Pryor for most of the time. If he does not, the other young corners on the team may struggle to contain the 6-6 playmaker, and that could cause issues for the Redskins defense.

It makes sense for the team to put Norman on Pryor, but it may not happen. If they do not do it, then the defense could have some major issues.

4. Is Kirk Cousins the team’s QB of the future, or is his time in Washington going to take a similar path to that of RG3?

JC: Cousins is on the franchise tender this year, so there is no guarantee that he will be the franchise quarterback in Washington. That said, I do not think that his situation is comparable to RG3’s. RG3 was a highly touted, No. 2 overall pick who was supposed to be the savior. He started very well but then collapsed as he dealt with injuries and a lack of work ethic. That is what led him to leave Washington and join the Browns.

RELATED STORY: Week 5 college QB tracker Cousins seems to be more of a natural leader who is a solid quarterback. Last year, he emerged from pretty much nowhere to lead the team to the postseason, all while displaying tremendous accuracy. He definitely has the skill set to be a strong starter, but he struggled to start the season.

Cousins made numerous poor throws in the first two games of the season before rebounding last week against the Giants. He was able to utilize his terrific accuracy and really pick apart the defense. Most importantly, he limited his mistakes. When Cousins does not turn the ball over, then he can be an elite game manager.

At the end of the day, it is still unclear whether or not Cousins is the future of the franchise for Washington. If he can continue to shake off the slow start he had to the season, then he may solidify his case to be the long-term starter for the team.

5. What is your prediction for the game?

JC: I think that a key to this game will be how the Cleveland running game performs. If they can really carry the offense, then the Browns will have a chance to beat the Redskins. If not, then the Skins will emerge victorious.

NEXT: Report: Browns moving on from Gordon I also think Cousins’ play will be important to deciding the winner. He should play well against the Browns, but if he does not then the team could be in trouble.

I have the Redskins coming out on top in this one. I think that the game will be close, but then the team will be able to pull away at the end and secure a 31-16 victory.

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junker-town · 7 years

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NHL trade deadline 2017: Grades for every deal made before 3 p.m. on Wednesday

An early start on our hot trade takes.

We’re just days away from the 2017 NHL trade deadline. Rumor winds picked up over the weekend, culminating in two big trades.

So we’re going to get the live grading done early. As we approach the Wednesday afternoon deadline, we’ll grade every single trade made right here. No matter how small. Seriously, there’s a Viktor Loov analysis in here somewhere. We barely remember it, but it exists.

But you’re here for the big moves, and we’ll have those, too. Our takes on Martin Hanzal to the Wild and Ben Bishop to the Kings are here. We love those because they’re an indication of this season’s odd situation: the expansion draft and tight salary cap will make teams create moves with a ton of nuance and thought behind it.

We have a feeling moves will keep coming down over the next 48 hours, meaning the deadline day might be quiet. So read on and bookmark for our grades, and follow our NHL trade tracker right here.

WILD GO ALL-IN FOR HANZAL

I kind of love this trade. I love it for the Coyotes, who squeezed the best possible price out of a decent-but-not-great player in the form of three high draft picks. If you thought their system was stacked now ... yeesh.

I love that the Wild are just deciding to go for it this year. The Western Conference is weak. This is their chance. I love that they can roll a lineup with Mikko Koivu, Mikael Granlund (or Eric Staal), Martin Hanzal and Erik Haula down the middle. Find me a better quartet of dynamic centers in the West. I’ll wait.

And I love that they didn’t part with any of their best prospects. Kirill Kaprizov, Jordan Greenway, Alex Tuch, Kaapo Kahkonen, Luke Kunin ... they’re all still part of the Wild’s bright future. They get to have their Martin Hanzal, playoff run-boosting cake and eat it later, too.

This is good.

Wild grade: A-

Coyotes grade: Eventual A+. Patience, Arizona. Your time will come.

KINGS TAKE BISHOP

I’ve used that chess joke at least five times already.

So ... this trade. There’s a lot of nuance here. More than there would be if he got sent to, say, Calgary or Dallas.

Dean Lombardi essentially confirmed that this is because they want to keep Jonathan Quick from playing all of their remaining 21 games ... but they still want to push for the playoffs. So what better way to do that than carry two elite goalies on your roster?

When the shock wore off, I wrote about how much I appreciate this trade from a logic standpoint. L.A. didn’t give up a whole lot for Bishop, but they’ll get some serious insurance if Quick gets injured again. And don’t count out the idea that they’re taking calls on Bishop already.

As for Tampa Bay ... at least they got something for him. And now they can finally let Andrei Vasilevskiy roam free.

Lightning grade: Knight to E5

Kings grade: Two elite goalies out of two

EAVESY GO

Typical NHL. Wait until the Friday afternoon before the deadline to drop two trades on us in like half an hour.

The first? Dallas sent Patrick Eaves to the Ducks for a conditional second round pick. Ignore the angry Stars fans. Trust the Stars fan writing this thing: this is a good trade for both sides.

Anaheim gets some scoring depth and a guy who can make a difference on the power play if matched with the right teammates. Dallas gets a second round pick for an unrestricted free agent veteran.

It could even turn into a first round pick, but I’m not kidding when I say the conditions attached here are a damn maze:

Based on draft position, Dallas will receive the middle pick of Ottawa, San Jose or Toronto's second-round selections in 2017 per the conditions in which Anaheim acquired the pick from Toronto in a previous trade.

It’s a condition within a condition. Conditional inception.

Ducks grade:

Eaves has seen some shit http://pic.twitter.com/aMO9cc7Sjs

— Josh Lile, TX (@JoshL1220) March 30, 2016

Stars grade:

HUDDLED MASSES JURCO-ING TO BREATHE FREE

What a stretch.

Win-win trade here. Detroit gets a decent draft pick back, and Chicago gets a player with promise and untapped potential in need of a scenery change.

Blackhawks grade: Salary cap wizards.

Red Wings grade: Just the beginning of the sell-off, but not a bad start.

RON HAINSEY GETS A SHOT AT THE PLAYOFFS

So this one kind of came out of nowhere, like many of these earlier deals. Pittsburgh dropped this news on us mid-morning on Thursday, and then revealed why: Trevor Daley is out for awhile after surgery.

Thus, the need for a depth defenseman. And why they ponied up a 2nd round pick. There’s a 10 percent chance that pick turns into an elite player, but if they win a Stanley Cup with this depth it’s worth it.

Also, this is just a great story. Ron Hainsey, 35, has 891 NHL games under his belt without a single trip to the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

Penguins grade: Ten thousand NBC playoff broadcast mentions out of ten thousand

Hurricanes grade: A-

MICHAEL STONE ROLLS TO CALGARY

Whether Michael Stone is actually a good top-four defenseman or not is kind of irrelevant at this point. He could be better than Dennis Wideman this year, so it’s worth the Flames making the move.

Arizona got Calgary’s 2017 third rounder and a conditional fifth in 2018 (only if he re-signs with Calgary this summer). Your typical high-upside deadline deal. Arizona frees up room for youngsters like Anthony DeAngelo or Kyle Wood to play more while recouping two picks. Not bad.

Coyotes grade: 16 prematurely announced new arena deals out of 19

Flames grade: [stone pun]

NOW HERE’S A TRADE YOU’LL LOOV

This trade went down two weeks before the deadline and made many of us wonder if this would be the high point.

Toronto traded defenseman Viktor Loov to the Devils. New Jersey traded Sergey Kalinin to the Leafs. A minor league deal. Enthralling.

Leafs grade:

Sergey Kalinin is bad.

— Scott Wheeler (@scottcwheeler) February 18, 2017

Devils grade:

u could put a horse in a time machine and send it to any era and the horse's life would literally be the same

— chuuch (@ch000ch) June 6, 2016

WE WISH TOM GILBERT WENT TO PITTSBURGH

We had so many Gilbert & Sullivan jokes lined up. Instead, we’ll waste your time with this.

youtube

Kings grade: I should go.

Capitals grade: The very model of a scientist salarian.

PAYING FOR FIDDLER THROUGH THE ROOF

The Preds’ second move of the trade season was bringing back veteran center Vernon Fiddler. Cool. He’s 36 years old and an unrestricted free agent, so he shouldn’t be worth more than a ... wait, a fourth round pick this year?

I like Vernon Fiddler a whole lot as a character guy. Veteran presence. Intangibles. Whatnot. But it’s been a month and I’m still not sure why the Predators paid so much for him.

Predators grade: Fiddler’s Kevin Bieksa impression.

Devils grade: Alain Vigneault’s reaction to said impression.

TOMMY WONGELS

It’s nice to see the Senators joining the sellers’ side of the aisle so early this season. And for such a decent player at a reasonable price!

Tommy Wingels is a meat and potatoes player: a hard forechecker with scoring ability who can play center or wing in the bottom six. And he’s been ... okay since joining Ottawa.

San Jose got a rough-and-tumble player for him in Buddy Robinson, a minor league defenseman in Zack Stortini and a 2017 seventh round pick.

Sharks grade: Fine, I guess.

Senators grade: TOMMY WONGELS

BLACKHAWKS TRADE BLAH BLAH BLAH

This was the most inconsequential trade of the year. I’m only bringing it up because Michael Latta is involved. I never pass up this opportunity.

Hey, remember when the Capitals traded Filip Forsberg to the Predators for Latta and Martin Erat? Remember how the two combined for five goals before leaving the Capitals two years later? Remember how lopsided that trade was?

Anyway.

Blackhawks Predators grade: A +++++

Kings Capitals grade: F - - - - -

COLORADO MAKES THE TRADE NOBODY WANTED

What a tease. We all knew the Avs would blow up their core soon. Who would be the first to go? Duchene? Landeskog? Iginla?

Nope. Noted grinder Cody McLeod, sent to Nashville for a forward prospect named Félix Girard. Considering the cost involved in the trade below, that’s ... kind of a steal.

Avalanche grade: Three missing teeth out of five.

Predators grade: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

LEAFS JETTISON ENROTH

Jhonas Enroth is essentially a minor league goalie now. Or maybe not! We’ll never know, because nobody will ever give him a starting shot again. So Toronto shipped him to the Ducks for a 2018 7th round pick. Pour one out for Jhonas.

Also of note: this is the third goalie swapped between Anaheim and Toronto this season. (Remember the Bernier-for-Andersen trade?) That’s a 2,500 mile trip. That’s torture.

Leafs grade then: Sure, why not.

Leafs grade now: Perhaps you didn’t hear us the first time: Sure, why not.

Ducks grade then: Cool.

Ducks grade now: A 10-2-0 AHL record? Sure, why not.

0 notes

shiningamongdarkness · 4 years

Text

Chapter 28. Abra

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX

Chapter 28. Abra

That night, shortly after speaking with Matilda, Cole, and Cody, Eleven contacted Monica. She was officially the Chief of TI in a reputable consulting firm in Des Moines. And unofficially, a cyber activist that was not afraid to cross the legal lines for a good cause. Also, she was one of Eleven Foundation's trackers with the most extensive experience and years in that work. In fact, many considered her as the unnamed leader of that small group of collaborators, since more than once, she had had to coordinate them. That was something she was very good at, it should be mentioned. But Monica not only shines and can see and hear someone from miles away as if she were sitting to one side. She very well complemented these extrasensory abilities with her somewhat more mundane and technological skills, to obtain any type of information when it was required. That combination of abilities in the wrong hands would surely be quite dangerous weapons. Fortunately, Monica's were quite correct.

However, the request that Eleven made to her that night was quite unusual, since within it was included the indication to avoid as far as possible precisely the use of her clairvoyance. That was derivate for the imminent risk that this could represent in this specific case. She hoped, therefore, that Monica would use more her contacts and conventional ways of obtaining information (if hacking, getting into non-entirely public databases, email accounts, and other social networks could be considered conventional). Maybe it wouldn't be a big deal if it weren't for the fact that Eleven was only given her one word as a clue to work on: Abra.

After leaving Monica with that little problem to solve, Eleven finally went to rest. Although technically she hadn't moved from her house all day (at least to the common eye), that had also been a tiring day for her. Still, she couldn't really sleep much. What had happened worried her far more than she was allowing herself to accept, even more than she had relayed to Cole, or to Mike when they two reviewed everything that had happened before turning off the lights.

It had been a long time since she had felt this fearful and helpless, feeling that at any moment, in the darkness of her own room, something would materialize, something would come out of the corners and rush to her bed, devouring her before allowing her to even scream. This made her realize how comfortable and perhaps patronizing, she had become over the years. Without realizing it, she had put herself, her family, friends, and collaborators in a status quo where they always felt safe and untouchable from any evil force that wanted to put one finger on them. And that really wasn't a bad thing; it was something they had gained after all they had lived and lost along the way. But the problem came when something like this happened. It came out of nowhere to burst his bubble and show her that, in reality, they were not as safe and secure as she thought, much less invincible or untouchable. They had always been exposed and with the back door open, at the mercy of any wild wolf that roamed the yard... and the wolf had finally appeared.

The next morning, after having breakfast with her husband and daughter, she went to her office and locked herself alone to speak with Monica. She did not expect any real news to come, for it had practically only been a few hours.

"You're tying my hands, Eleven," Monica's voice murmured gravely, ringing through the speaker on her desk phone. Eleven was sitting in her chair, legs crossed, and wrapped in her blue nightgown.

"I didn't expect that kind of complaint from you, Monica. Not from the best Tracker of the Foundation."

"I thought that was you."

"Don't start with that." Eleven leaned fully against her chair and rested her elbows on the armrests, also crossing her fingers over her legs. "I know it is a difficult task, but seriously you must get as much of this person as possible from me as soon as possible."

"I would do it with pleasure, if only you gave me something to work with," Monica exclaimed in protest. "You only gave me a name. I don't know if it is a first name, surname, nickname, diminutive, name of a woman or a man… You are asking me to look for a needle in a haystack, without even telling me which haystack it is where I should search. You don't even know if this person also exists. That person, maybe he just wanted to confuse you."

"No, he really was expecting that other person," Eleven pointed out with absolute conviction. "He sounded… even excited about the idea. Abra is a real person, I've no doubt about it. And it is our only clue at the moment or at least the only one that we can follow."

"I disagree with that. This would be much easier if you let us use our perception with Lily Sullivan or Leena Klammer, and so perhaps..."

"I already said no," Jane interrupted sharply, almost violently. She leaned forward unconsciously, virtually placing herself on the phone. "No one should use their skills to track down any of those girls... or women, or whatever, or the other individual."

Eleven was aware of how almost inconsistent her request was, and it would surely be impossible for Monica to understand her position, even if she explained it. But now that she knew they were vulnerable, that they had the back door open for the wolf to enter, they couldn't over-expose themselves. If that guy was watching any of those girls, and any of them were trying to track them down, it would be like going out naked in the courtyard covered in blood, and inviting the wolf to come in to devour them. Exaggerated? Maybe. But she couldn't allow her volunteers to expose themselves to that...

"It is very risky," Eleven concluded bluntly. "Abra, whoever she is, is our only clue, and I need you to find her to the old school."

Monica sighed, tired, and resigned at the same time.

"Old school requires more initial information, too."

Eleven sat up straighter, laced her fingers in front of her face, and looked thoughtfully at the sliding glass doors that led to her large courtyard, and the forest beyond. The bad thing about shining was that you could never be entirely sure if an idea that was implanted in your head was just an idea or the usual intuition that all people naturally possessed, or perhaps something else. That happened to her in those moments with that unknown person.

Is that you, Abra?

Eleven had no idea who Abra was, but for some reason, she had the feeling that they should find that person in any way possible. But, how do you do it with just a name, that they didn't even know if it really was that?

She closed her eyes for a few moments. If that feeling really was something else, then she hoped it could give it a little more direction if she concentrated enough. The first ideas that would come to mind, that was what it would take. It was not the most scientific or coherent path at all, but it was the only one she had.

I thought it was a boy, young, seventeen or eighteen, with blue eyes and black hair. He was handsome, but... overwhelmingly terrifying. That was how Matilda described the attacker. Why did she remember just that?

"Eleven? Are you still there?" Monica's voice spoke suddenly, causing her to react and open her eyes again. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but enough for Monica to worry about her silence.

"Okay, narrow the search range," Eleven said abruptly, not taking the time to explain herself first. "I think he was expecting a girl, maybe his age. Matilda said he didn't look older than eighteen. He hoped it was she who had pulled him into that space, so it must be someone who shines, and maybe hard, to be the first person he thought of. Look for girls with that profile, by their first name, and who are directly or indirectly related to an inexplicable case that could be due to the presence of the Shining.

"Well, that's something," Monica mumbled, not entirely happy yet. "You just cut me from a thousand haystacks to a hundred."

"It's enough if you put it that way," Eleven commented, a bit mocking. "Give me a list of possible candidates as soon as you have it, please."

"It won't be soon."

Monica ended up hanging up right then and there, without even saying goodbye. Eleven thought of a couple of things she would have liked to say, but she would have to keep them to herself. She also had to put herself in her place a little and understand that it was not an easy task that she was asking for.

Eleven cut the line once the sound signaling the end of the call exasperated her. She sat in her chair for a while, not looking or thinking about anything specific. She was just staring at the blank sheet of one of her notebooks, open on the desk. The sheet had nothing written on it, or at least not for anyone who had stood by her to see the same thing as her. For Eleven, it was as if four letters materialized on their own, making their way through the white material of the paper like an animal digging itself out of the sand, and then they danced from side to side, bouncing nonstop. The four letters were obviously A, B, R, and another A.

She took a pen, and she wrote the name in large diagonally across the sheet, hoping that the mere act of writing it would help get that intrusive thought out of her head. It failed. Now seeing the great ABRA in black ink caused her even more fascination.

"Who are you?" She whispered slowly. "What relationship do you have with that kid?"

She was silent right after that as if she expected the paper to answer in some way, but it was not so. It was absolutely silent too.

Eleven looked once more towards the courtyard and thought for a few seconds. She said she did not want to expose anyone else to being attacked by this new... Would it be appropriate to use the word "enemy" when thinking of him? However, she said that she did not want to expose anyone to him, but had not decided whether that included herself. It had to be that way. Otherwise, she might have tried to track down Lily Sullivan or Leena Klammer, as Cody had proposed the night before, and Monica just moments ago. Or she could try looking for Abra… But even if she wanted to, how would she do it? She had neither a photo nor a piece of who she was or how she was like. She had managed to track people in that way before, but at least she had an idea of the person and the place. Now she had nearly nothing. Just a name and a hunch, nothing more.

But it was still a pretty strong feeling, quite appealing and one that made her have all of her focus on it, something neither Monica nor any other Tracker had shared. But would it be enough? And even more important: was it worth the risk?

Her conscious and objective part said no.

Her most rooted, most emotional part, and for some reason stronger, said yes.

What was the worst she could hope for? That her husband and daughter find her with her head resting against the desk, and a third of her brain slipping down her ear and staining the papers on it? Because, in the face of the ignorance that all this situation caused her, anything was really possible.

She stood up and walked to the patio doors, secured them, and then closed the curtains all the way to cover any traces of sight from outside. Then she went to the entrance of the study and also locked it. Then she reached out to switch the lights in the room and turned them off. In doing this, the room was almost entirely in darkness. Using the memories she had in her mind of the layout of the room, she made her way to the desk without a problem and sat down in the chair. She reached her hand towards a drawer and took out an object that he was not able to see but felt perfectly between her fingers. A pair of headphones, but very special ones, to keep almost any sound trace isolated. She put them on, and as soon as she did, practically complete silence enveloped her. She also closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly.

That study wasn't precisely a sensory deprivation tank, but it worked in most cases. Depriving herself of light and sound was not something she usually did. Still, sometimes it was the only thing that made that other part of her, that other sense that only she could develop, intensify and focus only on one thing. She had no idea if that was going to work somehow, and most likely, it wouldn't. But still, she had to make an attempt, even once.

"Abra..." Eleven whispered very slowly, or maybe she just thought about it. Her fingers rested on the piece of paper on which she had written ABRA in ink.

And there she stayed, wrapped in shadows and in the total absence of sound. With nothing and no one else, just her and her thoughts. And so things went on for a long, long time...

— — — —

Damien Thorn was somewhat ignorant of all the shock, confusion, and fear he had caused in the new people he had just met the day before. He did not know that an entire organization, small but with significant weight, was upside down looking for ways to find him, at the same time that they were trembling in fear at the idea of succeeding.

Well, actually, "ignorant" was not the correct word to describe him. He was aware of the devastating impact that his presence could have on people. Still, he didn't really care at all, at least not in those moments, and in this particular case. Although he was curious to know more about that woman who had stopped Esther in her flight, and especially the other woman who had intervened to save her, they were not really her number one priority. He supposed that if it was his fate to come across some of the two again in the process of that little operation he had started, it would happen even if he didn't look for it. If it wasn't like that and he never really saw them again (to put it in some way), well, that really wouldn't take away his sleep.

That morning, one more in Los Angeles, the handsome seventeen-year-old had got up early and got dressed. Nothing extraordinary, just a red shirt, pretty casual blue pants, and sneakers. He asked to have only a cup of coffee, with little cream and sugar, and he took it to the Pent-house's study. He spent the next hour in front of his laptop, reviewing some various topics, more of a personal nature. At the same time, he waited for the real topic that had made him get up at that time.

Around ten o'clock, the study door opened. Damien looked up just a little, from his computer screen to the woman approaching from the door, dragging behind her a large black travel suitcase, and with a hard look on her face.

Ann Thorn moved silently toward the desk and stopping just in front of it.

"Good morning, darling," said the woman, eloquently. "I see you woke up early."

Damien watched her for a while with disinterest, before turning his attention back to the computer and continued typing.

"I have an appointment with someone," he informed her in a neutral tone, "who will be here any minute. I wanted to receive it presentable."

Ann's right eyebrow arched, intriguing.

"An appointment? Like... a date? Here?"

"Not that type, it's more a business issue. And it was here or at the local offices of Thorn Industries, but I decided that here would feel more comfortable."

Ann breathed slowly, standing upright and steady.

"Are those little…?" she didn't finish that question, but Damien knew precisely what she was trying to ask him.

"No, not yet."

"I get it."

The woman looked for a few seconds at the suitcase beside her. Her fingers moved restlessly on the handle.

"I just wanted to let you know that I need to..."

"Go, I know," Damien interrupted. "And I understand it; you are a busy woman after all. Go with God…" A small ironic giggle escaped for him at that moment, realizing the curious choice of words. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Actually, I was hoping to convince you to come with me," Ann commented, in a tone that didn't exactly sound like a request.

"Didn't you hear the part where I mentioned I have an appointment?"

"And I bet it must be a very important one. But you've already neglected your classes too much, don't you think?"

"Absolutely not," the boy answered immediately with complete certainty. "Don't underestimate me, Ann. I already anticipated that. I signed up for a tennis tournament next week, so I can justify my stay in Los Angeles for longer. I spoke with my teachers, and I'll take a couple of exams that I had pending online. Also, I'll send some reports between one and the other, nothing complicated or ostentatious. I'm already working on it right now while I wait."

Ann had the urge to lean forward a little and try to glance at the computer screen and see exactly what he was typing. However, a small wave of movement from the boy put her on alert, and she quickly straightened up again as if nothing had happened. Damien, however, had only reached out for his cup of coffee but realized at that moment that the cup was already empty. Then he prepared to operate one of the buttons on the intercom mounted on the desk.

"Yes, Mr. Thorn?" The voice of one of his security men was heard through the built-in horn.

"Bring me another coffee," said the boy, "like the first one, please."

He released the button before receiving any confirmation response and continued what he was doing on his laptop.

"With that, I will have everything calm for a while," he concluded as a final point.

Ann breathed again slowly without losing her composure.

"So, I understand with this that you are planning to stay here for a long time then... Even if I'm not here."

An ironic giggle came from the boy's lips, and at last, he gave her the privilege of being his center of attention again, stopping writing and also raising his eyes to her again.

"And why do you think I need you to be here, or not?" He slammed her down, almost like a direct blow to the face, or at least Ann felt it like that. "It'll be only for a few weeks, in which the other people I hope to arrive."

"The three children?" The black-haired woman blurted out, or instead almost spat, abruptly. This being the same thing that would actually have completed that question she had cut short a few seconds ago.

Damien smirked at her reaction.

"Yes, the three children... although one of them is not exactly a child." Then he turned back to the computer, glancing at the time in the lower right corner of the screen. "You should go now to catch your flight, right?"

She felt almost defeated, overwhelmed by the nature of the conversation. Ann took the suitcase from its handle, tipped it a little so that it sways on its rear wheels, and spun it toward the door.

"I'll take care of some business, and then I'll be back," she said quickly as she started toward the door.

"No need, but do what you want," she heard him say in a rather condescending tone but didn't give him the satisfaction of turning to see him. She continued on his way straight to the door, until just a couple of meters from it, the boy released something else. "Say hi to Lyons for me."

Ann couldn't help but stop dead on hearing such a comment, which sounded more like a threat. She would have stayed that way for perhaps several minutes if she hadn't forced herself to continue. She said nothing, nor did she turn to see him again. She just closed the missing distance, opened the door, and went out, leaving the young man alone again.

Damien kept typing a few more seconds after Ann's departure, but then stopped abruptly, leaning against his chair with his hands behind his head. Tennis tournament, online exams, reports... all of that was a piece of cake for him. He could miss classes the entire semester, and still manage to finish it with a perfect score. Thus Damien Thorn was born with everything in his favor: appearance, physical condition, charisma, intelligence... There was nothing he couldn't do, and no one he couldn't dominate... except them. These individuals, these people who had been right there under his nose all that time, and who he had never been able to see.

All the people in that boring world (including Ann, Lyons, Adrian, and all their beloved Brotherhood) were nothing but flat wandering pieces of meat with nothing remotely exciting about them. But these others, these that had that special glow, that "shining," fascinated him, perhaps more than he should. It was not something he could control, not even something he had sought. It had just come to him suddenly and unexpectedly, a few months ago, at that Economics Convention in New Hampshire.

****

The event lasted three days, but the Thorn's made an appearance until the last one, in which Ann Thorn would give a conference along with three other high-level female directors like her. The theme was the current role of women entrepreneurs in International Business. The event was of considerable size, at least enough for Ann to finally decide to accept the iterated invitation.

In a short and quick interview weeks before, Ann said she had accepted mainly for the idea of pushing and motivating young students to aspire to the top of their careers, and not let themselves be bowed down or humiliated by anyone along the way. A nice massage. However, from the perspective of some people, it lost weight if it was taken into account that she had practically inherited her current position after the death of her husband Richard and stepson Mark, passing all the actions that were in the name of both automatically to her. An without any other blood relative alive, she also became the legal guardian of Damien Thorn, who also had several actions in his name after the death of his parents, and therefore they also came under the supervision and administration of Ann until he is of legal age. So all of this gave her control of more than half of a multinational empire that generated several billions of dollars a year, even more than people believed. So became in the next Director was not in dispute.

However, despite the somewhat questionable way in which Ann had acquired the position, she had managed to earn her place in recent years. She had been arranging things from the main stage and also behind the scenes so that everything was ready the moment when Damien claimed his legitimate position at the head of this empire, which was, in fact, just one more step towards a much bigger destination. That was her role, and Ann knew it and was glad to do it, though that warranted making those annoying public appearances from time to time and smiling at the lambs like she didn't give a damn.

They arrived at the spacious and elegant convention center in Manchester in the afternoon and entered through the main doors capturing everyone's attention as real movie stars. Ann could actually easily pass for one, as her natural beauty was simply enhanced by her bright red lipstick, her curly and perfectly groomed hair, and that purple business suit with a tube skirt that perfectly shaped her figure. It was easy for anyone to see why Richard Thorn had married her not long after he was widowed by his first wife. Ann was a true monument of women when they met, and she was still so in those moments.

Ann's entourage was composed in the first instance by her nephew Damien. He was elegantly dressed in a black suit and jacket, blue shirt and striped tie to match it, in addition to a black vest. A rather mature outfit, considering it was worn by a seventeen-year-old boy. His most striking accessory, however, was not the elegant wristwatch, or his well-polished loafers, or the diamond pin he wore on his tie. It was the professional camera around his neck, which he held with one hand like an officer entering the crime scene with his gun drawn and ready to shoot. He was, as always, impeccably groomed, without any arrogance, speck of dust, or blemishes on his clothing or overall appearance. He also immediately caught everyone's attention upon entering, something he was fully aware of.

In addition to the four members of their security, tall men dressed in black and badly face who walked around them creating a wall between themselves and the crowd, they were also accompanied by Veronica, the young fellow who Ann had taken as her protégé and personal assistant. She was a lanky girl with blond hair, a simple face with a slightly prominent nose, but pretty blue eyes. She didn't speak much, or at least Damien didn't remember hearing her talk much in his presence. She was almost always behind Ann's back at a safe distance, her head down and waiting for her boss to speak to her before deigning to do anything. She was wearing a light blue suit and jacket, a white blouse underneath, and no makeup except a little blush on her cheeks to hide a bit of the almost sickly paleness of her face.

Damien had come to think that Veronica was actually something like Ann's personal pet. Or her secret sex slave. Or maybe she had kidnapped her and slept in the basement of one of her houses, chained to some pipe. Or she was simply a bored university student, insecure and shielded by the name and position of the kind woman who had deigned to set her eyes on her. He felt a little sorry for her sometimes, but it didn't come with his interest. Like any other employee of the Thorn Industries, or any other member of the Brotherhood who protected him so much from a very young age, Veronica was totally indifferent to him and often did not even remember that she was there. In fact, months later, it would take a couple of days for him to realize that she wasn't going with them on the trip to Los Angeles, nor did he deign to ask why.

As soon as they entered the convention center, Damien tried to look around for something worthy of his attention to be photographed. It was not a very fruitful task; after all, what could be interesting to shoot in a boring Economic Congress? Only old people in suits, greeting each other and exchanging cards, or young high school or university students, who were surely forced to attend due to school duty or as a simple excuse to spend the weekend in Manchester away from their parents and go out to party during the nights. He could feel a lot of this last thought, floating in the air, almost suffocating.

As they advanced towards the VIP area for guests, where they would be attended in theory as they should be given their category, halfway, the young man stopped for a second. He fixed his attention on a group of three people, two men, and a woman, the three of them older and dressed in very fine suits. One of the men already had completely white hair, and the other possibly had it freshly painted to hide his, but he had managed to make it look very natural. The woman was just a couple of years younger than them, and she had red hair as intense as her lipstick. She was the wife of the gray-haired man; Damien sensed it immediately. Also, both used their wedding rings with pride.

The three of them chatted and laughed like old friends, and in fact, they were. The gray-haired man and the painted-haired man had been college mates and hadn't seen each other for over half a year. On the contrary, his wife had just seen this old friend two weeks ago, in a luxury suite in Concord, where she did not care in to wear her ring or any other garment or accessory on her body.

And they already had a plan to repeat the experience.

The gray-haired man would be entering one of the conferences in twenty minutes. However, his wife would casually start to feel bad, and her good friend would offer to take her to their hotel. That would give them around two hours to get on with what they had started in Concord, and again put aside the ring around that time. Their thoughts and desires were so evident and clear to the young man that it was almost offensive to him... but a little interesting. There were lots of adulterous people in that world, but the impudence and naturalness with which many decided to behave despite the dirty thoughts that flooded their heads at those times, was always fascinating. Not too much, but enough to motivate him to raise his camera, focus on the woman and her lover in a perfect frame, and take five pictures in a row. On reviewing them, the third was excellent: she turned to see him, and the eyes of both overflowed lust and gluttony alike.

If he judged them only by that one image, it would seem that they were about to tear off their clothes in that same place without the slightest shame, and without caring that the gray-haired man had a front-row seat for the absolute desecration of his wife. But the next instant, they went on quite naturally, still laughing, still chatting, with the same impudence, as if that little moment had not happened.

Then he heard Ann's voice calling him, and he was aware at that moment that the entire Thorn party had stopped a few steps in front of where he had done so.

"When I suggested that you join me, I hoped you would take advantage of the moment to enlighten yourself a little, or perhaps make some relationships." Her tone was gentle and calm, but it had a little scolding hidden. "Don't sneak photos of people like a simple paparazzi."

Damien smiled, somewhat impassive at her comment. He continued to review his latest photos, but really only the third was worth even a little of his interest; the others he erased without much thought.

"You say you suggested it, but it didn't sound like that to me," he said in a mocking tone. "I just came to make an appearance and put on my best face, as always. Also, it is not like here must be something exciting to photograph around."

Ann laughed amused.

"In a couple of hours, it’ll be my conference. That may seem more entertaining to you."

Damien didn't answer anything in words, but his small grimace was enough to imply that the idea didn't excite him much more. Ann approached her, alone, standing next to him so she could speak more slowly.

"You still have to be there, dear nephew. To make an appearance, as you said well. Little by little, people have to recognize your face and your name." At that moment, she ran her fingers through the boy's silky black hair, adjusting it a little so that it was perfectly combed. "And you look so handsome right now that you're sure to overshadow anyone in that auditorium, including me."

"I see it a little difficult," he replied simply. And just after that, he started to walk away from her with a calm step, but not in the direction they were supposed to be before stopping. "I'll walk around for a while on my own if you agree."

"Do you seriously think that is a good idea?" Ann commented unsurely.

"Hey, people have to see my face, right?" Then he stopped a few meters away and turned to her, pointing his camera lens straight to frame her mid-chest up. "Come on, smile for me."

A little reluctantly, Ann allowed her red lips to curl into a small but steady smile. Damien released the trigger, capturing that short moment. Soon after, he took a more careful look at the camera's digital display to review the photo.

"It's not your best smile," he pointed out mockingly. "You better practice a little before your conference."

Without waiting for an answer, Damien spun on his feet and kept walking away from the group, while Ann watched in silence. Yes, back then, he was somewhat impertinent, but no more so than an average teenager. Even among his sarcastic comments and insolence, his respect for her was noticeable in the background, or there could also be some affection. Ann was not exactly happy with such behavior, but she came to tolerate it. Months later, she would long for him to treat her again at least as back then.

She adjusted her jacket and prepared to go back to her security men, who were already quite nervous about how exposed she had been, even for a few moments. Veronica, for her part, watched everything from afar, her eyes wide as those of a frightened puppy.

"Will you let him go alone?" The blonde girl asked slowly, somewhat surprised.

Ann shrugged her shoulders.

"Let him have a little fun for a change," she replied with apparent naturalness, unaware of how much she would regret after that decision.

— — — —

Damien wasn't really looking for anything special in this whole boring event. He was there only by what Ann had mentioned: public relations. From the age of twelve, they had had him from top to bottom in events of this type, in which he could show off his appearance, his intelligence, his charisma, or perhaps all three at the same time if possible. It wasn't something that seemed amusing to him in the least, but he understood the purpose. Just as Ann understood her role in all of that, Damien did the same. He followed that since they had practically been repeating it to him every day for the last five years, with enough insistence. But, although he understood it did not mean that he fully accepted it, or even believed it.

Damien already knew how the sects worked, and he knew that the Brotherhood was undoubtedly one, and one that expected a lot from him. But unlike others, and despite practically being the center of all this, there was a part of him that was reluctant to accept all as well and give in to the idea.

Perhaps it was because of the same adolescent impertinence inherent in him, and probably in a year or two, it would be removed.

Maybe it was how overwhelming it had become to always have all those people surrounding him and watching everything he did and said all the time, hoping that he would be perfect and impeccable in every possible way.

Or perhaps it was the face full of suffering and pain of his cousin Mark that occasionally came to mind when he closed his eyes and made him nervous... very nervous.

Little by little, the latter began to happen less, and he hoped that in the end, it would simply disappear completely.

Being logical and pragmatic, as he always used to be, there was no reason why this should remain so vivid in his memory. Mark was dead, so what? Everyone around him died in one way or another. He knew that even Ann's turn would come, although he didn't know what precisely would be her horrifying and vomiting ending; or what would be his own.

Anyway, at the time, he didn't want to think about it much. He just wanted to clear his mind a little, take a picture if he found something more interesting than a couple of old adulterers, and perhaps eat some boring and typical junk food. His version of a recreational afternoon.

He began taking several photos as he made his way through the smaller stands of different companies and making his way through the crowd, which really wasn't that many. He thought for sure that place was more crowded when some comic convention happened. All the photos he reviewed on his camera screen looked like generic photos taken by any of the reporters that were hanging around doing the same thing. Nothing flashy, no hidden sin, pain, or concern that overflowed by the thin features of the people, or at least not one that stood out to him.

Then he stood leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets and his camera hanging, and he just watched silently the people walking in front of him. At first, he did it one by one, trying to see or perceive something entertaining in them, and he did manage to perceive enough, but nothing close to it. After a while, all the faces and thoughts began to intermingle as if they were one, and the only thing he was able to perceive was static noise, a deafening static noise.

And suddenly, a laugh, a loud and harmonious laugh, that overshadowed all the other sound. In fact, for a few moments, it seemed to him that really everything around him had become silent, except for that laugh, joyous and playful.

Damien shuddered and looked discreetly around. That laugh... there was something strange about it. He did not seem to have heard it directly with his ears, but it was also not like when a foreign thought came to his head. That had been much stronger and clearer. But where had it come from, or rather, from whom?

He ran his eyes, trying to find the source among all that tumult of equal faces. For a while longer, everything was static again, murmurs overlapping each other. And back, the same laughter echoed, but now even louder than before. His head whipped around to where he was sure it had come. A few meters from him, among all the people, he distinguished a group of five girls, all young, possibly his age. Three of them carried backpacks on their shoulders, two had small notepads in their hands to write down, and the other three used their hands better to see their cell phones.

The five of them chatted menacingly, loudly, but not really enough so that Damien could even hear a little of what they were saying from that distance. However, the more he focused on that group, the more he concentrated his senses on that specific point, the noise around him gradually faded away like a radio that lowered the volume. After a few seconds, even the sound of the mysterious girls' voices also faded away… except for one.

(Of course not. You are a chatty, Emma. You weren't even there)

It was a soft, delicate voice, floating to him like a lost radio signal, and he was able to hear it as clearly as if it had stopped right in front of him a few inches away.

Little by little, without being fully aware of the change, the people around him disappeared. But it was not only the people but really all the space he was in was blurred until only leaving a wide and infinite black area, in which only a bright point stood out in front. Four of the girls had also disappeared, but the fifth one stayed there, turning her back to him, moving and turning to the sides and the front as if her group of friends was still there with her, and perhaps in fact they were.

It was from her that voice came.

She was a tall girl with curly blond hair, pinned with a tail that fell over her back. She wore a pink sweater that covered his entire torso and arms, blue jeans, and white with red converse shoes. From his right shoulder hung a red-to-white backpack, which almost matched his shoes.

(Jennifer was not there either. Who are you going to believe?)

There was a pause, in which she seemed to wait for one of her friends, who had become invisible to Damien, to reply.

(Exactly! See? That's a reasonable answer)

And there followed a small mocking laugh, which surely in the real world was reciprocated by the rest of the group. What were they talking about? He didn't know, and he wasn't really paying much attention to the words she was saying, but to her herself. To that strange girl that caused him a peculiar sensation, that had somehow dragged him into that trance that he wasn't sure if he wanted to or not go out. Those blond curls, that slim but athletic figure, that cute butt that fit her pants, followed by her long legs...

(Who are you?)

Damien thought, with such intensity that for a moment he thought that perhaps he hadn't thought about it, but instead shouted it out loud. And this feeling was encouraged because at that moment, the mysterious girl seemed to shiver a little, as if someone had touched her back to get her attention, taking her by surprise.

Slowly, she turned confused to her right and stayed in that position for a few moments before doing the same when turning left. Finally, she rolled over her shoulder, and her small but deep blue eyes locked right on him. And that moment he really perceived her as if she were really a short distance from him, and could capture all the features of her face. Not only her blue eyes but her rosy cheeks, her small nose, her thin lips, her natural but pretty blond eyebrows, her ears also small... In general, her face had a curious air of childlike innocence, despite being clearly an already big girl, but she was actually very pretty. She was not even the prettiest girl he had ever seen, and he knew very well that he had had to meet stunning girls in more than one of those social events, but she was still very good to see. And she smelled sweet and pleasant… He didn't stop to think how he might have known how she smelled, because, in reality, he was not close to hearing her, less to smell her.

The girl narrowed her eyes for a few moments, looking at him, or perhaps something at his back, inquisitively. She even lowered and raised her gaze as if examining him curiously. He didn't know why, but that made him a little nervous. A slightly amused smile spread across her pink lips, and almost immediately afterward, she turned back to the front, perhaps back to her group of friends he didn't see.

(What kind of boy this age wears a suit like that at such an event?)

Damien raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Had she said or thought that? It didn't really matter, because it still confirmed that whoever was watching was indeed him. And apparently, she didn't like his three-piece Dormeuil suit tailored for him.

She was cute, but she didn't have good taste.

(Only one who knows about style, honey)

He thought, and again quite intensely.

Just then, the mysterious blonde girl shuddered again, but with more force than before, and she immediately turned back to him, but now she stared at him with great amazement and disbelief reflected in her eyes. And again, he began to feel nervous about being looked at like that... and also very confused.

Had she... heard him?

No, that could not be. He had only thought about it, this time he was sure he had. There was no way she would listen to him to react abruptly like that... unless...

And at that moment, everything around him returned to normal, but not gradually but suddenly. The sound, the people, space, the colors all came back so abruptly that it felt like a direct blow to the face. In fact, he wobbled back a bit from the print and just clutched his camera as if that was going to hold him up. Looking back ahead, the people passing from one side to the other hid the group of girls a little, but he managed to notice how they all began to move together.

He took his camera and, using the zoom functionality, tried to see the group before losing sight of them, mainly trying to focus on the girl in the pink sweater. He managed to see her, at least her profile, managed to focus on her, but as soon as the trigger went off, a man in a cheap brown suit came through, completely covering her. And an instant later, he simply lost it in the crowd.

Damien released a silent curse.

What had all that been?

— — — —

Half an hour passed, perhaps a little more, in which young Thorn was wandering around the event aimlessly. He had even been in for a couple of minutes at some of the conferences and then left. Damien said to himself that he was just touring the site looking for something interesting to photograph, but deep down, he knew that was not true. In all that time, he did not take a single photo; he had not even deigned to raise his camera. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he was looking for that girl. He expected to see her face in the crowd at any moment or to hear her laughter echoing right through his head again. Or again to be trapped in that strange space where only the two of them existed. But he was not lucky. For a change, something didn't work well with Damien Thorn.

What was his interest in that stranger? As it was said, she was not precisely the most beautiful girl he had come across. Definitely in that place he could find two or three much better if he wanted to have a good time in some solitary corner of that convention center. But what had happened, this strange event totally new to him… had she caused it in some way? Was she aware of what had happened? Why had she turned to see him not only once but twice? He was intrigued, as he had not been… perhaps never.

He had to talk to her, know who she is, even if it turned out that it was all a misunderstanding, a trick that had played his head. If it was, at least the doubt would be removed.

But that moment came, it was not long before Ann's conference began, and as she had said, he had to appear. Surely his aunt was nowhere to dial his phone to ask politely to hurry up or to send people from her security to look for him; it surprised him that she hadn't yet.

Before heading to the VIP room where Ann surely expected him, he stopped for a few moments in front of a coffee table to have a drink and to calm down. He took one of the small white disposable cups, poured the steaming coffee straight from the large office coffee pot, placed two full envelopes of stevia in it, and stirred it with a small plastic stick. Nothing appetizing looked, but it was what he had. He brought it to his lips to take a small sip and...

"Hey, boy with style," he suddenly heard someone's voice enthusiastically pronounce at his side; a familiar voice...

Damien was startled, and small drops of the coffee leaped from the glass, but none touched his expensive suit or camera. He turned carefully to his left and… there she was, with her blonde curls, puerile face, blue eyes, pink sweater, and matching backpack with her shoes. She had appeared out of nowhere, materialized beside him without him even feeling her closeness. She had another of the disposable cups at the moment, and just like he was pouring herself a coffee. She was tall, practically her own height; a few inches shorter, but with the right heels, they might look the same.

The boy was stunned for a few seconds, forcing himself to react. This was unusual for him; he was always supposed to cause these reactions in people, not the other way. He took a deep breath through his nose, stood straight and confident, and replied:

"You're talking to me?" He murmured indifferently, perhaps too much. The girl looked at him askance and smiled mischievously at him.

"Who else?" She replied, amused.

Then she returned to her own as if the presence of the boy equally did not matter. She poured the coffee and took it between her fingers, blowing a little before taking the first drink, which did not seem to like at all.

Damien questioned himself what to do now. She had gone straight to him and said, boy with style. That was what he had thought at that time; was it a coincidence or a hint?

(Can you pass me the cream?)

He heard it suddenly loud and clear in his head, making the boy shudder again. He looked at her back. She kept holding the coffee in front of her face and kept blowing on him. She looked at him askance when she felt he was seeing her, and smiled at her in the same way.

(Don't worry, nobody is going to notice it. You can hear me, right?)

Hearing her wasn't the word Damien would have used to describe that, but yes… he was.

Her right hand moved practically alone, taking the bottle of cream and placing it in front of her. The girl took it in haste and poured a generous amount of cream into her coffee.

Damien was watching her closely. Was she consciously pouring her thoughts directly at him? No one had ever done it before, and he had never perceived a person's thoughts as clearly as if they were words of conversation. But then, could she hear his too? Was that why she had reacted like that at that earlier moment?

It seemed implausible to him. No one in this world could do such a thing, only he and no one else... or so he believed, up to that point. He wanted to do a test. He concentrated, as he had before, on equally thinking hard enough as before.

(How do you do this? Who are you?)

The curly girl shuddered, hunched over herself a little, and placed the fingers of her right hand against her temple, as if it hurt.

(Hey, slow down, buddy. Not so intense, ok?)

She took a sip of her coffee with plenty of cream, and that calmed her down a bit.

(Don't panic)

"Is this the first time you've done this?" She said right after, already in her own voice.

"Do what?"

"Well, this, talking to someone else like this. Have you never met someone else who could?"

Damien was speechless, both in his mind and in his words. The girl drank her coffee again but kept looking at him.

(I guess that's a no. If it's of any use, it's the first time I've met someone my own age with the Shining)

Damien frowned slightly, intrigued.

"Shining?"

The row for the coffee table behind them was lengthening, so the girl gently nudged him by the arm to signal him to move forward. Damien obeyed her, almost without thinking, and they stood a little way from the table.

"That's how my uncle Dan calls it," the girl explained between a sip of coffee and another. "To this, what we do; our little gift. When did you start to do it?"

Damien abruptly took her by the arm, almost spilling her coffee on her. He didn't really hold her very tight, but just enough to face her head-on.

"Who the hell are you?!" He questioned something upset. The girl, however, did not seem intimidated in the least.

"Easy, friend," she replied in a hard, even slightly aggressive tone, and immediately withdrew his hand. "Lower your mood a little. That doesn't make you look more attractive, do you know? My name is Abra Stone, I'm from Anniston. And you?"

Damien had reacted almost by instinct to take it that way. Why? He was always cool and calm about everything, but that situation where he was not at all in control, just unbalanced him too much. He took another deep breath through his nose and tried to regain serenity as much as possible.

"Damien Thorn," he replied calmly. The girl's eyes widened in amazement.

"Thorn?" She exclaimed slowly. "Thorn as Ann Thorn of... Thorn Industries?"

"Yes, she is my aunt."

The young woman, presented as Abra Stone, let out a small scream as if she had been blown out of the air.

"Well, well, stop there," she murmured, raising her free hand to the front. "Do you mean you are a Thorn?"

(Of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the country?)

(We are only in the national Top 5)

That last Damien had thought of as an answer, almost without realizing it, now much more naturally, just as she did.

Abra laughed sarcastically.

(Oh, sorry, my mistake. You're only one of the five richest)

Damien smirked at her attitude, without really intending to.

(Can you really do this?)

(No, it's a magic trick, Abracadabra...)

Even if it were only thoughts, he could feel her riot of sarcasm completely.

(Of course, I do. Sincerely, you wouldn't have believed you were the only one in the world who could do it, had you?)

Damien did not respond by either of the two available channels, but the correct answer would, in fact, be "yes."

(There are several, although I don't know many. Only my uncle and... a group of quite despicable buddies, but they are no longer around. And now you, Damien Thorn)

"But don't worry, it'll be our secret," she added in her own voice now, and just then winked at him knowingly. "Well, I have to go. Your aunt's conference is about to begin. You come?"

Damien supposed that he should indeed, but now he wanted the idea less than before.

"I've heard it before," he replied simply, and Abra simply shrugged.

"As you like. See you later."

Then she turned in the direction of where her friends were waiting for her in the distance, with her coffee in her hands. It would have been very easy to let her go, to let her walk away and forget her as if that had never happened. But, how could he possibly do something like that after everything that had just happened?

"Hey!" He exclaimed a little loudly to get her attention as he quickly caught up with her. Abra stopped and turned to him, a little confused. Damien stood in front of her, apparently a bit doubtful of what to say.

(Do you want to go and talk somewhere? I have a lot of questions)

Abra looked at him, unsure. She glanced over her shoulder at her friends, who were staring at her from a distance, but surely they were not looking at her, but at the handsome boy in the suit she was talking to.

"I'm supposed to do a report of the conference..." she started to say uncertainly but fell abruptly silent. She smiled more confidently and turned back to him.

(Well, what difference does it make?)

END OF CHAPTER 28

Author's Notes:

— Abra Stone is based entirely on the respective character in the novel Doctor Sleep, written by Stephen King and published in 2013. Originally Abra is 12 years old for much of the novel and 15 at the end of it. This story is located around two years after the end of the novel, so she would be between 16 and 17 years old, having a physical appearance consistent with that age.

— Originally this chapter was written so time before the 2019 film adaptation of Doctor Sleep was even announced. So Abra's physical appearance and personality are entirely based on the novel's version. In later chapters, I took some aspects or details from the movie, but the main base continues to be the novel.

— Veronica is based on the character of Veronica Selvaggio from A&E series Damien of 2016 in terms of her role and appearance (although here she is eighteen-nineteen years old). Still, some freedoms may take with her personality and background. More details about her will be given later.

— Monica is an original character of my creation that is not based directly or indirectly on any other known character from a novel, movie, or series.

#jane eleven hopper #jane hopper #eleven #stranger things #Damien Thorn #ann rutledge #Damien #the omen #abra stone #doctor sleep #the shining #shining among darkness #resplandor entre tinieblas #wingzemonx #fanfic

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