#it won’t mutate you like radiation or anything but it could still kill a LOT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

my-name-is-alice-ayers · 5 years

Text

Chaos Theory pt 2

When the man had finished explaining, Charles let out a sigh, this had been a tolling day and it was barely lunch time. Piecing this together had been trying emotionally and even mentally for the three of them (four if you count Logan), “So you're saying... they took Raven's power, and what? They weaponized it?" Charles asked sitting up as he rubbed his hands over his face.

"Yep,” Logan nodded.

“She is unique." Hank spoke up, for the first time since they had entered the study, choosing his words cautiously as you sat in the window seat cross legged, a ball of the tension. For some reason sitting by the window seemed calming, until you heard what Logan had to say, now you contemplated jumping from the window.

“Yeah, she is, Hank,” Charles sighed looking over to you as you rolled your eyes, failing to agree with them.

“She’s a menace, sorry Charles, but she’s reckless and I always said she was going to get us all killed,” you pointed out.

Logan adjusted himself in the chair, as he began telling them more details of the future, “In the beginning the Sentinels were just targeting mutants, then they began to identify the genetics in non-mutants who'd eventually have mutant children or grandchildren. Then they started targeting everybody. Many of the humans tried to help us, it was a slaughter. Leaving only the worst of humanity in charge.”

You rose giving in to pour yourself a real drink as you watched Charles walk over to the other couch and sink in to the cushions next to Hank.

Logan continued, “I've been in a lot of wars, I've never seen anything like this. And it all starts with HER."

“Shocker,” you whispered under your breath, Logan raised an eyebrow at you making your cheeks flush again.

“Let's just say for the sake of... the sake, that I choose to believe you...” Charles spoke carefully glancing at you awaiting a reaction, “that I choose to help you. Raven won't listen to me. Her heat and soul belong to someone else now."

You felt it all over again, the emptiness that Erik had left inside of you. You felt all of their eyes on you as you bit your bottom lip staring at the ceiling to try and keep it all together. You closed your eyes trying to count slowly in your head (something Erik had actually taught you as a calming technique which in reality enraged you more), you could feel your emotions radiating off you like a heat wave, the tension in the room rising.

“Chloe, take a breath,” Hank spoke slowly. The more out of control your powers were the more it drove out other mutants. Even Logan shifted feeling his claws trying to break from the skin of his knuckles. Charles could even hear whispers of voices, returning as your pain amplified everything.

You shook your head closing your eyes as tears streamed down your face, your shoulders tensing as you gripped the molding on the counter, “She took everything...” you practically growled at them.

"Chloe, I know...and you’re going to hate me for this but that's why we're gonna need Magneto, too." Logan spoke slowly, lighting a cigar as he watched you cautiously.

“Erik? Honestly,” Charles remarked sarcastically.

“You know where he is?” You looked up meeting Logan eyes.

“Yeah,” he sighed as if it was nothing.

Hank narrowed his eyes looking between you and Charles confused at how passive he was acting.

Charles laughed even harder, "He's where he belongs." You could feel the anger radiating off him as he stood ready to stomp off.

"You're just gonna walk out?" Logan stood now confused, he knew mentioning Erik was going to set out Chloe, but Charles he assumed would be on board.

Charles smiled,”Ooh, top marks. Like I said, you are perceptive,” he waved his glass spilling some of the contents as he walked off.

“The Professor I know would never turn his back... on someone who'd lost their path. Especially someone he loved,” Logan replied confidently.

"You know, I think I do remember you now. Yeah... We came to you a long time ago seeking your help. And I'm gonna say to you what you said to us then...Fuck off!" Charles spat back.

Logan was quick as he angrily grabbed Charles, “Listen to me, you little shit. I've come a long way, and I've watched a lot of people die. Good people. Friends. If you're gonna wallow in self-pity... and do nothing, then you're gonna watch the same thing... you understand?"

You stood up now, "Let him go,” you demanded, “You can’t walk in here and expect all of this to erase the things they have done to us..to our family.”

Logan still held Charles as he turned to you,” You think I don’t understand but I do, but none of that petty shit going on between the four of you matters right now.”

You felt like he just smacked you, "Petty?Let him go. Now,” you raised your hands energy flashing all over you fingertips and Logan backed down, listening this time, letting Charles go, causing him to stumble back.

"We all have to die sometime." Charles turned his back, walking up the stairs, back into his room.

“I told you there's no professor here,” Hank stood next to Logan his hands in his pockets as he watched Charles sulk up the stairs.

"What the hell happened to him?" Logan was told this would be hard, but he never imagined Charles in this state.

Hank looked at you, “He lost everything. Erik, Raven... his legs.... We built this school, the labs, this whole place... then, just after the first semester... the war in Vietnam got worse. Many of the teachers... and older students were drafted. It broke him. He retreated himself. I wanted to help, do something... so I designed a serum to treat his spine... derived from the same formula that helps me control my mutation. I take just enough to keep myself balanced... but he takes too much. I tried easing him back... but he just couldn't bear the pain, the voices. The treatment gives him his legs... but its not enough. He's... He's just lost too much."

“Hank can you give us a moment,” you cleared your throat, signaling towards you and Logan. You had to admit your curiosity after all this was definitely piqued and you knew one extremely dangerous way to get to the bottom of it.

“I’m going to go check on Charles, don’t kill him Chlo,” Hank teased smiling at you as he walked out of Charles office, heading for the stairs.

“Can I see?” You leaned against the desk, your hands in front of you almost reaching for him.

“Excuse me?” Logan asked.

“You say you’re from the future, I want to see...whatever I can. Charles doesn’t have his powers but as you can see mine are in full force, it works better if it I have your cooperation,” you stated plainly as Logan walked over to you slowly.

“I have don’t this with you in a while...” Logan began stopping mid sentence, he hadn’t don’t this with you ever at this point. By the time you two met you had a much better control of your powers and you often spoke of this time as just a vague memory. Usually you two were in a more compromising position when you read his mind and he had a feeling that wasn’t what you were suggesting.

You didn’t have to read his mind to know what he was thinking, your cheeks flushed pink, “So in the future my power works the same, the more...intimate I am with someone the more I can feel or see,” you asked trying to piece it together. Logan nodded as he stood in front of you. “You say you know how I feel, but is that really true?”

“Yes, I’ve felt that heartbreak before, but it was an older wound, I supposed this might hurt more,” he pointed to your heart before he moved his hands over yours slowly as your fingers curled around his palms.

Your eyes flashed crimson as you locked into Logan, the memories were fuzzy but you could see bits and pieces, fragments of his past life...you could feel anger building inside him as he grew Into a man...but you were barely touching the surface.

“I can take it, just let go,” Logan muttered through clenched teeth as he braced himself.

You took a deep breath, letting ribbons of light come from your hands holding him in place, as you tip toed up to reach him. Your ran your hands over his beard, sliding them into his dark hair as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then it hit you like an earthquake.

You felt the full force of him past present and future, like a ton of bricks. If Logan hadn’t of moved to hold you up, you would have collapsed, your knees going weak. He had definitely been telling the truth, about Hank...about everything and even your future relationship.

You broke away from his grasp, coughing as you tried to catch your breath, falling against the desk, “Bloody Hell...”

“Did I hurt you?” Logan asked inspecting your body closely, there had been times his claws came out when you did this, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

“I really thought you might be lying,” you held your throat, your pulse pounding against your fingers, “I’m so sorry Logan...” you closed your eyes trying to erase fifty years of chaos from your brain.

“You don’t have to apologize, we can change it... all of it...but we’re going to have to do it together,” Logan soothed.

“I don’t know if I can face them,” you cried, “it seems so...so human to be this weak...you’re right it’s petty...”

“Erik loves you, I know he can be an asshole, but one thing that he never stopped doing was pinning after you and fighting for you,” Logan smiled as your heart finally settled.

Charles walked back into the study, his voice slightly uneasy, “I'll help you get her. Not for any of your future shit, but for her."

“Fair enough." Logan nodded towards you, “I can’t get Erik without you, you saw that.”

“I'll tell you this, friend. You don't know Erik. That man is a monster. A murderer. A man who abandoned his family. You think you can convince Raven to change? To come home? That's splendid. But what makes you think you can change him?"

"I know I can’t, but SHE can,” he pointed at Chloe, “and because you and Erik sent me back together." He looked back at Charles and you wished he’d had his powers to see just a glimpse of what you had felt.

Charles jaw almost dropped as he looked at you, at a time that all four of you couldn’t be further apart, how the hell was that possible.

Logan turned to Chloe, "And they said you were the only one who could find a way to break through to Erik, and I think now you see that is true, Chloe. It’s going to take you and Charles to bring Erik back on our side."

“Oh this ought to be good,” Hank sighed.

#charles x erik #erik lehnsherr #erik lensherr x charles xavier #erik lehnsherr x reader #erik lehnsherr x you #chaostheory #ctpartone #ctparttwo #xmendaysoffuturepast #xmen imagine #xmen

40 notes · View notes

hi-i-love-u-bitch · 5 years

Text

Turns Out Being a Super Hero Is Actually Really Gay! - Chapter 3

I am so, so sorry this is late guys! A lot of things have been going on and I wasn’t able to finish the chapter on time yesterday. But it’s here now and I hope you like it. As always I would like to thank the lovely @sugarglider9603 and @ask-spiderverse-virgil for there lovely AU for without it I would not have the inspiration to write this. ENJOY!!!

Master Post

Beginning

Next Chapter

So, after the group of teens were done freaking out because “holy shit, Thomas Sanders, top YouTube celebrity, is THE Rainbow Weaver!” Thomas decided to take them to a small but cozy pizza place down town. He bought them six boxes of pizza, hot wings, fries, onion rings, ice cream shakes and a few other goodies, much to the teens protests and insistence that they could pay for themselves. Thomas assured them that it was fine but that still didn’t stop them from arguing that it wasn’t. He payed no mind to their comments as he payed for the food and lead them towards the back of the restaurant where a large circular booth resided, big enough to fit them all.

As Thomas watched these teens…these children scarf down their food like they hadn’t eaten a day in their lives he couldn’t help but worry. He knew exactly how scary it must be for them to suddenly gain strange new powers and not know what to do with them. But the difference between them was that Thomas got his powers near the middle of his senior year of high school and these kids were still…sophomores? Junior? Either way, they were still much to young to be worrying about powers and weird things like that. Unlike them Thomas didn’t have much of a “social life” in high school and college so being Rainbow Weaver was a good distraction from that but these kids…he doubt they were the same.

They had come searching for him for help and honestly Thomas was totally willing to give them whatever help they needed. He just didn’t know what? He wasn’t a teacher, he was a chemical engineering and theater major that did YouTube videos and super heroing on the side. I mean, if they needed help controlling their powers Thomas would to the best, he could to teach them but if they wanted to become super heroes…

“Are you okay, Mr. Sanders?” Thomas looked up to see four pairs of curious eyes looking at him, still munching away at their meal. He was pretty sure it was the stoic looking kid that asked him this, Logan he believed his name was.

“Hmm, yeah,” Thomas said, shaking his head “yeah, why do you ask?”

“You kind of have this…” The loud kid, Roman if he was remembering correctly, gestured towards him “…face, like you’ve just kind of walked into your doom.”

Thomas saw how the groups shoulders slumped, the mood severely brought down by that statement and he really didn’t want to see these boys in anymore distressed then they already were.

“Oh, no, no, uh, I was just…thinking you know,” Thomas sighed, rubbing his face tiredly “like, how is it that Oscorp can screw up twice and let a multimillion-dollar mutant spider escape…again! Like, they’re supposed to be a bunch of geniuses, right? But they’re letting this happen again and god only knows how much more powerful that little spider is. I was lucky enough to have accidently stepped on mine and killed it but it seems that little guy you got there is a bit smarter.”

“Indeed,” Logan perked up “from what I was able to study and pick up from its distorted speech pattern, it seems to know what it’s doing. It was trying to kill us as it saw us as a potential threat, which is why the venom dosage increased with each victim, but it unknowingly mutated our DNA. To say it was disappointed that I woke up the next morning is…an understatement.”

“It likes me though.” The gloomy kid, Virgil he recalled, stated smugly.

Logan rolled his eyes, “Yes, well you did help it escape out your window so of course it sees you as some sort of ally.”

“Are we just going to skip over the fact that it TRIED to kill us?” Roman said worriedly.

“Yes, because I don’t wanna think about it,” The cutesy kid, Patton, whined childishly but there was a glint of fear in his eyes “and for the record tell that creepy crawly death dealer that I don’t like it either!”

“It’s nothing personal Patton,” Virgil assured “consciously or not it’s just a defense mechanism all spiders have when they’re scared.”

“I don’t care,” Patton cried “I still don’t want it anywhere near me!”

Thomas watched as they continued to argue and bicker, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips and the bitter taste of dread at the pit of his stomach. These were kids, teenagers really but still kids none the less, still full of life and wonder. He couldn’t burden them with the life of a hero. All the worry and sleepless nights and existential dread that came along with the job would definitely snuff out whatever innocence these boys had left. But he couldn’t just leave them to their own devices, they needed guidance on how to navigate their new-found powers. He’d be willing to do that, only that, nothing else. His job was dangerous as it was and he didn’t need to drag these kids into it, especially if they still don’t yet know how to control their powers.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Thomas said, finally interrupting the boys’ argument “I can help you guys out, well, I can try. I’ll help you guys understand what you’re going through and how to control your powers better, though I’m not sure if we’re exactly the same in that regard. Again, I have no idea what advances Oscorp has made in genetic splicing. You all could have totally different powers then what I’m used to.”

“We have all the basic functions,” Logan explained helpfully “though only Virgil and Roman can make webbing and I assume you can’t hear at the frequency we have; thus, you can’t hear the spider talking.”

“You would be correct in that assumption,” Thomas nodded “though, I mean, sometimes I can sense where they are and how they’re feeling but that’s about it. Nothing too crazy. Anything else?”

“None that we know of,” Roman shrugged “we’ve just been sticking to things all day and seeing weird colors radiating off each other like fireworks and this weird buzzing in the back of our head that keeps telling us somethings happening.”

“Yeah, that would be your spidy sense.” Thomas said.

The boys tilted their heads like some sort of adorable, confused puppy, “Spidy sense?”

“It’s a thing that I have and you guys have that makes us a LOT more aware of our surroundings,” Thomas explained “how do you think I’m able to attack, dodge, and shoot things without even looking at them?”

“Oh, you mean precognition,” Logan said “like the crab spider.”

“Sort of,” Thomas said “think of it as a sort of alarm clock that goes off every time dangers near.”

“Oh great, just what I need in my life,” Virgil said sarcastically “even more anxiety.”

“Yeah, that’s gunna be a tough one for you to handle bud,” Thomas said sympathetically “given that you have anxiety it’ll feel like one and the same but I’ll teach you a few tricks to help tell the difference.”

Virgil gave him a shy appreciative smile and Thomas all but melted as the kid mumbled, “Th-thanks…that would…help a lot actually.”

No Sanders! Do not get attached to these kids! Do not!

“So, um, what are we gunna do now?” Patton piped up shyly “Are you gunna teach us to be super heroes?”

“Do we get to be your sidekicks?” Roman asked excitedly, practically bouncing in his seat.

Thomas bit the inside of his cheek anxiously, “Um, well, I’ll teach you guys how to control your powers and understand yourselves better and everything but I don’t think-”

“Obviously, we would have to train a significant amount before even considering becoming his sidekicks.” Logan stated plainly.

“I know that Einstein,” Roman huffed “I’m just asking!”

“Wait, if we’re gunna do this are we gunna have to make our own costumes or something?” Virgil asked “Because I don’t know if I’m willing to put in that much effort.”

“Ooo, Roman and I can help you guys if you want,” Patton offered “I’m good at sewing and Roman sometimes helps out the costume department at the drama club.”

“Thank you, Patton, but I don’t think we should be thinking about costumes until after we’ve completed our training.” Logan said.

“Boo you whore,” Roman grumbled “you’re no fun.”

“You are not super heroes!” Thomas said firmly causing the table to go quiet, all four boys staring at him with a mixture of confusion and disappointment. He sighed, “Look, guys, my job as Rainbow Weaver, it’s not a game. It’s dangerous and tiring and…is the biggest responsibility you could ever ask for.”

The boys fidgeted in their seats, having now realized they were sort of jumping to conclusions and not seeing the reality of the situation. Thomas continued on, “You guys are just kids, you’re still in high school, you’re still growing, you still have a life! I don’t want you guys to leave that behind. Being a super hero may seem cool and glamorous but it’s a lot of work and sometimes…” There was a look of pain that flashed across Thomas is eyes, too quick for the boys to properly evaluate “…sometimes you won’t be able to save everyone. This is a job where you can’t afford to make mistakes because they have dire consequences. For you, the people around you, their families, everyone, they’re all affected. And no one will give you the benefit of the doubt because you’re a hero and it’s your job to protect them.”

It was silent for a moment then Roman asked, quiet and unsure, “If it’s such a burden then…why did you become a hero?”

The look of pain and regret returned to Thomas is eyes as he ran an anxious hand across his salt and pepper brown hair, “To become a better person then what I once was.”

“What does that mean?” Virgil asked bravely but still quite gentle.

“Sometimes,” Thomas began carefully “things happen and…people get hurt and then you have no choice but to take responsibility for that.” No one pressed him any further but it seemed Thomas still had more to say, “You guys have an opportunity to…live a normal life. I had that opportunity but the choices I made forced me to abandon it and I regret it so much. But I knew it was something to be done and because of it I did end up helping a lot of people but…also hurting a lot of people as well.”

Finally, Thomas looked back up at them, a strong determined look in his eyes, “I don’t want you guys going through the same experiences as I did. I want you boys to live your lives as normally as possible. Go out, make friends, date, have parties, worry about exams…live a life. Because if you choose to go down this path this will be your only life, do you understand?”

It was quiet again, this time much longer and this time it was Logan who chose to brake it, “No offence, Mr. Sanders, we understand completely what you’re trying to tell us but what else do you expect us to do with these abilities?”

Thomas sighed tiredly, “Look, kid-”

“No, we get it,” Logan continued “well, at least, I know I do. I can not speak for us all but I understand how big of a responsibility this is. But do you really expect us to go about our lives normally as we did before? How are we supposed to live “normally” when we know that we are anything but? How are we going to go our whole lives doing nothing and letting our powers sit dormant when we can feel it itching beneath our skin? Honestly, could you have done that?”

Thomas thought a moment, flashing back to when he first got his powers and how everything felt jittery and loud. How he had trouble sitting still and had been restless for days. Then he became Rainbow Weaver and everything changed, it was difficult yes but it really helped get out a lot of that nervous, restless energy he had inside him. He felt he was using his powers correctly and not just sitting there while his head buzzed like an angry hornets’ nest. When he first got his powers, he knew he needed to do SOMETHING with them but he didn’t know what. That lead to a lot of trouble be even then after he knew that he still couldn’t just sit there.

“I’ll admit that I would have been restless and miserable my entire life if I hadn’t become Rainbow Weaver,” Thomas answered honestly “however, I think I still would of chosen to do so instead of taking on the mask.”

“Do you really hate being Rainbow Weaver that much?” Virgil asked. He looked…hurt? Disappointed? Thomas wasn’t quite sure but he knew for sure that he didn’t like it.

“I don’t hate being Rainbow Weaver,” Thomas said, looking out the window next to their booth “it’s just…after a couple of years it kind of takes a toll on you. I’m just a tired, grumpy old man, nothing special.”

More silence, the boys quietly mulling over the conversation, fidgeting with that same restless energy mentioned earlier and then…

“You’re special to me.”

Thomas looked back to see Roman staring back at him with a pout and a gentle yet fiery look in his eyes. “You may not think yourself special as a person but to me, be it Thomas Sanders or Rainbow Weaver, you’ve brought…just a little bit more joy into my life. And maybe it’s not a lot to someone like you but it’s a lot to me. So…if I could be able to do that for someone, even if it’s just one person, I’d be over the moon.

“I understand your concern and you’re absolutely right, this is not a game. But Logan is, dare I say it, right, we can’t just sit around letting these powers fester inside us. What are we supposed to do with our selves for the rest of our lives? Can’t go back to being normal when we know for damn sure we’re not and I don’t know about the rest of you but I want to do more with my life. Especially now that I can!”

Thomas sighed once more, rubbing a hand over his face and hair, “You gotta understand kid, this isn’t like the comic books. The dangers and hardships are real and once you’re in there is no going back.”

“And I accept that,” Roman replied firmly “I accept all of it and everything and…if I live to regret it then oh well. But I know that I’ll regret it more knowing I had the power to do something but instead chose to do nothing. In the end it’s my choice and nobody else is.”

Well, I’m not sure about the whole super hero thing,” Virgil pipped up “but…I do feel like I should be doing something with these powers. I’ve taught my self to play it safe and keep quiet my whole life but now…now I wanna do something more. I don’t want to just sit here letting the world pass me by anymore I want…I want to do something spontaneous and brave.

“A-and I know this isn’t some sort of hobby you pick up like dancing or painting or something,” Virgil said quickly “but I feel like…it’s something I need to do. Something I have to do. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I…” Thomas wanted to say yes, yes, he understood everything that they were saying because it was what drove him to be Rainbow Weaver in the first place. But he also wanted to lie and say no, just so he can protect these kids from the horrors that awaited them down the hero’s path.

“Plus,” Patton added “you look like you could use the help. It must be difficult looking after an entire city alone. And since we all have powers now, we can make the work a whole lot easier for you in return for you helping us control our powers.”

“Indeed,” Logan said, readjusting his fake glasses “crime rate will surely go down in numbers with five on the team. It will give you time to have optimal rest between shifts as well as pursue what ever other hobbies you previously could not do. It’s a solid business proposition for all of us, we get the proper training we need to control our new-found abilities and you have a more balanced out schedule for both your vigilante duties and personal life.”

Thomas looked over these kids, determination in their eyes and fire in their bellies, ready to take on the weight of the world for him. They were stubborn and foolish and so not ready for anything yet to come…but it would be very hypocritical of Thomas to deny them this path. Plus, he wasn’t their parent, it wasn’t like he could completely tell them what to do. All he could do was warn them of what was ahead and hope to whatever god above they take his advice. Thomas sighed again, then he groaned, then he banged his head against the table because these kids were so stubborn, exactly like him, and it was all just so frustrating. He looked back up at them, face squished against the table as four pairs of worried eyes stared at him, he probably looked insane. He probably was insane but was too deep in shit to actually be affected by anything now.

“Fine.” Thomas said, he was so going to regret this.

“Fine what?” Roman asked.

Thomas made a vague gesture with his hand, “Fine, I’ll…teach you and train you guys and, if you really want, I’ll…consider letting you help me out a bit.”

“Really?” Logan said, somewhat excitedly, like a child on Christmas.

If this were not such a serious matter Thomas would of laughed, “But nothing to dangerous, just…common things, purse muggers, corner store robberies, assaulters, jay walkers, all that jazz.”

“Hey, that’s good enough for me.” Virgil said, a small excited smile growing on this face.

“Me too!” Patton exclaimed.

“I second that motion.” Logan added.

“Epic!” Roman cheered.

“But!” Thomas interrupted “You guys are still minors and in high school so you all are under my rule, got it? You do exactly as I say when I say it.”

They all nodded enthusiastically, still jittery with excitement as Thomas continued to give out instructions, “This is a dangerous job and I want you all trained first and for most. So, we aren’t gunna be going out on patrol anytime soon, get that into your head right now. Secondly, it is imperative you keep all of this a secret, everything we do can not only put you at risk but your families and friends.”

“Luckily, I don’t have any friends.” Virgil half joked.

Logan rolled his eyes, “Gee, thanks.”

“Thirdly,” Thomas cut in, his expression growing dark and serious “if you guys are going to do this, you have to be willing to put everything you have into this. No short cuts, no half assed effort, no walking away. It’s all or nothing, got it?”

“Got it.” They echoed, just as serious and determined as Thomas feared they’d be.

“Alright,” Thomas huffed, leaning back to stretch “let’s finish up here and then we have to go somewhere.”

“Where?” Patton asked curiously.

“There are a few people I want you to meet.” Thomas smirked mysteriously.

---

Thomas had been worried at first, it was very suspicious for a grown adult man to take for underaged teenagers to his house. It gave off the wrong impression to people and made him look like a creep. But what else could he do but make sure the boys were safe and comfortable, assuring them that nothing bad would happen even though when he said it out loud it still sounded mildly disturbing. Like sure, he was Rainbow Weaver, but he was still a stranger to these boys and he did not want to scare them off when they had no where else to turn to for help.

Thankfully the boys understood Thomas is worry and were careful to not crowed around too much to make it seem weird. When they got to his neighborhood Roman commented that the two-story brownstone townhouse Thomas lived in looked like the house from Stuart Little. Thomas paused a moment, tilting his head back to get a good look at his house before chuckling and reluctantly agreeing that, “Yeah, you’re kind of right.”

Inside, the house was spacious and neat, band, concert, musical and play posters hung on the wall alongside pictures of Thomas and his friends and family. There were lots of colors, figurines from movies and shows, potted plants on shelves, tables and corners, and just and overall warm atmosphere.

“Whoa, your house is really neat-o!” Patton exclaimed, excitingly looking over one of the potted plants filled with sweet peas.

Thomas smiled bashfully, “Oh, thanks, I-”

“You went to a My Chemical Romance concert?!” Virgil gasped softly as he stared at one of the hung-up posters “And you got it signed?!”

“Yeah,” Thomas nodded “me and Joan went-”

“You went to see Hamilton!” Roman squealed, looking up at another poster “And you got it signed by Lin Manuel Mirandas!”

“Yes and-”

“Do you have the entire anthology of Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle’s work?” Logan asked excitedly, he ran his finger over the books of the bookshelf and plucked out The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

“Not entirely but-”

“Oh my gosh!” Patton squealed, running over to the living room towards the shelf filled with pop vinyl’s “You have a bunch of Winnie the Pooh pops! And Steven Universe! I love that show!”

“I heard Steven Universe!” Roman exclaimed, rushing in behind his friend.

“Where?” Virgil chimed in, not to far behind with Logan tailing along, nose deep in a Sherlock Holmes book.

“You have a record player!” Roman gasped, quickly kneeling to look through Thomas is record box “What types of records do you have?”

“Oh, David Bowie!” Patton smiled as he pulled out a record.

“Cool, the Beatles White Album!” Virgil grinned.

“Isn’t that the one that Charles Manson was obsessed over?” Roman asked.

“It’s still a good album.” Virgil and Thomas said at the same time. They blinked at each other in surprise before dissolving into a fit of giggles. It was all a little more chaotic then what Thomas was expecting but it wasn’t unwelcome. Thomas didn’t usually have many people over except for Joan and Talyn so it was…nice hearing the house so full of laughter.

Speaking of Joan and Talyn…

“Thomas? Is that you?” A voice from down the hall made it’s way closer and closer to the living room where it was revealed to belong to a lanky, scraggily looking person in an orange beanie. “Talyn and I just finished-”

They paused, looking over the scene carefully as the boys all froze like deer caught in headlights. They scanned over each teen one by one before making direct eye contact with Thomas and carefully asking: “What the hell is going on?”

“Joan, uh,” Thomas flubbered in place, caught way off guard “look, hears the thing, uh, they have what I have.”

“That isn’t making any of this look any better Thomas!” Joan exclaimed, frustrated.

“Uh…”

“We have spider powers!” Roman butted in, shooting a web at a nearby picture frame causing it to fall and brake “Sorry!”

“God damn it Roman!” Virgil shrieked “Be careful, this isn’t your house!”

“Oh please,” Roman huffed “as if you weren’t just going through his vinyl collection not five seconds ago. And without permission might I add.”

“You did so as well,” Logan rebutted “so it’s kind of hypocritical of you to make that statement.”

“Right back at you!” Roman shot back, gesturing to the book in Logan’s hands.

The bespectacled man flushed with embarrassment, setting the book down on a nearby table as Virgil bounced back up, “Well, he’s not the one that broke something!”

“Come on guys, please no fighting.” Patton begged but it fell on deaf ears and soon the room was filled with loud arguing. Joan and Thomas observed the chaos unfold silently, contemplating what their best course of action should be. Wait it out? Get involved?

“What’s going on?” Another voice chimed in and the room went silent once more, turning to find a short person with orange and black hair. Joan pointed to Thomas who merely shrugged sheepishly and said: “Talyn, you’re never gunna believe this.”

---

They head down towards Thomas is basement (which still sounds super fucking creepy) and find that it has been transformed into pretty sizable high-tech lab. If Logan had been excited by the books that Thomas owned, he was over the moon by all the gadgets and text books he had down there. He kept asking question after question about how everything worked and what did this do and what did that do? Thomas found the whole thing very amusing, like watching a little kid at a candy store.

“Did you all make all this stuff?” Logan asked excitedly.

“Well, it was mainly Joan and Talyn.” Thomas said.

“Don’t sell yourself short man,” Joan scolded lightly, patting their friend on the back “you did a lot of the designing and schematics. Not your fault you had to be out saving everybody.”

“Stay still please,” Talyn ordered gently, seating Logan on a near by chair next to Patton, Roman, and Virgil who had a few suction cup wires stuck to their foreheads, necks, chests, and arms. “The scanning process will go a lot faster if we’re able to draw blood from you and use is as a sort of blue print to navigate your body. Is that okay?”

The boys looked at each other tentatively before all nodding in agreement. As Talyn got a few petri dishes and micro slides ready Joan had taken the spider from Logan’s backpack and transferred it into a small containment unit that was hooked up to the large motherboard computer. Thomas watched anxiously from the sideline as his friends scurried around to get everything ready.

“So, what are you gunna do to us?” Virgil asked nervously as Talyn carefully wiped down one of his fingers with rubbing alcohol.

“Well, we took a sample from the spider and scanning it right now to see what’s been mixed in to it,” Talyn explained as they took a clean syringe needle and pricked his finger with it dropping blood into the petri dish and micro slid before bandaging it up. It hadn’t even hurt. “Then we’re gunna use your DNA to see what’s been transformed as well as to easily scan your vitals.”

“Why are you doing that?” Patton asked as he watched them move on to Roman.

“Well for one, to make sure your mutation is stable,” Joan chimed in helpfully “and to also see what other abilities you guys may have. Keep in mind you guys may or may not have other abilities within you that will take a bit of time to, uh, activate.”

“What happens if our mutation isn’t stable?” Roman asked, rubbing his bandage finger.

The adults were quiet for a moment which of course did not sit well with the teens one bit. Talyn gently smiled at them, wrapping up Patton’s finger before finally moving on to Logan. “Don’t worry about it, it’s most likely not going to happen. You boys seem pretty stable from what we’ve observed.”

“That’s not ominous at all.” Virgil said sarcastically.

“Starting scan,” Joan announced once Talyn was finish getting their sample from Logan. They typed away quickly at the computer as a long beam of blue light scanned the quartet up and down and a light tingly sensation was felt where the suction cups were attached. The boys didn’t move once, much to fearful they might accidently mess up the scanning process, Virgil didn’t even want to breath.

Finally, after a few seconds, there was an audible beep and the blue lights shut off. Virgil, along with the other three, let out a loud sigh, shoulders still a bit tense but not as much as when the scanning was happening. Thomas quickly walked over towards them to make sure they were okay.

“You guys good?” He asked.

“We’re okie dokie,” Patton giggled nervously “just, uh, a bit frazzled.”

“I think I’m stuck to my chair.” Virgil admitted bashfully, his hands had been gripping the sides of the stool and Thomas could now see that he was physically trying to pull them off.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re gunna hurt yourself,” Thomas cooed softly “just breath, in for four…hold for seven…out for eight. Good job, keep it up.”

Once he was able to calm Virgil down enough and get him unstuck, he looked to the others to make sure they were okay too. As Patton said earlier, he was a bit frazzled but ultimately okay, Roman was a bit jittery but seemed to be calming down as he followed Virgil’s breathing technique. Logan was just fine and was once again talking and asking a dozen questions about what just happened and how it worked and what did they find and etcetera, etcetera.

“Good news, your mutation is stable,” Joan announced and there was an obvious sigh of relief from both Thomas and the boys “we have found some interesting data though. This poor little spider has been spliced through hell and back. It’s practically a new species on it’s own, way different then the first generation that bit Thomas.”

“How so?” Logan asked, intrigued.

“Well, for one it has a few functions not typically normal for a spider,” Talyn said, looking through a few graphs on their tablet “it’s been extremely enhanced and mutated over and over again. Like if they were copying the same piece of paper again and again. It just all stacks up into this…it can barely be called a spider, I honestly don’t know what it is.”

“Well, it still looks like a creepy crawly spider to me.” Patton pouted.

“Looks are one thing, the function of it is another,” Joan said thoughtfully, pressing a few buttons and gesturing towards the containment unit the spider was in “watch this.”

The boys and Thomas looked towards the chamber and watched the spider scuttle around as the soft buzz of electricity filled its tank then it disappeared. Their eyes widened as they did a double take to make sure that really happened and the spider really wasn’t there anymore.

“Where’d it go?” Roman asked.

“It’s still there,” Joan said, typing once more and the tank was soon glossed over in Infrared light. There they saw the spider, still inside, scuttling around its tank as if nothing has changed. “Besides invisibility it seems to have other super abilities as well. We can’t for sure name all of them but I’ve got a few here listed out and ready for testing.”

“Sit back boys, Thomas move out of the way, please,” Talyn ordered gently “this’ll tingle a little.”

They typed something out on their tablet and the boys felt a slight tingle of electricity move throughout their bodies. It didn’t hurt and it didn’t last long so the boys were left confused as to what happened. Until they looked to Virgil.

“Virgil?” Logan called out, looking around the lab when he saw that his friend was no longer seated on the stool “Where’d you go?”

“I’m right here.” A disembodied voice said.

Patton screamed, jumping out of his chair and on to Roman’s lap, “There’s a ghost!”

“What?”

“V-Virgil, is that you?” Roman asked, holding Patton close.

“Yeah, what are you guys looking at?” The voice demanded.

“We aren’t looking at anything, we’re looking for you.” Logan said.

“But I’m right-” There was a sudden pause then a shriek of fear “I can’t see my-my hands or my feet or my anything!”

Thomas quickly turned to Joan and Talyn when he heard the panic rise in Virgil’s voice, “Whatever you did, stop it now!”

Talyn nodded, quickly typing on their tablet and another small tingle of electricity was sent out. Virgil reappeared slowly, arms hugging around his waist as he curled into himself and eyes squeezed shut. Thomas was by his side in an instant, gently coxing him back to reality, “Hey, its okay, you’re okay. Breath for me, please.”

Virgil took a breath and peeked out from one eye before looking down and sighing with relief when he was able to see himself again. He looked back up to Thomas with fearful eyes, “W-what was that?”

“I’m not sure,” Thomas admitted before looking over and firmly pining his two friends with a look “what did you guys do?”

They gave an apologetic smile as Joan leaped to explain what happened, “Well, we sent the same small electric pulse we used on the spider towards your brain to see if you would have the same effects. Obviously, it did and obviously we should have prepared you guys a bit more in advance. We’re sorry.”

“Yeah, that’s our bad.” Talyn added.

Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Guys, we talked about this, please give substantial warning BEFORE the experiment happens. Not everyone is super geniuses like you two and know exactly what’s going to happen.”

“I take it this has happened before?” Logan stated, having now gotten up to be by Virgil’s side, a hand placed gently on his friends back rubbing soothing circles.

“Yeah,” Thomas admitted “but usually it’s with me on the receiving end. I’m used to it by now but of course you guys aren’t so…” He gave his friends a pointed look “warning next time.”

“Next time?” Virgil squeaked.

“Oh, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Thomas assured quickly “we can do this another day. I know today has been really stressful for you boys already so I understand if you guys want to go home already and get some rest.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Virgil said quickly “really, just…you know, a little freaked out. Might as well get it over with now so we won’t have to worry about it later.”

“Are you sure?” Logan asked, his hand still remained in contact with Virgil’s back.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Roman added “mental health is just as important as physical health you know.”

“Yeah kiddo, if it’s gunna be too much for you we rather just wait for a bit to cool down.” Patton said sweetly.

Virgil cheeks flushed a light pink, head ducking down so that his bangs cover his eyes, “I’m fine, really. Th-thanks for checking up though. But, like, what about you guys? How do you guys feel about all this…experimenting stuff?”

“Yeah, I want to make sure you boys are all comfortable with all of this,” Thomas said firmly “if anything crosses a line or you want to stop, tell us okay?”

“I’m good.” Roman nodded.

“I am as well.” Logan confirmed, sitting back down.

“Me too.” Patton chimed in as he climbed off of Roman’s lap.

“I’ll be fine.” Virgil murmured.

“Excellent,” Joan said excitingly turning back to the computer “the next set of tests will be of a similar fashion. We’ll send a wave of electronic pules to your brain’s nervous system and see if we can get a reaction.”

“Remember, if you guys get uncomfortable or need us to stop don’t be afraid to tell us, okay?” Talyn added.

With one last nod of confirmation Joan said, “Let us begin.”

---

“Roman can you sing a note for me?” Talyn asked.

Roman gave her a look of confusion, “You want me to sing? I mean, not that I won’t do it but why?”

“With this test we seem to only be getting a reaction from your brain so I want to see if the ability we’ve unlocked is active,” Talyn explained “but make sure to face the wall over there, please.”

“Uh, okay,” Roman said, shifting in his seat towards the directed area “can I ask what ability this is?”

“Sonic sound waves,” Joan said casually “we all might want to take a step back just in case.”

Thomas and the other three stepped behind Roman who in turn rolled his eyes before focusing on the task at hand. All he had to do was sing a note, but like what note? How high? How loud? How would this even work? Roman sighed, shrugged, and decided to just riff Ariel’s theme.

“Ah, ah, ah! Ah, ah, ah!”

The room shook and shuttered like an earthquake. Everyone covered their ears from be beautiful yet ear piercingly loud tune that shook the entire building. The wall which Roman was facing when he sang had shook so violently there was a large crack that ripped down the middle of it.

Roman was quick to cover his mouth, eyes wide at the destruction he’s caused, “Oh dear…”

“Yeah, I think we should have that dormant for now until he learns how to control it.” Thomas suggested, trying to settle the ringing in his ear.

“We can’t exactly turn their powers on or off,” Joan explained “these are just electric pulses that activate their powers for them artificially. On their own we don’t know when these powers will pop up or how they’ll be able to activate them. It could take days, months, even years.”

“I just hope it doesn’t come out during the play this winter.” Roman moaned.

---

“This one is simple,” Joan said as they walked over towards a light switch on a wall “it shows that each of you have some variation of night vision, though I’m not sure how strong it is. I’m gunna turn off the light and you guys tell me what you see, okay?”

Four nods of agreement were seen and Joan finally flipped the switch. Nothing happened, well, at least for Logan. He looked around confused, was the light switch broken? Everything still looked the same to him.

“What do you see?” Talyn asked, they stared straight ahead at nothing and Logan wondered why that was.

“You still haven’t turned off the light.” Logan stated obviously.

Joan, who was also looking into the nothingness, pulled a face of confusion before breaking out into a large grin, “Logan, we just switched them off.”

“No, you haven’t,” Logan argued “I mean you used the light switch but they’re still….on.” He looked up to the florescent lights above him that were now dark and it suddenly dawned on him “I have night vision…”

“I think I do too,” Virgil piped up, squinting around the room “but when you turned off the light everything just kind of got dim.”

“Yeah, me too.” Patton chimed in.

“It all turned black and white for me,” Roman said “like, I can see everything fine but it’s all just shades of gray.”

“Excellent,” Joan smiled, flicking the light switch back on “it seems like Logan has the better night vision out of everyone. Roman’s vision is probably more what the spider would see normally and Patton and Virgil’s are about the same as Thomas.”

“Why do you think that is?” Logan asked curiously “We all got bit by the same spider so you would assume we would all be the same ability wise.”

“You’re all different,” Talyn said obviously “if you were the same person then maybe you’d have similar reactions but depending on your DNA your bodies will react to the venom differently. Plus, you did theorize that with each victim the spider used more and more venom so that can also be an important factor.”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, “I guess so.”

---

“We’re gunna do a quick test on just you Patton,” Talyn said as they tied a blindfold over Patton’s eyes “we’ve been picking up some strange brainwaves coming from you and we want to if we’re right.”

“Uh, okay,” Patton said tentatively, squirming in his seat “is it something bad?”

“No, no nothing bad,” Talyn assured “it’s just we’ve noticed that you seemed to be a very empathetic person and we want to see if that has been enhanced in anyway with your mutation.”

“Oh, well, what are we gunna do then?” Patton asked.

“Well, we’ve given everybody a note card of a certain feeling and they’re gunna try to emulate that feeling,” Joan explained as they passed out the note cards “your job is to guess what that feeling is.”

“How am I gunna do that?” Patton asked, head turning to try and track Joan’s voice.

“How ever you deem it necessary,” Joan said “I’ve known some people to sense thing through auras and given your ‘spidy sense’ that could be the case. But sometimes physical contact is needed to truly pick up what the other person is feeling.”

“Mmh, okay,” Patton said “but why the blindfold?”

“Eye contact and facial features can sometimes give away what a person’s feeling very easily,” Talyn chimed in “so this a ‘no cheating’ blindfold.”

“Oooh, sorry, I’m dumb.” Patton giggled.

“You are NOT dumb, Patton!” Roman said firmly, arms crossed stubbornly and glaring at his best friend even though Patton couldn’t see him.

Patton smiled passively, “Whatever you say, Ro.”

“I will punch you in the name of friendship!” Roman declared dramatically.

The group laughed at the two friends’ antics before quickly settling into silence as Joan lined them up in front of Patton with them going first. Patton fidgeted nervously as Joan stood in front him, he could tell someone was there but he just couldn’t read them properly. Shyly, Patton extended both his hands out, palms up, and Joan silently replied by carefully setting their own hands over his.

“I feel…curious,” Patton hummed “like, I have a lot of questions, well, they have a lot of question. I have questions too but that’s not me feeling question…wait can you feel question? Oh, it’s changing. They’re amused but also satisfied that they’re questions have been answered. Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.” Joan chuckled, letting go of Patton’s hands.

“Oh, Joan,” Patton said surprised “I didn’t know you’d be participating too. I don’t have to guess names, right? I don’t think I can do that.”

“No, just feelings.” They assured, stepping away and letting the next person go up.

Virgil carefully stepped up, looking down at his note card before stuffing it in his pocket. He just stood there a moment, staring down at Patton’s extended hands before carefully reaching out to grab them. Patton hummed curiously, soft warm hands squeezing Virgil’s gently.

“They’re kind of nervous,” Patton stated “they really don’t know what they should be doing right now. Aw, don’t be nervous, you’re doing great. Oh, they’re relaxing a little, that’s good. Glad I could lend a hand.”

Virgil snorted, Logan groaned in the background and everybody else chuckled. Patton giggled delightfully, “See, they think I’m funny! Did I do good?”

“Doing great Patton,” Joan assured “Next please.”

Virgil stepped out of the way for Thomas to move forward. The older man was hesitant at first but ultimately sighed, handing his note card off to Joan before grabbing hold of Patton’s hands. Immediately, Patton’s smiling face morphed into a melancholy frown, brow knitting together as if in immense pain.

“Oh they’re…i-it feels…sad,” Patton whimpered, voice cracked and watery “b-but it’s not a normal sad it’s like…like they lost someone precious to them.”

The others watch on with amazement and worry as tears began to stream down Patton’s face, “They’re in a lot of pain but…they also feel empty and cold. N-now they feel guilty, oh don’t feel guilty! I’m fine, really it’s just…can I give you a hug?”

Thomas looked down at Patton’s tear stained face, fear and guilt clawing at his chest for causing so much destress to such a sweet kid. Taking a breath to calm himself Thomas stepped forward and engulfed the teen in a big hug. Patton was quick to wrap his arms tightly around Thomas’s waist as if he was trying to physically mend all of Thomas is broken pieces back together. Warmth bloomed in Thomas’s chest at the sweet gesture and he couldn’t help but squeeze a little tighter and hold on a bit longer. The room was calm and quiet, no one wanting to disturb the gentle moment being had between the two.

“I know it’s hard but…I promise we’ll get through it eventually.” Patton murmured gently into his chest.

They final let go after a long while and Thomas sheepishly side stepped away while Patton wiped away the tears from under his blindfold. Roman was about to step forward but Talyn held him back to take his place, seeing that Roman’s note card also had an extreme emotion they figured Patton could use a bit of an emotional cool down. Gently, Talyn grabbed onto Patton’s hands, rubbing soothing circles over his fingers.

“They’re very clam,” Patton sniffed, taking in a breath then slowly letting it out “it’s gentle and nice, very soothing. Like, aloe being put over a burn mark…that’s weird analogy, I’m sorry.”

Talyn huffed out a laugh, “I think it’s suitable.”

“Oh, Talyn, you’re here too,” Patton smiled “did I get it right?”

“Mmh,” Talyn nodded before realizing Patton couldn’t see them “yeah, you did. We can stop now if you want, we have plenty of date.”

“No, I wanna finish,” Patton said determined “I’m fine to continue.”

“You sure?” Talyn asked carefully.

Patton nodded, “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, next person.” Talyn stepped aside and let Roman take their place. Roman handed them his note card before firmly taking Patton’s hands in his. Patton pouted, his brow scrunched up in annoyance.

“I feel…angry,” Patton said “well, maybe not ‘angry’ angry but like…kind of annoyed, maybe a little more frustrated. Also, a tad bit worried. Geez, what’s got you so riled up?”

“Because my best friend thinks he’s dumb but he’s not and I love him very much!” Roman grumbled, stomping his foot childishly “Also you were crying earlier and I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“Aw, Ro-Ro,” Patton giggled, pulling Roman in for a hug “I love you too, sorry for making you worry.”

“It’s not your fault Peaches,” Roman murmured, burying his face into Patton’s hair “but to quote you: ‘if you keep talking bad about yourself, I will physically fight you!’”

The friends giggled, holding each other for a little while longer until Roman finally “forgave” Patton and moved out of the way for the last person. Logan fidgeted nervously, quite unlike his usual calm and cool self, frowning down at the note card in his hand, “Happy” it read. Logan was pretty sure that Virgil switched out their note cards if the smug face he had was anything to go by. He glared at his best friend before handing off the note card and stepping in front of Patton, who extended his hands readily.

Logan gulped nervously, no that was not the right emotion to be having right now. Happy, he had to be happy. Think happy thoughts…what kind of happy thoughts? His mother’s homed cooked Mansaf…his first telescope his brother got him on his 7th birthday…the first time his father took him to the aquarium and the jelly fish looked like stars…the time Virgil fell down the stairs…Logan huffed a small laugh on that last one.

Carefully, Logan lifted his hands and hovered them a few inches above Patton’s own. He gulped again, face red hot and all eyes (minus Patton’s) were on him, waiting. Why was he nervous? Why couldn’t he move? Why were his hands suddenly so sweaty? This was just an experiment, it was not big deal!

“Um, are you still there?” Patton asked, confused as to why it was taking so long.

“Give them a minute,” Joan said helpfully, but the knowing smirk on his and everybody else is face wasn’t helpful at all. At least not for Logan.

“Oh, okay, take your time.” Patton said soothingly, a soft smile painting his face. Patton always had a nice smile, it made everything feel lighter. Logan was quick to stop that train of thought and immediately dropped his hands onto Patton’s.

Patton hummed quietly, his hands were soft and warm, short and fat compared to Logan’s cold, clammy, spindly fingers. They were so different and yet they felt completely natural together. It was a completely absurd and illogical thought to say the least but it was a common thought process Logan had whenever he was around the bright sunshine of a human being known as Patton Foster.

Patton smiled, a pretty blush spreading across his cheeks, “It’s really warm and fluttery.”

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Logan thought to himself ‘Abort mission! Abort mission!’

But he was frozen in place as Patton continued to explain, “Like a thousand butterflies in my stomach but I also want to throw up at the same time. Not in a bad way though. They’re a bit nervous too but also kind of excited. They’re in love!”

Logan choked on his own spit and he heard Virgil and Roman in the background quietly snickering to themselves. He threw them a glare to shut up before turning back to remove his hands but found that Patton still held them firmly in his own. Turns out he wasn’t done yet.

“They’re embarrassed now,” He said tentatively “was I not supposed to say that? Sorry, I got excited. You’re love is a very nice feeling and whoever that lucky person is to receive it I hope they know how wonderfully blessed they are.”

Logan was pretty sure his face was on fire now, he’s surprised that the smoke alarm hadn’t started beeping. Or maybe it has but he just couldn’t hear it over the beating of his own heart in his ears and Roman and Virgil’s annoying laughter. Logan cleared his throat, shaking his thoughts out of his head before carefully removing his hands from Patton’s gentle hold and rejoining the group.

“Did I get it right?” Patton asked.

“Uh, it wasn’t what was written on the note card but I think you still got it right,” Joan chuckled as they went to remove Patton’s blindfold as well as the suction cups on his head and neck “I think that’s enough testing for today. It’s getting late and you kids should probably start getting home.”

“Should we come back tomorrow?” Patton asked, blinking his eyes to adjust to the light.

“Only if you want to,” Thomas butted in before either Joan or Talyn could answer “and only if you guys are not busy. Remember, you still have school and a life to attend to.”

“Don’t remind me,” Roman whined “I still gotta finish my homework when I get home.”

“That’s ironic since we told our parents we were in a study group.” Logan said.

“What time is it anyway?” Virgil asked, stretching out his arms.

Talyn looked down at their watch, “’Bout to be eight thirty.”

“Eight thirty!” The boys exclaimed, panic rising in their eyes as they scrambled to pack their things.

“Aw, man my mom’s gunna kill for missing dinner!” Patton shrieked.

“You’re mom? Have you met my mom?” Roman voice cracked “She still thinks I’m sick and wanted me to stay home!”

“Thanks for everything Mr. Sanders, uh, we’ll come by tomorrow if we aren’t grounded.” Virgil said in a rush as they all raced up stairs.

“Pleasure meeting all of you!” Logan called out as he dashed out the basement door with his friends. The door slammed shut and there was a rumble of feet running across the hall before they heard the front door open and slam shut too.

“Nice kids.” Joan said after a moment of silence.

“Don’t get too attached to them,” Thomas warned as he walked over to the containment unit where the little spider was still scuttling around in “this all has to be taken seriously and professionally. These kids have no idea what going on to them or what they’ve just gotten themselves into so we have to there to guide them.”

“Mmh, are you telling us that or yourself?” Talyn smirked.

Thomas sputtered uselessly, “I-I…wh-what are you talking about?”

“Don’t think we don’t see how you interact with those kids,” Talyn chuckled “all maternal and such.”

“I’m not – it’s not…I don’t do that…” Thomas said meekly, but even he was starting to doubt that “I mean, they’re just kids and I know what it’s like going through what they’re going through. God knows I would have liked a bit of guidance. And they’re also younger then what I was when I first got my powers, we have to keep a careful eye on them.”

“I have a theory,” Joan announced dramatically “that by the end of the week they’ll have you wrapped around their little fingers.”

“Yeah right,” Thomas grumbled “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not really ‘hip’ with the kids.”

“You’re right, I should give you the benefit of the doubt,” Joan said solemnly “one and a half weeks it is.”

Talyn and Joan laughed while Thomas groaned but it wasn’t because he was frustrated but because he knew Joan was probably right.

Tag:

@immortaldystopia @metaphoricalpluto2 @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @misunderstood-shadow @fairytailtwists @0callmevirge0 @blenderkit17 @galaxy-lilies-main @lumi-1 @paint-in-flames

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #sander sides fanfiction #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logicality #prinxiety #spiderverse au #tobashiarg!

309 notes · View notes

fink-le-freak · 5 years

Photo

Name: Vulture Gender: female Age: 46 -born May 4th, 2118 in Bossier City, Louisiana -atomic bombs were dropped on Boston, New York City, San Francisco, Houston, Miami, Chicago, Denver, Detroit and Seattle in 2132 when conflict between the United States and North Korea boiled over -lives in an irradiated wasteland, travels around selling knives, maps of the wastes and whatever scrap she has no use for -wears a long coat and beast skull to hide burn scars, not self conscious but would prefer not to be a social pariah -post-bomb society discriminates against those scarred by the disaster, sees them as freaks -chose the beast skull as it was sufficiently large and you kinda have to make do with what you have, certainly fitting for someone like her -was given her name by her mentor Chef because she'll happily eat roadkill and carrion like a vulture -Chef found her after she was beaten and thrown out of a ruined supermarket by raiders, took her under his wing and taught her how to purify water, find food and defend herself until he eventually succumbed to radiation sickness -tired and lonely -documents the day's events and discoveries in her "journal", old tape recorder she dug out of a house -scavenger, eats what the mutated fauna and raiders do not -digs through wreckage for pre-bomb relics to collect, longs for that normalcy she lost 32 years ago -quiet and likes to listen, grateful her buddy Crank does a lot of the talking -parents were killed the day the bombs fell after the house collapsed on them -Lawful Neutral -eyes were damaged when the first bombs fell, can't see very well but she's always listening -pierced belly button and nipples -okay survivalist, knows how to purify water and knows what food is safe, can carve bone into tools, create traps, build shelter and read maps well -"let the rich destroy themselves" -weapons of choice are hand crafted bone knives, can throw them from a distance or use them up close -hangs onto her old teddy bear she's had since she was a baby, shocked it was still there when she returned to the wreckage of her home -speaks confidently and sternly with a silky southern accent -watching you like a hawk, wannabe thieves get fuckin stabbed, will not tolerate it -not very strong but has an intimidating presence -very dry sense of humor -won't stay in town long, has to keep moving to record her findings -sneaky and uses her knowledge of traps to her advantage -loves her whiskey -has slept in the same ratty tent for years -sentimental person, likes to have a piece of her friends with her always, has Chef's leather satchel -not a very open person, guarded and mysterious because you never know who's gonna knife you in your sleep and steal your kidneys -very resourceful and refuses to waste anything -always thinking, sometimes wishes she could just turn her brain off, can't do something mindlessly

#oc reference #oc drawing #oc artwork #oc art #oc #original character #pixel #graphicsgale #art #artists on tumblr #female oc #female original character

1 note · View note

osmw1 · 5 years

Text

Poison-Wielding Fugitive Chapter 43

So, there’s no saving for him?

‘Nay? It honestly is quite simple. Thou needest not to overthink the situation. It is but a matter of time and money.’

Right, then, what’s the plan? Honestly, I’m not too sure about the whole sewer thing, but tell me your thoughts.

‘Thou canst work thy poison but call it a medicine. Remember the seemingly ineffective poison thy possesses?’

Hmm…?

‘Hast thou forgotten of the poison thou hadst been using to create culinary delights?’

You mean the Mollifying Poison? It worked on steak, but would it cure Wayne?

‘A wart is only the manifestation of bacteria. Kill the bacteria and thou curest the man. The problem currently faced is how the wart is removed from one part of his body. However, the bacteria reclaim it soon after, bringing the him to square one. Thus, have him soak his whole body. Thou shalt produce the most condensed Mollifying Poison possible.’

… let’s try that then.

“Could you please get me a snorkel… something to breathe through while underwater? And if you could prepare me a bathtub please.” “A-Alright!”

Rurika obliges and leaves the room.

“If it’s curable, then we shall try.” “Then, for the next few days, please soak in the medicine I’ll prepare for you. If it doesn’t work, then I won’t ask for anything, so don’t worry.” “I am no miser. I simply will not forgive anyone who cheats me.” ‘As well, he shall receive no healing or restorative magic. The warts and the bacteria would recover too.’ “It’s fine. If everything goes well, all I’ll ask from you is your thanks. Oh, and don’t use any healing magic on yourself either.”

I’m only using the strengths I’ve received from leveling up. It’s not like I worked hard to earn anything. I’m only doing what I can, so I don’t feel like I’m working for free. I really hope it’ll work though. Then, the attendant and Rurika shows me the bathtub and I fill it with concentrated Mollifying Poison.

“I do say, it really ain’t no trouble if all I have to do is to soak in the bath. Gah… it stings! Augh…” “Sorry about that but hang in there.”

After a few hours of soaking, we stuck poultices drenched with Mollifying Poison all over his body. I got him to repeat that routine four times per day while we stayed in their home.

While we watch over Wayne’s condition, we also began with some guild work. But still… I can shake off my anxiety. Everything I do goes well… too well. Even then, I’d like to refuse this job. But since Veno says it’ll net me a whole lot of experience, I’ve got no choice but to see it through.

“So, this is the entrance to the sewers.”

I mutter in front of the stonework entrance to the underground located a distance away from the city. Just in case anything unexpected happens, I have a hotline to the guildhall. And because the poison would be a little too tough for them, I had Arleaf and Rurika be on standby and wait for me in town. It seems like Wayne is quite famous in Lif’el and Rurika holds considerable sway over people.

“Muu!”

Of course, we could’ve hopped on down from the town, but the easiest way to navigate is from here. They say before the town was founded, there used to be a cave. This sewer system was dug out of that cave and it seems to snake around like a labyrinth inside. And because of magnetic fields, there was a time when it was a dungeon. Not so anymore though. I can’t believe they would live above something like this, but that’s how it is.

“Alright then, shall we?” “Mu!”

I light up Arleaf’s special monster-repelling incense and enter the sewers.

“Hey, this incense really works… the monsters aren’t getting close to me at all.”

Right after going in, I see a pair of eyes light up ahead of me and Veno investigates.

Poison Black Leather Rat

No surprise to find rats living in a dark place like this. There were rat monsters back in Nisua too… but seems like they’re different species. I hear a quiet little squeak, squeak.

“Gotta light up a torch to get any farther down here, eh?”

It goes without saying that it’d be dark in the sewer. No choice but to guide my way through with a torch.

“Muu! Muu, muu!”

Muu suddenly jumps out in front of me, thumping its puffed-out chest.

“Mu!”

Then somehow… a soft light radiates from his cap. It’s pretty bright. I’d say it’s just as bright as a torch.

“Muu?”

It tilts its cap looking at me, almost as if saying “How’s that?”

“Hey, good going. Thanks. I didn’t know you could do that.”

I check Muu’s status to make sure.

Muu Mutated Myconid Warrior Level 27 Acquired Skills: Spore Scatter, Self-Regeneration, Stamina Recovery Rate Increase (Medium), Toughness, Mushroom Analysis, Mushroom Light, Subordinate of Poison-Wielder, Class change available, Warrior Sense, War Cry, Axe Mastery VI, Hatchet Crash V, Tornado Strike III, Bash III

I haven’t reviewed his status in a while, but it seems like he’s been quietly growing without me knowing.

‘Muu might have gained it by analyzing the grow in the dark mushrooms with its Mushroom Analysis’

I see… how convenient. Does it consume any mana or anything?

‘The wild mushrooms were simply bioluminescent. I doubt it expends much energy doing so.’

That really is convenient. By the way, it seems like Muu is pinching its nose as hard as it can while shutting his cap-mouth tight. It seems like Arleaf’s monster repellent works well on Muu too. Not to mention that it shrieks when Arleaf cooks.

“Then, since I don’t need to wave a torch around… I’ll wear the pack on my back.”

I bought a backpack to store all the gear needed for today’s fight. It’s not so much hard to lug around, but since it swings around quite a bit, it’s quite the hassle.

“I hope we don’t need to fight too much.” “Muu!”

With that and a map in my hand, we began heading deeper and deeper into the depths of the sewers.

previously: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /ch014/ /ch015/ /ch016/ /ch017/ /ch018/ /ch019/ /ch020/ /ch021/ /ch022/ /ch023/ /ch024/ /ch025/ /ch026/ /ch027/ /ch028/ /ch029/ /ch030/ /ch031/ /ch032/ /ch033/ /ch034/ /ch035/ /ch036/ /ch037/ /ch038/ /ch039/ /ch040/ /ch041/ /ch042/ /ch043/ /next/

(please support me on Patreon or Paypal)

#Poison-Wielding Fugitive #PWF #Average Translations #AvgTL #osm #Yusagi Aneko #Aneko Yusagi #light novel #ln #web novel #wn #毒使いの逃亡者 #毒使い #一般の英訳 #ライトノベル #ラノベ #オンラインノベル #アネコユサギ

1 note · View note

etching-bones-moved · 6 years

Text

The Wild Thing, III

Days passed, and the man helped nurse her back to health. He fed her stories too- of his magic, of her imprisonment, and when her restlessness spilled from her body and into the flames that raced across her fingers, he coaxed her through her terror.

“This is what they wanted.” he explained, holding her at arm’s length, “Your fire, your strength.”

“Get it out.” she remembered weeping, nausea eddying wildly round her head as heat crackled in her palms, “I don’t want it.”

But neither could she give it back. She’d been born with the potential to be exceptional, the man said, hardwired into her genetic code. This in itself was not so unusual- many people possessed anomalous mutations or abnormal genes, but very few ever expressed said abnormalities and lived beyond infancy. The genes were silenced, smothered, protected. For this reason, those with magic had gone predominantly unnoticed for millennia. Even to each other.

“I don’t understand.” the girl said one afternoon, steadfastly ignoring the man’s outstretched hand as she limped around the room. This was her third circuit that week, the third day in a row she’d made it out of bed, and the third demonstration of why, exactly, she was so absurdly skinny. She was severely lacking in muscle mass. What little she had remaining quivered and complained with each disjointed step.

“How do the genes go from being silenced to being expressed? How did we change from being normal?”

“We’re not entirely sure,” the man admitted, “There’s no way to ethically run experiments on it. We think it may be caused by trauma, because there does seem to be a strong correlation, but we can’t say for certain. Everyone is fairly traumatised these days.”

“Why?”

The man sat, discomfort scattered across his features as she continued to make her way across the room.

“There are only two answers to that question. One which is overly simplistic, and one that could start a very, very long conversation. The simple answer is, the world has gone to shit.”

“And the more complicated one?”

He grinned, wry again. Her endless questions had become a source of amusement, and this in turn had become a kind of solace. It was something the girl held between them with pride, something meaningful and secret and /hers/.

“It’s a very organised kind of shit.” he divulged, “Governments across the globe are united under the banner of ‘The Society’, and together they champion oppression of all kinds. In truth it’s not so different to how it was years and years ago, but now all of the hatred is out in the open and if anybody makes a misstep, that’s it.”

She returned to her bed, and sat.

“Sure, there’s a lot of very cheerful propaganda, but behind that there’s constant surveillance and constant fear. Phone tapping, internet browser monitoring, citizen registration chips. They dug yours out,” he said, tapping a spot behind his ear, “As soon as they took you.”

Mirroring his movement, the girl found a thin line of skin that was slippery to the touch. A scar, neater than the rest.

“And yours?” she asked, voice surprisingly even. Mystery scars had apparently ceased to phase her.

“I never had one.”

“Why not?”

He held his hands up, the motion blurred between surrender and an admission of guilt.

“I was born in the resistance. Never got a chip.” said he, “I never knew the Society as you did. I never knew my parents either, only my sister. She fought with the resistance too, and she died.”

This gave rise to a pause, and for a time he did not meet the girl’s eyes.

“You were probably found because of an informer.” he said at last, “Which are really a huge concern of ours. They rip the trust out of every community, which makes it rather challenging to form alliances and groups of resistance.”

“And you are the resistance. The front-runners of it.” The man nodded.

“We are part of it. Specifically, our division is concerned with rescuing people like you. Young, empowered people.”

“For what purpose?” the girl asked, “So that you can use us as weapons instead?”

“No, of course not.” he denied, shaking his head, “We rescue you because we can, and because it’s the right thing to do. Anything you do after you’re recovered is entirely your choosing.”

“But you want us to fight for you.” The girl countered, after looking over his words with jaded eyes, “You’d be a fool not to.”

The man gave a small shrug, and the girl read it, incredulously, as a motion of uncertainty.

“Sure, we’d like that. But it’s your choice.”

“Why would I throw myself back to the people who- who did this?” she gestured to her shaking legs, still not recovered from her brief bout of activity. The man grimaced.

“I’m not saying that you do, Ismae, only that some find peace in it.”

Her initial reaction was to cringe away from the notion, but she forced herself to imagine it for a moment. She imagined her incorporeal fears solidifying into bodies, enemies she could kill. She imagined violence not as an admission, but instead as something victorious. Would going to war fill the gaps that were starting to crack through her bones?

“I’m not sure how I feel about fighting.”

“You may never be. For now, it doesn’t matter. You need to heal and you’re much too young to sign up for anything bloody.”

“How young?” she asked, intrigued with this concept of age limits, of being too young or too old. What did it matter if she was asked to do awful things? Hadn’t the worst already happened?

“You’re fourteen.” the man said, watching her closely. She took the number and turned it over a few times.

“That is more than ten.” she observed, “You said there were others like me. How old are they?”

“Some younger, some older.”

“Can I meet them?”

“In time. I’m anxious for you to heal first.”

She frowned. In her opinion, she’d already been healing for far too long. The hours of solitude and resting gave her head too much time to swarm, and the quiet voices in the back of her mind too much room to be heard. Those voices were not her friends. They scratched at every thought, and twisted every moment. Nothing but company drove them away, and even then...

She needed something more. Something that took all this confliction and channelled it.

“I don’t like healing.” was all she said.

“Not many people do.”

“I’m restless. I need purpose.”

“Soon, Ismae. Soon you can go downstairs and meet the others.”

“But how soon can I fight for you?”

The man sighed, sinking into his chair.

"I don't know Ismae, but I won't take you while you're fourteen."

She scowled at his decency. It was fast outliving its usefulness.

"They would." she pointed out, taking to her feet again in defiance, "Surely to beat them, you must match them."

"You're in favour of such young soldiers?"

Edging round the room once more, the girl considered this.

"If they’re an asset, and willing. It sounds like you need all the help you can get."

He dipped his head. She frowned some more.

"There's bad news." he said at last, "I'm leaving, this evening."

She stopped, irritation draining away. In its place sat an awful disquiet, softly radiating from her core to her extremities.

"I thought you were staying here." she said, so quietly she expected her voice would snap, "To look after me."

“I’m needed elsewhere. We think we’ve found another child.”

/Child/. The word sat oddly on the girl’s shoulders, and paired with the hollow realisation that she was being left behind, she suddenly felt betrayed.

The girl opened her mouth. Closed it. Resumed her lopsided movements, wholly uncomfortable with revealing how terribly his words had torn through her. Let him go then. Let him rescue another child. She would wait, and heal, and grow stronger as he did so. She would make herself indispensable.

“You’ll be cared for, Ismae.” he assured, voice not quite the balm it used to be. She pretended it was, anyway, “You’ll be alright.”

She walked once more around the room, thighs trembling.

“Yes of course, go.” she said at last, smiling tightly, “I’ll be absolutely fine.”

The Greylek Initiative tag

#spilled ink #inkstay #WIP boost #excerpt from a book I'll never write #Writers on tumblr #tgi #original #prose #ismae #my writing

7 notes · View notes

pigeonpartytime · 3 years

Text

Detritus and McCarran meet at Hades’ Palace [OC]

I guess it’s time once again for my midnight OC rambles... this time with two of my new OCs, Emperor Detritus and Grand Courier McCarran. These are part of my post-apocalyptic fantasy world, meeting at the Emperor’s palace in the Citadel of Novar. Maybe one day I’ll use this to post more lore... - C

Detritus was sat on his throne, legs crossed, as he read a book and took a long drag from his cigarette. He had all his “regal” dress on even though he was sat there disregarding any sense of urgency, or remembering his plans for the day. He was meant to be having a meeting with a fellow senator of the New Provadence Republic which he had just joined as part of a political alliance between his Empire and the republic.

The almost shanty doors creak open as a figure dressed entirely in power armour walks through the door, removing the helmet as he walks up to the throne. Detritus glances over and almost jumps out of his seat like he had completely zoned out (which he had) reading and smoking.

“Emperor. It’s a pleasure to see you,” the voice softly beckons, as the figure kneels down, his helmet in his hands, “I don’t know what your customs are but I guess over the top is better than too casual.”

“Oh just get off your knees. The floor’s filthy.” Detritus rasps, placing a strip of red fabric in his book to mark the page and closing it before dropping it on the floor beside the throne, “You must be the guy they sent. These fools call me Detritus. So I guess that’s who I am to you too, heh. Now what’cha doing standing there? Let me get you a drink.”

Before McCarran can introduce himself, or even say anything about the drink the emperor is offering him, Detritus is already up pouring two glasses of whiskey.

“So who are you then, eh? You were brave to even try and come here. And lucky that those ferals didn’t rip you to shreds when they saw you, smoothskin.” Detritus inquires.

“Oh. I am the Grand Courier of the Courier Syndicate. Uh, the name’s McCarran. Dominic McCarran. I’m one of the senators, we met last week.”

“Ah yes,” Detritus hisses, “we did. Sorry I have been so busy making sure these idiots don’t go feral. You’ve seen what they do to humans when they come in. Territorial bastards. I have no problem though. With humans that is. The ferals have forgotten who they were before, I sure as hell haven’t. I still hold my human self very close a hundred and fifty years on. I mean how could I forget? I had my dream job back before the war - Chief Detective Inspector. Now those were the days... oh, sorry I got completely carried away. Now why did you come again?”

“I was sent here to give you your badge, us senators have it so we can tell who is part of the government and who isn’t... and I guess for diplomatic immunity... so we don’t get ripped to, uh, shreds.” McCarran replies, “I was the only one who was, I guess, brave enough to come here. Yet, I’m still the youngest. The Syndicate is barely three years old and I’m here being the responsible guy. The brave guy. I guess while I’m here, we can get to know eachother. Cordiality.”

McCarran shyly hands over the medal, a golden badge with a falcon emblem on it and a crimson background. The badge has three stars, a subtle reference to Detritus’s past even though McCarran doesn’t know that personally. Whoever made the badge clearly did their fair share of research.

“Of course, you don’t need to ask. Anyone who makes it up and doesn’t try to kill me is a friend. Now do you want anything else other than just the whiskey? Any chems? Why don’t you come up to my room. It’s more comfortable up there. And, hey, thanks for the medal. It looks cool.”

He fumbles around with the pin for a moment, almost stabs his finger as he attaches the badge to his tattered trench coat. He throws his cigarette to the floor, extinguishing it with his foot before taking a big sip of his drink and walks over to the staircase behind his metal throne. McCarran follows behind, nervously looking around him as the Irrads around the throne room either look at him with dumbfounded interest or scornful glares. He twirls his drink in his glass before taking small sips. McCarran is much, much younger than Detritus, being about 260 years his junior. Detritus is also taller than him but incredibly slim, his bony yet muscular torso showing from his low-buttoned off-white shirt.

The two walk upstairs, to a modest living room with two comfortable yet tattered sofas, one red and the other a faded grey. A small wooden coffee table is between them, covered in papers, broken pencils, and another bottle of alcohol. Detritus briefly walks to his large bookshelf on one of the walls before straddling over the red sofa before rolling over onto it, spilling some of his whiskey over his face as he finished the glass.

“Welcome to my place. Nice ain’t it. Please take a seat on the other sofa, it’s probably the cleanest thing you’ll sit on in this entire city so make most of it.” Detritus chuckles before coughing slightly, “I guess, make yourself at home.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah, yeah.”

McCarran walks over to the grey sofa, wiping it off and stepping out of his armour before he takes a seat. He looks uncomfortable but he knows that it’s worse lower down and he’s incredibly lucky to have made it up without getting ratted out by one of the palace’s guards. He breathes a great sigh of relief before taking another sip.

“So, kid, what’s your story then?” Detritus asks.

“Well, I’m a mercenary. Have been all my life. I used to work for the PNL... well until they tried to kill me. They said I was “too good”. Can you believe that? I did some things I’m not super proud of and hid for a few years up north before going to Metropolis and starting this syndicate. How about you? You seem... so interesting. I’ve never met an Irrad quite like you before.”

“Heh. You seem like a pretty useful guy. But me? I was around before the bombs dropped. I was a detective. Before I became an Irrad, I was called Lawrence. Lawrence Connolly. I was a pretty big deal in Caledale, working on all the big cases. Man, what a life that was. When the bombs dropped, I was working a murder case down in the metro under the city. That’s why I didn’t die straight away like most people did but I couldn’t get out because some rubble had blocked off the stairway out. I survived off of water pipe leaks and quickly mutating rats before I myself mutated. I remember waking up one morning and I was as dry as a raisin. I think one of my toes had fallen off and I was going absolutely mental. If it wasn’t for some synth clearing his way towards Vault 24, I wouldn’t have been found.

I looked a lot worse for a while, I was a drifter roaming the wasteland before I found this crater below us. A bunch of other Irrads were around it, and they saw me. They said there was a god of radiation and apparently it was me. I mean I went along with it, thinking it was some kind of joke. I mean I was happy that I was being spoken to, even if half the words they said were either utter bullshit or incomprehensible nonsense. They built me this tower and all these buildings. I just led them. I realise now that they’re being serious but I don’t know, to be honest. I was just a fourty-something year old detective stuck in the wrong era. So I changed and look where I am now. I still like collecting books and music like I did before but now I have people that do it for me and boy is this stuff worth a lot. I won’t let go of it though, no matter how many times the Metropolis Provisional University or whatever it calls itself tries to buy them off of me. It’s the last thing reminding me of a better time. One where I didn’t look like a goddamn anthropomorphic raisin. That’s my story. Would you like me to put on a song? So you can see why these are so important to me?”

“Yeah, I- I’d like that, actually.” McCarran replies. “You’ve been through a hell of a lot, Detritus. You’re definitely some man.”

“Heh. Thanks. That means a lot to me. And hey, you can call me Laurie.” He chuckles under his breath as he gets up and flicks though his record collection before picking one, taking it out of its sleeve very carefully and placing it on the turntable. He gently lowers the pin with one hand and turns up the speakers with the other. As the music starts, he opens the bottle on the coffee table and pours another round of drinks before lighting a new cigarette and leaning back into the sofa with his drink.

The two share a quiet moment, enjoying the music as it plays on.

#my ocs #oc rpg #ocs #dungeons and dragons #writing #fantasy fiction #fantasy #fallout #post apocalyptic #nuclear

0 notes

ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

And So It Will Be (OC)

And So It Will Be

Johannes wiped the ashy rain from his mask as he looked around the desolate area. Weldyne was once vibrant, but now… His geiger counter clicked rapidly as he walked carefully into the city through the long dead evacuation line. They were watching him, even if it seemed impossible. He had to stay calm, and appear peaceful. He let go of the AK-74 issued to him, letting it fall to his waist to be held by the sling, as he raised his hands in a peaceful manner. He had been sent into the city dozens of times, they knew he wasn’t an immediate threat. There were new markings on the buildings and barricades, Johannes noted. There had been some obscure symbols painted there before, but there were many more now. Fascinating.

“...It appears evacuations of the city have slowed, and several refugees have reported follow up interviews by conspicuous government officials. It seems that- wait. Our chopper team reports seeing military officers denying evacuation and redirecting some traffic. There is something going on that we are not being informed about…”

“I’ve spotted several sentries,” Johannes said in a Norwegian accent, “I’ve never been this far into the city, and they are suspicious of me. I don’t think it is safe for me to proceed to the reactor.” “You have your orders Agent Thorson. If they become aggressive, you have clearance to open fire. We’ll have a chopper to get you out of there before it gets too messy.” “If I open fire on them, we’ll never get another shot to get to the reactor.” “If they won’t let an individual or a team into the plant, then the military will approve an offensive strike.” “What is the legality of that? Or the morality?” “They will be considered domestic terrorists inhibiting a vital cause.” Johannes sighed as he clicked off his mic. They weren’t terrorists, they couldn’t control any of this and it wasn’t their fault. He had to get to that reactor. Johannes turned onto the next street… one of them was in the road. He froze when he saw it, it was too late, it saw him too. Johannes raised his hands slowly, and stepped out into the open so it could clearly see him. It raised its crude spear, but stood carefully. Their appearance still threw him off, so human… It was tall, its skin gray with blackened veins. Their muscles always had a soft tremble with occasional twitches. Paints of various colors marked their bodies, and they were usually (though not always) hairless. “Do you understand me?” Johannes asked. It cocked its head. “I need to get to the nuclear reactor. I don’t wish to harm you, friend,” he took a step towards it. Its muscles spasmed slightly. It grabbed its head in pain, with a gasp. “Damn it,” Johannes whispered, “Calm down, friend. I am here in peace. Can you understand what I’m saying?” “Gaahk!” it yelled. Johannes squinted at it. “Gaahk?” he replied carefully. “Eei, gaahk!” Johannes gasped softly and laughed a little, “You… you’re talking!” “Gaahk!” it shouted resolutely as it raised its spear. “Ok,” Johannes said, before pointing at himself, “Johannes. I am Johannes, and you…?” “Gaahk!” “No, you aren’t gaahk. Please, what is your name?” He took his AK off of his chest, and set it on the ground, then raised his hands again, before approaching. “Gaahk!” It shouted, then it pointed to its head. Johannes laughed excitedly and pointed to his radiation helmet, “Helmet! This is my helmet!” “Heh-” “Yes! Yes, helmet!” “Hal-maht…” “Yes, please… helmet.” He motioned to himself, “Johannes.” “Yoe… yuhen…” it twitched. Johannes began to laugh and cry, and approached the thing. Its tremble grew worse and it tensed up, readying its spear. “It’s ok! Johannes is your friend! Friend!” “Fr… freeh…” Johannes took out one of his protein bars and opened the wrapper, “Friend gives food,” he pointed to the bar, “Food!” he took a bite from the bar then tossed it to the thing. It suspiciously picked up the bar and sniffed it, then ate it. Johannes walked right up to it and smiled. “Daah,” it grunted at him, then pointed to itself and said, “Ahbahb.” Johannes cried and laughed, then said. “Nice to meet you, Ahbahb.”

“...Evacuation of Weldyne has ceased entirely. Our helicopters have recovered footage of piles of deformed bodies piled in the streets. Thermal imaging shows they are still alive, but they haven’t moved in over a week. It is unclear if these are mutated people due to radiation from the reactor, or if something else has occurred. The government and military have yet to comment, but evacuation of the suburbs outside the city itself is still underway…”

“Where is hot metal?” Johannes asked. “H-hat mehtol,” Ahbahb pointed his shaky finger northward. “Johannes,” he pointed to himself, “go to hot metal?” he pointed northward. “Yohen, go. Hot mehtol. Ahbahb, go.” Johannes smiled and picked up his rifle, and together they walked north. He watched Ahbahb closely, his muscles trembled ceaselessly and his twitches and jerks seemed painful. It was also clear his head was in constant pain. These poor people… Johannes thought. Their physical appearance still disturbed him, their gray skin and black veins. They were also so tall and lanky. But, everything they had done so fast. Crude tools, symbols, maybe even a rudimentary language. It had only been a few weeks, how had they come so far? They walked for quite some ways before Ahbahb raised his spear and pointed at the power plant, “Hot mehtol.” “Johannes see,” he pointed to his eyes, “hot metal?” “Yohen see hot mehtol.” He walked inside carefully, the whole building was covered in their strange markings, and they had several rudimentary torches inside. He checked the reactor, took several measurements, then sighed with relief.

“...It has been a day since the bodies have begun waking up. They seem to be in states of total amnesia, they have no understanding of language or other people. Military officials still in the city claim that, while they are not actively hostile, they act as aggressive wild animals when approached. This has sparked countless debates, is it morally right to fire upon them when they are acting agitated? Is it ethical to experiment on them and run tests to find out precisely what is going on? As of now, the government still recognizes their individual rights, and have refused requests to capture and study subjects without consent. It is believed, from photographs taken of the subjects, that many of their symptoms can be explained as being rooted in heavy radiation exposure. However, it is unprecedented to see so many people react to radiation in the exact same way, claims officials…”

“The reactor is stable, and I detected no new output of radiation,” Johannes said to General Mason in the small military fortification outside the city, “But that’s not what I’m most excited to report!” he said with a grand smile. “What is it, agent?” “They’re learning language!” The man laughed heartily, “Don’t be absurd, Agent Thorson.” “No, really! I encountered one while I made my way to the plant. It yelled something at me, a consistent noise. I thought it was odd, so I calmed him down and attempted to exchange words with it, and it worked! They have a rudimentary language they’re building!” “Son, it’s only been a few weeks. It’s impossible.” “I’m telling you, sir, there’s something special about them. We have to do everything in our power to keep relations peaceful.” “Peaceful? They killed a whole team!” “A whole team that came into their home in heavy armor with heavy weapons that acted aggressively towards them. Look at it from their shoes!” “They don’t wear shoes, son. They aren’t even people anymore. They’re just wild animals, now.” “Look, we don’t need anything in there right now. For the time being, the reactor is stable. Just don’t send anyone in unless I’m with them, please.” The man sighed and nodded, before shooing Johannes off.

“...The Supreme Court had been presented the case, until they come to a decision there will be no attempt to contact or investigate these mutants. However, there are concerns that the reactor may still be contaminating the local area. CBRN agents are going to attempt to enter the city to survey the reactor, it is unclear how the mutants will respond to this…”

“Hello, Ahbahb!” Johannes said as he entered the city. The mutant waited for him just past the evacuation checkpoint, several other mutants stood with him. “Johannes! Ahbahb… happy.” “You pronounced my name right…” “Ahbahb practice!” “Practice? I didn’t teach you that word.” “Ahbahb remember new words.” Johannes smiled, “Who are these?” He motioned to the other mutants. “Ahbahb… clan. Tribe.” “Nice to meet you, I am Johannes.” “Dahhg…” one of them growled. Ahbahb said two words in their rudimentary language, and the mutant grunted. “Ahbahb, the people that tell me what to do”- “Chief?” “Kind of. CBRN, they want me to teach you how to talk.” “Ahbahb know how to talk.” “I know, and I didn’t teach you much. That’s incredible. But CBRN wants me to learn about you.” “Seah beh argh en?” “Yes. They are who I work for. They want to know about your people.” “What about?” “How did you learn to talk so fast? You were just created a few weeks ago.” “Created few weeks ago?” “Do you not know what you are?” It cocked its head at him in confusion. “You are human, just like me,” Johannes said, “But something happened to you and your people. It changed you, and made you forget everything.” Ahbahb stared at him in confusion, his muscle tremble became more severe. “No,” Ahbahb said, “We are not like you. We are different.” “Different, but the same. If we learn enough, we can help you.” “Help what?” “Your shaking, your headaches, your twitching. You can also help us - how you learn so fast, how you’re thriving in radiation, a lot.” “Ahbahb want help… What change us?” “We don’t know for sure. Most people think the radiation from the reactor - the hot metal - changed you.” “Can change back?” “I don’t know.”

“...A CBRN team attempted to enter the city to assess the reactor’s current state. We are receiving reports that they were targeted by aggressive mutants who attempted to prevent entry. Body cams showed the mutants grunting and howling at the team, and throwing rocks and debris. An agent was struck, and opened fire on the mutants resulting in heavy casualties on both sides. The nation is divided in questioning, should the CBRN have opened fire? There is a criminal investigation underway regarding the actions of the surviving members, but many also believe that strike teams should enter Weldyne and eradicate the mutants involved in the confrontation…” Johannes sat in the empty parking garage. The mutants had converted it into one large village, with fires, and huts made from the parked vehicles. He sat by a fire, he was quite nervous. Ahbahb was talking with their tribe leaders in their language. It was fascinating, sentences never seemed to exceed two words. Their language was incredibly basic. Finally Ahbahb returned to him, “Chieftain not help.” “Why not?” Johannes frowned. “Seah beh argh en attack us, kill us. Chieftain worry.” Johannes’ suit’s clock beeped. He only had an hour left before he ran out of filtered oxygen, and reached maximum radiation exposure. “I have to leave soon, Ahbahb. The city makes humans sick if we stay too long.” “Change like us?” “No, no I don't think so. Just sick.” Ahbahb squinted at him. What was he thinking? What went on in their heads? They were such an enigma, he had to find out what was going on. There was no they could simply be mutants, there had to be something else going on. There’s no way so many people could experience the exact same, incredibly bizarre symptoms from radiation. Well, he thought, let’s examine their symptoms. Pale skin, necrosis or discoloration of blood vessels, violent tremors, twitching, loss of memory, aggression, headaches, and hair loss. It was clear most symptoms were nervous system based. Sure, perhaps the radiation damaged their nervous system, but all of them in the same way? “Ahbahb, will you come back with me? Out of the city? So we can find out what happened to you.” It looked down and thought for a while, then said, “Ahbahb help Johannes,” with an unsure frown.

“...CBRN has taken another approach to run diagnostics on the reactor. A CBRN agent, formerly trained as a wildlife rehabilitationist, has been sent into the city alone. He is to establish contact with the mutants and create peaceful relations if possible. Once trust is established, he will proceed to the reactor and run diagnostics. The Supreme Court has still yet to come to a conclusion on how to treat the mutants within Weldyne. Are they still people? Do they still deserve independence?...”

“Absolutely incredible,” Mason said. Ahbahb looked around the room in awe - the lights, computers, noise, and people. But he was also incredibly nervous. It was clear, to Johannes, that Ahbahb was in distress, so he reassured him. To his surprise, Ahbahb closed his eyes and sat down for a few minutes. When he awoke, he said, “Sometimes, I close my eyes, and remember. That’s how learn new words.” Johannes scratched his beard in thought. Then said, “Well, General, does this convince you? We have to keep people out of Weldyne until we understand what’s going on here better. And we cannot allow the Supreme Court to rule that these are not still people.” “I am people…” Ahbahb muttered. “One individual isn’t enough to prove anything. What if he wasn’t exposed to as much radiation?” Mason responded. “Well, that’s one of the problems. The more I observed Ahbahb here, the more I began to conclude that they are not mutants or victims of radiation exposure. There is something more going on here, maybe something we can treat. Besides, I don’t know of any others that speak English, but I’ve witnessed them speaking in a basic language of their own.” The general turned to Ahbahb. “Well, tell me friend, do your people have a language?” “Yes, but not big like yours.” “Do you consider yourself a person?” “Yes.” “Do you consider yourself a human?” Ahbahb was quiet, and pondered for quite some time. “Ahbahb doesn’t know.” The general studied him for a while: his twitching, his trembling, discolored skin, dilated pupils, lack of hair, lanky. But it still looked like a person. Finally he turned to Johannes, “Noted. I will get our researchers to prepare a paper on our friend here. Let’s do some tests though, find out what he really is.” Then he turned to Ahbahb, “Son, I think you are human.”

“...We are receiving reports that some of the mutants are beginning to communicate. This will undoubtedly affect public opinion regarding the ethics of dealing with the mutants. Also, diagnostics were properly run on the reactor, and it was deemed stable and no longer a source of radiation…”

“We’ve completed the blood test… and it’s fascinating,” the lab technician said, “They aren’t mutants, but they are the result of mutations.” “What do you mean?” Johannes asked. “Well, this particular subject, Ahbahb as he calls himself… although our blood records state that his name is Johnathon Graves… was infected with a mutated form of bacterial meningitis. He isn’t a mutant, the meningitis is. It’s what attacked his nervous system, and the bacteria itself also attacked his blood vessels causing the skin discoloration. As for the hair loss and other bodily deformities, these are the direct result of DNA damage via radiation.” “So they’re just people… sick people. And we massacred a whole group of them, and are debating on whether or not to grant them rights.” “Also, this particular strain of bacteria proved very susceptible to antibiotics. We can treat them, fairly easily. The meningitis also isn’t progressing, it won’t kill them.” “Why aren’t they full of cancers and radiation poisoning from their constant exposure?” “The blood work didn’t provide a clear answer to this, but it seemed that almost all of his cells could be categorized as cancerous. They just die as quickly as they replicate, and don’t replicate as much as normal cancer cells.” Johannes smiled, and approached Ahbahb, “You did it! Because of you, we figured out what happened. You and your people are all humans, you’re just sick! And we can fix it! We can make you go back.” Ahbahb looked at Johannes for awhile, and didn’t respond. “Do you remember your name, Ahbahb?” “Yes, Ahbahb.” “No, before you were Ahbahb, you were Johnathon Graves.” His trembling worsened, and he turned away, “No, I am Ahbahb… I…” “Are you okay?” “Take Ahbahb home.” Johannes frowned, but nodded. It would take a little while to prepare treatments anyways, perhaps by then Johnathon would understand it was a good thing.

“...We here at Channel 7 News would like to express our sincerest apologies. These past few weeks, we have referred to the refugees trapped within Weldyne as mutants on account of their bizarre appearance and behavior. However, latest reports from CBRN have revealed that they are not mutants. Rather, they are infected with a mutated strain of bacterial meningitis that has caused their symptoms. We will keep you updated…”

Johannes wiped the ashy rain from his mask as we walked into the city through the long dead evacuation lines. His AK-74 was now strapped to his back, and he never had a round chambered when he went into the city. The people had been peaceful (though suspicious) for quite some time, he didn’t need it ready anymore. But he turned the corner, and there before him were hundreds of them, all with crude spear or axe. Ahbahb stood in front.

“Hello, Ahbahb,” Johannes said carefully. “I came to tell you, we have a treatment ready. It will fix the meningitis, and it won’t remove your body’s accelerated cancer defense.” “We don’t want fix.” Johannes sighed, “You’re sick, and we can fix it. Your ability to remember things about your past shows that the brain damage isn’t permanent. We can give your memory back, remove the trembling, twitching, headaches…” “No.” He approached Johannes, “We are people, but we are not human. We do not want to be. Johnathon is dead. If you fix us, Ahbahb dies and Johnathon replaces him.” “But the meningitis killed Johnathon, and replaced him with Ahbahb.” Ahbahb’s head lowered, and Johannes continued, “Just as you don’t want to become Johnathon, Johnathon didn’t want to become Ahbahb.” “Too late, Johnathon is dead, Ahbahb is alive. Ahbahb doesn’t want to die.” Johannes nodded, then turned on his radio, “They don’t want to be treated. They consider themselves their own people, independent of who they once were.” “That’s bullshit son. The meningitis isn’t letting them think clearly, they aren’t in a reasonable state of mind to make that decision. Hold tight.” The radio clicked off. He turned and looked at the people, their markings painted on their bodies and the walls of the buildings. The clothes and weapons they had crafted and chosen over the ones they woke up in. They were talking to each other, and they were scared. His radio clicked back on, “It has been decided that they are not mentally fit enough to deny treatment. A task force is being mobilized to subdue them and administer the treatment.” “Sir, I agree with them. They are different people. I don’t know if it’s right to”- “Christ son, you’ve spent too much time with them. Get out of there before the task force arrives.” He looked to the people again and sighed. “I can’t let you do this, sir.” He walked towards them with his hands up until he stood in front of Ahbahb. Slowly, he reached up to the disengage on his helmet, and flipped the switch. Air hissed from his helmet and alarms began to sound in his suit, warning him of contamination and radiation. Johannes took off his helmet and sat it on the ground, then he turned to face the entrance to the city. A news helicopter was already above. The task force began to enter, heavily armed. An armored CBRN medical van followed them. “We are people,” Ahbahb pled. “Soldier, put your damned helmet back on!” One of the sergeants shouted. “No,” Johannes said, “I’ll give myself cancer before I let you treat these people.” General Mason watched carefully, then sighed and radioed, “We can’t treat them without violence, and the media is watching. Fallback.”

“...What are your thoughts, Mr. Myers?” “We cannot keep them from treatment, it’s absolutely nonsensical. They cannot possibly be expected to think clearly, their memory is destroyed. They cannot decide for themselves. Besides, if we treat them we can deal with the reactor far easier, and we don’t have to worry about them spreading the meningitis.” “But they are in the right mind to make that decision. It’s true the people they were aren’t, but they aren’t those people anymore. You cannot let deadmen decide for living ones. Their ambassador, Ahbahb”-

“Johnathon.” “Ahbahb, said it perfectly. ‘Johnathon is dead, Ahbahb is alive.’ These people have a whole new conscience. It isn’t fair to destroy this new conscience to bring back an old one that was lost because of an unfortunate accident.” “These ‘new consciences’ are just delusions because of a disease. You would treat someone with split personality disorder, and that’s a different conscience.” “That’s so untrue, you’re making false comparisons!...”

submitted by /u/OmnipotentMangos [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/d4abxz/and_so_it_will_be_oc/ via Blogger https://ift.tt/2Q7Gjtt

#Blogger #Story

0 notes

kathleenseiber · 5 years

Text

Could cockroaches really survive a nuclear apocalypse?

Many people believe that cockroaches could survive a nuclear bomb and the subsequent radiation exposure, but is that actually true?

The creepy crawlies do have a reputation for resilience, which media reports have suggested may stem from rumors that insects thrived in the aftermath of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki

But Tilman Ruff, a Nobel Laureate and professor in the School of Population and Global Health at the University of Melbourne who studies the health and environmental consequences of nuclear explosions, says he has yet to see any documented evidence that there were cockroaches scuttling through the rubble.

“I’ve certainly seen photographs of injured people in Hiroshima that have lots of flies around, and you do imagine some insects would have survived,” Ruff says. “But they still would have been affected, even if they appear more resistant than humans.”

Roaches’ bad wrap

The TV series Mythbusters tested the cockroach survival theory in 2012 when they exposed cockroaches to radioactive material. The roaches survived longer than humans would have, but they all died at extreme levels of radiation.

Mark Elgar, a professor at the School of Biosciences, says Mythbusters tests are incomplete because they only looked at how many days the cockroaches lived after exposure. They didn’t look at the cockroaches’ ability to produce viable eggs, thus ensuring the continued survival of the species.

“There is some evidence that they seem quite resilient to gamma rays, although they are not necessarily the most resistant across insects.”

“You could argue,” Elgar adds, “that some ants, particularly those that dig nests deep into the ground, would be more likely to survive an apocalypse than cockroaches.”

“[American and German cockroaches’] habit of basically acting as an unpaid house cleaner horrifies people.”

Previous tests of insects subjected to radiation found that cockroaches, though six to 15 times more resistant than humans, would still fare worse than the humble fruit fly.

Elgar says the feral American and German species of cockroach—the ones you might recognize from your kitchen nooks and crannies—have given the rest of the species a bad rap.

“I think our view of cockroaches is informed by our frequent interaction with the American and German cockroaches, which have spread throughout the world,” Elgar says. “Their habit of basically acting as an unpaid house cleaner horrifies people.”

There are more than 4,000 species of cockroaches, however, including native Australian cockroaches marked by iridescent colors and patterns.

“Some of the Australian bush cockroaches are really lovely looking insects, which might change people’s perspectives,” he says. “The Mardis Gras cockroach, for example, has got these lovely yellow patterns on its plates and bright blue legs with little black spots.”

Cockroaches breed quickly, lay large numbers of eggs and are harder to kill with chemicals than other household insects—all traits that could contribute to the popular belief that they could withstand anything, even a nuclear bomb.

“They are quite well defended. If you try and squish a cockroach it usually gives off an unpleasant smell that acts as a pretty effective deterrent for anything attempting to capture them,” Elgar says. “They’re flat, so they can escape into places you can’t easily access.”

After the bombs fall

Cockroaches feed off the detritus of other living organisms, however; so Elgar questions whether they would be able to thrive without humans and other animals.

“For a while they’ll be able to eat dead bodies and other decaying material but, if everything else has died, eventually there won’t be any food. And they’re not going to make much of a living,” Elgar says.

“The reality is that very little, if anything, will survive a major nuclear catastrophe, so in the longer term, it doesn’t matter really whether you’re a cockroach or not.”

Nuclear explosions “knocks the electrons off atoms and changes the chemistry of things.”

Nuclear explosions affect living things in a range of ways, from the impact of the initial blast to the ionizing radiation released into the air.

Ionizing radiation affects all organisms because it permanently damages DNA, the complex molecular chains that determine who we are and what we pass on to others.

“It knocks the electrons off atoms and changes the chemistry of things,” says Ruff.

Low and prolonged doses of ionizing radiation can lead to diseases like cancer and increase the risk of a range of chronic conditions, particularly cardiovascular disease. High doses can kill cells.

Massive impact

Nuclear explosions are also especially damaging because radioactive substances can accumulate and recycle through the environment—in freshwater systems, the ocean, and the earth.

They also concentrate up the food chain, so animals at the top of the food chain may contain levels of radioisotopes thousands of times higher than in their environment. So even if an organism is less susceptible initially, it’s still part of an ecosystem that has been damaged.

“The evidence from a disaster like Chernobyl is that every organism, from insects to soil bacteria and fungi to birds to mammals, would experience effects in proportion to the degree of contamination,” Ruff says.

Focusing on a single species misses the complexity of the biological environment and how we relate to one another.

“There’s less biological abundance, less species diversity, higher rates of genetic mutation, more tumors, more malformations, more cataracts in their eyes, shorter life spans, and reduced fertility in every biological system.”

In the past, scientists theorized that the more complex an organism, the more likely nuclear radiation was to affect them. So humans would fare worse and insects would do better.

But Ruff says that focusing on a single species misses the complexity of the biological environment and how we relate to one another, as well as interactions between multiple stresses at the same time.

“There’s all sorts of factors we have to look at. There are environmental factors. There are chronic exposures, effects across generations, and food shortages, for example,” he says. “The magnitude of effects of a nuclear explosion is far greater than what you might see in carefully controlled experiments and laboratory conditions.”

So, everything points to the conclusion that no, cockroaches ultimately wouldn’t survive a nuclear apocalypse.

Source: University of Melbourne

The post Could cockroaches really survive a nuclear apocalypse? appeared first on Futurity.

Could cockroaches really survive a nuclear apocalypse? published first on https://triviaqaweb.weebly.com/

0 notes

lynchmcknight24-blog · 5 years

Text

Top Fallout 76 Reviews!

Why Almost Everything You've Learned About Fallout 76 Is Wrong There are a lot of approaches to begin making an ever expanding world, the point above is only an area of the tip of the iceberg. Unfortunately, all great things must come to a conclusion. Perhaps you get set free a small further, but I've played a good deal of the game and I'm not likely to play more to learn. As a consequence, it's probably something that wasn't meant to be included. A whole lot of the time in Fallout 76, you will target the very first section of an enemy that you are able to for the aims of weakening them long enough for you to select a better shot. Whatever keeps players from feeling strong has to be minimized. The issue with vigilantism is it can get out of control. Then you find the people complaining that it doesn't have any story. You've got to understand that not every man or woman will want or desire exactly the same thing. Things You Won't Like About Fallout 76 and Things You Will Then you can hop in the vehicle and go down the track free of pacer car before you. Patch notes will stay the exact same pending any changes there can be. Once it's your turn to go you're going to be notified by means of a pager or beeper offered by the school. The Pain of Fallout 76 The Cult of the Mothman faction provides unique faction-specific apparel you'll be able to unlock, together with other bonuses. That means you could kill a dragon. PvP isn't a large part of the game so that it doesn't serve as much safe location, therefore it ends up being just a glorified backpack. Whenever chosen, a Perk within the specific class will nee to get picked. When you truly feel safe, begin to walk in the camp. Sometimes though it might be very far from where you wish to be, so you can want to relocate your camp. Most Noticeable Fallout 76 The way mutations work is that they'll randomly appear based on your radiation level. Repeat step 6 until you've lost the terrible mutation (you will likely lose several different mutations in the process). Check to see whether it's still true that you have the necessary variety of good mutations (you should have no undesirable mutations). The issue with that is, if you're not already acquainted with the Fallout universe, I am not sure there's much here for you. While free games are almost always good, there continue to be lots of issues with Fallout 76 despite several large patches. Repair the pacing by reformatting or eliminating time-sensitive challenges A significant issue with Fallout 76 is it's attempting to be another MMO shooter when Fallout isn't enjoy lots of different shooters. Also Typhoon Hunter is going to have VR version. Ultimately, if you would like to continue to keep your Fallout experiences to yourself, you may still play solo. The game is centered around PvE. NPCs being among the best areas of the Fallout franchise. Seasoned Fallout players ought to be aware there's no workshop stash. So if you're planning on glitching Fallout 76, you most likely don't need to glitch into the developer's room. The End of Fallout 76 From that point it's possible to use the Blueprint choice to conserve each component to a blueprint. As an example, it enables the developers to forgo the demand for a middleman and gives them an opportunity to serve the playerbase directly. The skill to spot any ripe market is the key skill worth developing. Whispered Fallout 76 Secrets You have to know the Serial Number before downloading an ideal edition. Bethesda has said again and again that they were planning to provide private servers post-launch. Software engineers will say that much. It's unclear if downtime is being scheduled for the majority of platforms, or in the event the server outage is only going to impact PC players. Users have been in a position to discover their way to an exceptional developer room that has access to each item in the game. The Do's and Don'ts of Fallout 76 There were still quite a few things that Bethesda had promised that it wasn't likely to deliver. In Bethesda's newest game, there are many recipes littered across West Virginia that may give Vault Dwellers an opportunity to combat the hunger and thirst that's prevalent in Fallout 76. My favorite two West Virginia in-jokes might be lost on nearly all players, since they require a fairly deep understanding of the state. Types There are a few different styles and materials they are produced out of and it is not too large of a collection, therefore it makes your choice simpler. Before you're in a position to get stuck into the building, however, you want to guarantee you've found the plans for what you would like to build, otherwise you'll locate a substantial number of structures and items are unavailable to you. You are also going to be limited on which perk cards it's possible to use depending on the attributes you assigned while making your avatar. Virtually every feature people have started to anticipate from the previous three Fallout games has been downgraded. To access the beta, you must pre-order the game. It's unknown just what the game's post-launch calendar is likely to look like. Fans will be able to play the game with a beta that has been revealed to begin in October, only one month prior to launch. Users also commented they enjoy Steam because all their games are up and prepared to go when they sign on. These games are only available on PC, since they were all released ahead of the growth of the present console giants. A streaming service is a bit less misguided, but it's so likely and I truly do not see anything building a dent. The majority of Fallout 76 revolves around journeying into unknown places in order to discover weapons and scrap, which you'll be able to utilize to acquire more powerful, after which you are able to go into even more dangerous places. When you escape the vault, you may see the devastation of the nuclear blast and time and which they've done to your property.

0 notes

braindamageforbeginners · 6 years

Text

A Moment of Introspection (or, Why Positive Thinking is Actually a Bad Thing)

Since starting the whole end-stage brain cancer thing, I’ve gotten a variety of messages from assorted friends and acquaintances wishing me well - it's quite heartwarming, actually - and, although it's universally well-intended, a significant percentage (about 20-40%, I'd estimate) have the glaring subtext, “Cheer up, for Chrissakes.” I appreciate that, for most people, that's intended as a sincerely well-meaning sentiment, but, uh, no; no thanks. I was never a cheery person, I'm unlikely to turn into one under current conditions. All of this reminded me of why I'm fastidiously documenting this whole process. We tend to see dying people as “the great other,” (believe me, we really do, you just don't experience it until you're on the wrong side of the equation), and that colors a great amount of my interactions - you can kind of simulate this experience, by spending a day where you don't discuss, or do, anything pertaining to a time frame after the next six months. It'll be easier for some of you than others.

The ClifNotes version of this rant is how to properly respond when you hear bad news about a friend or neighbor, and why positive thinking isn't such a good idea. We’ll tackle the second one first, because I'm a Star Wars fan.

When you develop a dangerous disease, you will be overwhelmed by many things, but the most annoying are people telling you to remain positive. This is a bad idea on many levels, not least of which because it could kill you. When I first found out about the latest tumor in July, I was told not to panic, that this was a fairly slow-growing tumor, and I had some time to deal with it. When my tumor was removed in November - that's about 4 months, for those keeping score - the tumor had leap-frogged from stage II to stage IV. If I had freaked the fuck out the minute I heard the word “tumor” and had it removed immediately; I would be in a completely different diagnostic category, with a completely different prognosis and life expectancy. And that wasn't even positive thinking, that was just relying on well established medical facts and/or probability. So you can understand why, perhaps, I'm suspicious of positive thinking at the moment; it’s demonstrably dangerous to me. So, you'll forgive me for operating under the assumption that this will be my last Christmas. That may or may not be accurate, it's simply an inference based on current events (speaking of which, there's an excellent chance I’ll eventually lose my insurance if that despicable tax bill becomes law, which will result in blocking access to care, which will inevitably end in a sub-optimal result for me). I suppose you could take that the other way, and assume, “Well, the disease behaved unpredictably already, that could swing the other way, too,” but it's still not a bright idea to bet on a team on a losing streak. Also, I already beat the odds - for fifteen years. This is just the law of averages catching up to me.

We are also an outcomes-oriented society - no one’s about to show up and give me gold star for living 30-odd years as a decent, kind human being who never really achieved anything of import; it's unlikely I'll get credit for weathering this particular shitstorm with grace and dignity (BTW, dignity is the very first thing that gets jettisoned in these situations; I think I left any remaining scraps of that on the floor of the shower when I had to have a nurse physically support me throughout the entire shower/basic hygiene process). I should get credit for not strangling any of the nitwits who try to cheer me up the wrong way.

THE PROPER WAY TO CHEER ME UP: Tell me about your aunt who beat brain cancer (I’m actually being sincere). Maybe leave out that epilogue about her living a full three years past what the doctors expected; I'm not in a position to refuse any extra time, but I'm ambitiously hoping for more than five years. Call me crazy! Or, y’know, just treat me like a regular person who's in the middle of a bad divorce. I'm aware that my situation is much worse, but I can not escape the constant reminders that I'm in a really bad way (I'm taking very strange meds that give me insomnia and heartburn; I'm on the phone with my doctors, nurses, and insurance company every hour or two; I could go on), so it's nice to be treated as a person, and not a disease bound in human flesh. I love Oprah, I love Oscar Wilde, but until they're sitting in a waiting room next to a man with literally only half a face, please don't spout inspirational garbage unless you want to make it onto the “To Stab” list.

Speaking of being an outcome-oriented society; a great deal of my (and probably most other cancer patients’) dread and anxiety is based on the uncertainty of outcomes. We tend to be of the mind-set that our fear of an event is much worse than the event itself; and, normally, I'd agree with that sentiment. Except, at almost every single step in the diagnostic/discovery process, the outcome has not only been far worse than my worst fears, it's outstripped my doctors’ predictions. True, I have gotten slightly lucky in a few ways (the surgery went far better than expected, I do have a mutation that gives me a 40% chance of survival with conventional treatment, I'm in a drug trial that should improve those odds, and I might be able to get insurance next year), but even those all come with caveats and qualifications. And they're weighed against an uncertain future in which even death isn't the worst possible outcome (remember Two Face in the waiting room? Yeah, it's not likely to happen to me, but neither was stage IV brain cancer). So, you might understand why, with a future that's decidedly more S. King than B. Potter, even with the rosiest predictions (and not a whole lot of future, at that). The happiest baby rabbit photo in the world isn't going to improve those odds, so keep the motivational posters to yourself. If things are looking better in a few weeks, yeah, sure, I'll be cheerier, but I haven't even started treatment yet.

I realize that most of these misfires come from the human impulse to do something to help each other (again, knowing that people are just well-intentioned idiots has saved a few of those idiots from a much-needed eyeball gouging), and it just comes out wrong. I try to preface everything I write with the warning that I don't speak for all cancer patients, just me. Today, I'm going to abandon that stance and speak as Cancer Man (but not the cool, X-Files one), patron saint and mouthpiece for all patients with terrible afflictions, and give you, dear reader, the perfect response when you hear that unimaginable tragedy has struck someone you care about. I'm so confident in its efficacy, that it will work not only for cancer, but for almost all diseases, and, indeed, tragedy in general, from unexpected weight gain to a neighbor losing their child. However, before we get there, let's look at the very best, and very worst, reactions (there's only one of each, I won't hold you in suspense for too long).

So, far and away the best response to my situation came from a former boss in the biotech industry, who had heard of several promising clinical trials, and offering some advice about trial eligibility. I knew I was a decent employee, I didn't think I was that good.

Now, the very worst response - and the one I've possibly received the most - is, “"I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.” Or something similar. Usually this is whenever I bring up the odds of me making it five years (about 40%), because Americans don't understand how probability or basic math works (this also explains our economic policies). Fortunately, most people realize it's kind of a dickish thing to say, “I can completely empathize, because I am also mortal.” It took me a while to figure out the proper response to that, which is; “"I'm so glad you agree, let's play some Russian Roulette.” Once I break it down that way - that I'm in a life or death situation over which I have absolutely no control - most people back off.

Anyway, here's your go-to response whenever tragedy strikes someone you know; “"That's awful. I am so sorry, and I have no idea what to say. Is there anything I can do?” That will work for every unpleasant disease you can imagine, I'd wager my life on it (another phrase that used to mean something).

And the only person who's inquired - unprompted - about my emotional state was my radiation oncologist. She was sort of double-checking that I was depressed (or trying to figure out if the cancer was causing it, I'm not sure). Either way, the implication was the disease could be directly influencing my emotional state and/or outlook. If you're still having trouble understanding why I'm slightly upset, imagine having an alien parasite in your brain that can alter your very perception of reality - what we usually call our sanity - and knowing that, if science fails, things will get much, much worse, and eventually, you will die. That's not a problem if you're Kirk or McCoy, but let's say you're slowly becoming aware - like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern - that you're a nameless red shirt. BTW, if Spock doesn't synthesize an antidote in time, these dispatches are going to become very surreal as I descend into madness and pain.

Finally - and don't worry, I'm mostly done with self-pity - you'll have to be patient, I literally found out about all of this five weeks ago. It's all a little much to adjust to in less time than it takes to establish residency in most places. Hell, just for comparison, my chemo/radiation course is - minimally - six weeks. Which brings up my final point (hang in there, we’re almost done), why I'm writing these things. In our society, we tend to view dying people (or those in grave situations) as The Great Other. We want Morrie Schwartz, or we want sick people to shut up and go away (BTW, the feeling’s mutual on the other side of the fence, sick people just want you to give us morphine and let us die in peace). I have not heard of anyone undergoing this, uh, process, while maintaining their surliness and cowardice (and you would be, too, if you were only getting a few hours of sleep every night) - not that I'm dedicated to those traits, but they come naturally to me in crisis (or this particular crisis; I don't know what I'd be like if I was sleeping well and didn't have to call some specialist or billing department or coordinator every hour or so) - and I think future cancer patients should be assured that a bit (or a lot)(or even massive amounts) of griping and fear is fairly normal and has no real effect on the outcome (it doesn't, I haven't seen a study conclusively showing any correlation between attitude and patient outcomes). And this whole writing project will help me keep track of my efforts to find the world’s funniest cancer joke. It has to be out there, somewhere; I've been unable to shake the feeling that I'm somehow involved in some horrible, tasteless joke (and I've crunched the numbers; this whole thing is so statistically outlandish that finding out I am some sort of fictional character in an elaborate story about end-of-life issues would not be the most surprising (or upsetting) discovery I've made this month), and damned if I'm going to leave before figuring out the punchline (of course, I'm about to be damned, anyway; my mother described the radiation waiting room as “the line to cross the Styx”). And finally, I'm doing this because I still can; there may well come a time when I'm unable to write - a thought that scares me far worse than dying. And it may very well may happen; after all, we live in a universe rich in possibilities.

In conclusion, if you feel the need to cheer someone up, there are other cancer patients you can bother. Some of them are probably serene and wise, even (those are the patients with personal assistants to wade through the vast pile of BS that is the bureaucracy of the modern medical-industrial complex). If, on the other hand, you're interested in seeing how far down the rabbit hole goes, with a host who isn't afraid to ask, “This is really fucked up, right? This isn't just me, is it?” I'm your man. For good or bad, my life looks the way it does because I'm too lazy to pretend to be someone I'm not (well, that, and life-long neurological disease); and I'm certainly not going to work on that skill while simultaneously trying to survive what promises to be the very worst (possibly even the very last) two months of my life. Speaking of which...

UPDATE: I met with the researcher running the neurocognitive assessment trial, which is kind of fun (the neurocognitive tests are kind of like some sort of therapy for dementia patients (which, I suppose, could describe me soon enough); you get to draw things (sort of), you play word games (sort of), and you get to play with blocks (sort of)). And then I got to fill out some forms to assess my current neuropsychiatric state. I realize I use synonyms for “fear” a lot on this blog, but the questions on the psych form were deeply upsetting in their implications (”Have you had recent troubles articulating your thoughts or feelings?” YOU. MOTHERFUCKERS. Writing is the last thing I have any real control over; don't you dare take this from me). Good news; the researcher assured me that current radiation treatment is much less nuclear holocaust-y than old fashioned radiation treatment, and the goal of this study is to demonstrate just how much better it is for patient cognitive abilities. She was less happy about my constant pestering her about specifics (”Have I experienced balance problems in the last week? Yes, but since someone was sawing through my somatosensory lobe a month ago, I don't think it was a psychiatric issue.”), so she eventually told me to shut up and scribble any notes or caveats in the margins (I don't think anyone will be amused that, after I rated the statement “I am afraid of dying” (I very strongly agree with that statement, obviously), I wrote, “There is about a 60% chance I'll die in the next five years, it's not a fear, it's just basic math.” Still, it was reassuring when she told me that she does see most patients again at the three month follow-up, and that most of them are mostly-intact. And, in surprising news, I finally saw the psychooncologist; and she seemed remarkably empathetic and intelligent (I guess it's just the administrative staff that are cruel and incompetent). I guess I have adjustment disorder (no shit, Sherlock)(also, there's probably a few readers who saw that coming). But, bigger news, the antidepressant I was on is linked to anxiety, insomnia, and, wait for it... seizures. So, I will be transitioning to a less dangerous (for me, anyway) antidepressant over the next few weeks, so things might get a little odd around here during that time. She (the psychiatrist) also said something to mull over; (and I'm paraphrasing), “Any time you cut into the brain, you permanently change the neurochemistry. And we've done that to you three times since you were 17.” I also got a call from my original mad scientist oncologist in Northern California (or one of her Igors, anyway), reminding me that she wants an MRI a month after starting radiation, which is reassuring. I have no illusions about her investment in me; it makes for a much better case study if the patient lives longer, and I am a once-in-a-lifetime medical specimen (I don't mean that in a sleazy, “Welcome to the gun show” way; I once calculated that there are fewer than 250 people with similar medical histories... on planet Earth). Still, the more people who want me to live, and are in a position to help make that dream a reality, the better. Now for the bad news; the radiation department is still haggling with my insurance company, and that's holding up this whole process. However, they're expecting to hear back in a day or so, and, as Dad noted, the insurance company has been quite generous and almost-mammalian during this whole process. All I want for Christmas is chemo.

#brain tumor #brain cancer #brain damage

1 note · View note

omegasquire · 7 years

Text

Rose Gold: Ch 10

Vincent was balanced precariously on a ledge, watching the three men make their way through the forest. Death trailed after them, the corpses of monsters littering the ground like discarded toys. The men reminded him of undisciplined children rather than adults. They were a lost lot, devoid of any guidance on what was right or wrong. Still, he had no idea what their intention was beyond this mayhem.

Was there a need to have an intention that exceeded pure destruction for those who didn’t know any better?

His eyes narrowed slightly as the largest of the three carelessly tossed a monster aside. These three had no care for their surroundings. Taking in the ruined landscape, it was clear they didn’t bother to exercise restraint. They had yet to draw near the villages, but Vincent knew they would slaughter the people there.

That heartless way of fighting reminded him of the fight three years ago. Strife didn’t express any care for the lives of others. He eliminated all who stood in his path.

Pausing in thought, Vincent studied the men’s appearances. He had noted their pale blond hair and green eyes, but hadn’t made the immediate connection. Though they looked different from each other, these two common features were reminiscent of Jenova’s son.

Vincent was set on edge. He couldn’t allow the three men to make it to any of the villages.

He couldn’t jump straight into battle, however. He would be fighting against three simultaneously, without proper evaluation on what they were truly capable of.

Mentally cursing, he kept himself hidden. Sephiroth and the others would need to know of this.

Rufus lifted his head at the knock on his office’s doors. He’d invited Sephiroth and his merry band to his office to properly greet them. Likewise, he was rather curious to see Cloud in person. A simple feed from Reeve’s pet didn’t match up to the real thing.

Rufus set down his pen as the doors were opened. His gaze passed over his guests, passively noting he had a small audience of two: Sephiroth and Cloud. Apparently the others didn’t want to meet him.

Fine by him.

Looking at Cloud was like seeing a haunting ghost, reminding of old evils. The image of a younger man sporting the blood of his victims superimposed itself on the man standing across on the other side of his desk.

“His name is Cloud Strife. I’m nominating him for First Class.”

Those were the words Sephiroth said years ago. They had come as a surprise when he first heard it. Sephiroth’s opinion always garnered attention, especially since he rarely gave it. As their most prized fighter in the global ring, to nominate a fellow SOLDIER was worth some consideration. Who could say no to the possibility of gaining another valuable asset?

However, it had slipped Rufus’ mind with the incident of Nibelheim, as well as AVALANCHE’s increased activity. The rebel group had been under a different leader then, some girl who was easy to manipulate with the assistance of her overly trusted subordinates. Truly, it was a game, and Rufus couldn’t be bothered with remembering every little thing as he worked to secure the loyalty of the other cabinet members of his father's company, as well as its faithful watchdogs, the Turks.

The turnabout was fruitful, and even now, he held in his palm a considerable amount of power that his father couldn’t have hoped to retain even if he had survived.

What a pathetic way to go. Like a pig on a stick.

Rufus had been ambivalent when he learned of the previous President’s death. He supposed he should’ve grieved more, but his father was an obstacle to his succession, and the path had finally been freed on account of the would-be First Class SOLDIER cutting him down.

The satisfaction and glee must have been high when Strife committed the deed. Rufus didn’t know, and he hadn’t cared enough to ask, but the question teased the far corner of his mind now that he was facing this copy.

No, not a copy.

He saw the difference in age, the worn garb of an old warrior, the lingering flame of conviction -- all signs of a veteran that Strife never showed. Strife still had the air of a boy. If he had to say, Rufus would liken Cloud to Sephiroth.

It was intriguing to see the two of them standing by each other, each armed. He didn't think Sephiroth would let Cloud be in possession of a weapon, but he didn't know every little thought the General had running through his head. So long as Cloud didn’t raise hell on his company or try to kill him, he wasn’t going to dwell on it.

Entertaining a smile, he shifted his attention on Sephiroth. “I read the report on Junon. It’s fortunate the harbor survived the attack. Reeve has warned me there might be a reoccurrence here, so I’ve dispersed a defense as a precaution.”

“Good. A set of fighters should remain here as well.”

“Because of internal or external threats?” He glanced at Cloud.

“External,” Cloud was quick to respond, his voice clipped.

The verbal bite earned a slight lift of Rufus’ brow. The lack of reverence was unexpected. Apparently his counterpart wasn’t a fond acquaintance of Cloud. It was a pity, but Rufus supposed he couldn’t have everything handed to him.

“Jenova the Calamity. Over two thousand years of being a thorn in our side, and still she won’t go away.”

“You and your company brought her out when you should’ve left her sealed.”

Rufus shrugged and turned his chair, looking at the scenery beyond them. His office overlooked a great portion of Midgar. Pieces of the city had been demolished while the rest stood on fragile stilts. The reconstruction was a long, arduous project. They had to cordon off sections that radiated unfiltered mako. Those unable to withstand the high concentration easily grew ill, some even mutating as their cells rejected the substance. It was difficult to get anything done when the workers kept being hospitalized.

“Perhaps. We were unknowledgeable that the salvation we sought wasn’t in her blood. However, our research helped the people live fruitful lives. It just happened to be at a regrettably high price.”

“You almost destroyed the world.”

He turned back around. “Wouldn't that be you? The other you.”

Cloud’s eyes narrowed.

Rufus pushed out of his chair, fingers curling over the crown of his cane as he came around the other side of his desk. The sound of the cane clicking against tiled floor accented his approach until he stood before Cloud. It amused him how different this man was from the young Second Class SOLDIER he was familiar with.

He preferred Cloud instead of Strife.

He smiled. “You’ll be fighting for us just as, I’ve heard, you did in your reality. I hope you’ll indulge me with a story of your victories.”

“It's late,” Sephiroth interjected.

Rufus’s eyes slid to him. “Ah, yes, you’re right. Maybe another time, then.” He returned his attention back to Cloud. “Rooms have been made available if you’d like to use them. You’ll have to excuse me if I limit your access; there are parts of the building that are still unsafe.”

He watched as they left, finally acknowledging Tseng who had been lingering in the background. The Turks leader approached, stopping before him. Rufus nodded at the doors of his office. “As I said, interesting.”

Tseng followed his line of sight. “Should I set guards?”

“No. We’ll leave Sephiroth to take care of that.” He gave Tseng an expectant look. “Well?”

“There hasn’t been any further attack on Junon since the General left, and nothing has happened here since their arrival, but it's too early to say we're safe.”

“And the rest?” The Turks’ network was spread across the continent.

Tseng shook his head. “Nothing. The other cities haven’t been attacked either.”

Rufus made a soft, thoughtful sound. “Let’s hope nothing happens through the night. Rest, Tseng. I’ll need you later.”

“Yes, sir.”

Being with Rufus never settled well with Cloud. The last time he spoke with him was in his own world, and even though they fought on the same side, Rufus still demonstrated he had his own objectives that deviated from saving the planet. They both had wanted to defeat Kadaj, but Cloud wouldn’t go so far as to call him an ally.

He was too selfish.

Turning away from Rufus’ office, Cloud found himself caught by Sephiroth's stare. It was arresting how Sephiroth always looked at him, even if he was regarded with contempt and suspicion. Sephiroth had always commanded attention back in Cloud’s world. All those of lower rank than him raised him on a pedestal, even strangers who knew him only by name.

Cloud called to mind his own emotions when he’d first heard of the man. He was just a child, brash and inspired by someone who was powerful and respected. Sephiroth was every boy’s idol, his every dream. Cloud wanted to be like him. He wanted to be that hero. The end of the war took that chance away, but he still aspired to become someone worth recognition.

In a way, Sephiroth was part of his ‘everything,’ and when he burned down his home, Cloud’s respect and adoration for the man died.

Cloud questioned why his counterpart had taken Sephiroth’s role in this world. Who exactly was he? Why did he defect? And what of Sephiroth and his involvement? Did he join AVALANCHE as Cloud had? Was he their leader?

There was too much to think about and not enough sleep to go on. Zack had said it was over a day that he’d been in this world, and now it was creeping up on two.

When was the last time he rested?

He was too exhausted to count the number of days that had passed since the day he knew what a proper night’s sleep and respite was like. Pulling his gaze away, Cloud headed for Zack who was waiting for him. Before he and Sephiroth had gone into Rufus’ office, Zack had jumped at the chance to room together for the night.

No one got a word in otherwise, and Sephiroth didn’t voice any objection. With the decision made, the rest of the group scattered.

Cloud was grateful for Zack’s offer. This building held many memories for him: his teenage years as an infantryman, meeting Zack and Sephiroth, infiltrating with AVALANCHE to save Aerith, meeting Red, seeing Jenova’s disfigured body in the Science Research Department’s main laboratory, and being haunted by Sephiroth’s ghost...

There was a mix of good and bad memories, but the bad ones heavily outweighed the good.

It calmed Cloud’s nerves a little to be near Zack. He didn’t want to be alone in this place. He didn’t want to spend time isolated in a tiny room by himself anymore.

Zack raised a hand and gestured for Cloud to join him. “We don’t really use them anymore, but Sephiroth and I still have living quarters here. Ever since we started traveling, we grew accustomed to sleeping at inns or in the Highwind. Coming back to Shinra was always a bit awkward, especially for the others. They always refuse Rufus’ invitation.”

Cloud knew the feeling. “I would, too.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame them. Shinra’s done a lot to warrant their hate, so they go to the Sectors or Edge instead.”

Cloud’s mouth twitched into a small frown. The mention of Edge brought Tifa, Marlene, and Denzel to mind. Thinking of them, of leaving them behind, jabbed at his heart.

Could he go back to them? Were they safe?

“Tifa...” he started out uncertainly, “is she part of your group?”

Zack nodded. “Yeah. She mostly stays at Edge these days, but she was with us when we fought Strife.”

“What is she doing now?”

Zack tilted his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye. “She runs 7th Heaven and takes care of Marlene.”

Just Marlene?

The image of Denzel’s pale face was still crystal clear in Cloud’s mind. The boy had been introverted. It had taken a while for him to open up, still shaken by losing his family. Cloud saw a bit of himself in the boy, and the curse of the Geostigma wrecking his body drove Cloud to search for a cure.

He still didn’t know what had become of his world, of his comrades and family. They weren’t related by blood or marriage, but he, Tifa, and Denzel had a strong bond. Marlene had a strong impact on their family as well, her presence greatly influencing Denzel’s decision to open his heart to them.

“Is there a boy named Denzel with them?”

Zack shook his head.

Denzel wasn’t with Tifa. That could mean anything. Maybe Denzel’s family had survived and he was with them; maybe they had died and Denzel was still wandering the ruins of Midgar on his own; maybe he didn’t exist in the first place; or maybe he was dead...

Cloud’s heart sank.

“Is he important? Denzel, I mean.” Zack looked at him curiously.

Cloud responded by shifting his gaze away. “He was a boy we took in. He lost his family when Midgar was destroyed. I found him by Aerith’s church.”

“We?”

“...Tifa and me. She insisted we look after him, and gave him a room with Marlene above the bar.” Across from their room was his room, and next to it was Tifa’s. That was their home.

Until he left.

“Tifa takes care of Marlene when Barret’s away. They live above 7th Heaven.” Zack raked a hand through his hair and groaned. “About Tifa... You probably saw this coming, but she won’t like you.”

“I did...” The likelihood Tifa would accept him from the get-go was nil. She would be one more person who would turn their back on him. Barret and Vincent, wherever they were, would likely be the same.

Zack placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a light squeeze. “We’ll work on it. Everyone will come around, you’ll see.” He smiled warmly. “But that’s for later. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. How about we call it a night?”

Cloud nodded. He let Zack wave him into his quarters. It was a rare privilege to enter a First’s living space. Seconds and Thirds didn’t have the same luxuries as Firsts, and those who weren’t in SOLDIER were stuck in barracks. Cloud had slept in a bunker bed along with other boys and young men who had traveled to Midgar to become part of Shinra’s army.

Thinking back on it, Cloud had felt a little awkward when he was given his own room and bed. Camping out and the occasional inn had become the norm over the years; the idea of having a place to call his own had boggled his mind.

He didn’t even stay there that long.

He ended up at the church with a sleeping bag and basic camping supplies. It was lonely sometimes without the sounds of Marlene and Denzel wandering up and down the steps, or the chatter drifting up from the bar below.

But he didn’t return.

Maybe he couldn’t return at all...

Cloud wordlessly took in Zack’s home. Even though Zack said he didn’t use it much, there were still homey touches that made it more than just a place to sleep at night. Picture frames stood on a shelf; oil and rag for sword cleaning was on the table; even a bundle of flowers was hanging upside down on the far wall. Cloud recognized them as the kind Aerith grew.

Following Zack to the spare bedroom, Cloud stood just outside it. That awkwardness came back as he stared at the bed. This was someone’s home. Not an inn, not camping out in the church or wilderness, a home .

“Cloud, is that you?”

“Cloud’s back? Cloud!”

A hand clapped his shoulder. “All yours! Just call if you need anything. Goodnight, Cloud!”

Cloud hid a flinch. “Goodnight...”

He waited until Zack left before finally entering the room and closing the door behind him. He unstrapped his sword and leaned it against the wall by the bed. Unbuckling the straps of his gear came next, his hands going through the motions automatically.

For the most part he remained clothed, too uncomfortable with stripping down completely despite being in Zack’s company. Sitting on the bed’s edge, it hardly felt like anyone had slept on it, the mattress not yet softened by constant use. Still, compared to the hard floorboards of the church, the bed was too luxurious.

Inwardly sighing at himself, Cloud slipped out of his boots and set them aside. He tugged at his gloves, suddenly reminded of the gash across the left palm. Carefully removing the glove, he stared at his hand, turning it over. He still didn’t understand the ring’s significance, but he had to admit its simple elegance was appealing.

Placing his gloves on the nightstand, Cloud stretched out on the sheets. The heaviness of fatigue was already dragging him to sleep, and his eyes slowly closed. The light pressure on his fourth finger lingered in the corner of his mind.

Didn’t the fourth finger signify marriage...?

#{ rose gold }

0 notes