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philliam-writes · 11 months

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you are in the earth of me [05]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Warnings: violence, death (minor character), ptsd and anxiety (but also sort of comfort)

Summary: Your name. He snarls your name; your name that is sharpened against the marble of his teeth like a weapon, a spark that rips into the marrow of your bones. Like a hook yanking you back into the present, the now. The fight leaves your body, you sag against the ground as you choke on adrenaline. And his—Lockwood’s nails dig deep, half-crescents of fire into your skin. “Come. Back.”

Notes: [01] || [04] | [06]

Words: 7k

A/N: a longer chapter cuz where i initially wanted to stop didn't feel like enough and i really wanted another cliffhanger. next chapter will be about reader's past and i can't wait to introduce you all to matthew. i also rlly enjoyed writing this (especially the whole possession bit, and after that it sort of turned meh). hope you guys enjoy!

05: carry whispers from the dead

You wake up hours before dawn, anxious and restless. The black bookshelves stand like dark, tall shadows around you, silent sentinels guarding you in your sleep. It’s the first time you’re alone with your thoughts; locking them away behind a brittle door works only for so long until they break out and descend like ravenous hyenas upon your despair.

Astonishing, how your whole life has turned upside down within two days. Working for Rotwell has never been your dream job, but it was secure, the payment always on time and there was prestige to it. If this is a sign to change professions, switch to a safer job with less risk to die a horrible death at the hands of ghosts and ghouls or any other occupational hazards, you’re blind to it.

Imagining yourself doing anything else than what you’ve done for more than a decade is near impossible—you’re good at getting rid of ghosts, swinging a rapier and chucking salt bombs across the yard with a sharp shooter’s precision. Anything else? Hopeless case. Your hobbies? None that you want to turn into a profession.

Freedom is a bitter, foreign taste, but one you know you will grow accustomed to. Getting your business running will have to wait though until you’ve solved the greater mystery. Into the dark, you draw the badge’s symbol with your index finger. Even with your eyes closed, you can still see it clearly, printed against the inside of your eyelids.

Why does it feel so familiar? Where have you seen it before? This feeling isn’t just curiosity; it is recognition and the profound desire to understand like hooks sitting deep beneath your skin.

Time trickles away, slowly like sand passing through an hourglass when behind the heavy dark curtains a slim sliver of grey grows as the world lightens. The house comes alive; wood creaks quietly as someone stalks downstairs. They pause in front of the library door, and you expect the door to creak open any second. But then they move back to the staircase, and down into the kitchen. You wait for a full minute before you get up, change into a new, fresh set of clothes and follow.

Morning light streams into the kitchen, softening every counter. When you enter the room, there is a voice talking—and then suddenly stopping. Lucy whirls around, her hands resting against the kitchen sink as she prepares to brew a pot of tea. Her eyes are wide, and then they pivot to something on the counter, something you haven’t seen until then. It’s a sealed silver-glass with a skull swimming inside the contained liquid. A skull menacingly cutting horrid grimaces your way.

Stopping mid-way to rubbing the remaining exhaustion from your eyes, you drop your arm. “That’s a Ghost-jar,” you notice, surprised. “You guys own a Ghost-jar?”

Lucy looks over—no, exchanges a glance with the skull inside the jar. Then she shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant as if that is nothing uncommon, but her shoulders are stiff. “It’s George’s,” she says quickly. “He’s erm … he’s doing research on it.”

“I thought only the big agencies have access to those.” You cross the kitchen to get a better look at it, bending down slightly so you’re eye-level. The skull manifests bits and pieces of flaky skin onto its bone, as though conjuring what it used to look like before it presses the masses of rotting flesh against the thick class, squashing its nose against it. “For something that’s dead, it seems very lively.”

Suddenly the skull stills. The skin peels back until it’s only bone, and the ectoplasm inside the jar flares in an ominous green light. You think it’s staring right at you, through you, even. Where its teeth stack neatly against each other, it moves them up and down, up and down as though . . .

“That’s funny. It looks as if it’s talking.” And then you remember a voice coming from the kitchen when you came downstairs. You look up at Lucy, brows furrowed. “Wait, were you talking to it?”

But Lucy is staring at you, a puzzled expression on her face. You’re sure your face must be a mirror of hers, because she couldn’t have had a conversation with the skull, right? She must have simply talked to it, like you talk to your pets when you’re alone with them and pretend as tough they understand you. Anything else would mean this is a Type Three ghost. Anything else would mean Lucy is able to hold a conversation with it and understand it. Something like this hasn’t happened since Marissa Fittes.

Lucy is relieved of an answer when her colleagues enter the sunlit kitchen, filling the tense silence between you with idle chatter. Your eyes draw involuntarily to Lockwood—this time not due to the early husky morning voice he unsuspectingly wields like a bludgeon, not knowing what effect it has on you, not because he just said “Stop sticking the skull inside the oven, George.”

You stare at Lockwood because this is the first time you see him not wearing his suit and tie, but a normal, plain, white T-shirt over grey sweatpants. It’s like seeing him without his armour, broken down to something so simple and casual, something so … intimate. The short sleeves end just under his shoulders, showing his arms which are . . . not particularly muscular, but he still fills out his shirt nicely. The neckline dips low against his collarbones, showing his long, elegant neck. He looks like any other boy—man, you think to yourself. Worse even, he looks exactly your type. You like to think of yourself as a very determined person, but nothing in the world can dissuade you from letting your gaze roam down his lean frame, and linger at this hips where his shirt hikes up to reveal a generous expanse of pale skin. Lower, against the grey fabric, there is a clear outline of—

“Let us know when you’re done.” George’s voice pounds like a sledgehammer against your eardrums. You whirl, stare at him staring at you staring at Lockwood, and hope the ground opens up under your feet and swallows you.

Lockwood locks eyes with you, and grins. A boyish, cheerful grin, showing the slightly pointy canines on either side of his teeth—which you find adorable. Why do you suddenly notice all these things about him? Maybe you need to plunge your head under the water tap to cool off. Or a nice punch to the jaw.

“Morning,” Lockwood says. “I see you’ve met our agency’s . . . mascot.”

The green light flares behind you, and when you look, the skull is spinning wildly in its jar, jerking up and down. You imagine if it could shake a fist at Lockwood, it would.

“Charming.” You clear your throat, making way for George who makes a face at you as if you’re an annoying fly that buzzes around his head. “Does it have a name?”

“We, uh . . . just call him Skull,” Lucy provides.

You look at the skull, which impressively manages to roll its eyes. Not that it has eyes. But you got the impression it is annoyed, which must be your imagination. This thing doesn’t understand you. “So you just hang out with it?”

“No, we—” Lockwood rests a pointed look on Lucy as he reaches for the jar and hefts it off the counter to store it inside a cupboard “—usually keep it away because it ruins George’s appetite. We’re no friends or comrades of ghosts.”

“Yeah.” George shuffles past you to put the kettle on. “It’s not like we can talk to it anyway. And it doesn’t talk to us. That would be weird.”

All three of you look at him as he sets four mugs on the counter, nailing the coffin shut with four distinct clings of porcelain on wood. You’re pretty sure they can talk to it, and it talks to them. That indeed is weird.

Breakfast is quickly done though you barely feel hungry, instead just push a lump of scrambled egg around the plate with your fork. It seems like any other day for the agents of Lockwood & Co. You watch Lucy take a huge bite off her avocado-egg-toast, and keep staring for a moment. From the other Rotwell girls you were used to seeing them taking dainty little bites out of their dishes, nibbling at them like soft baby rabbits.

There is nothing soft or delicate about the way Lucy eats. You feel your heart warm up to the sight, a knot in your stomach slowly untying until you relax into your chair.

When she notices your eyes on her, she pauses, even stops chewing as though you’ve caught her in a most horrible act. So you tear into a waffle drowned in maple syrup as if you’re a starving woman without any table manners. To your utter astonishment, Lucy begins to smile slowly, like the moon slipping slowly beneath the waves of a lake.

Now you wish you had agreed to her and George staying. After clearing the table to spread out everything they’d pack into their kit, watching Lucy and George ready and geared-up leaving through the front door after a few quiet words with Lockwood peels your nerves raw.

It shuts with a soft click, throwing the entrance hall in shadow, and then you’re all alone with Anthony Lockwood. A thought that sparks a shot of hot tingles crawling up your lower back, settling in your shoulders and turning the muscle harder than stone.

Lockwood, noticing how tense you’ve grown, draws slowly closer as if approaching a cornered animal. “It’s going to be fine,” he says, and for a moment it seems as though he’s reaching his hand up to—touch you? Place it on your shoulder to take some of the tension off? But then his hand changes course and settles at his neck where he rubs the skin under his jaw. “I—and Kipps—got you into this mess. I’m somewhat responsible for you now, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You are numb from tension. The word responsibility scrapes along your spinal cord like a jagged knife. “I’m nobody’s responsibility,” you say quietly. “Least of all yours.”

Lockwood leans away as though your words are a physical force pushing him away. You see his throat bob as he swallows, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Come on, Tony. Let’s get this over with while it’s not too bright outside.”

He doesn’t say anything but you have grown familiar with his displeased expression—pricked eyebrows, pursed lips, dark eyes unfathomable as though veiled by heavy dark curtains. You begin to understand why Kipps always riles him up; it’s kind of fun to see his composure crack, to get under his skin and see the restrain crumble—it makes him tense in all the right places.

“Wait here,” he orders and disappears back into the kitchen and through the cellar door. He thunders down a spiral staircase, and a moment later you hear a heavy iron door squeal open.

When Lockwood returns, a small iron box in his fist, he juts his chin towards the opposite door from the kitchen, meaning for you to follow. He leads you into the living room where you got patched up when you first arrived at Portland Row. He draws the heavy curtains shut, swallowing the room in shadow, then moves some furniture to the side, leaving the space in the middle of the room empty where he drags a single chair over and motions for you to sit down.

This is it. You take place trying not to look as if he’s asking you to sit in an electric chair to execute you. Lockwood towers before you, arms crossed, tapping his slender fingers against his biceps.

“You really don’t have to do it,” he says, surprising you again with how reluctant he is to go through with this plan. But what else can you do? You take your glove off quickly, like ripping off a band-aid before you can rethink your choice. Something so small and unremarkable like this key shouldn’t invoke so much terror and anxiety in you. It’s like a pair of hot tongues that if left unattended will burn a hole in the rug, but with nowhere to place, you don’t know how to get rid of it so you just have to hold and endure it. Instead of an answer, you hold out your hand, palm facing up.

Lockwood pauses, holds your gaze. “Ready?”

You’ll never be. But something about his dark eyes is like an anchor, and you stare at him, embossing the elegant lines and planes of his face into your mind and hope it will pull you back from wherever your mind will dive into in a second. You nod.

Lockwood takes your wrist gingerly, as if any hasty movement might draw you away. Not averting his eyes from you, he places the key into your open palm.

In that one second before your mind becomes blank, you think he pushes the rough pads of his fingers into your skin, a warm, solid weight in comparison to the ice-cold Source, but before you can wonder if it’s just your imagination, the world goes dark.

Touching is a lot like being suspended in water. Dark, murky water with no bottom, no surface. One moment you see your own face, and then it is another that you don’t recognise and then it just feels like drowning. The psychic whiplash pierces through you like a hot bullet. A roaring tide of emotions rolls over you, drowning you in overlapping echoes of the past.

Fury. Anger. Greed. But beneath all that, deeper than the roots of old trees: hopelessness. Fear.

Countless deaths and unspeakable violence is tied to this Source, but only the very recent was grave enough to tie a ghost to it—to have someone hold onto it with nails that now sink into your flesh and pull you down, down, deeper down as he claws his way back to the other side—your side, and you wonder Why, why, why and as you sink deeper, let your consciousness drop to the dark, bottomless pit, you find the answer inside a gnawing, razor-sharp maw that swallows you in one bite: Revenge.

The realisation pours like ice-cold water over your limbs; locks them tight, like a second skin stretching over yours—too tight, too cold; then too hot. Your heart shrinks to the size of a small, hard stone as the words pour from your mouth.

“It’s not fair,” you sigh. Your voice sounds strange, so feminine. Tears prickle behind your eyes. “It’s not fair, I worked for it. I went through Hell just to get it from this bloody Relic-man. It cost me a fortune, it almost cost me my life. My life.”

You have become lost to the world, a voice says, not yours, a girl’s voice, and you repeat it, in a sing-song voice, quietly, “I’ve become lost to the world.” It feels like something important is missing. “Ah, I wasted so much time.”

There’s sadness, but it isn’t a pitying sadness; it’s a larger sadness, one that seems to encompass all the poor striving people, the billions living their lives, a sadness that mingles with a wonder of awe at how hard humans everywhere try to live, even when their days are so very difficult, even when their circumstances are so wretched.

Life is so sad, you’d think in those moments. “Life is so sad,” you repeat out loud, “my life for that key, so many lives for that key and I did all those things, those things I did—”

“What is the key for?” a voice—a boy’s voice—asks.

You snap your eyes open. You’re in a living room, a small spacious one with comfy old furniture and curious things lining the walls. There’s a lanky boy staring at you, arms crossed. An iron rapier glints off from where it lies on a table, easily within his reach.

When you look down and see the key—the key for the box—the coldness in your chest doesn’t feel as suffocating.

“Oh.” You smile. “I thought—I thought I’d lost it. I thought I—”

You swallow. Your chest hurts, the coldness passing for hot, searing pain that makes breathing harder. Thinking harder. You scratch your arm, dig your nails deep into your soft skin. It’s an old habit, feeling like ants crawl all over your skin when you’re anxious—or is it his habit?

A sob tears through you as you try to force air into lungs crushed by grief. “I didn’t want—I didn’t mean to do all the things—BUT HE LEFT ME NO CHOICE!”

The boy reels back, hand swivelling towards the rapier. “Who?” he asks, his voice is raised and he looks spooked as if he can’t quite believe what is happening. You feel the same. You feel like something is trying to crawl its way out of your throat—black-ink in your throat wanting to spill out and tell and yield and become something (someone).

You press your fists into your eyes, hard. Why can’t you remember how you got here? Your head hurts, the ants—not the normal types, but fire ants—crawling all over your skin are on a death-march to put you under the ground and you need to get out, get out, get out—

—he needed to get out. The sounds of heavy boot slapping on pavement followed him all the way to Lee Tunnel. He thought Relic-men were an easy enough target, nasty people, ugly and disgusting like vermin beneath his boots, but nothing, and nobody, was ever easy when it came to money. And this was exceptionally Big money with capital B. No more debts, no more crawling in the dirt to beg for more time, more chances—he could finally move away with sweet Emily and build a new life after he split the profit. They dreamt of Italy, somewhere where the spring is warm and smells of the earth.

He just needed to get out and away and find— They were supposed to meet here, somewhere inconspicuous, somewhere nobody would ever expect to see esteemed—. The smell of foul sewage mixed with rainwater made him choke back on bile. Last time, this was the last time.

A blind end. He whirled around, all the way back then, but that’s when the Relic-man caught up to him, delivering a pipe right into his gut. He staggered down to his knees (not yet), sprawling on all four (not yet, not yet), spit blood onto the cold concrete ground. When he tried to get back up, the pipe came down again, hard, against his knee and he felt the bone shatter. He’s screaming (you’re screaming), and he presses a hand right against his pocket, that’s where he held the key, that’s where he held his future, but was this worth dying for?

They were supposed to meet here. So he screamed. A soundless scream (you’re no Listener after all), a wailing scream for someone that from childhood on, had been trained to respond to it. To rise from bed when he cried, to run to help him when he fell down (and you recognise this feeling as you crash into the ground—the ground is a mirror, a lake inside an ocean inside a world filled with turmoil, and you’re so, so scared, why is nobody holding you).

The first shot rang out. A heavy body fell on top of him, and grunting, he pushed it aside. The pain in his leg was excruciating now. Saved. He was saved by—.

Reaching into his inside pocket, he pulled out the small box with the key, rising to his feet under so much effort he felt like might faint from it. He lifted the box. He smiled.

The second shot rang out. His heavy body fell to the ground. He was confused. His chest hurt. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But nothing, and nobody, was ever easy when it came to money. Not even—, but how could he? How could he?

No more debts, no more crawling in the dirt to beg for more time, more chances; he won’t move away with sweet Emily and build a new life. Confusion. Betrayal was its own death by a thousand cuts.

He was aware—was drawing closer. He was aware of the rushing canals under the ground; the labyrinth-belly of a monster running beneath London. With trembling fingers, he opened the box. He picked up the key. That wretched, wretched key. His future. My life, he was thinking, my life. And then he threw it into the sewers.

There’s a hand around your wrist, shaking you. When the room comes back into sudden focus, the boy is looking at you, eyes wide. He looks almost frightened.

“Give me the key,” he says with an impatience to his voice as though this isn’t the first time he’s asking for it. You see red.

“No!” You jump to your feet, bearing your teeth. “Nobody except me can have it, it is mine!”

“No,” he replies, calmly. There is something about this voice, a part of you remembers, something calming and alluring like a cup of warm milk with honey. “This is not you. You are trapped in an echo, these are the Visitor’s feelings and memories. You need to let go.”

You look at him, a pressure behind your eyes wants to remember, wants to trust him. You shake your head. “No. Not again.”

The door is to your left and you charge for it, surprising the boy enough he lets go of your wrist—but you only make it a few steps before hands catch your arms in a vice-grip and he’s shouting a name—not his name, whose name is that, it’s a woman’s name.

You drop your head forward and then swing it back. There’s a crack when the back of your head smashes against his nose. He lets go, loses his balance and falls. Another step towards the door.

Again, his hand, this time around your ankle. The world spins as you fall to the ground, bracing for impact with your hands—don’t let go of the key, never let go of the key—your knuckles scrape along the rug as you twist your hand and kick out, but the boy is already on top of you, pushing you into the hard ground, your wrists next to your head as he pins you down.

“Look at me, hey— Look at me!”

You thrash around, shake your head, if only your hands were free you could curl your fingers around his throat and make him let go—

Your name. He snarls your name; your name that is sharpened against the marble of his teeth like a weapon, a spark that rips into the marrow of your bones. Like a hook yanking you back into the present, the now.

The fight leaves your body, you sag against the ground as you choke on adrenaline. And his—Lockwood’s nails dig deep, half-crescents of fire into your skin.

“Come. Back.” Two single words, punched out of him and hitting you deep in the gut. There’s blood, on his nose and lips, on his white shirt. You’ve never seen this expression on his face, his dark eyes are haunted, his cheeks hollowed as though he’s an empty shell.

“Lockwood,” you croak. He flinches, and something in his face changes. “Lockwood, why do you look like shit?”

Lockwood stares at you. Stares some more. His lips are slightly parted—he’s a mouth breather, you realise. And then he sags with relief, his head falling forward. His face disappears behind the fringe of his dark hair and you want to reach up and brush it away but he’s still holding you. You can feel your pulse hammering against his palms.

He lifts his head back up, eyes locking with yours. His right hand slowly moves to your clenched fist, fingertips grazing your skin and sending shivers up your arm to your spine. He taps against your curled fingers. Like a flower opening her petals, your fingers unwind from the key and he takes it from you.

Lockwood leans back, his body leaving your space. He settles on his heels, his chest rising and falling. His tongue quickly darts out, the tip running over his bottom lip and he flinches from the blood on his mouth.

You keep lying on the ground for another heartbeat, pressing your back harder into the surface to remind yourself this is your body. You’re in control. The memories are rushing back right about now, rising up your throat. You sit up in a rush, and stare at Lockwood who looks dead tired.

He only raises his eyebrows at your expression—seeing something waiting on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t speak around the words, choke on them.

“Matthew. Wake up, my brother. Please wake up.”

Your voice was insistent, and from childhood Matthew had been trained to respond to it. To rise from the bed when you cried, to run to help you when you fell down (is this your or the Visitor’s memory?).

“His brother.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “His brother killed him.” The words were out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Your breath catches, and a sharp pain cracks in your heart—perhaps the worst kind of all. And then you break down crying and you don’t care that you’re crying in front of Anthony Lockwood because how could he. How could he?

“So that’s how the key got into the sewer system and eventually landed at the flooded C Station. He did all that so it wouldn’t fall into his killer’s hands.” Lockwood reaches into the open package tucked between your and his thigh, pulling out a few dried apple rings.

You’re sitting on the living room’s floor, legs stretched out on the rug, backs leaning against the back of the sofa, arms pressed against each other. It seems possession from a psychic connection and nearly breaking his nose brings people closer than you’ve expected. Your mugs long cold, your eyes puffy and red from crying, you watch him press the cold compress against his face. He winces slightly when he turns to look at you.

“Sorry,” you say for the third time. “I wasn’t aware a Visitor could even do that.”

Lockwood waves you off. “Come off it,” he says. “That wasn’t you.”

“Well. Maybe I did feel a little satisfaction knocking you out like that.”

Lockwood grunts, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “We’ve had something similar happen to Lucy.” He drops his hand into his lap. He’s cleaned the blood from his face, but the collar of his shirt is still stained dark. “It was nowhere near this violent, but . . . I’ve seen it. And I still agreed to this. I shouldn’t have.”

“It was my decision.” You stare down at your gloved hands. Dried apple crumbs stick to the fabric. “And it did give us some answers.”

“But not where the key fits.” Lockwood nibbles on an apple piece. “Let’s hope Luce and George have more luck at the Archive.”

“And there’s still the matter of the man that attacked me. I think Karim might be right. He doesn’t necessarily have to be the killer.”

Lockwood chews on that for a moment. “You said he smelled of what? Liquor? What if he’s another Relic-man?”

“Tidiest Relic-man I’ve ever seen.” You scrunch your nose. “It was . . . something heavy. Whiskey, or rum, I’m not sure.”

“I can ask someone about that.”

“Ah, dragging someone else into this case? Good idea.”

Lockwood flashes you a bright grin—you categorise it as his signature Lockwood grin. “I’ve always been a big fan of the more the merrier.”

You tilt your head, your mouth slowly curling into a mocking curve.

Lockwood dips his head to you, and his voice is husky when he murmurs, “Thank you. For helping us out.”

You didn’t expect this. Heat crawls up your neck, but you have a hard time looking away from Lockwood’s dark eyes. He’s beautiful. The thought rattles like a marble inside your head, a pretty, shining marble that is very hard to catch.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Your voice matches his volume, low and almost a whisper. “I’m doing this for personal benefits only.”

“I didn’t expect anything different from someone who’s worked for Rotwell.”

You smile at each other. It feels safe, it feels good. Professional. Which is why you ignore the weird flutter in your stomach, the treacherous feeling of hunger and more that is just the post-adrenaline settling. Maybe you should have a second breakfast.

Outside, the phone rings. Lockwood picks himself up, groaning slightly. When he leaves to pick it up, you inspect the marks he’s left on your wrist, from his nails, his fingertips, pretending you don’t like his imprints on your skin as though you’re a thing fashioned from a potter’s—his—hands.

When Lockwood returns, he leans against the doorframe, both hands tugged into the pockets of his trousers. “Luce just called. Seems like your little library pass didn’t just get them insight on the symbol, but also additional info on the case booked for tonight. George found new information that leads him to believe this might be a double haunting.”

That would prove more difficult for only two agents, especially if it’s not clear yet which Types the ghosts are. You think you know the question Lockwood is about to ask, so you beat him to it, “Want me to tag along?”

Lockwood smiles. It seems like a challenge. “I trust you’re capable of working in a team?”

You climb to your feet, using the sofa as support. “We’ve already been through this. We are in this together,” you echo back his words from the previous day. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

“Tragic.” Lockwood doesn’t sound as if he’ll lose sleep over this. “Meet you back here in fifteen. I’ll call a cab.”

You quickly finish the apple crumbs left in the package and hurry up to the library to change into your gear. A dark turtle neck, comfortable pants, and sturdy boots you’ll put on downstairs. You’ve put on your gear harness, arming yourself with everything you’ll need on the case in quick and easily accessible: one canister of Greek Fire, two vials of lavender water, a couple of salt bombs. In your kit are stowed your other utensils like different thermometers (depending on which one still works), a flash (you’re not sure when you’ve last changed the batteries), two chain nets (at least one is without holes), a long rope of iron chains (newly purchased). Last but not least, your rapier. The Solinger Rapier is a good piece of work, you can give Lockwood a little credit for that. It feels good to be ready and in gear, you feel like donning your armour isn’t just a physical thing but putting your mind into a high-defence vault too.

If you think too much back on what you’ve seen in the Visitor’s memory, it’ll shake you up again, and just for the rest of tonight, you want to be a functioning agent doing your job.

Grabbing your kit, you vault back downstairs where you find Lockwood in the kitchen refilling the last of his salt bombs. He’s changed as well, wearing his signature suit and a long trench-coat. His socks peek out from his slippers, a bright pink.

“Take some of those,” he says without looking at you, nodding towards the counter. There’s gum, chocolate barns, cookie bags and a box full of tea bags. You stuff the cookies and tea bags into your kit. Lockwood stashes the rest when the door rings. “And that’s our ride.”

There’s an energy you feel strumming in his bones as though he’s a high-strung fuse read to blow. He turns around—and stops. Lockwood just stares. He stares at your uniform, which isn’t really a uniform because you don’t wear a jacket anymore. He seems particularly interested in the gear harness hugging your upper body, sitting snugly around your shoulders, your chest, your shoulder blades.

You raise your eyebrows to your hairline. “Everything all right, Tony?”

Lockwood clears his throat. “Please stop calling me that.” You might be wrong, but it looks like he’s a little flushed. Maybe all the blood he’s lost from his nose injury earlier is finally rushing back to his head.

“Why, you don’t like being called Tony?”

“I really, really don’t.” He takes his kit and moves to the entry hall, putting on his shoes. You follow and mirror him. “Why? Because of Kipps?”

“Because of my sister.”

You almost topple over. You didn’t know he has a sister, and Kipps has never mentioned her either—and that’s not strange at all, lots of people have siblings. What makes you pause is the way Lockwood said it. He makes it sound as though having a sister is tragic.

When you look at him, his expression is already a shut door, his eyes closed windows. He will not say anything more on that subject, his whole body language makes that pretty clear: he’s drawn a line and he drew it hard, using it as a blueprint to build a brick wall. Whatever door he feels like building in, only he has the key and you don’t think he’ll allow you back in anytime soon.

You wonder if he accidentally slipped up. If he said something he wasn’t planning on saying, and now he regrets it. He regrets that you know.

It’s like the last two hours didn’t happen when you found some sort of solace in each other after the Visitor possessed you. You’re used to rejection, but this still tastes bitter. This tastes like a whole bloody basket of lemons turning your whole mouth inside out.

So you don’t say anything, just follow him outside and into the cab where Lockwood gives the driver clipped instructions where to go. The car speeds off, the silence between you stretches on and settles like an unwanted animal scratching at the closed door between you. You wonder what happens if the door splinters and the creature creeps inside.

Through the late afternoon streets where the citizens deal with their last errands and the city sidewalks begin to thin out of people. Curfew is in another two hours. Soon, only agents and ghosts will roam these streets. The cab halts near Bermondsey station. Lockwood pays the driver and turns sharply to the meeting point. You trudge along. Years previously, when Bermondsey was a centre of industry instead of a trendy neighbourhood full of art galleries and coffee shops, the Crawford Ironworks were a textile factory. Now it is an enormous brick shell whose inside has been emptied and left vacant. The floor is made up of overlapping squares of rusty steel; slender steel beams arc overhead, wrapped with ropes of grimy black wires. Ornate wrought iron staircases spiral up to catwalks decorated with hanging plants. A massive cantilevered glass ceiling opens onto a view of the steel-grey sky. There is even a terrace outside, built out over the Thames, with a spectacular view of the Tower Bridge, which looms overhead, stretching from Bermondsey to Whitechapel like a spear of tinselled ice.

Lucy and George are sitting on the main iron staircase, their conversation is too quiet to hear when you approach. They don’t seem surprised you’ve joined their case, but you don’t miss George’s eyes squinting behind his glasses when he sees you.

“I heard you found something,” you say, holding out your hand to George who reluctantly gives back your library pass. “Hope you had fun while it lasted, Karim.”

He mutters something under his breath. Lucy juts her elbow into his side. “The Leviathan’s Cross,” she says aloud, pausing, you think, for dramatic effect. “Ever heard of that?”

Lockwood and you exchange looks. You both shake your heads. You ignore your heart stumbling over itself. The symbol is familiar, but the name is not.

George’s eyes pin Lockwood to the wall. “They’re something like our dear Orpheus Society.”

“Ah.” Lockwood straightens his impeccably straight tie. “And I assume there was no address? No membership list, no picture of the CEO and their phone number?”

George rolls his eyes. “Don’t try to be funny, it never works.”

You raise your hand like a little kid at school. “What’s the Orpheus Society?”

George, Lucy, and Lockwood hold a full silent conversation with their eyes and facial expressions only. In the end, Lockwood says, “You know, let’s save this for later and get the job done first. After that, we can pour all our resources into figuring out what we’ve learnt.”

“Fair enough.” You clap your hands, rub them together in anticipation for an evening out doing what you do best. “Where did you set up base?”

Command centre, as George likes to call it, is in a former employee kitchen alcove tugged right between two open-plan offices that take up both floors above the main hall. Lucy is cleaning up the empty mugs after you all had tea while George and Lockwood fill you in on the job, explaining that a couple of days ago the owner of this factory (a small man with a slim face reminding them of a rat) asked for their services. He plans to sell the compound, but it’s always been haunted and he needs to get rid of the ghosts before handing the building over.

“At least one ghost was definitely seen on the top floor by the night watch,” George says between two ravenous bites into his cookie. “Worker’s garb, they hear machines going off at night, and there are two cold spots up there. I think the ghosts manage to work in shifts. That’s why everyone thought it’s just one.”

“That’s impossible,” you say, breaking off another piece of chocolate with your teeth. “They’d have to be intelligent to work out something like changing when one appears and the other doesn’t. Ghosts don’t care for that, they haunt simultaneously.”

George raises both hands. “I don’t make the rules.”

“But you research all this, you should get your facts straight.”

“Want to bet? When we’re up there, just start screaming when two ghosts start killing you, OK?”

“It’s not impossible,” Lockwood chimes in. He spends the time until evening falls with a crossword book spread over his lap, his tongue tucked between his teeth. You focus on any part of his face except his mouth. “Remember the two Spectres we got down in Lambeth? Someone put their bones together and when one stirred, the other came back too.” Your eyes land on Lockwood’s crossword puzzle, which he is poorly hiding, and you see that he isn’t solving the puzzle but merely colouring in the empty boxes.

“It’s almost time we go up.” Lucy looks at her watch. “Sun’s setting.”

“All right.” Lockwood slaps the book closed happily, flicking his pen into his kit. “We’ll go up and measure the temperature first, place our iron chains and put up defence rings.” He stretches, that high-strung energy back. You get the feeling if Lockwood isn’t on a case or his mind not occupied with solving a problem, he might combust from all that need to act; to do something.

You’ve got everything you need when you notice Lucy hauling a hefty, bulky backpack onto her shoulders, readjusting the straps.

“Looks heavy,” you notice. “They’re not forcing you to carry all the equipment, are they?”

“No, it’s—” She shakes her head as if trying to shake off cobwebs. “I just like to be double careful. Better have one iron chain more, you know?”

You nod. That makes sense.

All geared up and ready, George leads you past the inoperable lift to the staircase at the end of hallway. He opens the doors and you fill into a rectangular room that you think might have been pearly white once, but years of decay and neglect have darkened the walls. Huge dark rings from water damage stretch like growing mould alongside the iron staircase that you ascend to the upper floor.

Lockwood stops at the door, turning towards you and Lucy. “Ladies, if you don’t mind.” He puts his hand on the handle and pushes it down but doesn’t open the door yet. “I think your Talents might be more useful than mine.”

Lucy and you exchange a look. She nods towards Lockwood, and he slowly swings the door open. Lucy ventures inside, you hard on her heels. You can immediately tell she zones out right then and there, trying to pick up any psychic auditory echoes. You put your gloved fingers to the wall, brushing along the crumbling masonry. Dried, dusty mortar sticks to the tip of your fingers. Exhaustion washes over you, tiredness from overwork, from a general unhappiness of working too hard, working too long but it’s never enough, never enough. If you could sum it all up it would be a feeling of depression, a hopelessness settling deep into your bones.

Unease pokes its crooked finger into your stomach, stirring its contents. Misery. One wave, then another—much deeper, a twin echo that doesn’t quite feel the same. The second echo hits deeper, plummets steeper, the sudden realisation that someone who has been part of your life is gone and why would you remain in a world where they are not?

You rip your hand back from the wall, and slowly turn to George.

“Karim.” You voice is nothing but a whisper. “What did you say those ghosts were? To each other, I mean.”

George scratches his belly under his shirt. “I didn’t. But nice of you to ask. They were twins.”

Taglist: @helpmelmao, @simrah1012, @chloejaniceeee, @fox-bee926, @frogserotonin, @obsessed-female, @avelinageorge, @quacksonhq, @wordsarelife, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @che-che1, @breadbrobin, @anxiousbeech, @charmingpatronus, @starcrossedluvr, @yourunstablegf, @grccies, @sisyphusmymuse, @ettadear, @a-candle-maker, @cassiopeiia24, @tangledinlove

i think some tags might not work anymore, so keep me update d if you changed your url! ♥

#lockwood show #lockwood books #lockwood & co #l&c #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co reader #reader insert #lockwood and co reader insert #phill.l&c

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hoshipills · 2 months

Text

Double-crosser - Part 5

The moon in the sky

" I wish we never met. "

Pairing: Mafialeader!mingyu x fem!reader

Synopsis: The sudden news of information leak of a secret mission leaves all the members of mafia perplexed. They closed their eyes and the next second, their leader was arrested. Someone betrayed and the taste of betrayal wasn't sweet.

Warnings: mentions of weapons , blood, reader is an orphan, mentions of dark room, deaths, mention if more.

Genre: Mafia, angst

Word count: 0.9k

Note:.

SORRYYY. it took me wayy too long as there was an emergency and I had to take a break from writing. sorry for leaving abruptly. This part is not well written, sorry for that again😭😭😭. it is just so messy but I decided to post nonetheless as a anon said they check my page everyday to see where this goes and it really touched my heart. I will post the epilogue few days later.

Masterlist

|Previous| |epilogue|

Mingyu and Yangyang sat in the office, discussing about the plan Y/n has written for them. She explained everything in detail, saying how to approach the other agents without alarming them because of Mingyu's involvement, how to carefully present the papers to the higher officials and expose ICS for their hidden crimes.

They are uncomfortable at first, knowing they were not more than rivals a second ago but now they must work together. It took Mingyu few hours to process the situation and even when he sat in the office, his eyes often wandered to the chair in the room in which Y/N used to sit on.

Time passed and the meeting concluded by Mingyu and Yangyang exchanging words of trust, belief and their willingness to work together for the better.

Yangyang, as told, was set to lead the agents as he knew them better. He held the proofs tightly in his hand and set out to the agency to gather everyone and explain them what is going on.

Mingyu, on the other hand gathered the best of his team and guards along with the seventeen members to initiate a conquer over the ICS officials once they join hands with agents who have been betrayed by saying that they were working for good when they were helping out in the crimes of ICS.

It wasn't like he never knew about the crimes. The crimes were the reason why his father started this organization. To go against ICS, fixing the corruption done by them. He still remember his father telling him how the ICS declared him dead because he chose to leave it and they got to knew he was going against them. They simply didn't want people to know that the best agent they have seen is someone who betrayed.

He wiped the tear that flowed out his eye, he tried to control his pain and not let his emotions explode. He wanted everyone to focus on the plan rather than his pain for that time. It was for the best.

Yangyang gathered almost all the agents and stood infront of them. His red eyes indicating them that this something important. Normally, they would've avoided this guy as he was close with Y/n and thought he might be a traitor too. But as time went on, they just let him be and pretend like the incident never happened.

He showed them all the documents and tried to explain the situation despite the regular interruptions of some agents saying that they knew he was a traitor like his friend and leaving the place.

He folded the last document and wiped his eyes, no longer able to hide his tears, " I don't want her sacrifice to go in vain.", he said at last with a broken voice.

He managed to gain the trust of a decent amount of them.

He sat near his place and waited for Mingyu to arrive as the others waited as well, though they were confused.

The criminals' presence was known when they heard gunshots downstairs, near the security. Yangyang gestured the agents to remain calm and got up to look outside the window to see the atrocious fight.

Just as expected, the boss called him and other 2 agents, who were luckily the ones that didn't leave. They quietly made their way to the main office where they saw the boss and few officials sitting. Good thing they planned on the day there was meeting. The people in the room were panicking as the boss opened his mouth to ask about the situation.

Yangyang smiled just when the others barged in and stood at the sides, allowing Mingyu to enter the large room.

The game's over.

---

The boss looked at all the proof lying on the table and Mingyu could see the fear in his eyes.

" will you..", he began, taking a look at few official in the room. Few of them nodded and few didn't care. Mingyu pointed a gun at him. " will you stop this if I tell you a little secret?", he said slyly but Mingyu could catch the slight fear in his voice.

" We are not here to-", Yangyang began but he cut him off, " Moon is alive. We lied about it so the other agents would calm down."

The grip on his gun loosened. what?

" Well, alive but under our custody. If any of this information goes out, she might as well be dead like you guys believed all along."

Mingyu let out a scoff. Bunch of bullshit.

he regained the grip and held it firmly.

" Lying will only make this worse.", Mingyu said.

" There is no need for me to lie, I know this is going to be worse if you find out I am lying."

" Agent sky's son you are, aren't you?", one of the officials said. his heart tightened a little. " she has been saying she did it for him.", he added as if it helped.

" we'll take you there.", the boss said.

Mingyu looked at Yangyang who showed no emotion.

he looked back at the boss, " what would it change? she has been alive and was ready to die for this to happen. I can't let it all go in vain.", he took a deep breath.

" In few minutes, this place and the affliction rooms will be seized. we have informed the HNI (head of national investigation centers), full support. I'm sure we can find her if she is really alive as you claim.", he tried to sound as assertive as possible.

soon enough, the building was filled with sirens and military as he said. he backed away and let the seize take place.

" excuse me, sir.", someone said to Yangyang, gaining both of theirs attention. they realized he was part of the military by his uniform. " they found somebody in the affliction rooms who wasn't in the list of people sent to affliction rooms. we think it might be someone you might know. can you confirm?".

No second was wasted as they followed him.

---

They left a few people there for security while carrying few people with them as well.

They reached the affliction rooms building and found themselves walking towards the last room.

Yangyang made a sound of horror in his throat. " The last room means no good. They call it the red house, you might have heard it before.", he whispered to Mingyu. He did hear it before and gulped thinking about it.

Mingyu saw Yangyang's eyes getting moist.

As the door opened, Yangyang burst into tears and Mingyu let his hand go to his mouth, fumbling forward to check if this is real.

There she was, lying unconsciously. The muscles of her body sunk into her bones, injuries all over the skin exposed.

His whole body shivered as he tried to imagine the pain she went through. His first instinct was to kill off everybody who did this, wipe the whole world and destroy everything he could find. He came back to his senses as he saw Yangyang move forward and kneel in front of her. He checked her pulse and sniffed in relief. " She is indeed alive."

Mingyu buried his face in his hand.

She is alive and that is enough.

---

The following days filled with visits to court and hospital, clearing the case and checking upon Y/N. She has been unconscious for a week already.

Mingyu was sitting outside, in the park of the hospital, when Yangyang called him. "can you come inside ? Y/N woke up.", he hung up the phone before a reply could be given.

He tucked his phone beneath his pocket before hurrying inside the hospital.

he nervously opened the door to her room. The first thing he saw was Yangyang sitting on the side of the bed, holding her hand and talking to her something lowly, crying under his breath.

Mingyu let out a shaky breath. she finally woke up.

His footsteps towards them drew their attention as Yangyang slowly got up to let Mingyu sit. He saw that Y/N was already crying.

He took her right hand in both of his palms, lifting it to his lips and kissing it gently.

" why did you do it?", he managed to breath out between his cries.

" felt like it.", she said with a soft smile as tears touched her lips.

He closed his eyes, sobbing into the back of her hand in his palms. she gestured him to come closer.

he let go of her hand and did as she said. " you look the same as I remembered you. Handsome and nice. You know, like a puppy.", she muttered as she stroked his cheek.

He softly laughed.

"And you? What did they say to you?", she asked.

" Prison for 2 years. they say crimes are crimes."

" but you did nothing to the innocent."

" But my ways were wrong."

she shook her head biting her lip. " Now we have to wait another 2 years?"

"It'll be tough, but I'll endure it if it means we can be happy together later.", he added and shrugged.

She giggled, pulling his face closer before planting a small kiss on his lips.

" yeah, we can do it."

Taglist:@calssunflower @woo8hao

#seventeen x reader #kim mingyu #svt fic #mingyu x reader #seventeen

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valiantwarriorsquadroncomic · 5 months

Text

MISSION 6

Within a classified meeting room inside the HARRIS, armed erasure unit guards surrounded the area as Andrew Norman reported to the secretary of defense and the C-USA president Melissa Dowell, and director of America’s intelligence agency, the ODS. “I’m thrilled that operation trifecta went along swimmingly” he said as a large, bat-like man in a large horned mask loomed next to him with a tiny thermos. “George smith and Sgt. Gustavo are as good as captured.”

“Excellent work, Mr.Norman.” Said Madame president. “We had some doubts that these special interests groups would cooperate, but it appears our fears were exaggerated. “You managed to arrange a coordination exercise that also doubled as a rescue of multiple POWS, needless to day, I’m very impressed.” Andrew saluted the president with a subtle smile.

“You honor me, Mrs. President.” He replied. “We shall commence a multi-pronged attack for both targets, QM’s spy network has damaged ALA intelligence, monitoring George smith’s every move.” He took another sip of tea from his thermos cup. “The HCA are destroying any airborne aircraft on sight, and even the FPU are providing support in regards to supply and resources.” A large map of prospera was projected within the meeting room. Several red dots blinked near prospera’s no-go zones. Giant red arrows blinked indicating movement, pointing to mainland south america while others simply stopped flashing. “Our intelligence agency and CNGS intelligence have detected multiple ALA bases being destroyed while large swathes of ALA members are fleeing to Argentina.” Andrew nodded as she brought up a middle aged German man with thinning hair. “The HCA defector responsible for the Berlin bombing has yet to flee to south America, HE is to be VWS-1’s next target.

“And what of my senior corps orders, madame president?” asked the mask man.

“BERSERKER, your team shall continue to apprehend WNM6 members and question them about the whereabouts of their main headquarters and leader. She answered. “Bring in high ranking members alive, but I have no concern how you deal with any ALA member that gets in your way.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Said BERSERKER, as he let out a low, menacing chuckle. The erasure unit soldiers surrounding him and Andrew began to sweat, those not in the usual mask peered at each other in fear. After dismissal, BERSERKER walked Andrew alone to his office.

“Quite a feat.” Said Andrew casually. “It’s hard to strike fear into erasure unit soldiers.” BERSERKER ducked behind a sign to ensure his 7 foot 10 frame wouldn’t smack into it. “Especially those two, who are refugees from Eastern Valadovia.”

“I’ve been informed about the Valadovian conflict.” Said BERSERKER. “refugees from Valadovia period are almost like spartans, hardened from being raised in abject poverty to mandatory army conscription at 18. He held open the door for his superior. “Even its government cabinet of both east and west have adamantly clung to independent status despite the inevitable submission to our union dedicated to global security to the rest of Europe."

“Many of my colleagues in the CNGS advisory council and the white house were very sore upon hearing President Juan’s decision to remain independent.” Andrew said in a neutral tone. “I don’t understand why, with the agreement with other independent countries for a balance of power, and east valadovia’s ally to global security status, we will be properly compensated in the near future.” Meanwhile in the small medical wing of the HARRIS, Joseph visited Logan after 10 days of his rescue, ducking under a broken directory sign.

“God damn, that thing’s been broken for weeks.” Joseph muttered to himself. “They have the cash to fix it, I don’t know why they just wont.” Joseph showed his badge to the guards, who noticed he had proper clearance and disinfection to enter the recovery room.

“Damn, they’re working your ass off, huh?” Said Logan, noticing Joseph’s tired expression.

“Yeah, they made us go through a boot camp so we’d be ready to snatch George smith from his bunker.” His fist clinched as George smith’s face flashed in his mind, but quickly returned to Logan. “Something weird happened to me.” Logan got quiet, as he was still trying absorb everything that happened. “I’ve been able to sense a person up to 65 meters now, and I’ve developed some sort of enhanced reflexes.” He said, remembering how he somehow outmaneuvered that ALPHA KOMMANDO member and was able to stab him in the neck. He tried to change the subject to hide the discomfort of the changes that made him feel less human. “You’ve really made a comeback since the last time I saw you.” Joseph said as Logan was doodling in a large sketchbook.

“That lion lady you talk about is a really fucking great doctor.” He said, showing a cartoon of Laleh to joseph. The cartoon depicted Laleh fully furred and walking on two legs, like something out of a cartoon. Logan had despited her accidentally bumping over a wooden chair with her hips, her face bright red as it fell. “She kept on apologizing to the head nurse, but this place feels like being crammed inside a little box.” He continued, showing another cartoon of him and fellow patients being shoved into a small cardboard box, the head doctor angrily jumping up and down on them. Joseph laughed upon the sight, and Laleh, while she was a bit embarrassed that her little table incident was immortalized, was overjoyed to see her friend in a joyful state. “Also, SO.AKROPOLIS was really thrilled that to see my art!” he said, showing several torn pages of his sketchbook.

“Let me guess, she took them?” joseph asked.

“She literally screamed with like an insane fangirl at a boyband concert and took all the drawings I made of her.” Laleh’s jaw dropped. “It scared the hell out of the guards.”

“She could’ve asked you first!” she with a snort, putting her hands on her hips. “I need to have a word with her, then!”

Logan held up his hands as joseph laughed at laleh’s reaction, but was also full of pride that at her becoming more assertive when someone or something upsets her. “It’s okay, really!” Logan said, reaching for his wallet, and pulling out a sizable bundle of cash. “She’s probably the best paying client I ever had!” the private room grew quiet as Logan noticed a look on Joseph’s face. “I know what you’re gonna ask me.” He said as Joseph’s expression severed.

“If it’s OK to ask, did…your mom know about your dad?” he asked. Logan put his sketchbook down.

“I think she probably knew, but didn't know what to do…” he replied quietly. "I mean...what the HELL was ANYONE supposed to do?" He sighed. "We both saw him get more weird about South Africa and stopped talking to his friends...he made me clean a bunch of guns we didn't even KNOW he had... Laleh's eyes widened in disbelief. "I think she was too scared to call the cops, and at least she was rescued from the ALA, thank god. He looked up to joseph again. “Those communist guys said that I have to wait a while to see her again. He drummed his delicate fingers on the hard back cover of the book. “I know she’ll be okay.” He finished with a hopeful, but sad smile.

“That’s what made me fall for you in high school.” Joseph said as he caressed Logan’s cheek. “The ability to see the bright side when things are fucked.” Laleh began to tear up, wiping her eyes.

“That’s just terrible.” She whimpered. “You’re so brave for dealing with all this with such stride. Logan shrugged sadly

“It’s not like collapsing to the floor and crying is gonna help my mom.” He replied giving laleh a box of tissues, joseph rubbing her hand to comfort her. Joseph’s gaze peered to Logan, his hands folded in front of him, staring into space with an empty smile. His scars pulsated rhythmically. The same vertical scars he and RM III had. It was apparent to him that what ever an “RM” was, he was one of them. “I heard they’re running your ass ragged at that bootcamp.”

“Yeah…” said joseph. “They’ve also got me wearing a new piece of armor. Joseph thought back to the first time he was brought to the bootcamp training room in prospera. “Their briefing room was just a dinky broom closet, and the CNGS special forces representative plopped the helmet in front of me.” He shuddered as he recalled the disturbing smile the Representative have. “Like, since RM II defected, it feels like they’re hoping I’ll be their replacement.” He recalled the face of the prosperan special forces operative who ran him like a dog with sniper drills and combat training. “They REALLY wanted to make sure that I was familiar with anti-material rifles.”

“Does the helmet look like mine?” Logan inquired, as laleh became silent. Joseph slowly came back from reality when he recalled the special forces operative taking a long drag from a cigarette as joseph sat exhausted parallel to him . He remembered the sad look on the operative’s scarred, wrinkled face he regaled joseph on horror stories from the prosperan civil war. He replayed the older man’s cynical, yet forlorn tone as he told joseph how it was prospera’s “proud tradition” to try and kill each other as shook himself out of his daze.

“It’s like yours…and it kind of looks like her.” He said, pointing his thumb back at her. A sudden BANG went off in the ceiling, causing joseph to instinctively flee toward the small table in the room and flip it over while Laleh thundered towards him and shielded her friend as if he was under attack. She desperately tried to search herself for a weapon as joseph pulled a combat knife from his vest. Logan’s eyes bulged as he saw the spectacle.

“Are…you guys fucking okay?”

Joseph and Laleh snapped out of their sudden trances. Laleh noticed she was foaming at the mouth and tried to wipe it off in a panic. Joseph also got a grip as he put his knife back into his vest.“Looks like everyone’s having a shit day.” Said Logan.

“It’s just been a little tough lately.” Joseph said. “I think all the horrific bullshit we’ve seen is catching up on us.”

“We should ask for another round of therapy before this mission, I feel that should assist in easing our troubled minds.” Laleh answered, attempting to smile and ease Joseph’s concerning glance at her manic state. Undoubtedly, he was being reminded of her breakdown on their very fist mission. “You’re understandably on edge because we’ll be confronting the man whose incompetence harmed you in a way he can’t take back.” Commented laleh, gently gesturing joseph. “I also assure you that I’m just a little tired, and to not be concerned about me.” Joseph nodded as the two made their way out. the flat screen TV down the hall flashed to a breaking bulletin, causing a hoard of CNGS personnel to flee to in in shock and horror. Joseph and laleh peeked around the hallway to understand the commotion. The TV swooped down to the FPU president, Il presidente Juan Hidalgo Ramirez fleeing and ducking behind a concrete barrier with several FPU soldiers as his podium was shot to pieces by sniper rifle fire. He was shoved into an APC which sped off with several other military and government vehicles. The crowds of prosperan citizens panicked and fled as FPU soldiers fired into the rooftops where several assassins fired back.

“Today at 11 am central time, president Juan Ramirez of the FPU was celebrating his country’s official independent nation status and the country’s military being mostly repaired after years of war.” Said and anchorwoman. “The ceremony ended with Independent Germany gifting an old destroyer to the prosperan navy. However, the celebration was cut short as an attempt was made on the president’s life.” The TV cut to several white men in balaclavas, reading off a piece of paper in English. “the American branch of the ALA, the largest and leading branch of the entire terrorist organization has claimed responsibility, as retaliation against attacks on their bases.” The room feel silent as joseph began to close the door. “What was supposed to be a celebration of the United Prosperan Federation pulling itself out of poverty and war was dashed to pieces.

Joseph felt his phone vibrate several times, and discovered fritz texted him 3 times in a row. He whipped out his phone as he tried to steady his nerves from his sudden PTSD episode. From the corner of his eye he saw laleh’s fearful gaze as he opened his messages.

“THE FPU’S MINSTER OF DEFENSE ALMOST GOT KILLED BY AMERICAN ALA OPERATIVES” “THOSE NEO NAZI BASTARDS LITERALLY JUST DROVE UP AND THREW A PIPE BOMB AT HIS VILLA” “FPU GOVERNMENT CABINET IS IN AN UPROAR.”

Joseph suddenly felt cold at the recent developments, as if something terrible was looming on the horizon. Not helping things was that tomorrow morning was the date that the VWS would attack the airfield and raid the George Smith’s shelter. Meanwhile in the Harris hanger, Veronica barked at a crew of her personal guard as they loaded an escape craft into the underbelly of the RISENFLEDERMAUS. She flipped through digitally generated 3d schematics as her aircraft’s engines were tweaked to accommodate the new weight, the face plate being freshly replaced. She chewed through her pen as sweat dripped from her brow. The extra engineers she hired barked at each other in farsi and English. Her brother scrolled through a news article about the prosperan government uproar, a Representative demanding that America take action against the ALA’s recruitment and troop dispersal as it was founded and staffed mostly by white Americans. Fritz approached his overwhelmed sister, noticing the chaos.

“Is everything OK?” he asked as she tightened a bolt on the escape vessel.

“NO, OF COURSE NOT!” She yelled. “DO I LOOK OK?” she continued, waving at the escape craft being finalized. “I’M LUCKY I EVEN GOT SOME EXTRA HELP WITH INDEPENDENT IRAQ AND INDEPENDENT AFGHANISTAN’S AERONAUTIC ENGINEER CORPS!” the mechanics occasionally watched over their shoulder at the giant monster woman as they finished their work. A worker dragged over a chair with some headache medicine and a cold towel to their boss. “Thanks, you are very sweet.” Said veronica, pulling out a business card. “Email this number so you can all properly get the overtime you deserve.” The engineers began cleanup, hurriedly rushing around fritz as he noticed the RISENFLEDERMAUS’s new addition. “A second aircraft.” Fritz stated. “No, it’s an escape vessel.” “It looks too…polished and advanced to be some escape pod.” “Don’t tell me you’re complaining about me caring about safety!” “I’m not.” Replied fritz, sitting next to her. “You’ve been testing and tweaking the RISENFLEDERMAUS for days with this thing attached, not to mention how you’ve run enough safety checks to get three separate certifications that it’s safe for field and combat use.” Veronica took a giant swig of water from her giant water bottle, a worker gently dabbing her head with the cold towel. “It’s about what happened to mom, correct?” He said, looking right through her. She shot up in surprise, frightening her worker.

“She almost got shot down, and told me it shook her so badly, she’s going to retire to politics.” The giant monster woman took the towel for herself. “Thank you Khalid, you’re an angel.” She said, pulling a large stack of money and shoving into his pocket. “Get your wife and mother-in-law something nice.” Veronica rose from the chair wearily. “FINISH YOUR WORK AND LEAVE IN AN HOUR, THE HCA ENGINEERS WILL FINISH THE REST, YOU’VE DONE ENOUGH FOR ME THIS PAST WEEK AND A HALF.” Fritz unwrapped a large chunk of dried and cured ham, a favorite treat of hers when she became stressed. She smiled sincerely at her brother’s kindness before eating the large piece of meat into two clean bites. The two continued to conversation in a private room. “Got another call from some of the old farts in the HCA court.” She said in a bored tone, pulling out a tablet, her work email filled with angry messages.” “YoU’RE NOt SUPPoseED tO pAY thEM EXTRA” she said in a mocking, crotchety tone. “THey’RE SUpoosed TO wOrk PRO-boNO To PaY OFF HCA iNTERvenTION FoR StaBLIZing THieR cOUNTRIES” she snorted as she sent the messages to spam. “We’re supposed to support our fellow independent countries getting back on their feet after years of instability, not hold that over their heads until they die.” She logged off her email. “Worthless, old bastards.” She added.

“The ALA may be fleeing from prospera and taking their high command leaders with them” said fritz as Veronica began to finally cool down, but they’re certainly enraged that they’ve effectively lost the war.” Veronica held her head in her hand as she swiped through a tablet. “Ironically, the more violent they act and the more they flee to other countries, the more incentive other countries aid in the fight against them.” He swiped to several news websites. “CHILE JOINS CNGS AS ALA OPERATIVES FLEE TO SOUTH AMERICA” “ARGENTINA BECOMES ALLY TO GLOBAL SECURITY AS ALA ACTIVITY SKYROCKETS ON MAINLAND SOUTH AMERICA FROM THEIR EXODUS.” It’s like watching a chess player with a single pawn futilely move their final standing piece as they’re cornered into checkmate. Fritz said cheerily. “Damned if they fight, damned if they flee, they’ve effectively brought mortal enemies together.” Veronica’s left air flopped to one side, lost in thought. “Once smith and Gustavo are captured…HE’s going to be the next target. Her ears shot up again, as her eyes became blood red. “I’m speaking the truth, he had fled to prospera and had been hiding for some time after he…”

“…masterminded the Berlin massacre.” She hissed. “I wouldn’t doubt he’d just use prospera is a temporary stop to flee to Argentina.” Her eyes slowly faded to a light orange. “I just hope those ancient old farts hold our services to the VWS over the CNGS’s heads either.”

“I never expected you to say something positive about the coalition.” Inquired fritz.

“No, I don’t give a fuck about those power hungry busybodies.” She answered. “I do however give a shit of they try to run Nathan, joseph or laleh into the ground or treat them like busboys.” Veronica clicked off her tablet. “Speaking of nathan, he’s been a little more quiet than usual.”

“He’s probably busy.” Fritz assured her, as her eyes returned to their regular, putrid yellow color. “He’s probably also receiving the word that Schmidt is to be pursued and captured as soon as possible after we apprehend smith.”

“Of course!” she answered, once again in her confident tone, trying to pretend that she didn’t hear Nathan’s screaming and crying last night that chilled her to the bone. Fritz noticed her discomfort.

“There’s been this eerie sense of dread since mother almost died, and I’m here for you.” He clasped his hands and looked around cautiously, noting his sister’s compromised state. “Perhaps I should change the subject.” Fritz’s hands fell to his side as his mood seemed to drop. “From what our informants on the HARRIS said, apparently…he’s in a romantic relationship with that Logan fellow he rescued.” Fritz’s eyes faded from the usual piercing yellow to a pale white.

“That fucking sucks, I know you were hell bent on treating him right.” Said veronica, heavily, but empathetically thumping fritz on the back.

“I’ll at least let him know of my feelings once things calm down.” Fritz replied, thinking of the BIOMENACE ALICE statue kit he had bought and a bouquet of roses when he prepared to let confess his love. “I know I can’t be his, but at least I’ll put this beast to rest so I won’t stare forlorn at his beautiful visage from a distance.” Before he walked away, he fumbled through his bag. “Mother wanted you to have these.” The young man presented his sister a large box and a small container covered in CNGS warnings. She wants you to present them to joseph.” Veronica quietly observed the foreboding packages.

“This can only mean that shit is about to get drastic.” She replied. Throughout the Harris, more activity bustled as the day of reckoning for George smith arrived. He was now in a “bunker” which seemed more like a poorly kept prison. a series of blotted out faces were chattering amongst each other. APOTHECARY had been suspected of foul play during his actions of the Fort NFELHEIM Subterranean bio-weapons accident, which set back their RENAISSANCE MAN serum experiments. Am dist the chattering, the center figure, an old man with a blotted out face, held up his hand. The rest of the figures suddenly fell silent with an instant. “GEORGE SMITH.” Said the voice.

“I HAVE COME TO THE UNANIMOUS DECISION THAT YOU ARE NOT GUILTY OF SABOTAGE OR DELIBERATE INTERFERENCE TOWARDS THE PATH OF THE ARYAN PARADISE.” APOTHECARY let out a sight of relief as he slumped back into his chair. “HOWEVER, YOU LET INEXPERIENCED STAFF HANDLE CHEMICAL HZ-98R, CAUSING THE UNNEEDED DEATH OF 5 MEDICAL STAFF MEMBERS, FORCING NFELHEIM STAFF TO EXECUTE A PREMATURE EVACUATION, AND LEAVING LARGE TRACES OF PERSONAL INFORMATION AND MATERIALS TO BE SNATCHED UP BY THAT BLASTED COALITION, INCLUDING RENAISSANCE MAN 4.” APOTHECARY froze up again. “YOUR PUNISHMENT IS DEMOTION TO COMMON MEDICAL STAFF, AND THE LOSS OF YOUR ALPHA KOMMANDO POSITION AND PRESTIGE.” A bombing run caused the monitors to flicker. “ONCE YOU ARE EVACUATED, THESE PUNISHMENTS WILL BE IMPLEMENTED POST HASTE. Gustavo’s video feed flickered as his safehouse was also getting strafed by bombing runs from the HCA and their advanced jets.

“You’re also working to get me OUT of this hellhole, my New Fuhrer?” he asked meekly. The older man paused for just a moment.

“HOLD OUT AGAINST THE ENEMY, AND WE WILL SEND SOMEONE TO GET YOU, AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS.” The old man turned to the other blotted out members. “OUR NEXT SUBJECT OF DEBATE SHALL BE OUR UPCOMING RAID ON CNGS FACILITIES FOR MATERIALS NEEDED FOR OUR ABOMINATION PROGRAM.” “WNM6 SHALL BE THE HERALDS OF THE ARYAN PARADISE.” The entire monitor flickered off as more jets flew above the bunker.

“A raid on the coalition.” Sneered APOTHECARY. “With those white sovereign lunatics in high command gaining more influence, I won’t be surprised they’d approve of something so needlessly stupid and costly.” He clenched his fists. “Mark my words, those blood thirsty MANIACS will be the death of this organization.” Within his barely disguised prison, APOTHECARY watched the footage of joseph encouraging Logan to keep fighting and to keep living. He looked back at his schematics for his abominations, the ALA sympathizers volunteering to be irreversibly changed to monstrosities to fight for the aryan paradise. He held his head in his hands as the weight of his misdeeds, and the courage and humanity joseph exhibited despite being a subhuman, racial untermnesch.

An alarm bellowed throughout the bunker as ALA communication experts had picked up the RISENFLEDERMAUS, and an unidentified aircraft with a large red star. The radio chatter picked up from central command showed the ALA soldiers and the other American auxiliaries panicking. Screams that “The Red scar and his pet lioness demon” were going to claim their souls. APOTHECARY adjusted his mask, and loaded his handgun as the VWS and E-12 touched down, HCA jets were surely destroying their own aircraft and providing cover fire. He was finally ready. Ready to surrender to the coalition, and he prepared himself move quickly. declaring surrender with being surrounded by ALA staff would mean certain death. Now he had to face the more deadly of the Renaissance men besides RM III. He had nowhere left to run, except to the very man whose life he had irreversibly harmed…

Upon the RISENFLEDERMAUS, Veronica swooped down to the least defended part of the airfield’s outskirts, joseph didn’t know whether to feel excited or disgusted. A mess of conflicting emotions swirled within him as he prepared to meet the man robbed him of normality forever. “I bet you’re excited to get your vengeance!” veronica called cheerily from the cockpit.” Joseph twiddled his thumbs as he gazed into the air.

“ I’m glad to put a stop to him before he hurts more people, but this is about justice.”

“You don’t have to be so high and mighty about this!” veronica called, preparing to land. “He’s gutter slime and doesn’t deserve any sort of mercy!” Nathan could detect an argument coming up.

“Oh, boy” Nathan muttered to himself.

“This isn’t my problem.” Fritz thought to himself, flipping through a new philosophy book, trying to be not annoyed. “God, I wish to desperately to just tell her off on these rants, but it simply isn’t my fight.”

“ You’re right in that he’s irredeemable.” Joseph replied. “Frankly if he dropped dead in front of me, if the ENTIRE ALA dropped dead in front of me, I wouldn’t give two shits.” Laleh grew uncomfortable at Joseph’s repressed bloodlust. “But I want to do things the right way, to get him as soon as possible, and get him shoved in a miserable little cell until he dies.”

“Frankly, I’d just blow his head off.” Veronica said. “If I confronted a man who took the lives of people I cared about, I’d probably put his head on a pike or sit him in front of a firing squad.” She let loose a disquieting, subdued cackle. “You should see the faces of the war criminals that CNGS hands to us, their reaction to THE WALL is the funniest shit ever.”

“That’s pretty fucking excessive.” Joseph sat up, annoyed. Before continuing he, peered into laleh’s worried gaze behind her helmet. He sighed and sat back down. “That’s just my opinion, and that’s all I have to say in the matter.”

Nathan shot a look at veronica, in which she also stood down. “OK, let’s drop this spat then.” Nathan smiled at her, giving her a thumbs up, internally sighing in relief that things ended before they got ugly. Joseph clutched his head, and his scars flared. “WATCH OUT!” he screamed, causing Veronica to sit back in her chair.

“Relax, I know its your wacky psychic powers going off, but we’re perfectly fine.” A small alarm blared as veronica continued to remain calm. “This thing can take whatever dinky little rocket the ALA throws at us.” The small alarm suddenly exploded into a blaring scream as the inside of the cockpit flashed red. “Oh, Jesus.” She wheezed. “HANG ON TO SOMETHING.!” she screamed, violently turning the vessel as a giant, black missile flew past her, only for it swing back around. “HEAT SEEKER!” she barked. “SON OF A BITCH!” she activated the RISENFLEDERMAUS’s automated machine guns, latching onto the missile, and destroying it. No sooner was it destroyed, another one was fired at her, followed by two more. “IT’S GONNA GET HAIRY!” she called out, as oxygen masks dropped to the passengers. Unfortunately, an engine burst into flame as a missile hit successfully, causing veronica to make an emergency landing. The automated system sprayed powerful extinguishing chemicals, thankfully stopping the inferno from spreading. She tried to regain control of the atmosphere of the RISENFLEDERAMUS, as everyone was terrified. “N-no problem!” she said, though nobody seemed convinced as she landed the jet. “I-I’m not scared, I’m j-just a little rattled!” she said, her hands trembling. This was the first time the RISENFLEDERMAUS sustained significant damage, with everyone in state of shock. Veronica sweat underneath her helmet, recalling her mother’s nightmarish near death as her own jet had caught fire. Nobody was receptive to the desperate attempt to make light of a desperate situation. The gang hobbled out of the downed aircraft, fritz puking out of stress and horror as laleh addressed any minor wounds. She sighed with relief as she checked joseph last.

“Nothing fractured or broken.” She said as she put a small bandage around Joseph’s wrist. “Physically, everyone else is OK.”

“Thank god.” Said joseph, rubbing his bandaged wrist.”

“However…” laleh said, looking back at veronica, impatiently pacing as nathan relayed their situation to a local QM field commander. “In regards to a psychological health…some of us are in need of more attention and care than others.”

“I’m trying to reach them as soon as possible, second lieutenant Gaertner.” He said gravely. “Fritz, scout the perimeter around the jet.” Fritz saluted as he dashed off again with super human speed.

“I-I could start repairs!” Veronica tried to explain. “I’m sure I could find some scrap to patch up the eng-”

Nathan put up his hand, causing her to shut up immediately. Joseph worriedly side-eyed the grim nature of two best friends in a rocky development. Nonetheless, he tried to sense any danger from anyone he psychically dowsed. “It would take too long, George smith is bound to be on some sort of escape vehicle soon, Nathan replied, the sweat on his brow betraying his level-headedness. “OK, understood.” “Thanks, meet up with you soon.” Nathan clicked off his ear-piece. “We’re gonna meet up with some E-12 soldiers to the east near the airfield, they got someone coming by to guard the RISENFLEDERMAUS.” He announced as Fritz returned, panting and taking a rest. “2nd lieutenant, make sure you don’t over-tire yourself, we can’t afford to have you weak in the middle of uncharted enemy territory.”

“Of course, Kapitän.” Fritz replied taking a large swig of water from his canteen.” Nothing unusual yet. No sooner than he said that, joseph clutched his head in pain.

“Oh fuck, what now?” Nathan griped loading his handgun.

“THE SCARRED BEAST SLITHERS TOWARDS US.” He whispered ominously. Laleh picked up on the term.

“That… terrible blond man from our mission when we rescued GHOST FANG…” she said, fearfully aiming her grenade launcher into the forest.

“Just keep us posted on his whereabouts, buddy.” Said nathan, putting his hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “We got to drag smith out of his burrow and bring him to justice.” Joseph shook out of his trance and nodded, training his gun in a certain direction as the gang made their way east. Nathan could see that they didn’t need a map to the airfield as HCA jets pummeled the airfield with napalm, large flashes of light signaled the decimation.

“I know you’re upset about the RISENFLEDERMAUS being in a sorry state.” Fritz said, trying to comfort his older sister. “You’ve put much love and craftsmanship into it, it must be terrible that you-” Veronica whipped around in subdued fury.

“Don’t treat me like that sniveling, weak little girl who used to cry at the drop of a hat.” She hissed at Fritz. “I’m just rattled that those MARXISTS will scuff up my masterpiece with their grubby hands.” She marched faster to get ahead of her brother, who continued to have his submachine gun primed and ready, its laser sight sweeping the darkness. That is, until his infrared scope picked up a humanoid form. Joseph’s scars flared as he dashed by fritz’s side. A familiar shaped stepped out of the foliage.

“Hell of a welcome party.” Said RM III, circling the VWS like a vulture to a dying animal. “You guys look pretty scared about something.” He said, tenting his fingers. “Did one of your fellow freaks die or something?”

Veronica lost her temper as she grabbed him by the throat, pinning him against a tree. She unsheathed her combat knife. “I’m not in the mood for your childish games!” She growled, pointing the knife inches away from his ribcage.”

“The combat armor’s new!” he said, peering back at fritz. “I know you call him childish, but you guys are bit too old to be playing dress-up?” I chuckled in Veronica’s face. “You HCA pricks always won’t shut up about knighthood, even though you’re a bunch of backwards, role-playing losers.” He turned to joseph. “Oh cute, they’re trying to strong-arm you into being their replacement Renaissance man.”

“Stand down, 1st lieutenant.” Nathan ordered, slowly approaching RM III, his hand gun trained on the blond soldier’s head. All of a sudden, joseph could sense danger from the trees, but not before RM III drew a handgun and shot the mysterious assailant on the head. The body of a poltergeist commando dropped from the canopy. The VWS stared at the abomination before immediately looking back at RM III.

“You’re welcome.” He said, putting up his handgun in a waist holster.

“What’s your game?” Nathan demanded, his gun still trained on RM III’s head.

“I’ve been separated from that miserable old fart, and I even I know wondering around this place alone is a death sentence.” His smug smile dropped as he grabbed his shoulder, a dark red stain formed under it. “Can’t believe that prick made me ambush that patrol alone.” He murmured mentally. “I swear that asshole is going to me killed one day.” Joseph noticed the wound on his shoulder and a bruise on RM III’s neck.

“Did RM II do that to you?” he asked, prompting RM III to pull his hand from the wound, and pull up his jacket.

“Don’t you have some have some prick to abduct?” he shot back. Everyone look toward nathan what to do. Time was of the essence, and smith could escape.

“If I wanted to kill you guys, you’d be worm food by now.” Said RM III, smugly turning towards The captain. “If you shove me into cuffs or sedate me until I’m a drooling zombie, that’s one less capable soldier.” A bead of sweat dripped of Nathan’s face. “You’re in a hostile place, coalition dog.” “You need all the capable soldiers you can to make a break to your allies.” Nathan refused to break sight from RM III or lower his weapon.

“Drop him and let’s go.” He instructed veronica.

“Is that wise, captain?” said fritz.

“If he tries anything, break his legs.” He replied. “Or shoot his kneecaps, whatever stops him from scampering off.”

“As you wish, captain.” Fritz answered. Veronica threw RM III to the ground, as they dashed towards the rendezvous point. RM III lagged behind, his body reeling from being tossed like a ragdoll. It wasn’t long until the VWS encountered heavy abominations, supplementing the ALA soldiers and their mercenary forces. Flashbangs went off as fritz gunned down hoards of neo nazis commandos, making sure to pace himself to avoid collapsing from exhaustion. Joseph used his danger sensing premonitions to snipe into the canopy as more poltergeist commandos dropped like flies. Joseph suddenly sensed danger, using his agility to leap from a heavy abomination that was lying in wait from foliage. Before he had a chance to kill him, RM III cut through several soldiers with his bayoneted assault rifle, leaping with superhuman agility of his own to drive the bayonet into the abomination’s skull. The abomination tried to pull the bayonet out in vain, only to fall backwards onto the trench. An audience of ALA mercenaries, demoralized from a lack of provisions and proper support watched in horror as RM RM III took out a large, bizarre looking knife. He began to decapitate the abomination, still clinging to life despite its grievous wound. It tried to let out a final scream as RM III finally sliced that last bit of muscle and tendon. Laleh was aghast as joseph ignored the vicious super soldier to concentrate fire on more marksmen. RM III gripped the decapitated head in his hand.

“I hope my techniques have left an impression on you.” He said proudly as joseph reloaded.

“Yeah, the impression that you need some goddamn help.” Veronica leapt on top of the trench, letting loose a barrage of heavy machine gun fire, signaling to joseph and nathan to stay back for their safety. Some of the ALA soldiers, were from the European chapter, some became frozen in their tracks at the sight of the giant bat woman.

“IT’S THE IRON EMPRESS!” a solder screamed in a thick German accent. “WE’RE ALL FUCKED, RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” only the abomination soldiers were left to fight the VWS.

“FIELD COMMANDER, THE BULK OF OUR FORCE HAS FLED!” Yelled the heavy abomination commander.

“You are to stay and fight as well.” Answered their leader.

“WE DON’T HAVE SUFFICIENT NUMBERS TO FIGHT BACK!” he insisted, as the gunfire drew closer. “WE’RE STRETCHED TOO THIN!”

“You orders are to prevent the CNGS dogs from reaching their allies, you are to be the backbone of the ALA.”

“THE BAT ABOMINATIONS AND LION ABOMINATIONS ARE BREAKING THROUGH THE LINES!” “WE NEED BACK UP N-” the heavy abomination was cut off as one of Veronica’s bullets made contact with his head, splattering skull and brains onto other abominations.

“THE ENEMY ABOMINATIONS HAVE BROKEN THROUGH!” garbled a poltergeist commando, as he futilely fired upon laleh as RM III and joseph used her as mobile cover. Joseph was honestly a bit shocked that his best friends and the other animalistic super soldiers were abominations.

“So, have you finally figured out you’re basically the fourth Renaissance man?” sneered the blond super soldier.

“Oh, that’s what that meant.” Joseph said. “I suppose that makes sense.” RM III became annoyed at Joseph’s lack of shock. “The Renaissance man program was a super soldier program created by the coalition to cut down on specialized labor costs.” He said smugly sniping another poltergeist commando. “Plenty of guys died to perfect it.” Nathan was furious as he was going to let joseph know about the program in coalition guidelines. Laleh thundered in front of joseph, allowing her friend the safety as he reloaded once again. Joseph tuned the vicious soldier out as he continued his marksmen duties, saving fritz from an enemy sniper as he killed a poltergeist commando from stabbing his sister. RM III grabbed him, getting in his face. “You didn’t listen to a fucking word I said.” He barked, his face turning slightly red.

“I’m sure the CNGS has shit it’s keeping quiet about.” Joseph said, “I’m know I’m probably an “RM” thing or whatever, but I also know you could be full of shit.” Laleh grabbed RM III, and slammed him into the ground once again, ferociously growling.

“DO NOT TRY THAT AGAIN.” She sneered. “YOU WILL REGRET IT.” RM III scrambled to get back up, assisting in breaking through the lines as the VWS took cover using an overturned vehicle shell.

“Hey man, I just want to tell you the truth.” He said as joseph reloaded. “The CNGS lies to your face on a regular basis, anything to maintain their burgeoning neoliberal empire.” Joseph proceeded to ignore him, casing RM III to get even more exacerbated. “You’re better off with me and the old man, we’ll fight for our survival, not some stupid organization of hypocritical, bleeding hearts.” “The CNGS won’t ever let the choke chain off you, since you basically became a Renaissance man from stolen CNGS bio-slop that went airborne.” This finally got Joseph’s attention, as he shot back at RM III with a vicious stare. “Just dump the self-righteous losers who are trying to save a crappy world full of stupid, useless people.” “At least you get to retire and put your feet up and enjoy the fireworks as the unwashed masses kill each other.”

“I’ve had enough of your shitty, selfish attitude.” Joseph spat back. “The world’s in a bad place right now, even without the ALA.” As the gang drew closer to their goal, the ALA were suddenly sideswiped by QM soldiers. “I know damn well that putting George smith in prison won’t magically make the world a better place, and I know damn well that even when the ALA collapses that Nazis won’t disappear.” RM III was actually caught off guard by Joseph’s rough tone. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to stop terrible people from doing terrible things.” A large green APC smashed through the underbrush, and cut down the abominations, forcing them back. “My life will never be the same again, and putting away smith won’t bring my friends back or reunite me with my parents.” RM III feigned annoyance, trying to conceal the pain of rejection. “At least I’m in a position to help others, and I can at least try to make the CNGS less conniving.” RM III was completely silent as no one had ever brought up the futility of his viciousness. “I’ll never join you, and I pray to god you get it through your skull that we have NOTHING in common.”Joseph’s scars flared again and proceeded to shoot into an unassuming pile of ALA corpses. RM III was simply speechless at this evisceration of his self-centered, social Darwinist lifestyle, but soon shook out of it when several bodies slid of a figure emerging from the corpses. It appeared to be another ALA abomination, but donned in a white mask, 3 vertical eye-holes on each side. The abomination wore large headphones with a single radio antennae on the right side. In the dead center of the mask, a large proboscis unfolded itself, its base resembling the remains of a human tongue. Blood poured from the bullet wound, staining the mask a dark red. RM III cracked a wicked grin as he dashed off to the dying monstrosity, digging his bayonet into its neck.

“Finally found that freak he kept bitching about!” RM III said, slicing through its neck muscles. “Thanks for clearing my path, idiots!” he sneered, tossing a flash grenade, causing the VWS to dive for cover. “You’re a fucking idiot for caring about a world that doesn’t care about you, hope it doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass!” RM III yelled to joseph as the super soldier disappeared into the jungle. “ITS NOT MY FAULT IF YOU DIE FOR SOME SHITTY, POWER-TRIPPING POLITICIANS AND THE SLACK-JAWED, UNCARING MASSES!” “I GAVE YOU A WAY OUT!” Despite his boasting, he winced at the bruise he received from a beating from RM II. A bizarre feeling rose in his chest as he saw the VWS fought to protect one another in the heat of battle. “Idiots.” He grumbled as the readjusted the refrigerated backpack filled with stolen abomination limbs and organs. “Relying on other people is a the saddest thing a person can do.” Joseph could sense RM III vanishing as the green APC opened up, revealing a muscular monster woman with a fleshy crest on her face, and large pincers that unfolded from her mouth.

“VEE!” she called out in a husky voice, waving at veronica. “MOVE YOUR ASS!”

“MAXILLA!” she answered cheerfully, rushing towards the muscular monster woman, and wrapping her in a hug.

“Save it for the after party, vee.” Said maxilla, gently pulling veronica off of her, cheerfully nudging the bat woman with her fist. “You guys got a prick haul off.” Before the VWS piled into the APC, several attack helicopter sped by. Joseph squinted at the copter’s insignia. Painted on it side was the words “FAFPU” as it sped off to the airfield. Moments later, Joseph and laleh leaned back, sighing with relief in the plush seats of the APC. Veronica began pestering nathan about the whereabouts of her jet, only for her to hush her as he got into contact with the senior officers. Fritz stared sadly and forlorn at joseph beneath his mask, as he pulled out a small diary to write in.

“This is the captain of VWS-1, we have successfully joined with the QM escort and on our way to the airfield, do you copy?” a voice crackled back.

“This is MacMillan.” Their special forces coordinator answered. “Good to hear, the senior coordinator would have my ass on a silver plate if you freaks wound up dead.” Nathan let out a chuckle at his ex-Co’s insensitivity.

“Any word from senior coordinator? He asked, as Veronica tapped her foot in the floor impatiently. “I just wanna check in to see of the senior officer corps’s mission to get Sgt. Gustavo is going well.”

“Extremely well.” MacMillan said, turning towards his senior counterpart. The large, masked bat-like man quietly observed a live video feed of the senior officers. Sgt. Nguyen knocked down helicopters with her short ranged, but devastating laser weapon built into her cybernetic arm. Equinox, the Japanese man and her 2nd in command, swiftly killed anyone with his handgun and combat knife that attempted to fire upon AKROPOLIS. GHOST FANG, recovered from his near fatal brush with RM II, took out poltergeist commandos with ferocity and agility. The large badger woman destroyed several bridges and protective fort walls, blasting hole into an underground tunnel that would lead to Gustavo. Finally, Charlotte descended from the sky, using several parachutes and her combat robot’s jet engine to slow her descent. However, she fell to earth at a noticeable speed, as if she purposely wanted to collide into the enemy base. The ALA soldiers screamed as the enormous hunk of metal acted as an improvised bomb, and were sent broken and flying as the monster woman made contact. The giant metallic beast was coated in blood, which only caused even more panic amongst the ALA. MacMillan looked away as Charlotte slowly removed an enormous assault rifle from a compartment, and blew away enemy armor and abominations. Body parts, blood, and organs splattered across the facility. “A bit too well, if you ask me.” He murmured in a concerned to Nathan.

“It’s shit like this that makes me glad we’re not fighting with the Coalition anymore.” MAXILLA said cracking her knuckles. “Some of our guys complain about being your allies, but it beats being labeled as a terrorist organization and threat to global security.” She rubbed a scar on her hand. “Don’t miss those days at all.”

“By the way, your 1st lieutenant’s little toy has been escorted into a QM safe-house, I know she’s probably pissing you off about that.” Nathan gave veronica thumbs up, and she soon fell back in her chair in relief.

“Alrighty, keep us posted, we should be arriving at the airfield soon.” He concluded, ending the communication. Joseph began to sense George Smith’s presence as they passed through a QM checkpoint.

“Hey uh…sorry for fighting with you before we crashed.” Veronica said. “He’s the person who hurt you and killed your friends, so while PERSONALLY I’d rather see him shot…you do you.” Despite being disturbed by her bloodlust, Joseph accepted his comrade’s attempt at an apology.

“I get it.” Joseph said. “Sounds like you’re also got a person to confront who did terrible things.” Veronica looked back at her friend Maxilla, who simply tugged her vest collar at the situation.

“You’re absolutely not one of those sad, mediocre apologists I run into with my own faction.” She said again. “So many times I’ve been told by the old farts in the HCA that excessive violence against the Nazis makes you as bad as them.” She leaned next to joseph, giving him a little side hug. “You actually WANT these bastards to be punished and you more than anyone here deserve to be disgusted by them.” Joseph smiled, which made fritz’s heart flutter momentarily before he got a grip and accepted joseph would never love him the way he wanted to be loved.

“I find myself occasionally enjoying killing these racist freaks.” Joseph confessed. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t like you in anyway at all.”

“And at least we’re not that blond coward who doesn’t care about human suffering or that abysmal state that the world is in right now.” She added. Maxilla whipped out a small portable radio device that was attached to a smart phone. She began tweaking it and swiping the screen with her finger until she heard a panicked voice.

“THOSE COMMIES BASTARDS BOMBED OUR FUCKING ESCAPE TUNNELS!” “THEIR ABOMINATIONS CHARGED RIGHT THROUGH US AND BLEW IT TO HELL!” Maxilla smiled to herself as she swiped her finger again.

“I figured we might get board on our little car trip, so how about a nice radio show called “we jacked these stupid fuck’s radio frequencies” She fiddled with the device again. A Englishman’s voice called out next;

“THE MAD SCAR’S BEEN SIGHTED NEAR THE AIRFIELD!” “WE’RE DOOMED!”

““I’M NOT SHITTING YOU! THE SCARRED HUNTER KILLED LIKE 6 SNIPERS WITH PERFECT HEAD-SHOTS BEFORE HIS GANG OF FREAKS KIDNAPPED ARTIFEX! “WE’RE FUCKED!” bellowed a man with a thick, Bostonian accent. Maxilla clicked the device again.

“THE RED SCAR KILLED WHITE WOLVERINE AND THE GREAT CUTLASS, I’M FUCKING OUT OF HERE!” Joseph suddenly remembered when he killed two snipers with a sword insignia and an insignia consisting of animal teeth. Another transmission got picked up with someone only muttering “Fröhliche Kaiserin.” Again and again. The VWS could hear another prosperan helicopter fly above them. Joseph looked around to see the multiple factions he had witnessed come together to stop the neo nazi threat of the ALA. For a moment, he was actually hopeful that people could put aside their differences to do the right thing. The VWS had finally reached the interior of the airfield, joseph once again picking up on George Smith’s presence. The green APC came to a screeching halt as URSA and another E-12 operative finished demolishing a cadre of American ALA soldiers.

“NATHAN.” Said Andrew Norman. “THERE IS AN ALPHA KOMMANDO MEMBER IN CHARGE OF THE BUNKER’S DEFENSES.” URSA provided joseph several photos of woman in the same sort of black camo and red armor as VELVET and the other abomination soldiers. SHE’S THE DEFENSE EXPERT OF ALPHA KOMMANDO, SHE SET UP MANY OF THE TRAPS AND SABOTAGED WEAPONS AROUND THE COMPOUND WHERE YOU APPREHENDED ARTIFEX. Joseph flashed back to the exploding rocket launcher that nearly killed veronica.

“You got it Andrew, we’ll watch out for her.”

“YOU ARE TO KILL HER ON SIGHT.” Nathan’s eyes widened at Andrew’s request. “AS WELL AS ANY AND ALL ALPHA KOMMANDO MEMBERS, INCLUDING N.1685.”

“Well, orders are orders.” Replied Nathan, his panicked eyes betrayed the concern for his superior’s blood-thirst.

“MY SUPERIORS HAVE DECLARED EACH OF THEM A LIABILITY.” “NO CAPTURE.” “NO NEGOTIATION.” “KILL.ON.SIGHT.”Joseph was perturbed by Andrew’s to the point order. His captain rallied them alongside the other E-12 members and QM soldiers as they headed towards the bunker.“MS GAERTNER.” Andrew said, speaking specifically to veronica. “IT’S TIME YOU GAVE THE CARE PACKAGE YOUR MOTHER GAVE YOU TO MR. BAKER.” Veronica felt around in her pack for a small box of sniper rifle ammunition. It read “ANTI-HOMO CENTONIBUS ROUNDS, ONLY TO BE USED AFTER GIVEN PROPER AUTHORIZATION, CODE 5-B512. A small note was folded inside, written in German, adorned with the HCA heraldry and an iron cross.

“THOUGH I AM UNABLE TO BE WITH YOU RIGHT NOW, I HAVE PERSONALLY TESTED ITS EFFECTIVENESS AGAINST THE FASCIST TRAITORS THAT DARE STAND IN THE WAY OF HCA BUSINESS.” GIVE THEM TO YOUR MARKSMAN, AND MAY HE SWIFTLY KILL THE FASCIST WHO TRIED TO TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ME.” Meanwhile, RM III could sense RM II’s presence as he made his way to the rendezvous point when he detected a presence hiding near a boulder. An ALA field captain in the same chocolate chip camo and dull red vest as the rest of his men crept out of his hiding spot.

“Renaissance man III!” he said with excitement. “To think I’d meet a fellow ubermensch in this hellhole! RM III stared blankly, his mask dripped with condensation and blood. “You don’t know how MUCH our organization respects you!” “you simply kill and take what you want without mercy or pity, no matter how much blood you must shed!” he said excitedly. “A true example of Aryan superior-” RM III said nothing as he took out his handgun and shot the ALA captain in the head, causing his brains to splatter all over the rock from which hid behind. The young man looked down at the Neo Nazi he killed, then to the bone fragments and viscera that stained the surrounding area. For the first time in his life, he felt the bitter twinge of shame and disgust. His face contorted in a hateful expression while he tried to fight back tears before scurrying back to RM II…

TO BE CONTINUED IN MISSION 7

#valaintwarriorsquadron #valiantwarriorsquadroncomic #webcomics #monster girl

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falloutstasis · 11 months

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Quest Continued - To dream and differ from the hollow lies

Boston, Massachusetts

It took almost a day, but after going though Charlton, Westborough, Wellesley, and finally, Boston. Since it was already closer to get to Concord, Kelsey dropped MacCready off there and said their goodbyes before leaving and making her way to Diamond City.

She had swiftly and successfully moved past Hangman's Alley, getting rid of any Raiders or monsters that lurked in the night.

There was a small abandoned house that was just a couple of miles away from Diamond City. No one owned it, no one had been in said house for a long time. Other than the ones who came and went to get shelter in. Kelsey can see at least two people there and didn't seem to mind her going up the stairs for getting some shut eye. They told her it was fine as long as she doesn't cause trouble.

She layed down on one sleeping bag, clutched her hang bag, and slept through the rest of the night.

When morning hit, she got up and left, seeing the two people she saw last night already gone.

Not a moment too soon, she was now in front of the gates of Diamond City.

Diamond City

There was an intercom next to the gates, so she pressed the button. There was a stature of a famous baseball player, but the stature is missing the head and the baseball bat.

"Hello, this is Diamond City Security. How can we help you?"

"Uh, hey! This is my first time in Diamond City. Can I come in?"

"What's your business in Diamond City?"

"I'm here to see a detective named Nick Valentine. Venessa Morris sent me to him."

"Ah, the mayor of Charlton. Then you must be Kelsey. We were told you were arriving. One moment."

Slowly, the green rusted gate opened with a loud metal creak. When the entrance revealed itself, three sets of stairs that lead upwards to Diamond City markets. There were already five security guards in this area. Three at the desk near the elevator and two that were guarding the stairs.

The one who greeted her at the stairs was the guard on her left side.

"The Valentine Detective Agency is on the far right of Diamond City." He said. "Don't cause any trouble, alright? Or I'll throw you out personally."

She gave out an awkward nod and made her way towards the inside of Diamond City. Once there, she stopped to take everything in, since she hasn't been here before.

Diamond City Market

"Damn." She whispered to herself. She took a couple of steps forward, taking herself near the Barber shop and it was only then that she noticed the multiple security guards all around. One on each corner.

"Geez. MacCready wasn't kidding about the guards here."

The atmosphere was just slightly cold, but not enough for a jacket. A lot of conversations happening at once, from the residents to the security.

Well, one of the guards said that the Valentine Detective Agency was at the far right of Diamond City and that's where she was going.

If it wasn't for the bright 'Valentine Detective Agency' sign at it's entrance, Kelsey would have probably be a little lost looking for his agency. After going through a hallway, she saw a door in front of her and knocked three times. From the other side of the door, she heard a woman saying, "I'm coming!"

Just only a moment later, the door opened and the woman greeted Kelsey with a smile, "Yes, can I help you?"

"Venessa Morris sent me here to help someone named Nick Valentine with a case. Is he here?"

"Oh, of course! Come in!" She opened the door wider for Kelsey to enter. As she did, the woman yelled out, "Hey, Nick! Venessa's friend is here!"

"I'll be right there!" The two could hear a male's voice from upstairs.

"My name is Ellie Perkins by the way." She held out her hand to shake. In return, Kelsey shook it. "I'm Nick's secretary. I handle all the paper work and appointments. It's nice to meet you."

"So I assume your Kelsey, right?"

Nick's voice can be heard more clearly as he came down the stairs.

"Yeah! I'm Kelsey. I usually go and help Charlton with doing local jobs around the town. I get paid, send some money for supplies. Sometimes I'm on guard duty and whatnot." She said, turning to Nick. "It's nice to meet you both."

"Likewise." Nick went over to his notes and sat down on a chair near his desk. "We've got a lot to discuss, so you might want to take a seat."

And she did just that. She took a seat and propped her legs on the other seat next to her once she saw Ellie was busy gathering files from the cabinets behind them.

"I know the quick version of the story from Venessa. People are getting kidnapped from their homes at Goodneighbor. Doors broken, personal belongings on the floor."

"Right." He nodded. "The thing is though, that these kidnappings were happening in broad daylight. Hancock says that the same thing happened during the day for the past three days. Fourth time it happened, he came straight to me with this."

He placed a ripped out patch that had 'SF' stitched on it. It's colors were grey, navy blue, and white.

"SF?" Kelsey took a closer look, letting her legs dangle while she sat. "Could this be like...a special branch of the Brotherhood of Steel?"

Nick shook his head. "No. If the Brotherhood of Steel were to infiltrate something, they would have whipped out Goodneighor in it's entirety by now."

Kelsey hummed. "Still though, I'm gonna contact Venessa to make sure. Danse should be with her too." She pulled out her walkie-talkie from her hang bag.

"Alright, go for it."

Kelsey turned on the walkie-talkie. "Hey, Pluto."

"H-Hey, Kels! What's up?" From the other end of the device, she could hear various construction noises. She couldn't help but notice that Venessa sounded a little flustered, but she paid no mind to that.

"Is Danse with you?"

"Uh, yeah. Hey, Danse! Kelsey wants to talk to you!" Kelsey could barely make out but she could hear Danse responding to her.

"This is Danse."

It's been over three years since Nick seen or heard Danse. "Ah, Paladin Danse."

"Valentine. It's just Danse now."

"That's right. You're not with the Brotherhood anymore. Speaking of which, you wouldn't know any special division within the Brotherhood under the name 'SF', would you?"

"No. At least, not that I know of. I don't think Maxson has ever created a special task force under 'SF'. There was a special group called the Brotherhood Outcasts, but they dissolved once Maxson brought them back into the Brotherhood."

Kelsey let out a big sigh when Danse mentioned the Brotherhood Outcasts.

"You were right, Nick."

"Yeah, checks out."

"About what?"

"Kelsey and I are investing a number of kidnapped people at Goodneighor and it was brought up by Hancock himself." Nick explained. "These were happening at broad daylight too."

This caused Danse to raise a brow. "Really? And when did he bring this up?"

"Two days ago."

A telephone ran from the other side of the room. "I'll get it!" Ellie rushed over to the phone to answer. "This is the Valentine Detective- Daisy? Is that you?"

Both Nick and Kelsey looked over at Ellie, but Kelsey responded. "Hey, Danse if you remember anything, let Venessa know and she'll tell me."

"Of course."

Kelsey turned off the walkie-talkie.

"Okay, Daisy calm down and tell me what happened."

Nick and Kelsey stood up and walked over to Ellie. From the looks on her face, she was very concerned, but that all went away in a instant.

"Wait, Hancock is gone?!"

"Oh no." Nick cursed and reached for the phone. Things couldn't get any worse now. It was no coincidence that Hancock just told Nick about the missing people a few days ago and now he's gone kidnapped as well.

"Here." Ellie handed Nick the phone.

"Daisy, this is Nick. Tell me everything you told Ellie."

Ellie walked over to Kelsey, clearly concerned over the well being of Goodneighbor now.

"What the hell just happened?" Kelsey asked.

"Daisy was panicking over the phone and said that Hancock was kidnapped. He never got back from Diamond City to Goodneighbor. She said that one of the Triggermen got a note from some guy in a military suit. She said that the note read 'Goodneighbor must be cleansed of it's sins.'

"What kind of cultist shit is this? What the hell are we dealing here?"

Ellie sighed. "I don't know. I just hope Hancock and the others are okay."

Nick hung up the phone after telling Daisy he'll be at Goodneighbor. He turned to Kelsey, "Sorry, for making you walk all the way out here, but could you come with me to Goodneighbor?"

"Of course!" Kelsey cheered, putting the arm of her hang back over her shoulder. "Let's head off."

"Ellie, we'll be back." As Kelsey left out of the building, before Nick would leave Ellie would respond.

"Be careful, Nick. I don't like this one bit."

"Me either, Ellie."

#fallout rebellion

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the-sympathetic-villain · 2 years

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L’Appel Du Vide - Chapter 6

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Logan has been captured by a government agency who researches human with supernatural powers. Able to manipulate the world with his mind and tell what others are thinking, Logan finds himself in one of the most high security government prisons in the country that’s run by a sinister Dr. Emile Picani.

Endgame pairings: Lociet, Intruality, Prinxiety

Word Count: 5743

Chapter warnings: Captivity, Food Mention, Withholding Food for Control, Psychological/Physical Torture, Violence, Abuse, Attempted Murder/Near Miss on a Major Character Death, Swearing, Needles, Manipulation, Injuries, Guns, Restraints, Mentions of Human Experimentation (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Logan rubbed his eye with his wrist, hoping the friction against his dry eyelid would be enough to force himself awake. The ever-present glow of the red lights made his eyes ache deep into their sockets as he slowly pulled his knees up to his chest and held his head in his hands. Only the sensation of Virgil curled up against his side was keeping him from losing the last of his sanity.

For better or worse, he and Virgil had given up on hiding their concern for each other shortly after the attempted escape of the other man in Dr. Picani’s captivity. Logan muscles jerked and he suddenly felt like he might choke on the knot in his throat. Virgil’s night terrors had grown steadily worse since that horrid night. They'd been left chained to their beds until they'd passed out from exhaustion, and though he had suffered, the experience seemed to have broken something in his friend.

Virgil was convinced the doctor would come to take him to another facility where his torture would begin anew, and Logan would be left terribly and dreadfully alone. It had taken all his remaining composure to patiently reassure Virgil that his fears were unfounded, but as time went on, it was hard to ignore the fact that the doctor had been notably absent from his usual routine the last few days. Deep down, he lacked the same certainty he maintained for Virgil. The doctor was planning something and that was enough to set them both on edge.

So they waited, taking turns sleeping while they maintained the façade that they could avoid the inevitable. He was awake now, sure. But even if he stayed up all night, prepared to fight tooth and nail against the guards if they came for Virgil, the truth remained that he was sleep-deprived, malnourished and physically weak. This effort wasn’t sustainable and ultimately useless, but this suffering paled in comparison to the dreadful thought of waking to find his friend gone without a trace.

“Logan?”

The soft voice drew his attention to the shifting lump under the thin blanket next to him. He waited for Virgil to rise unsteadily up next to him and lean against the headboard, wiping the sleep from his bloodshot eyes as he looked over to Logan

“Good evening, Virgil.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know what the hell time it is right now.” Virgil grumbled as he tucked his arm around his chest to hold his grumbling stomach. “There could be two suns in the sky right now and we'd never know.”

“Perhaps not, but vitamins are typically administered in the morning.” Logan shrugged as he rested his head back against the headboard next to Virgil and allowed his eyes to close. “So, assuming the injections they give us each day are a means of preventing malnutrition rather than serving some ulterior purpose, we know we are about halfway between our morning doses—Hence, we can approximate that it is currently evening time.”

“You think too much.”

“I’ve been told before that that is my curse.” Logan continued to rest his eyes as Virgil curled over the edge of the bed, dangling haphazardly as he dug through his stash of food. He listened to the sounds of Virgil shuffling items under the mattress, feeling the bed jostle lightly as Virgil swung back up. “Maybe one day, the thoughts will stop, and I’ll be less miserable.”

“That's called being dead and you can’t tell me that’s what you want. You’re not allowed be a hypocrite.” Virgil muttered as he broke a stale nutrient bar in half. He waited for Logan to crack open his eyes before offering half to him. “It’s not much, but it's better than nothing. Picani's been keeping too close of an eye on his shit lately for me to snatch anything.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a goddamn liar.” Virgil hissed back at him. “Take the bar.”

“Calorically speaking, extended exposure to stress increases the rate at which you burn your body's energy stores.” Logan started to close his eyes and lean his head back onto the headboard. “Given your tendency to worry about me, your need for food intake is undoubtedly higher—Ow!”

“Every damn word that comes out of your mouth is bullshit.” Virgil smirked as Logan rubbed the skin of his elbow where Virgil had pinched him. “You won’t convince me that caring about you is somehow a bad thing.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed on Virgil for a moment before letting his shoulders drop in resignation to his friend’s persistent grin. “In all fairness, nothing I claimed was technically untrue.”

“Alright, brainiac.” Virgil teased as he dangled the gray bar in front of Logan’s face. “Are you really telling me your overthinking is any less draining than my anxiety?”

Logan pursed his lips, knowing lying to Virgil wouldn’t get him very far. “No.”

“Good, then sit up and eat it.” Virgil prodded him less than gently. “You’re not going to fool me into believing you passed out again while were switching shifts.”

Disgruntled, Logan raised an eyebrow at his companion as he reluctantly eased upright. The dark circles under Virgil’s eyes stood out against the gaunt, pale look his skin, and Logan still didn’t feel right taking food from him, but he had to admit that Virgil’s assertions probably had some value. His body needed the nutrients and resisting Virgil’s attempts to care for him only wasted precious energy for both of them.

“Come on, L.” Virgil smirked as he pressed the bar into Logan’s hand, refusing to take his hand back until Logan’s fingers reluctantly closed around the meager offer of food. “It's not a lot, but you need to keep your strength up.”

“I'm said I'm fine.”

“And I told you that you were a goddamned liar.” Virgil muttered as Logan’s stare dropped to his lap and he hid his guilt by fidgeting with the unappetizing, gray bar. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you've hardly slept or eaten in the last three days.”

Logan nodded stiffly as he took a bite. It tasted like dust, but the nutritional value a full bar was nearly that of a full meal, even after being left to grow stale in Virgil’s stash for a few weeks. It was all by Dr. Picani’s sadistic design. He couldn’t remember the last time he'd had a meal that left him feeling satisfied, but choking down these bars would be enough to keep him alive.

“Seriously, Lo.” Virgil interrupted Logan’s silent train of thought as he forced himself to swallow another bite. “I want to know you'll be okay when Picani takes me away.”

“Worrying about me is a waste of your energy.”

“You know, this would be the one time I would’ve liked to hear you say you'll be fine.”

“I know.” Logan lifted his head, wincing as his skin pulled tight over the patched-up wounds across his body. He glanced over at the red light glistening in Virgil’s eyes underneath his dark hair. “But I'm not ready to consider the thought of facing this place with neither you nor Patton around.”

“Don’t forget Picani will be gone too, L. That bastard won’t be able to hurt you anymore." Virgil whispered breathlessly. “You'll be better off without having me around to put a target on your b—”

“Don’t—Don’t say that to me.” Logan snarled at him, immediately regretting the harsh tone in his voice as Virgil winced and pulled his hand back. He took a moment to stare at Virgil’s nervous attempt at a smile as he backed away before starting to backtrack. “I'm sorry, Virgil. I shouldn’t have snapped."

“No, you’re right.” Virgil swallowed back the tremble in his voice and waved away Logan’s attempt to comfort him. “That was a low blow and I should’ve known better.”

A weight sank down on Logan’s chest as Virgil pulled his knees to his chest and he looked away from him. Each night that had passed since the other captive’s attempted escape, the man who had pressed a knife to his throat on his first night here disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a battered shell. He was vulnerable in a way that made Logan worry he wouldn’t last long if Picani really did decide to take him.

“It’s my turn to keep watch. You should get some rest.” Virgil turned a tired smile back to him and Logan was grateful to see there was no bitterness in his expression. “We don’t need to do this tonight.”

“Virgil, I’m worr—"

Logan's voice was cut off by the ear-shattering blare of the alarm resonating over their heads. He was on his feet before his mind even fully registered what was happening. His knees buckled automatically at the edge of the bed, and he put his hands on his head, pressing his forehead to the stiff mattress. He’d only experienced this alarm once before, but it was a lesson that didn’t need to be taught twice. He shot a glance across the bed and breathed a sigh of relief as Virgil’s knees fell into place, hands on his head as he leaned his own forehead against his mattress.

At least this time, he wouldn’t have to watch Virgil get shot.

The sound of the seal on their cell door releasing sent a violent shudder through his entire body. Oh god, it was really happening all over again.

“Virgil, I-I can’t—”

“Keep your mouth shut, L.” Virgil hissed back under his breath. He bared his teeth in a silent growl as the door inched open. “Whatever happens, you just keep quiet. Got it?”

Dread seizes him as he nodded stiffly back at Virgil. A glaring white light blinded him as the sound of the guard’s combat boots pounded on the white tiles behind him. Half a dozen figures in white uniforms charged into the room and it took every bit of restraint left in Logan’s body not to scream as a guard took a handful of his hair and slammed him down on the ground.

A sickening crack filled his ears as his arm was twisted around his back and a white, hot pain spread like wildfire from his wrist to his elbow. He was flipped around and his back was forced against the bedpost. They’d broken his wrist. He was sure of it as he let out a weak whimper, his mind reeling from the surge of adrenaline.

“Quit struggling, you little pest.”

Logan held his breath as the guard ripped his uninjured wrist from his chest and began to chain him to the metal bedpost. The pinch of the tight metal cuff on his uninjured wrist was still enough to bring tears to his eyes as he curled his knees to his chest, choking back a sob as the guard lingered by his face as if daring him to react.

“Bring him here.”

Dr. Picani’s voice sent shudders down Logan’s spoke as he yanked his head around toward the door. A choking sense of dread paralyzed Logan as he watched Virgil being dragged by his collar toward the doctor’s silhouette, his hands bound by the same ability-negating cuffs that the guards had put on him.

“I think you know what happens next.” Picani’s sadistic grin widened as he raised a thin syringe up next to his head, leaning over Virgil as his victim squirmed in the guard’s grip. “Don’t you, Virgil?”

“Leave him alone, please.” Glistening light reflected off the wet streaks on Virgil’s cheeks as he tipped his head to expose his neck to the needle in Picani’s hand and closed his eyes. “I won’t fight anymore. Whatever you want from me, I swear I'll give it to you.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” The doctor’s voice dripped with venom as his eyes flitted back to the door.” I already know you’ll do exactly what you’re told."

A pained screech from the hall sent chills down Logan’s spine as another pair of shadows appeared behind the doctor’s shadow. One of the other guards dragged a semi-conscious and bruised Patton into the room by his arm. Patton’s knees buckled from underneath him, and the guard twisted his arm into an unnatural angle behind his back, pulling a weak whimper from their friend’s lips.

“Patton, no.”

The doctor’s crooked smile widened as he raised a finger to Virgil’s jaw, tipping his head to the other side as he pointed the syringe at his neck. Logan’s heart skipped a beat as Virgil’s eyes moved in his direction and only emptiness stared back at him.

“Like a fairy when a child stops believing in magic, the light's gone out in you.” Picani’s dry chuckle dripped with venom as he gripped Virgil's jaw and forced his eyes toward Logan. “I can kill your friend and you will do nothing but watch, because you’re selfish. You don’t want be alone, so you’ll sacrifice one to keep the other. Isn't that right, Virgil?”

“I know you won’t k-kill Patton. You can’t manipulate me.”

“You’re right. Patton’s blood is worth too much for me to simply dispose of him, but I can certainly keep him from you.” Picani’s hungry grin widened as Virgil’s eyes connected with Logan and his friend immediately looked away in shame. “You could be in isolation for a long, long time. How long do you think you’d survive? A couple months or maybe a year?”

Virgil’s closed his eyes as the syringe’s tip brushed his neck, not quite breaking the skin. His cheeks seemed to glow in the remnants of the red light, reflecting light from the tears streaming down his face as a whimper escaped his throat.

“Say it for me, Virgil.” Another blood-curdling shriek from Patton made Logan shudder, and the satisfaction in Picani’s voice deepened as Virgil tensed in the doctor's grip. “Tell me you will watch as I kill your friend.”

“Fine.”

“Louder now. I can’t quite hear you.”

“I said 'Fine.' I’m watching, you sick fuck.” Virgil’s lip curled into a snarl, but Logan could feel the defeat creep into his voice. “You have my fucking attention.”

The broken sound of his friend’s voice doused the last bit of hope in Logan’s heart as he turned away. Patton's weak attempts at struggling became distant, blurring with the sounds of Virgil’s shallow breathing as Logan curled his legs to his chest. The lingering stare of a half dozen guards burned into his skin as he cradled his injured wrist against his chest. He could feel each of them shift their feet around him, waiting for orders.

“I'm sorry, Lo—I'm so sorry. Please, I never meant for you to get hurt.”

“Quit your babbling.”

The guards started to move toward him as a thundering boom echoed down the hall like a distant explosion. Logan sucked in a breath as the room shook around him and he turned his head toward the sound, flinching and backing away as he realized the doctor had closed the distance and was practically on top of him.

“Such a terrible waste. I had so much more to learn from you.”

The long point of Dr. Picani’s needle tipped to the side as the doctor knelt in front of him. Logan started to edge away, but the doctor’s hands moved swiftly. His iron-tight grip closed around Logan’s broken wrist, pulling a gut-wrenching scream from Logan’s lips as the pressure increased on his tender, swollen muscles.

“You should thank me.” Picani sneered as he twisted Logan’s injured wrist to force him onto his side. “I'm saving you from growing old. Drift off to Neverland, another lost soul for my collection.”

Logan’s own screaming burned in his throat, muffled by the searing pain spreading like hot oil from his wrist to his chest. The doctor’s needle pricked Logan’s neck as his face pressed into the cold, white tiles and the contents of the syringe began to empty into his neck. The burning liquid began to spread out from the wound as another explosion rocked the room, even harder than before.

“What the—How did they get this close?”

The pressure on Logan’s wrist released as the doctor was knocked aside by another blast. Picani's lip twitched with irritation as he rose to his feet and stepped away from Logan, leaving the needle still hanging from his neck as he gestured to the guards in a sudden fit of rage.

“Get Patton out of here.”

Logan sunk to the ground as he watched through blurry vision as the doctor crossed his cell in two strides. Involuntary shudders racked his body as he lay on the cold floor, vaguely aware as one of the guards slipped an arm around Patton’s waist, tossing his tiny struggling body over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing. They disappeared through the door, not hesitating for a second as Virgil started to scream after him.

“I want Patton in the first truck. No one leaves before him.”

“No! Bring him back!”

“Shut up, Virgil. You’re going right along with him.” Picani’s hand latched on Virgil’s throat and the doctor pulled him from the guard's grip. His bruising grip held Virgil tight as he slammed Virgil into the wall nearest the glowing white light from the exit flickered out. “Looks like I don’t have time to make your friend’s execution swift, so it’s time to say goodbye.”

Another blast rocked the room, nearly sending Picani tumbling over as he shot a manic glance through the doorway. The sounds of explosions were getting closer at an alarming rate and Logan’s ears were ringing as he helplessly watched the doctor tuck himself into the shadows near the exit, holding Virgil in a chokehold as he peered down the hall. Virgil wheezed weakly, struggling to draw a full breath as his body was held in front of the doctor like a human shield.

“Virgil—”

His friend’s eyes flashed from the door back to him lying on the ground as he pulled at the doctor’s elbow wrapped around his throat, managing to wheeze back at Logan. “Lo, stay down. It’s gonna be oka—”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

The next moments passed by Logan’s fading vision in a blur. A dark shadow appeared in the doorway just as Picani clapped a hand over Virgil’s mouth and pulled him out of sight, choking away his voice as the strange figure stepped into the cell. The point of their gun pointed directly at Logan on the ground, and he couldn’t do anything but hold his breath as the figure approached.

It was silent as he laid prone on the cold, hard floor, his connection to his powers severed by the cuff on his wrist. He thought he'd grown used to the absence of the comforting mumble of other's thoughts, but nothing filled him with dread quite like a world gone silent as he waited to die.

“Janus, look out!”

“You pest. Don’t you kick me—”

Logan blinked as another shadow appeared in the doorway. Everything happened so fast he'd barely opened his eyes to see Dr. Picani shoving Virgil into the second shadow, ducking down as he disappeared through the doorway.

“Get down!”

The figure closest to him shouted at his partner as he raised his gun and rushed back to the open doorway. His partner pulled Virgil out of his way, curled their body over Virgil to protect him, but the doctor and the last of the guards were already. The taller figure pointed their gun down the empty hall, as though still considering going after them, until their eyes flitted back to Virgil and their tension melted away.

“Roman, holy shit. You’re here. You’re actually here in front of me.”

“Stormcloud, it's so good to see you.”

Logan's vision darkened as Virgil threw his arms around the stranger’s neck. There was a rush of quiet whispers as his friend greeted the strangers, his voice slowly devolving into sobbing as the figures returned his emotional outburst with reassuring whispers. The voice grew less clear as the void of dreamless sleep threatened to claim Logan’s aching body and he sunk back to the ground.

“Wait, Logan—”

“Virgil, we don’t have time to waste.”

“I'm not leaving him.”

A soft touch on his shoulder made Logan flinch. On instinct, he started to pull away, but another hand came down to hold him in place. His reaction was automatic, instincts trained by the ghost of memories of nights spent at Picani’s mercy. Resisting would only make his punishment worse. His body braced for pain, but instead, the thin point of the syringe was drawn from his neck with an unexpected gentleness.

“Come on, Lo. Wake up. Don't tell me that bastard got you.”

Logan’s stomach twisted as his eyes cracked open. His heavy head dipped as he tried to stare up at Virgil sitting over him, the two unfamiliar shadows lingering behind his shoulder as his face went slack with relief at Logan’s subtle movements.

“Fucking hell, you’re alive.”

“Virgil, I'm sorry. We have to go now.”

“Not without him.”

The gentleness of Virgil’s touch was a welcome comfort as his friend eased his head into a more comfortable position. Logan's brain was too full of haze from the residual pain throbbing in his wrist to fully understand what was happening, but he did know one thing for certain. Virgil was once again putting himself in danger for him, and he couldn’t let that happen, not if it meant his friend was giving up his chance to be free.

“We have twenty-five minutes to be at the rendezvous point or we’ll all be stuck here.” The deep voice over Virgil’s shoulder seemed distantly familiar. “We don’t have a choice.”

A heavy pause hung in the air as Virgil considered the stranger’s words. “Is Remus—"

“Remus found his way home a few days ago. He's safe and far away from here.”

“What about Patton?”

“We're still on his tail, but we need to keep moving if we want to keep up with the bastards holding him.” The stranger was surprisingly gentle as he lingered at Virgil's side. “Now’s your chance to say goodbye.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Virgil.” The smooth voice sighed with frustration. “We don’t have a choice. Do you see any way to get those damn cuffs off him?”

“I'm wearing the same cuffs.”

“You are not attached to a goddamn metal bed frame that's bolted to the fucking ground.”

“If I was, would you leave me too?”

Another long pause as Virgil’s eyes shot up to the stranger.

“Roman, get him out of here.”

“What—No, don’t you dare touch me!” Virgil’s voice dropped to a threatening hiss as the other figure approached him. “Janus, please no! Don’t do this! I'll never forgive you if you do this!”

“I don’t have a choice, Virgil."

“Fuck you.” Virgil snarled as the other figure started to wrap an arm around him and Virgil pushed him away. “Fuck you both! Let go of me!"

“Virgil, don’t—”

The movement in the room stopped as Logan’s weak voice broke through Virgil’s protests. He forced his eyes open as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the shooting pains in his neck and arm as he curled his body upright.

“You’re not going to get another chance to get out of here.” Logan’s voice was hoarse from screaming, but he managed to squeeze out the words. “Go with them. I’ll be fine.”

“No.”

“You survived in here without me, and I'll do the same.”

Logan looked away as the stranger his opportunity to pull Virgil to his feet. The loss of his friend's touch left him aching, but it was better this way. If Virgil was allowed to hold him, he may not be able to let go.

"You deserve to be free from this place.”

“So do you, Lo.” Virgil streamed down his face as Logan looked up at him. “I won’t leave you to suffer without me.”

For the first time, Logan got a chance to see the faces of Virgil’s rescuers. The slender man whose arm was wrapped around Virgil’s waist had a pained expression on his face as he held Virgil back from rushing back to Logan. His skin was flushed with a dark shade of genuine guilt and distress at Virgil’s reaction, unlike the other stranger whose lip curled with impatience.

“Roman, I told you to get him out of here.”

Logan winced as the cold stranger squatted next to him, his finger lingering suspiciously on the safety of his pistol as he gestured for his partner to drag Virgil away. The reaction was enough to make Logan tense, but he kept his eyes faced forward, trying to ignore the man's threatening aura even as Virgil’s reaction intensified.

“Janus, what are you doing?”

“I’m giving him a choice.”

“Don't you dare—” Virgil threw himself forward to break Roman’s grip, though his efforts were quickly stopped. He was too weak to put up much of a fight, but that didn’t stop him from growling his fury at the man lingering next to Logan. “If you hurt him, I’ll fucking kill you—Please, Janus. Just leave him alone—"

The quiver of Virgil’s voice sent shudders down his body as Logan watched the two strangers share a knowing look over Virgil’s shoulder. It was chilling to watch the stranger pull Virgil into their chest and whisper to him.

“Let Janus handle this, Stormcloud." The man’s voice was deep and patient as Virgil’s hands held his forearms so tightly that Logan could see his fingernails dig red marks into the man's arms. “We need to get you out of here.”

“I won't go.”

The man's forehead rested down against Virgil’s greasy, black hair as he gently coaxed Virgil down. “You’re not thinking straight right now.”

“Fuck you.” Virgil’s voice cracked as his fingers curled into the fabric of the man's shirt. “I know exactly what I'm asking.”

“Go with him, Virgil.” Janus’ emotionless tone sent chills down Logan’s spine as Virgil leaned into the comfort of the other man’s grip. “I’ll do my best for your friend, but I can’t focus on solutions if you’re still in harm's way.”

“Don’t patronize me, Janus.”

“I don’t have time to argue with you.” The stranger’s voice was dry as Logan watched the man’s weapon as the red light still flickering above them. “Roman, this is your last warning to get him out of here, or I'll carry him kicking and screaming out of here myself.”

“Fine.” Roman nodded, gently taking Virgil’s shoulder to guide him away. “Come with me, my little raincloud. Let’s get you to safety.”

“Wait—Just one more moment, please.” Virgil’s voice cracked with a hoarse desperation as he shot a glance back at Janus. “He saved Remus. That’s how you found me. Isn’t it?”

“Virgil, we’re not having this discussion any longer."

“If it weren’t for Logan, you wouldn’t have found either of us.” Virgil’s voice cracked from strain as the other stranger lifted him of his feet and carried him toward the door. “God, Jan—Please, just don’t hurt him.”

“You have no need to worry, Virgil.”

Janus’ tone softened and Logan could see Virgil relax in his rescuer’s arms as he was carried away. The sentiment would almost have been sweet, if the barrel of the man’s gun wasn't still inches from Logan’s side. He kept his eyes trained on the ground in front of him as he listened to the sounds of Virgil’s murmuring disappear into the hall. The struggle left a deafening silence behind as he found himself alone with the serious stranger, paralyzed with fear as he eyed the man's weapon in his periphery.

“Did you really save Remus?”

“My last measure of defense is gone.” Logan felt his stomach twist as he struggled to contain his anxious shaking. “You are free to act as you please now.”

“Answer the question.”

The corner of Logan’s lip twitched as he shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t say that I saved anyone.”

Janus tapped his finger impatiently. “Care to elaborate?”

“I was asleep.” Logan chewed on his lip as his limbs curled closer to his chest. “The doctor was hurting him, and your friend used my dream to guide my powers to free himself. I didn’t do anything, but let him take control.”

“You're not really making much of a case for yourself.”

“I been through worse without having to resort to begging for my life.”

“Relax, I was telling the truth, I didn’t stay behind to hurt you.” The deep voice attempted to lull him into a false sense of comfort, but his stomach twisted as the man leaned closer. “You have a choice.”

“What choice?”

“You can choose to stay here and wait for the guards to get this facility up and running again.” Janus' low voice hummed in a hypnotic drone as he watched tears well in Logan's eyes. “but I think we both know that route has no other end then a slow and painful death at the hands of miserable men.”

Logan swallowed his fear, lifting his head to make eye contact with the stranger. The man's hair was jet black like Virgil’s and his golden eyes all but glowed in the red light. The sight of him was otherworldly and unsettling as his eyes dropped to sleek reflection of the light on the gun in Janus' hand.

“So, you’re offering me a quicker death.”

“Don’t be so hasty.”

Janus drew his weapon and Logan’s heart pounded in his chest as the man leaned over him. He closed his eyes as his body went rigid with terror. The heat of Janus' body radiated close to his chest as held his breath, shaking as the man moved his gun into place.

“I said I don’t intend to hurt you.”

Logan blinked open his eyes as Janus' movements slowed to a stop. He stared at the gun in Janus' hand, pointed not at him but at the chain on his wrist. “But I thought—”

“I'd begun to give up hope, but Virgil and Remus are going home, and we may even have a chance at getting Patton back because of you.” Janus moved a hand to toward Logan’s back, waiting for him to relax and nod before wrapping his arm around to support Logan’s weakened body. “I can’t guarantee this will work, but I'll give it a shot."

Equal parts of awe and distrust stirred in Logan’s stomach as the man looked down at him. “What do you expect in return?”

“Nothing, but that doesn’t mean this plan is without risk.” Janus’ golden eyes lowered to meet Logan’s look of unease. “These tiles are designed to be impenetrable, so the bullet could ricochet, killing one or both of us before we even had a chance to react.”

Logan’s eyes flitted up to Janus’ carefully neutral expression. “You know nothing about me. Why would you take that risk?”

“Because I've been chasing my brother’s shadow for years.” Janus whispered back. “That bastard doctor has stayed one step ahead of me, just out of reach as he torments him.”

“Your brother?”

“Virgil.” Janus whispered quickly. “You ended his suffering, so I only have one thing to ask of you if you survive.”

Biting his lip, Logan bowed his head and nodded. There was always a cost.

“If the ricochet takes me, you head north down the corridor. There are a couple vehicles waiting to take anyone we rescued to a safe place.” Janus pointed the barrel of his gun to indicate the correct direction before returning it to the chain on Logan's electronic cuff. His reply came without a hint of bitterness as he rested his finger on the trigger. “If you live, you head there and you keep fighting for the life we've given back to you.”

Logan blinked back at the stranger’s glistening eyes in disbelief. “That’s all?”

“Tell Virgil that I'm sorry I didn’t make it back.”

Logan looked up into the stranger’s eyes, feeling a familiar sensation of nervousness as he searched Janus' eyes for signs of deception. The man's black tattoos stood out in the dark as Logan pulled his swollen, throbbing wrist against his chest.

“Fine, you have a deal.”

Janus seemed to relax as Logan nodded. “Thank you.”

‘If—If I’m the one who dies,” Logan murmured. “Tell Virgil I do not wish for him to be angry with you.”

A thin smirk curled on the stranger’s lips as he dropped his voice. “I doubt telling him that will be enough for him to forgive me.”

“Tell Virgil that the first night we met, he held a blade to my throat but he also was kind enough to offer me food. You and I weren’t enemies in the end either.” Logan cut him off, feeling a slight tremor in his words as Janus’ eyes narrowed on him. “At least, I hope not.”

Janus nodded as he held the gun pressed against Logan’s chain and closed his eyes as his finger rested on the trigger.

“We’re not enemies.”

Logan didn’t look up at him. Janus' statement lacked certainty, but the man didn’t seem hostile toward him either. “Good.”

“If you need to make peace with your beliefs, now is your chance.”

“I've met the devil.” Logan shook his head as he closed his eyes. “I have nothing left to fear.”

Their bodies tensed together as Janus finger eased down on the trigger. The sound of the gunshot shattered Logan’s remaining composure, forcing him to shake as the sound of the ricochet bounced off the tiles.

An eternity seemed to pass as Logan’s wrist dropped from the broken chain and he waited for the echoing bullet to stop. His body flooded with adrenaline that blocked out all other sensations as he leaned into Janus’ soft chest, waiting with bated breath until the bullet landed with a thud into the mattress.

Inches from his head.

Blinking, Logan looked back at the hole. He'd narrowly escaped death and suddenly Janus was rising to his feet, muttering about how they need to get moving. The ringing in his ears drowned out his companion’s voice. Even as Janus' arms scooped him off the ground, he was still with shock as he was carried into the dark hall.

He couldn’t believe what was happening.

He was free.

L’Appel Du Vide/ Logan-Centric Taglist:

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