#shame denis walter isn’t there with them though.

[leotanaka]

silvie paladino, david hobson and marina prior are such a powerhouse team up.

#shame denis walter isn’t there with them though. #carols by candlelight #kraina.txt

[potatocrab]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (12/18)

Chapter 12: A Man of Integrity 

Nick and Madelyn start their investigation on one of his oldest unsolved cases, reestablishing their bond as partners in the process. In Concord, they meet with Preston Garvey, who proves to be more help than they initially realized. After weeks of separation, Madelyn reunites with the Railroad, and with Deacon. A public demonstration at MIT sheds light on a new danger lurking in the shadows.

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Brent. I am a man of integrity, but I'm always willing to listen to an interesting offer.” - Albert Arnett as played by Walter Slezak (Born to Kill, 1947)

[read on Ao3] x  [chapter masterpost] 

May 11th, 1958

What felt like an eternity had only been a few weeks for the Valentine Detective Agency. Nick and Madelyn hadn’t been doing a lot of field work, despite the reemergence of one of his oldest cases. They’d hunkered down in the agency, pouring over cold-case files and following up on decade-old leads while he recovered from the lingering injuries sustained at the hands of Eddie Winter. Even after being discharged from the hospital, Nick had a lot of healing to do. With time, the physical scars had begun to fade, but the mental trauma would last a lifetime.

Nick insisted the best thing for him to do was to stay busy, burying himself in what he knew best, lest he succumb to the darkness. Eddie Winter—his greatest and longest adversary was dead—but so was the love of his life. Jenny. Neither was something one got over so quickly, and Madelyn had first-hand experience in at least one aspect. She was determined to provide all the distractions he needed, even if it meant shirking her would-be responsibilities with the Railroad. Deacon covered for her as any great partner would, taking their separation in stride. He understood the relationship between Nick and herself was still rocky and required all the extra attention she could afford. Whatever spark they’d recently discovered would have to wait to be ignited.

Tinker Tom delivered more decoded transcripts as the weeks passed, either by dead-drop or handing them off to Drummer Boy for personal delivery at Madelyn’s apartment. The intel did little to fill in the blanks, and after weeks of digging and struggling to answer decade old questions, Nick and Madelyn were still at square one. A missing baby boy, and one name—Preston Garvey.

“Time to hit the pavement,” Nick declared that Sunday morning, with a certain kind of gumption Madelyn hadn’t heard since they went after Eddie Winter nearly a month ago. Even though there was so little to their casefile, they had to start somewhere, and the detective was rearing to go.

With Piper’s help, they would divide and conquer—while Nick and Madelyn went to speak with the parents of the missing child, the reporter would use her resources to track down Preston Garvey, and hopefully confirm how he was tied to the case. The three of them working together again—just like old times—even if everything about their dynamic had changed.

Madelyn felt like a stranger sitting in the passenger seat of Nick’s Cadillac. Although they had made their amends after Jenny’s death and begun to settle back into their relationship as detective and lawyer—partners—there was still an obvious strain that she couldn’t ignore. It was all business, devoid of all levity and humor. Understandable, considering he was still in mourning. Nick was hesitant to speak about his grief and put on a brave face for the sake of appearances, brushing off Madelyn’s emotional counsel. She hadn’t expected him to be just as stubborn as she was when it came to dealing with heartache. All she wanted was to support him in the same way he was there for her when she lost Nate all those years ago. If what he needed was time, then she could accommodate, even if it hurt her to see him in so much pain.

She busied herself by reviewing the tiny stack of paperwork in her lap, sifting through the dossier on the missing baby boy, Shaun. Madelyn had typed out the facts, pulling out bits of information from the various Railroad reports and news articles to establish a solid timeline of events, as well as name all involved parties. On October 23rd, 1947, just a month shy of his first birthday, he was kidnapped from his parents—a one Mr. and Mrs. Perlman. All the newspapers, media reports, and archived police casefiles indicated there were no witnesses. However, Tinker Tom’s transcripts suggested otherwise. The amount of times Preston Garvey was named and redacted certainly gave them a clue.  

When Madelyn opened her steno notepad, a postcard slipped out. On the front was a scenic photograph of Hershey Park, a familiar tiny paper ribbon taped to the back with a short, scribbled note:

A chocolate would’ve melted –D

“I wanted to apologize.”

Nick’s comment caught her off guard, and she quickly glanced over to study his profile. She was as startled as she was confused, unsure of what he had to be sorry for. He cleared his throat, green eyes dancing over to her for a moment before focusing on the road again.

“If it seems like I’ve been keeping you at a distance lately, it hasn’t been intentional,” he said carefully. “I’m not entirely sure what is normal anymore. How to act. How to have a civilized conversation or be alive in a world without—” he broke off, hands gripping the steering wheel tight. “But I know you’ve been trying. Stuck around despite the doom and gloom. Don’t think it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

At a red light, Nick turned his full attention towards her, offering a tiny smile. “You’re a real gem, you know that, doll? One in a million.”

“I know,” Madelyn grinned, unable to resist the urge to lightly tease him in return. It was a gamble, but thankfully, he softly chuckled. She shrugged. “What are friends for?”

Nick side-eyed the documents in her lap. “Is that a message from…”

“Deacon?” she hesitated, knowing the two still had their differences. Just another reason why she’d asked the Railroad spy to keep his distance from the agency for a while. Since then, he’d been out of state on classified business, sending correspondence through dead-drops whenever possible. When she didn’t answer right away, Nick let out a deep sigh.

“I’ve noticed that too—you’ve kept him away to avoid conflict,” he pulled a hand away from the steering wheel to rub at his jaw. “Old shame the way I’ve acted, and maybe it’s time to let bygones be bygones. Wouldn’t want to come between the two of you.”

Something about his tone made Madelyn realize he’d made some astute observations about the pair—but when? Deacon had only visited once since Eddie Winter’s demise, so unless Nick could suddenly read minds or had become an expert on body language, he must’ve been talking to the neighborhood gossip—Piper. She’d certainly seen a lot of their interactions in the last month, enough to write an expose, if she wanted to.

Madelyn tried to stay coy. Afterall, she still wasn’t sure what her relationship with Deacon was. As far as she knew, they were just partners. “It isn’t like that,” she denied, and the lie tasted foul on her tongue. “We’re…just friends.”

“What a shame,” Nick’s lips turned up into a sideways smile and she knew he’d read past her fib. He took a moment to study her hands, where she’d moved her wedding ring from her left finger to her right. He hadn’t mentioned it before, but she knew he’d noticed the moment she made the switch a few weeks ago. A monumental step, to declare herself a widow, indicating she might be ready to move on.  

“I could use some of that Hardy brightness, now more than ever,” he explained. She’d been considerably happier in recent months, even through the danger and traumatic events. It didn’t take a genius or detective to say it was in no small part due to Deacon. “Don’t hold back on something good on account of me. Never hold back on happiness.”

When had Nick turned the tables on her? Wasn’t she supposed to be giving him heartfelt advice in his time of need? She allowed his words to sink in, reading over the handwriting on the postcard, tracing her fingers over the words. Regardless of how she truly felt, she wasn’t about to let herself get distracted when they had more important matters at hand. Still, it was comforting to know that Nick was on her side—another facet of their friendship and bond solidified.

She tucked the postcard safely away, and re-focused on her case notes. “You said you never worked with the parents directly in ’47?”

Nick shifted in the driver’s seat, thrown off by the change in subject. If he was offended, however, his expression didn’t show it. “No. I was a rookie P.I. back then, still wet behind the ears. Corruption aside, if you think Boston P.D. holds their cards close to the chest now, just think how paranoid they were ten years ago.”

“Worked as a consultant for just under a month,” he continued. “When the leads dried up, rather, when the police couldn’t provide me with any more valuable information, they cut me loose. Cut the parents loose too. Tried to reach out to them, but they’d disappeared after losing faith through a whirlwind media storm.”

“I don’t blame them,” Madelyn responded. She frowned at the date on the paper—1947. “Are you sure they’ll want to talk to us after all this time? We’re practically ambushing them.”

Nick slowed the speed of his Cadillac as he turned onto a private driveway, crossing over a wooden bridge, a large decorated sign in the nearby field indicating their arrival—Sanctuary Hills. Madelyn felt uneasy, and for good reason—she was familiar with the suburb, used to live down the street in a picturesque house in the middle of a cul-de-sac, and attended the Concord church in the town proper. Of course, that was when Nate was still alive, before she was forced to downsize and move to her tiny, Cambridge apartment.

“Are you alright?” Nick asked, reaching his hand over the center console to wrap around one of her own. While others would’ve flinched away, she took comfort in the cold touch of his prosthetic. Only then did she realize they were parked in front of a single-story home, painted a brilliant blue, with perfectly manicured lawns and a pearly white-picket fence.

She released a shaky breath. “I will be.”

Instead of waiting for Nick to round the car to open the passenger-side door for her, she exited the vehicle herself, gathering her purse and documents under her arm and stared at the residence ahead with a mix of insecurity and dread. Nick offered his arm, sensing her apprehension, and she gladly gripped his elbow as they followed the sidewalk path up to the front door. The detective did the honors in ringing the doorbell, and the pair waited, listening as a cheery female voice echoed out from within.

“I’ll be right there!”  

Nick and Madelyn exchanged a quick glance before the door opened. With only an old, black and white newspaper clipping to go off of, Madelyn wasn’t sure what to expect when they arrived. But she was still surprised by the woman’s appearance, specifically, how young she looked. She couldn’t be any older than thirty, not a wrinkle in sight on her beautiful face, or a grey hair sprouting from her dark brunette waves.

The woman at the door flashed them a polite smile. “May I help you?”

Nick extended his good hand. “We don’t mean to intrude,” he started as she shook his hand, one eyebrow raised in mild suspicion. “I’m Nick Valentine, and this is my partner, Madelyn Hardy. We’re from the—”

“Detective agency?” she interrupted. To their surprise, her expression shifted, a smile pulling at her lips as she shook Nick’s hand in earnest.

“Uh—yes,” he answered, momentarily stunned. “Mrs. Perlman, I presume?”  

The woman nodded. “Please, call me Nora,” she opened the door further and stepped aside. “Do come in. I thought—” she stopped herself short, sucking in a breath and snapping a hand to her mouth as if to hold back a flood of emotions. Her courteous smile returned as she gestured them inside. “Please. Make yourselves at home.”

Madelyn followed Nora through the foyer, pausing to watch as she collected Nick’s faded trench-coat and fedora to hang on the entrance-way rack. They continued through to the living room, and while Mrs. Perlman called for her husband, Madelyn took the time to scan the interior, taking in the furniture, decorations and personal memorabilia that made the place home. It was right out of the pages of Good Housekeeping—the envy of any would-be housewife. Madelyn mentally chastised herself, knowing whatever jealousy she felt was misguided and inappropriate. She knew more than anyone that appearances were not meant to be taken at face value. Nothing, or nobody was ever as perfect as they seemed.

“Detective Valentine?”

Madelyn turned away from staring at a faded family portrait hanging on the wall to see Nora’s husband already in the middle of firm handshake with Nick. The man was tall, broad-shouldered—built like a soldier. His dark hair had been slicked back, and more than a few faded scars adorned his face and arms. It was reminiscent of the same marks her husband would return home with—such was the life of a military man.

“Mr. Perlman—”

He cut Nick off with a shake of his head. “Nathan.”

Madelyn recoiled, but hid her reaction the best she could. It was only a name. Despite the first-glance similarities, this man was not her Nathaniel—not her Nate. Nick glanced at her, acknowledging the coincidence, before continuing. They were there for a reason, and it wasn’t best to dawdle.

“I apologize if this seems out of the blue, after all these years,” the detective began. “I worked in liaison with the Boston P.D. in 1947. Wasn’t sure if they told you about my investigation into your son’s disappearance or not.”

“We weren’t aware,” Nathan clarified. Nora shook her head, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Not specifically.”

“We know of your work,” his wife interjected. “The only people brave enough to go after Eddie Winter,” she gave Nick an empathetic look. “I’m sorry for the loss of your wife.”

He didn’t bother to correct her, jaw tightening as he nodded. Before the silence could stretch on for too long, Madelyn spoke up. “We’d like to reinvestigate your son’s disappearance—”

“Shaun,” Nora interrupted again in a firm tone, all the while maintaining her composure. “He didn’t just disappear. He was taken from us.”

Madelyn didn’t take offense to the correction, understanding her grief. “We want to start the investigation into Shaun’s kidnapping anew,” she explained. “If you’ll allow us.”

The husband and wife were silent, exchanging anxious glances that spoke volumes. After a moment, Nathan motioned for the group to move into the living room proper, the couple sitting on the larger couch while Nick and Madelyn perched themselves on the opposite loveseat.

“Has there been a development we should know about?” Nora asked nervously. No doubt she’d been down this road before, full of hope, only to be let down time and time again. “The police haven’t spoken to us in years.”

Nick was straightforward. “Just rumors. Nothing concrete. But worth opening the casefile for, worth starting all over again.”

Another stretch of silence as Mr. and Mrs. Perlman contemplated the offer. Reopening decade old wounds without the guarantee that anything would come of it wasn’t an easy ask, wasn’t the best gamble. It involved a certain level of trust to be placed in the Valentine Detective agency—in both Nick and Madelyn. Two strangers that appeared out of the blue with nothing but speculation and a paper-thin casefile.

“We’d be grateful for your help,” Nathan finally answered for the pair. “It’ll be eleven years this October. It’s about time somebody gave a damn about finding Shaun.”

Nora acknowledged her approval with a small nod. “Whatever you need from us.”

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions about the day Shaun was taken?” Nick carefully asked.

Madelyn didn’t dare to reveal her notepad until the couple nodded, signifying they were willing and able to provide answers. Despite the facts they had gleamed from news and police reports, it was best to hear it straight from the victim, even after the lapse of time.

“October 23rd, 1947,” Nick started, reminding them all of the specific date. “Where were you?”

“Concord. Near Main Street,” Nathan answered. “We’d walked with Shaun’s stroller into the nearby park to see the Halloween decorations and look at the changing colors of the trees. Shaun wasn’t walking yet, but we let him crawl through some leaf piles while we watched.”

“Did you go anywhere else?” Nick asked.

Nora nodded. “We got lunch at the corner-side café near the church. We were thinking about taking Shaun to the museum, but…we didn’t get that far.”

Her husband wrapped a comforting arm around her back, encouraging her to rest her head against his shoulder. “It was broad daylight,” Nathan explained. “We were just walking up the main road when a man with a gun came out from the alleyway behind us. He grabbed me at first, held the gun to my head—”

He broke off, taking a moment to console his wife who had begun to softly cry. Nick, ever the gentleman, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her with a solemn expression. “We can stop, if you’d like.”

“No,” Nathan insisted, with a sigh. “If I’d been alone, I’d like to think I would’ve reacted differently. Military training—but Nora and Shaun, I couldn’t risk the two of them being injured—maybe that’s why he attacked. Saw a couple and a baby and thought we were vulnerable.”

“Can you describe the gunman?” Nick asked next.

Both Nathan and Nora shook their heads. “He was wearing a mask. But I saw his eyes—dark brown, filled with nothing but evil.”

Madelyn wrote down everything. “Did he say anything?”

“He—” Nora hesitated, wringing her hands. “He wanted us to beg for mercy.”

The tip of her pencil nearly snapped from the pressure as a similar, horrific memory came rushing back. Her and Nate, begging for their lives in Boston Common—coincidence, or…? Madelyn shut her eyes tight, pushing the thought away—there was no chance the same person who kidnapped baby Shaun was the same man who killed her husband. The crimes were too different, separated by too much time, and—

“…it didn’t matter in the end,” Nathan had been talking the entire time, and she’d tuned him out. She scrambled to catch up, scribbling down his words as he spoke. Nick had noticed Madelyn’s unease, flashing her a silent, knowing look. “The man shot me in the arm, and wrestled Shaun out of Nora’s arms.”

“After that, it was all a blur,” the wife described in a shaky voice. “Police, reporters. We told them everything we knew. They did the best they could—”

Nathan didn’t seem to agree. “They kept us in the dark.”

“It’s no wonder you’ve shown up after all these years,” he continued. “Maybe you can succeed where others have failed, Mr. Valentine. Offer us something the Boston police have never been able to give us.”

Nora grasped her husband’s hand in a tight grip. “Our son.” 

May 12th, 1958

Neither Madelyn or Nick expected the parents of the missing baby Shaun to be so forthcoming, especially after so many years. But Mr. and Mrs. Perlman—Nathan and Nora—had welcomed the detective into their home, thankful that the agency was finally looking into the case. They had realistic expectations, understanding the investigation could very well end up in a dead-end, just as it had before. Nick was determined, however, a newfound fire surging through his veins at the prospect of solving a seemingly impossible case. He’d proved he could do it before with Eddie Winter, he’d be damned if he couldn’t do it again.

“Are we sure this is the place?” Madelyn looked up and down the sidewalks outside the Concord café, dubious of the location they’d been given.

Nearby, Nick flicked his cigarette to the ground, snubbing it out with the toe of his loafer. He grumbled beneath his breath. “This is what happens when we leave things up to Piper.”

The reporter had come to them the previous evening, stating she’d gotten lucky in her search for their supposed missing witness. Preston Garvey—alive and well, and still living in Boston. Better yet, she’d tracked down his whereabouts and daily routine, giving them an exact location of where he could be expected to be found. It was only fitting that it was the same general location in which the crime occurred, though Madelyn was distracted by other memories. While Nick focused on studying the parameter, she stared at the church steeple—it was where she’d been married, and where she’d held Nate’s funeral services—the last time she’d stepped foot inside the sacred space.

“Hey doll,” Nick’s hand grasped her shoulder, pulling her back into the present. “You alright?”

She nodded, forcing a smile. “Right as rain.”

He didn’t believe her, she knew, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he silently led her through the café doors, the jingle of the bell signifying their entrance. The waitress behind the counter greeted them with a smile, but before she could move towards them with two menus, Nick raised his hand and gestured to the man sitting by himself in a back booth.

The man was dressed in a modern, relaxed suit—though, he wore a blue, woolen sweater instead of a jacket. On the table was a faded brown, trilby hat with an insignia that Madelyn didn’t recognize. He was engrossed with the newest edition of the Boston Bugle, and didn’t notice their approach. Nick politely removed his fedora and cleared his throat.

“Mr. Garvey?”

He didn’t seem surprised by their arrival, calmly raising his gaze to look at them both. “Mr. Valentine? Miss Hardy?”

“That reporter—she works for, or with you?” he asked next, before either could respond. Seems that killing Eddie Winter brought nothing but notoriety to the agency, and perhaps some unwanted fame to for the pair. Couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized from the papers as the ones who brought the crime syndicate down. “She was following me around all day yesterday, didn’t do well enough to hide that she was. Figured I’d see the two of you soon enough.”

Nick softly chuckled, despite himself. “You’re very perceptive.”

“Have to be, now more than ever,” was the man’s response. He finally reached out to shake their hands. “For whatever reason, I’m the man you’re looking for. Please, call me Preston.”  

He gestured for the two to sit in the booth opposite of him, folding the paper so he could give them his full attention. Nick was never one to beat around the bush, so to speak, and got straight to the point.

“We’re looking into an old case, and your name came up as a potential witness,” he explained. “Shaun Perlman. Kidnapped in 1947, do you—”

“Yes,” Preston disrupted with a small frown. His eyes darted to stare out the picture window, out onto the calm town street. “Ten years, sure, but I remember. Was barely sixteen when it happened.”

Madelyn wasn’t surprised to hear he was that young, she hadn’t been any older when the abduction happened, a young newlywed trying to make her way while her husband was away at basic training. Preston looked at the two, obviously perplexed.

“Thought they’d found the kid,” he said, solemnly. “Didn’t realize that wasn’t the case.”

“Unfortunately not,” Nick answered with a sigh. “Seems like Boston P.D. couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation and ran out of leads.”

Preston shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Or maybe they’ve been corrupted longer than you realize.”

Nick had his own reasons for being wary of the Boston police system—hell, he was suspicious of the local government and had been for years. Still, he needed a little more than hearsay, especially from a stranger. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I don’t know how you found my name,” Preston shook his head. “Back then, the police completely dismissed me as a witness. A young black kid? You really think they believed a word I had to say?”

Madelyn wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t stop her from feeling upset. She and Nick had seen this type of behavior from certain precincts and officers over the years in other cases—it was easy to blame on incompetence and corruption, but in reality it was outright bigotry. Preston didn’t give them a chance to respond as he continued to speak.

“They didn’t talk to anybody. There were other witnesses, but good luck finding them now. Best I know, they’re either dead, or long gone from the area. The police made a show of it for the parents, but in reality they fumbled the case from the start,” he explained. “On purpose, if you ask me.”

Nick rubbed at his jaw, mulling the theory over in his head. “What would they have to gain from covering up the kidnapping of a baby?”  

“Maybe that’s the real mystery,” Preston answered. He looked outside again, focusing on the alleyway across the street. “Who would want to take a baby, anyways?”

Madelyn glanced over the notes she’d taken when speaking with the parents. “Can you tell us what you saw? What do you remember?”

“Everything,” he replied, quickly. He pointed to the sidewalk. “I was standing on the street corner when I heard the gunshot. There weren’t many people in the area, but they all scattered. When I turned around, a man cradling a crying baby was running towards me and I just knew there was something wrong about him by his expression—”

“He wasn’t wearing a mask?” Nick interrupted, alarmed.

Preston shook his head. “No. But what kind of parent is walking around Concord with a holstered pistol?”

“What did he look like?” Madelyn prompted, waiting to fill in the details in her notepad.

“Tall and bulky,” Preston shut his eyes, recalling the image. “He was wearing a black leather jacket and combat boots. Maybe he worked on the military base? Had a…shaved head and this jagged scar over his—”

“Left eye?” she interrupted, all the air sucked from her lungs. Even Nick looked shellshocked.

As soon as Preston nodded, she felt bile tickle at her throat and didn’t have time to excuse herself before she pushed herself out of the booth and ran out of the café and onto the sidewalk, heaving in the fresh air so she wouldn’t vomit into the street. This wasn’t a coincidence, and the thought she’d dismissed the previous day had suddenly been confirmed. The same man who’d kidnapped baby Shaun was the same man who’d murdered Nate. A million questions flooded her mind—was it a case of mistaken identity, separated by nearly a decade? Had he tracked Nate and her down thinking they were the parents?

Madelyn didn’t know how long she’d been outside, aimlessly pacing when two hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. Nick hushed her as she initially tried to push him away—she wasn’t even crying, she hardly needed consoling—or maybe she did. Her heart was racing, hands trembling so fast she was sure she was going to collapse. Better that Nick keep her upright until she could stand on her own. He didn’t say anything—not that he needed to—he knew everything about Nate’s murder, and why she reacted the way she did. If anything, he was filtering through the thousands of theories in his mind, struggling to come up with a logical reason as to why the crimes were related.

Their witness, Preston, had followed them outside, and judging by his sympathetic expression, Nick had informed him of her connection to case. If it had been any other person, at any other time, she would’ve been upset—her folly for being unable to stay composed when in the field. And here she thought Nick would be the one struggling.

“Listen,” Preston interrupted the silence, anxiously shuffling his feet. “I want to help. With your case and…anything else you might need.”

Madelyn and Nick had shared a skeptical look. They’d been sold a similar story before, though that was from a very different kind of character—a young mercenary with more trouble than they could handle. The detective eyed him. “We already have informants.”

Preston smirked, shaking his head. “Do I look like a spy?”

“After the kidnapping, a local neighborhood watch started up. It was rough going, getting enough people to join, and over the years our numbers have dwindled thanks to the crime families taking over,” he told. “Hollis, our leader passed away in ’49 and I’ve been the de-facto leader ever since.”

“How can you help?” Madelyn asked, meaning well.

“We’re a network,” he replied. “Not just in Concord. Lexington, Charlestown…used to be in Quincy before the Gunners took over, but that’s another story. We see a lot, without being seen. There to help and protect the people at a minute’s notice.”

Sounded not unlike a spy network she was familiar with. Made her wonder if they were familiar with one another or had crossed paths. Instead of questioning it now, she silently deferred to Nick. His quiet amusement told her he was impressed.

“What do you call yourselves?” he asked.

Preston grinned. “The Minutemen.” 

May 14th, 1958

Madelyn stared up at the lantern perched high upon the Old North Church steeple, the burning flame shining bright against the dark evening sky. She was still unsure if making the trip to North End was the wisest decision and had only made the late-night visit at Nick’s insistence. Ever since their meeting with the Perlman’s, followed by Preston in Concord, he’d noticed her melancholy and overall listlessness. Where he was gaining a fresh strength and passion in the reopened cold case, Madelyn was fading away. Present, but only in the physical sense. After a long day in the office, he sent her to the church with the hopes a break from her usual routine would return the pep to her step. Her partner’s advice was right—he usually was. Plus, it was time to pick up the latest intel report from Tinker Tom—why not do it in person?

Surprisingly, the Railroad headquarters was sparse of agents. Drummer Boy was absent from his usual spot by the entrance way, likely making the rounds through the city, collecting dead-drops. Doctor Carrington was also missing from his corner, but she could hardly guess what kind of mission he could be on. In the far corner, she noticed Tinker Tom was tapping away at a typewriter, a pile of yellow holotape cartridges on the desk next to him. Nearby, Glory was reading through a stack of intel, pausing every few lines to notate the papers with a fountain pen. One person’s absence was more obvious than the others, though Madelyn tried to keep her disappointment hidden as she walked by the repurposed catacombs, keeping her gaze focused forward.

Desdemona didn’t bother looking up from the spread of information on the circular dais when she approached. “Stranger.”

“A new codename?” Madelyn dared to joke. If Deacon were there, he’d laugh. She glanced over her shoulder just to double check one last time.

“Might as well be,” the Railroad leader answered with a heavy sigh. “I won’t lie to you. Your absence has been felt. We’re stretched thin as it is, and with Deacon no-contact while he’s out of state…”

Madelyn did her best to not let her expression betray the truth—that was news to her—she’d been receiving notes from the Railroad spy for weeks. He hadn’t been overly discreet about it either, using Drummer Boy as a go-between when other dead-drops were unavailable. Made her wonder if there was more truth to the story about who really ran the show, as the two liked to hint.

“Still,” Desdemona continued, waving her hand aside as she flicked her cigarette. “What you and Valentine have done for this city is remarkable.”

“Hopefully we managed to kill a few birds with one stone,” Madelyn replied. “It wasn’t just Eddie Winter. But maybe now, there will be less threats knocking at our door.”

“If only we could be so lucky,” was Desdemona’s response. She inhaled deeply on her smoke, turning away to exhale the white-grey plume. “Speak to Tom and Glory. They’ve found something that may be of interest. I’m curious to know if you’ve had similar discoveries in your investigation of Winter or the Boston P.D.”

With a nod, Madelyn stepped over to Tinker Tom’s workspace, curiously looking over the array of empty coffee cups and gizmos as he continued to type and mumble to himself. It took just over a minute for him to realize she was standing patiently at his side.

“Oh, oh!” he exclaimed, jolting up to stand before sitting down again. He flashed a bright smile at her as he dragged a nearby chair closer for her to sit. “Agent Charmer! For what do I have the pleasure?”

“I see you’ve been hard at work. Thank you again for all the intel you’ve provided to the agency,” Madelyn responded. “It’s been a tremendous help in developing leads for our case. I haven’t seen Nick so invested in…a long while.”

“Alright, alright!” Tom nodded along enthusiastically. “I’ve been hitting the numbers. Err—words. Intel. Lots of information to swim through, gotta pretend I’m a little fish. Swimmin’ along in a sea of—”

Glory loudly cleared her throat from her spot at the nearby desk, prompting Tom to falter but continue smiling. “Right—so, you know what keeps coming up in these data files? The college! MIT—Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Good thing I can read binary, like hello zero, one, zero, zero, one, one, zero, one—”

“Tom!” Glory cut him short, with a short laugh of disbelief.

Madelyn furrowed her brows together, not even trying to make sense of the scribbles of notes he handed over. It sounded like another one of Tom’s wild theories, or a red herring. The more she stared at his handwriting—MIT scrawled repeatedly over the various pages—something clicked in her mind.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen them mentioned in some kind of report,” she explained, catching Glory’s attention. “Donations to Mayor McDonough’s campaign, some of Winter’s men were graduates. A lot of the government officials have ties to the college.” Madelyn paused. “Didn’t you have a theory about them secretly terraforming the Commonwealth?”

Tom leaned forward, transfixed. “Did I? I did!”

“Aren’t you an intern?” Madelyn asked Glory, switching her attention to the Railroad heavy.

“Never officially was,” the other woman shrugged. “My position has changed after my cover was nearly blown. Wish I could say there was somebody on the inside, but right now, we’re walking blind.”

“Swimming,” Tom corrected, much to Glory’s chagrin.  

Desdemona stepped over to where the group was congregated. “There’s going to be a public demonstration at the MIT campus tomorrow morning. Glory can’t risk being spotted again, and our other agents are in the field. You are the perfect fit to blend in with the crowd and media presence.”

Madelyn refrained from asking about her partner. If Desdemona said Deacon was unavailable, she would need to let it be. No need to sound desperate, or make their relationship appear more suspiciously close than it already was. She thought back to Nick’s original goal for her when he encouraged her to the Railroad headquarters that evening. If anything, accepting a new solo assignment was just the distraction she needed.

“I’ll be there.”

An hour later, and with a new stack of transcribed reports in hand, Madelyn slowly walked through the catacomb tunnels the same way she entered, listening to the sound of her heels as they echoed off the concrete floors. Her first few visits had left her unnerved by the entombed dead and darkened halls, but all these months later she found a serenity to it all, like there wasn’t a safer place in the world. Ironic, considering she’d once vowed to never step foot in a church again. She took her time walking up the basement steps, pausing in the small, ruined hallway that led towards the damaged pews. For a moment, she considered staying to pray.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Whatever shock she felt quickly melted away into relief as she spun around to find Deacon leaning against a nearby pillar, arms crossed over his jacket as he flashed her a sideways smirk. For all the time apart he looked the same as always, sporting his signature black styled wig and reflective sunglasses. He wouldn’t be Deacon without them.

She stole Desdemona’s line. “Stranger.”

“Didn’t your parents ever warn you about stranger danger?” he joked in return, pushing himself upright.

“Who doesn’t like a little danger now and again?” Madelyn shrugged, unable to hide her amusement.

She’d missed their teasing—just on the verge of flirting—a banter they’d been proficient in since their first meeting. It was refreshing to know that even after all the trials they’d been through together, their relationship—whatever it was—had survived. If anything, it had flourished. He smiled at her, sharing in her quiet joy. God—she’s missed him.

“Good thing I’ve got enough to spread a lifetime,” he softly chuckled, finally moving over to where she stood. “Does that mean you like me more, or less?”

Madelyn laughed—not like he couldn’t know by now. “I’m not that easy.”  

“Shucks.”

Despite her words, she couldn’t help herself from reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and shoulders, pressing up on her toes to reach his height the best she could. Deacon leaned to reciprocate the hug, arms tight around her waist as he brought her close against his chest. She couldn’t put into words how wonderful it was to be reunited—to be held—so she remained silent, face buried in the curve of his shoulder. He rested his chin atop her head, nuzzling his cheek against her soft golden curls. It was rare to allow themselves a such a reprieve, to get caught up in a tender moment so much so that the rest of the world fell away. A moment of escapism was what they both needed—they needed each other—even if that had yet to be said.

“Come on,” Deacon pulled away first, lowering her so both heeled feet were level with the ground. She could tell he was studying her face, beyond the darkened frames, and wondered what he was thinking. His hand sought hers out, holding it in a loose grip as he motioned for her to follow. “Let’s get you home.”

“Inviting yourself over?” she teased as they walked through the church.

Deacon smirked, raising his eyebrows high. “Drummer Boy told me you’ve been having him over for dinner while I’ve been away,” he mocked offense, flashing an over dramatic pout. “Feeding him pot-roast and other All-American housewife recipes.”

She giggled at his theatrics as they stepped out into the crisp, evening night. “You only want me for my food!”

“You first,” Deacon replied, nonchalant in his confession—if it even were one. “Food later.”  

Whatever snarky response she expected, it wasn’t that. Momentarily stunned, she felt the heat rising up her neck and cheeks. Instead of fumbling through a less-than cheeky reply, she flashed him a wink, earning her a low whistle. Madelyn was glad she’d gone to North End that evening, laughing as she squeezed his hand, thinking—she hoped he liked meatloaf.

May 15th, 1958

The Massachusetts Institute of Technology campuses were a short walk from Madelyn’s Cambridge apartments, making the trip to the Thursday morning press conference a breeze. As soon as Deacon caught wind of her assignment from Desdemona he decided to tag along, and she welcomed his company. Even though the job required little intrigue, it had everything to do with blending into a crowd unseen—something he was an expert at.

By the time they arrived at the waterfront campus, a large gathering of people were already seated in rows before a large, temporary stage. A podium had been set up, as well as curtains to disguise whatever the presentation was to be about. At the front of the crowd was a grouping of media and news reporters—at least one of them had a camera to record the event, likely for that evening’s broadcast.

Madelyn and Deacon remained on the outskirts, close enough that they could see the stage and hear the announcements, but far enough away that they could survey the attendees for anybody suspicious. She scanned the throng of people, but as far as she could tell, they all appeared to be the typical Bostonian resident.

“Look,” Deacon didn’t point, placing his hand on the low of her back to gently guide her body towards the promenade. “See anybody familiar?”

She leaned into his embrace for show, glancing over at the courtyard. It was hard to see through her sunglasses, making her wonder how the hell Deacon managed to get any espionage work done when wearing a pair all hours of the day. With a little squint, however, she realized—she’d seen the man before.

“The man in black,” Madelyn answered, thinking back to their first escapade in downtown Boston through the underground tunnels and the Switchboard. It was the same well-dressed man who’d nearly cornered them in the Slocum’s Joe, she was sure of it. So was Deacon, apparently. “Has he seen us?”

“Hard to say,” he mumbled in reply, scratching at his temple as if he was contemplating removing his pompadour wig. Maybe he’d be less likely to be recognized with ginger hair—or maybe he’d stick out like a sore thumb. Before either of them could say anything else, fanfare from the stage caught their attention and the audience stood in applause. Deacon took the opportunity to move them closer, out of view from where their former stalker was on watch.

“Good morning Boston!”

Madelyn shouldn’t have been surprised to see Mayor McDonough addressing the crowd, a jovial expression adorning his face as he waved to reporters and shook hands with the college delegates on stage.

“Thank you all so much for attending,” his voice echoed out as he stood at the podium, speaking into the array of microphones. “This is sure to be a momentous occasion for Boston’s most prestigious of universities. Without further ado, let me introduce to you the head of the Robotics division, Doctor Justin Ayo.”

Deacon and Madelyn politely added their applause to the cheers of the crowd as a new man approached the podium, thanking the mayor before addressing the audience.

“We’ve all heard of the technological marvels of General Atomics and RobCo Industries but even these corporate giants have their limitations,” the professor explained. “What if I told you it was possible to merge science and humanity together to create something the likes have never been seen before?”

Doctor Ayo paused, perhaps for dramatic effect. “Here at MIT, we’ve managed to combine the mechanical with the biological to create the first of its kind. I give you, the android.”

From behind the curtain, something moved—the metal frame of what looked like the hybrid of a skeleton and machine. It was walking, baby-steps across the stage, and something about the movements sent a shiver down Madelyn’s spine.

“Is that a robot?” Madelyn asked in a hushed whisper to Deacon.

He shook his head, lips pulled tight in a thin line. “Doesn’t look like any protectron I’ve ever seen.”

“These marvelous beings have been created with fully functional artificial intelligence,” Doctor Ayo continued, to the shock and whispered gasps of the crowd. “This is not your ordinary Mister Handy—each synthetic human—or synth—as we like to call them has a distinct personality.”

“Why, in a few years and with further research and development, they may not be able to be distinguishable from you or I.”

“That’s…” Deacon’s jaw clenched. “Fuck.”

A commotion erupted from the group of newshounds and Madelyn recognized the bright red press-cap, even from the distance she was standing. Of course Piper would be at the gathering, there to gather information for a scathing article for Public Occurrences. She raised her voice high above the other shouting reporters, clamoring for attention.

“What safeguards are in place to prevent the synths from malfunctioning? Do they have free will? What if they chose to attack? What are your plans exactly with these androids?”

Doctor Ayo was defiant in the face of her flurry of questioning. “I didn’t realize we’d started the Q and A session already.”

“Miss Wright!” Mayor McDonough came forth again, publicly reprimanding her. “That’s enough out of you!”

Another man stepped to the front of the stage, causing a hush to fall across the plaza. An older, studious looking man—silvery grey hair and groomed beard, in an expensive suit befitting of a college administrator. Whoever he was, his presence demanded silence and attention.

Madelyn shot a confused look at Deacon. “Who is that?”

“MIT’s Director,” he answered with a slow shake of his head. “Surprised he’s even here. Not known for public appearances.”

“Such paranoia,” the director spoke, in a calming voice. His hand landed on the mayor’s shoulder and quickly, McDonough’s expression seemed to calm. “Everything will be alright.”

Oddly, eerily, Mayor McDonough repeated the words into the microphones. “Everything will be alright.”

Even though the majority of the spectators were calmed by the Dean’s words, Madelyn wasn’t. Everything wasn’t okay. With the presence of their new invention, it was anything but.

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #preston garvey #piper wright #desdemona #tinker tom #glory #the gang's all here #act II starts now! #god I hope I got preston right >__> #so many easter eggs in this one #IM BACK WHOO

[creativenicocorner]

Now it’s no secret that Terpsichore is riddled with missing scenes that try and peek into the reasoning and actions of characters, be it why Strickler keeps going out of his way to sneakily not kill Jim, or all the off screen dates Walter and Barbara have had (especially if you HC that they’ve been seeing each other since the museum break in lol), and juggling his feelings to the changeling cause he’s been working towards for 200+years. 

Or as I affectionately like to call it; Walter Strickler’s Trolly Problem Scenario haha (I wonder if I should share that as an essay here someday)

but THIS scene OOFF is probably very self indulgent and teeters between a pre and post redemption Strickler in a very pre-redemption scenario. 

Anywho, here’s a Ch13 sneak peek!  A Convo between Jim and Walter while they wait for Claire and Toby to bring the binding spell incantation. Aka why I think Jim ended up going to Claire and take her to a nice lookout to dance, instead of staying by his mom’s side at the hospital. 

In short,  Strickler: 

There’s a always a possibility certain bits might change when the chapter is officially posted, in the meantime enjoy!

//

“I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for her.” explained the changeling calmly. Parroting back what the teen had told him back at the Lake house.

Jim closed his mouth, and looked morosely at his mother, giving her hand a little squeeze. 

An awkward quiet settled between them, punctuated by the occasional sniffles from a pained Barbara. The tiniest of hurt groans breathing out of her as she slept.

Jim covered his mother’s hand, with his other hand, moved by how her fingers curled. 

The changeling, on the other hand, had his brows furrowed together so much it almost looked like a unibrow,if it wasn’t for the fleshy worried crease between, looking like a bald patch on a furry mountain. And although he was exceptionally worried about Barbara, he was also worried about Jim. For his brows were knitted together for him too.

Jim who was working with less than 7 hours of sleep. Jim who had a near run in with death while fighting Angor Rot. Jim who’s life was thrust into a war he had inherited because of an unjust amulet. Jim who’s mother’s life hung at the balance because of the changeling’s actions. In fact, a lot of Jim’s scenarios were caused by the changeling’s actions. The majority even. 

Strickler squeezed Barbara’s hand, and shamefully looked away. So many things to say, and what a day to have words fail, and escape him. Again, the changeling found himself tongue tied.

With a heavy heart Strickler pressed on with the best an experience of war since a young age could give the changeling, the power of momentary distraction.

“I, ah,” Strickler awkwardly cleared his throat, “couldn’t help but notice you and Claire..”

Jim gave Strickler a look, unsure where the changeling was going with his word fumbling, and unsure if he wanted to know.

“It’s a shame about the dance.” Strickler managed at last. “I, ah, think the faculty and students did a mighty good job decorating this year.” he braved a smile.

“How can you even think about something like that right now?” asked Jim with a deep frown. 

Strickler’s smile dropped, and he bit his lip, “Right, yes.”

The silence returned with a new painful wave of awkwardness. It was dreadful. 

And yet, with the idea of the school dance now in his head, the teen was surprised when he managed to say, “You know, I was looking forward to dancing.” with an added distance the teen added, “I was looking forward to a lot of things, actually.”  

Strickler gave a guilty nod, “Well...there’s, no reason why you can’t go on with your plans.” he said and scratched the side of his face.

Jim gave the changeling a perplexed look, and gestured fervently to his mom in the sort of shocked surprise to hear someone describe water as not wet. “Are you kidding?! You’re joking, right??”

Walter Strickler exhaled a small patient smile, “Allow me to explain.”

And with an exasperated gesture, and a silently sarcastic ‘why not’, Jim allowed it. 

“Life is a series of poorly planned trench warfare tactics. You gain ground, you loose ground, celebrate, cry, and march on. What counts are the small moments in between that help you keep marching forward.”

Jim squinted, and despite the shuddering eerie sensation that Strickler probably lived through trench warfare combat at some point, Jim was unsure he was following. 

Strickler gave another patient smile, and reframed his advice in a more frank level, “When this is over, and your mother is safe, go dancing with Claire, Jim.”

“But- Angor-”

“Isn’t going to barge into Trollmarket without a plan. Plans take time. Something I’m sure you can trust me in knowing about.”

Despite himself, Jim snorted. The laugh tasted bittersweet. “Alright, you got me there.”

“You can use that time worrying yourself sick in circles, or dancing. It’s alright to take a step back, a small bit of indulgence can be refreshing. Helpful even.”

Jim frowned thoughtfully. Slowly rubbing his thumb over Barbara’s hand. Unable to shake off his guilty feeling at enjoying himself dancing while his mom could still be suffering even after the binding spell is broken. He wanted to dance, liked the idea, and yet...

Strickler, too, looked over Barbara’s face. Watched as her brows knitted together, and her pale skin almost illuminated under the Heartstone light, and perspiration. 

Guilt can only be mentioned so many times. Yet the changeling felt it every time of every passing second, and more as his eyes slid back and forth between Barbara and Jim. The family his presence caused so much chaos in. 

Jim looked full of frowns and worry. Again, Strickler’s heart ached. Experience informed the changeling that a dance would help. But he could insist only so many times. 

Walter Strickler gulped, and licked his lips. Yet when he spoke again his voice croaked. “For all sad words of tongue and pen. The saddest are these, ‘it might have been.’ ”

“Are you talking about my mom again?” asked Jim flatly, “Making this about you?”

A hurt smile grew over the changeling, though really he was in no place to deny that wouldn’t be something he would have tried to do. Walter Strickler wondered if he should be worried about Jim’s new found cynical bone. Regardless, the changeling felt responsible. In an attempt at looking at the bright side the changeling thought, ‘if cynicism can one day save my favorite student to live another day..’ His thoughts trailed in a vain worry the cynicism won’t absorb Jim completely. 

Instead of addressing it, however, Strickler smiled at Jim. In that patient fatherly way Jim had grown bittersweet and angry about. That reminded Jim of how he once thought of his favorite history teacher, and the pain to see that expression in the face Jim barely trusted. 

At the risk of sounding overly paternal Strickler said with a gentle insistence, “Go dancing with Claire when you can, Jim.”

“I don’t-”

“-Doesn’t have to be at the school.” said Walter Strickler intuitively. After all, after so much commotion, loud places filled with other people who wouldn’t understand what Jim was going through aside from a select few, probably didn’t sound too appealing. “You can dance anywhere, Young Atlas.”

“Anywhere...” repeated Jim thoughtfully. And with a pause, an idea slowly crept into the teen’s head. 

//

[kazoo sounds] this is still pretty rough, I think I can spruce it up better, but thank you for reading!!

#Ch13! #aka everyone makes a great point and everything is horrible #Knife Family #Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Jim Lake #Jim Lake Jr #Walter Strickler #Stricklander #Strickler #father son relationships #Terpsichore #Stricklake #Barbara Lake #Dr Barbara Lake #Nico Writes

[belmontsfate]

Day 8: Gift - Dracul & Alucard

- The Year 2103 -

The castle that had stood for over a thousand years, serving as Dracul’s home, as well as the prison of his enemies, was now in ruins. Without Dracul’s presence, it had crumbled into a pile of rubble. Free from the castle’s influence a few of his previous servants had returned to his service, not knowing what else to do with their lives.

Though the castle was destroyed, some of the underground chambers remained, serving as hideouts for his remaining servants. Navigating through the winding tunnels, Dracul searched for the hideout of one servant in particular. Under normal circumstances, he had no trouble finding who he was looking for, but it would appear that this servant of his did not want to be found.

He had tried asking some of the other servants. The Gorgon Sisters were the first he had gone to, seeing as they seemed to know where everyone and everything was, but even they did not know of his whereabouts. No one knew where he was. So, with little choice, Dracul went in search of him.

His search led him down to the very depths of the tunnel, the place where once the prisoners of Walter Bernhard had endured torture unlike anything ever imagined. Eventually, he came across a chamber glowing with light. Pushing the door open, he found the toymaker seated on a wooden stool, polishing the wood of his favorite puppet. It was the very same puppet that had hidden the toymaker’s heart for many years.

The toymaker was so focused on the puppet that he didn’t even hear Dracul come in. That soon changed as Dracul cleared his throat, alerting the elderly man of his presence.

“Oh! M-My lord!” The toymaker exclaimed in surprise, his wrinkled eyes widening at the sight of the vampire as he slowly got up from his stool. “T-To what d-do I owe this p-pleasure?”

Dracul sighed. Out of all the servants, the toymaker was probably most frightened by him. You could tell that he feared him, even now that he was no longer lord of the castle, he still referred to him as such.

“I require your services, old man,” Dracul stated.

“A-And what is it you want, may I inquire?” the toymaker asked, his hands shaking as he reached up to adjust his spectacles. “I-I should warn you now that I have retired from my days of creating death traps and bringing beasts back to life.”

Dracul shook his head. “No, that is not why I have come.”

“Have you come to k-kill me then?” the toymaker gulped.

“I have not come to kill you either,” he assured the frightened old man. “I need you to create something for me, as a gift for my son.”

Once the toymaker calmed down a bit, assured that he would not die at Dracul’s hand, he started to approach him, a look of curiosity written across his face. 

“Oh? Well, I can certainly manage that. What is the occasion? If my mind is not mistaken, the closest holiday is Halloween, and that isn’t exactly a day to give presents.”

To most people, October 24th was just another day, overlooked by the upcoming holiday, but to Dracul, it marked a far greater event …

“It is for his birthday, which is in only a few short days.”

As horrible as it was to think about, this would be the first time Dracul was present to celebrate the day with him, having missed all the others, including his actual day of birth. He wanted to do something special for his boy to make up for all the birthdays he had missed.

The toymaker nodded his head in understanding. “Did you have anything in mind that you would like to give him?”

Dracul lowered his head slightly in shame. “That is part of the problem. I haven’t the slightest clue what he would want,” he explained. “I have had such a short amount of time to get to know him. I fear that I shall never know him like a proper father ought to.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

Dracul looked down at the elderly man in confusion. What kind of question was that? “Of course I love him. He is my one and only son. I would do anything to make him happy.”

The toymaker smiled with satisfaction, pleased with the answer he had received. “Then allow me to give you a piece of advice,” he said. “Rather than having me make him something, you should give him something personal … Something from the heart … The size of a gift does not matter, but rather it is the memories contained in the item that matters most.”

Dracul considered the old man’s words. He had to admit that the old man was wise. It was good advice. However, what could he possibly give his son that would mean something to him? To get an understanding of what he may like, he tried to put himself in his son’s shoes. 

It didn’t take him long to realize that his son’s early years must have been a lot like his own. Raised as an orphan, whose parents were presumed to be dead, Dracul had often felt alone, wondering what his parents were like and what had truly happened to them. He imagined that his son must have wondered the same things as a child.

That was when it hit him! Dracul had very few possessions dating back to his human life, seeing as he didn’t have many possessions in general at the time. However, there was one trinket in particular that he had retrieved before embarking on his quest to defeat the Lords of Shadow. For the last thousand years, it had served as a memento of his beloved … 

A part of him didn’t want to part with it, but at the same time, he thought it to be a perfect gift for his son. It was the kind of gift that the toymaker had described. After a few moments of contemplation, he made up his mind. If this gift would bring happiness to his son, then it was more than worth it. Besides, Alucard would take good care of it. Of that, he had no doubt.

“You have been of help,” Dracul complimented the elderly toymaker. “Your words are wise. I shall take your advice.”

The toymaker merely bowed in reply.

Dracul turned and started to leave, but stopped as he reached the door. “I have heard that many families lost their homes as a result of the attacks on the city. My son claims that there are many parents with children who remain in the underground camp. I’m sure they would appreciate some toys.”

Dracul could not see the old man’s face, but he was sure there was a big smile on it. 

“Thank you, my lord. I shall get to work on that right away.”

Then Dracul was gone.

~~~

A few days later, Alucard awoke to find a note left on the ledge of his stone coffin. Letting out a small yawn, he sat up and examined the note’s contents, immediately recognizing his father’s handwriting. It read;

‘Alucard,

Come find me in the library when you wake up. I have something for you.’

Alucard couldn’t deny that he was left curious by the strange note. What was his father up to? What could his father possibly have to give to him? Usually, his father came to speak with him in person. The fact that his father had left a note requesting that Alucard come to him was quite odd. He puzzled over it for a moment, but shrugged it off, unable to come up with any ideas.

Without delay, he climbed out of his coffin and quickly dressed, donning a green button-down shirt and a pair of simple black trousers before leaving his room. Stopping for a moment to see if he could sense his father’s presence, he realized that Dracul was indeed in the library just as the note said, and much to his surprise, he wasn’t alone. He could both sense and smell many of his servants in there as well.

He debated over whether he should wait for the servants to leave before going to see his father but in the end decided to go anyway, figuring that they would leave shortly after he arrived anyway.

The soft patter of bare feet against the cold stone floor filled the otherwise silent hall as he made his way to the very end of it. The cathedral itself wasn’t that big, especially not when compared to the former castle, but it was big enough for the two of them. Though, it would probably get bigger before his father was finished. In addition to the renovations being done, his father had also mentioned the possibility of adding onto the building, giving both of them bigger bedrooms.

Pulling open the door, he was surprised to find all of the servants standing there waiting for him. “Happy Birthday!” They shouted all together.

Alucard froze in shock. To say that he hadn’t been expecting this was an understatement. He hadn’t celebrated his birthday in centuries. He hadn’t even fully realized it was his birthday until that moment. Clearly, his father had remembered. The library was heavily decorated with balloons scattered about and streamers dangling from the bookcases. There was even a punch bowl filled with monster blood.

He was speechless … absolutely speechless … He had seen humans throw birthday parties like this for their loved ones, mostly younger children, but he had never had one thrown for him before. A part of him thought it strange to throw a birthday party for a vampire who had lived for over a thousand years, but at the same time, it felt nice. It made him feel a bit less like a vampire and a bit more human, minus the punch bowl filled with blood.

Eventually, he managed to stagger forward, looking around in awe. The servants smiled at him as his eyes passed over them, however, there was one face in particular that he was looking for.

Just then, the servants parted, revealing Dracul behind them. Crossing the distance between them, Alucard went to meet his father.

“Happy birthday, son,” he said, a smile spreading across his face as he held out a small neatly-wrapped box. “I hope you like it.”

Raising a brow at his father, Alucard took the box and carefully unwrapped it, pulling the lid of the box off. Inside was a dainty silver pendant with a flower detailed on the front. He was initially confused as to why his father would give him such a gift, but then he flipped it over and the significance of the gift dawned on him. Engraved on the back of the pendant were two names … Gabriel and Marie …

“This pendant belonged to mother,” he stated.

Dracul nodded his head, motioning for the servants to leave. It was only after every last one of them was gone from the room that the elder vampire spoke again.

“When I was but nineteen years old, I saved up what money I had and purchased this as a gift for your mother, to show her just how much she meant to me,” he explained. “I have kept it to remember her by all these years, but now I want you to have it, as I realize that you got even less time with her than I did.”

Alucard didn’t know what to say in reply to that. He felt happy … happier than he had felt in a long time … He had always wished he had something to remember his mother by, to remind him that she really had existed and wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. Not only did the pendant prove his mother’s existence, but it also proved that his father did love him, even if he wasn’t always the best at showing it.

Knowing that no one else was in the room to see, Alucard reached out and wrapped his arms around his father, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, father,” he said. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Dracul replied, returning the hug.

#Castlevania #Castlevania: Lords of Shadow #Castlevania: Mirror of Fate #castlevania fanfiction #Alucard #my precious alucard #gabriel belmont #eu sunt dracul #Dracula #31 days of writing #writing challenge

[agirlinhell]

ϟ, ♚

ϟ - Have they ever gotten pleasure from causing others pain?

Yes, on multiple occasions. If you wrong her horribly once or give her any reason tomake her hostile or spiteful, she may never let it down unless she believesyou’ve genuinely made up for it (even then it’ll still burn in the back of hermind). And depending on the wrong that was made on her, this can make her growincredibly violent or make her angry or furious. And when she is furious she is100 times likely to attack to kill. And she would both be a fool and a liar if she were to deny that watching Carver die that night brought her a cold and sick sense of satisfaction. After all, this was the man who hurt and abused Rebecca, who had beaten Kenny to the brink of death in her stead and killed Walter back at the cabin and felt no regrets in watching him die, not only for her own pleasure and a sign of loyalty to Kenny, but to gain the conclusion that Carver would not return to haunt them. Dead men told no tales. William Carver was not the only one she’d enjoyed causing pain, there were many individuals in Prescott who had dared to oppose her... and most of them ended up either dead or never to be seen again. It was a dog-eat-dog world and it all belonged to her, wearing it like a second skin. She was given the name “Hellgirl” by the residents of The New Frontier and Prescott for a reason. At only twelve years old, she was an angel of Death itself and she was often interpreted as a bad omen. When watching Abel in pain, she found great joy that she had managed to conquer and subdue the man, but later, upon noting his suffering, she felt a twinge of pity for him and decided his fate that morning in the basement: to end his suffering with her blade. 

She hates it - especially after the wholeJames-AJ fiasco in the cave - but can’t figure out how to deal with it and itscares her, because she doesn’t want this trait to reflect onto AJ. Clementine is often questioning herself about everything. Acommon example of something that she questions is motives to kill someone. Evenif she believes someone deserved to die, she’ll figure out maybe twenty reasonswhy they didn’t. She’s a very guilty person. It’s the same with everything. Inan argument, if she says something harsh– maybe she shouldn’t have. If shemakes a comment about pretty much anything, later she’ll ask herself why. She’squite a bit at war with herself over everything and it’s quite fatiguing forher, but she’s literally been mostly alone since she was nine. She’s often setin her ways, but wonders if her ways are the best ways to go, especially afterher recent conversations with James.

She isn’t the type to strive for revenge over countless years, intense planning or travel miles upon miles to enact it. It’s more of a spur of the moment revenge, until she is calm again. Often she even ends up feeling bad about the revenge she has made.

♚ - Dothey consider themselves to be evil?

Clementine is a bit vague when defining good and evil. Shefeels the definitions change from person-to-person, and can’t often see anotheras blatantly evil. In place of “evil” Clementine sees others as disagreeable.People that enjoy murder or torture and destroying innocence (killing/abusingyoung children, harming animals, etc) she finds greatly disagreeable and may(be tempted to) get rid of the person… permanently, if given a chance. However, if anyone that claims they are a good person receives serious doubt fromClementine. “Good” and “evil” can only be defined by others, not oneself. Tosay you are a good person means she’ll believe that you are not, and insteadthink you are full of yourself. It’s best to refer to that as others see you asa good person, and she’ll look to see why, and if she agrees. She finds the whole concept of “good” and “evil” to be utterly ridiculous except in the most extreme cases, for she has lived long enough in this world to know that this isn’t the case.

She knows she is disagreeable to some and is aware of manyof her flaws. She’s often had many angry outbursts that hurt people she caresfor, and finds this shameful and unacceptable. She is aware of her apathy andlimited care for others outside of her two inner circles - family and closefriends - though she doesn’t see it as particularly bad. She knows others do. Why should she be any different? She often bases if she is good or bad on how many times she has hurt or upsetpeople she cares for, and currently she sees herself as a terrible person.

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Sexual harassment isn't just about Hollywood, not by a long shot — it's an insidious and wide-reaching problem.  Over the last few years, women have come forward in the sciences, trucking, retail, tech, and many other industries to tell their stories of harassment and assault on the job or at school. These stories go far beyond Harvey Weinstein, the high-powered Hollywood producer who was fired after allegedly harassing and assaulting women for decades. (Weinstein has apologized for his behavior but denied allegations of rape through a spokesperson.) SEE ALSO: Want to stop men like Harvey Weinstein from ruining women's lives? The solution is simple. Despite the fact that these reports come from a variety of fields, almost all of them have a similar theme: Women who eventually came forward had been harassed, assaulted, or shamed by men in positions of power. That power allowed these men to intimidate women with little consequence. (The harassment is mostly, though not exclusively, directed at women.) Even when universities or other institutions caught wind of the harassment, the investigations often concluded without any direct action taken. Every woman I know has either been talked down to, had her opinion dismissed, been ignored in meetings, or received inappropriate comments. — Sabrina Siddiqui (@SabrinaSiddiqui) October 11, 2017 Here's just a small sampling of some of the stories of sexual assault and harassment in many industries: Advertising More Than 50% of Women in Advertising Experience Sexual Harassment, Study Finds: "In March, the male chief executive of ad agency J. Walter Thompson was sued by a female subordinate who accused him of an 'unending stream of racist and sexist comments, as well as unwanted touching.' Gustavo Martinez, who has denied the allegations, resigned shortly after the lawsuit was filed." Read more from The Wall Street Journal.  Agriculture Rape in the fields (documentary): "FRONTLINE and Univision partner to tell the story of the hidden price many migrant women working in America’s fields and packing plants pay to stay employed and provide for their families. This investigation is the result of a yearlong reporting effort by veteran FRONTLINE correspondent Lowell Bergman, the Investigative Reporting Program at UC Berkeley, and the Center for Investigative Reporting." Watch the documentary from Frontline. Astronomy Famous Berkeley Astronomer Violated Sexual Harassment Policies Over Many Years: "After a six-month investigation, Geoff Marcy — a professor at the University of California, Berkeley, who has been mentioned as a potential Nobel laureate — was found to have violated campus sexual harassment policies between 2001 and 2010. Four women alleged that Marcy repeatedly engaged in inappropriate physical behavior with students, including unwanted massages, kisses, and groping." Marcy later resigned from his position at Berkeley.  Read more from Buzzfeed. Biology Chicago Professor Resigns Amid Sexual Misconduct Investigation: "A prominent molecular biologist at the University of Chicago has resigned after a university recommendation that he be fired for violating the school’s sexual misconduct policy. His resignation comes amid calls for universities to be more transparent about sexual harassment in their science departments, where women account for only one-quarter of senior faculty jobs." The professor, Jason Lieb, 43, made unwelcome sexual advances to several female graduate students at an off-campus retreat of the molecular biosciences division, according to a university investigation letter obtained by The New York Times, and engaged in sexual activity with a student who was 'incapacitated due to alcohol and therefore could not consent.'" Read more from the New York Times. Construction What It’s Like To Be One Of The Only Female Construction Workers In America: "'These men I worked with asked me out on dates, which was totally inappropriate, commented on my body, commented on my abilities,' she said. That was the hardest part. 'What bothered me the most was the sexual harassment and feeling intimidated.'" Read more from ThinkProgress. Education Former Vanderbilt Grad Student Files $20 Million Lawsuit Claiming Sexual Harassment By Professor: "The professor 'would routinely call her ugly, fat and ... stupid in front of other students.'" "The suit alleges he knew the graduate student was a recovering alcoholic and told her he wished she 'would start drinking again because she would be more fun,' and that '... she would be less stressed out if she had more sex.'" Read more from Business Insider. Finance Ex-Wall Street titan Sallie Krawcheck reveals the jaw-dropping sexual harassment she endured — and why she didn’t report it: "In 1987, at her first job after college at investment bank Salomon Brothers, Sallie Krawcheck came to work every day to a photocopy of a penis on her desk. "...'The first time it happened, I didn't know what it was,' Krawcheck tells CNBC. 'I was like, 'What is this strange, artistic, squishy-looking distorted thing?'" "When it happened day after day, however, Krawcheck got the message." Read more from CNBC. Fitness Bikram Yoga Founder Accuser Awarded Over $7M in Sexual Harassment Suit Feels 'Vindicated': "She convinced the jury that the 69-year-old guru repeatedly sexually harassed her and subjected her to obscene comments about women. She also claimed she was fired after she tried to investigate another woman’s sexual harassment and rape allegations against him." Read more from ABC News. Food Bad Recipe: Farm-to-Table Chef Accused of Sexual Harassment by 22 Former Employees: "Want a side of sexual harassment with your dinner? Twenty-two former employees who say it's a permanent part of the seasonal menu at Juventino, a successful restaurant in Brooklyn's Park Slope area, are sharing their stories on the internet in hopes they can give a voice to women everywhere who think that being groped, humiliated and worse comes with the service industry territory." Read more from Jezebel. Geology field work Years ago, two women allege, their team leader sexually harassed them in Antarctica. Now they are taking action: "Boston University (BU) is investigating sexual harassment complaints made against a prominent Antarctic geologist by two of his former graduate students. The women allege that David Marchant, then an assistant professor, harassed them during different research expeditions starting two decades ago, while they were isolated in small groups in the Antarctic. In supporting documents and interviews, several other women report similar treatment from Marchant in that period." Read more from Science. Health care $168 Million Awarded in California Sex Harassment Suit: "In a two-year period, however, Chopourian filed about 18 written complaints covering patient safety to sexual harassment to the fact that meals and break rules were not being followed. Her last filed complaint was received by human resources July 31, 2008. She was terminated Aug. 7, 2008." Read more from ABC News. Improv comedy Women in improv comedy detail a culture of sexual harassment, silence: "Sexual harassment in Chicago's improv comedy community has, until now, been a problem kept under wraps, current and former performers told the Tribune — discussed by women only in private among themselves. But that changed earlier this week when a Facebook post from Charna Halpern, founder and owner of iO Theater, opened a floodgate of impassioned responses. In them, women recounted unwanted sexual advances, inappropriate remarks and a persistent fear of retaliation if they spoke up." Read more from the Chicago Tribune. Indie films After a sexual harassment scandal shattered the indie film world, women fought back: "Devin Faraci – a prominent but controversial figure as editor-in-chief of Birth.Movies.Death – was accused on Twitter of a sexual assault that happened years before but was never reported. Though no charges were filed, Faraci didn't deny the woman's allegation and stepped down, keeping a mostly low profile. "Then, on Sept. 11, just 10 days before Fantastic Fest, his byline was spotted in festival program blurbs." Read more from Mashable . Journalism Most Female Journalists Have Been Threatened, Assaulted, or Harassed at Work. Here's Why We Don't Talk About It: "Sixty-four percent of the 875 respondents said they had experienced “intimidation, threats, or abuse” in the office or in the field. Most of the abuse was perpetrated by the journalists’ bosses, superiors, and co-workers. Forty-six percent of female journalists said they had experienced sexual harassment at work, including 'unwanted comments on dress and appearance.' That harassment was also overwhelmingly perpetrated by colleagues." Read more from Slate. Law enforcement New York City Settles Harassment Suit by 3 Female Police Officers: "The lieutenant, Alexander Rojas, 44, had been accused in the lawsuit of groping the officers, exposing himself, showing them explicit videos and photographs of himself, and making sexually explicit comments. "The lawsuit also accuses the lieutenant of retaliating against them after they rejected his advances by giving them less favorable hours and assignments. In one episode, Lieutenant Rojas hit one officer in the chest as he was grabbing files out of her hands, the suit claims." "... Lieutenant Rojas, who has retired from the New York Police Department, has denied the allegations in the lawsuit." Read more from the New York Times. Military Sexual Assault Reports in U.S. Military Reach Record High: Pentagon: "Service members reported 6,172 cases of sexual assault in 2016 compared to 6,082 last year, an annual military report showed. This was a sharp jump from 2012 when 3,604 cases were reported." Read more from NBC News.  Nonprofits Ex-Employees Allege Sexual Harassment at Women’s Networking Group: "Four former employees of the National Association of Professional Women, a women’s networking group, have sued the organization and three of its executives, claiming that a manager had sexually harassed them and that their paychecks had been docked in violation of New York State labor law." Read more from the New York Times. Politics These women have accused Trump of sexual harassment: "According to Leeds, a flight attendant upgraded her to first-class, escorting her to an open seat next to Trump. Once they were airborne, Trump raised the seat divider, grabbed her chest, and attempted to move one of his hands up her skirt, she said." Read more from CNN . Public Relations The fight to end sexual harassment in progressive politics: "After FitzGibbon's staffers reported more than a half-dozen incidents of sexual harassment and at least two dozen incidents of sexual assault to the firm's human resources, according to The Huffington Post, the firm quickly shut down, with little notice to the staff that had been its backbone." Read more from Mashable. Publishing Amazon Publishing Chief Larry Kirshbaum Accused of Sexual Assault: "Larry Kirshbaum, one of the most influential figures in the publishing world, stands accused of twice sexually assaulting his former mistress in 2010." Read more from The Atlantic . Retail 21 Harrowing Stories Of Sexual Harassment On The Job: "At a breakfast diner chain my manager put his arm around me and tried to kiss me one morning when I handed him a coffee. When I reported it, human resources required him to watch a sensitivity video and gave me a ten-cent raise. [At that diner] a cook trapped me in the cooler and groped me; a customer followed me to the parking and almost wouldn’t let me leave; and another cook pushed me into my car after my shift and unbuckled his pants. Food service is hell. " Read more from The Huffington Post. Tech Uber fires more than 20 employees after sexual harassment investigation: "The firings stem from an investigation by Perkins Coie, an international law firm that often works with startups and Fortune 500 companies. The firm had investigated 215 human resources-related problems within the company. These included cases of sexual harassment, discrimination, and wrongful termination.  It took no action on 100 of these cases and is still investigating 57 other cases. It has decided on more than 20 terminations, according to Bloomberg, while 31 employees are in counseling and seven received written warnings." Read more from Mashable. Trucking Unhappy Trails: Female Truckers Say They Faced Rape and Abuse in Troubled Training Program: "For more than three weeks, Tracy kept telling herself she could handle his attentions. "'But it got really bad,' she says. The trainer started making ominous remarks, things like, 'I only have a few more days left and then I’m going to have you.'" Read more from Jezebel. WATCH: Emma Watson takes her fight for gender equality to universities

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4 Signs Your Employer Will Ruin Your Career

"No one will hire me."

Jim Walters was blacklisted. His former boss tried to ruin his career. When prospective employers contacted Jim, they asked for references.

So he sent them.

Inevitably, these employers decided they didn't want to hire Jim. 12 employers made an offer. They all backed out after contacting his references.

His former boss was attempting to ruin his career.

Maybe Your Boss is Terrible

Maybe they're a tyrant, focused on dominating you. Or maybe they're clueless micromanagers harassing you about your work. The real question, though, is this:

Will your boss ruin your career?

It doesn't seem like a legitimate question at first glance.

Who cares? It's not like they can ruin my career. What are they gonna do, tell on me?

A terrible boss will ruin your career. Spend enough time with them and the damage becomes inevitable.

But how?

Aren't there laws to protect employees?

Sort of.

Laws, for the most part, are limited to eavesdropping on private oral communication, anti-discrimination, equal opportunity, etc. But aside from that?

Employers, your boss, can pretty much do what they want, when they want.

Don't believe me? Let's look at a few examples.

Lynne Gobbell was fired because her boss didn't like the bumper sticker on her car. When her boss saw her sticker he said, "either work for John Kerry or work for me." She refused to remove the sticker, and was immediately fired.

Best Lock Company in Indiana fired employees for social drinking at their home. The reason? Their president believes drinking alcohol is a sin. They even go so far as to deny unemployment.

Johnson County Community College installed hidden cameras in their bathrooms and locker rooms. They stated workers had no right to privacy. What's worse, they got away with it.

Glen Hillier was fired from his job at an ad agency. During the 2004 presidential race, he asked President Bush some embarrassing questions. One of his company's customers felt offended and reported it to Hillier's boss. One day later, Hillier was out of a job.

Lewis Maltby, in his book Can They Do That? discloses the abuse workers face in detail.

And there's the problem.

Your employers know they can do what they want. The vast majority of employees know it too, which is why so many people work in fear.

Dysfunctional Employers Feed on Your Fear

They use sadistic and dysfunctional behavior to extract the results they want from their employees. Then, once you're burned out and used up, they toss you aside.

When that happens, you're treated as damaged goods.

Future employers are suddenly nervous about hiring you. You're blacklisted by your dysfunctional employer directly or implicitly. It's suddenly difficult to get a new job.

That's the thing about a ruined career.

It creeps up on you slowly, gradually. Ignore the signs, wait too long and the damage may be irreversible.

Here's the worst part.

The vast majority of developers reject these signals automatically. "It won't happen to me," they tell themselves. Their rejection is based on a wide variety of reasons.

Most believe the solution is beneath them somehow.

Some are afraid they'll dig up unpleasant things.

My company isn't like that, they tell themselves.

Others think "working hard" or doing a "good job" is enough. (It's not.)

Things are good, so why bother with that now?

As developers, we create rationalizations to avoid facing stupid or unpleasant things. But the signs of a bad employer are there, screaming for us to pay attention. You can protect and save your career … if you know how to read the signals. Here are four signals, numbered from 4 to 1 …

Signal #4: Chronic Emotional Invalidation

Invalidation is an attempt by others to control how you feel about something and how long you feel that way.

It's accomplished by rejecting, mocking, judging or minimizing someone else's thoughts, values or feelings. It's a devastating part of work that most developers have come to accept as a normal, everyday part of work.

What does that look like?

Procrastinators are made. A fear of failure, perfectionism, or a lack of focus is all that's needed to induce procrastination. The sad part? All three of these causes are really part of the same problem. Make a mistake and you'll probably lose your job.

Silent and disengaged. Co-workers who couldn't care less about their jobs and are eagerly looking forward to the weekend/holidays/vacation, etc. Thanks to interpersonal dynamics, the idea of doing a job at work has completely lost its appeal for them.

Distracted co-workers are fixated on all the wrong things. They're not working on exciting projects, aren't being trained to do more or simply aren't in the environment of their choice. So these developers focus their time and attention on doing as little as they can.

Fearful. Your manager or boss asks for an "honest opinion" or "feedback" in a meeting. Everyone looks down. They stare at the table or their hands. Everyone in that meeting knows feedback or honest opinion is code for tell me what I want to hear. Mess it up and you're out of a job.

An organization struggling with these dysfunctions runs into a predictable problem. A-player developers quickly leave, while B- and C-players do their best to survive.

Those who stay absorb these bad habits like a sponge, taking them wherever they go, ruining their careers in the process.

Most developers will allow their boss, their employer to hurt their careers --- even after learning about these details.

Why?

They believe that feelings/emotions don't matter. "I'm a logical thinker, I'm clear-headed. These things just don't get to me." Here's why that's a problem.

It's a lie.

That's because logical decision making is a myth.

Antonio Damasio, Professor at the University of Southern California, made the surprising discovery. His research focused on patients who were normal in every way, except one. They all had a damaged limbic system.

They couldn't feel emotions at all. This led to a surprising but unusual problem.

None of Damasio's patients could make decisions.

They were able to logically describe what they should do, but without emotion, they found it incredibly difficult to make the simplest decisions. These people couldn't decide what to eat, when to eat it or even how they should eat.

Damasio found that emotions are absolutely vital for decision making.

It gets worse.

Negative emotions, fear, stress and anxiety, kills your performance. Whether we like it or not, these emotions are slowly chipping away at our ability to perform, giving dysfunctional employers the ammunition they need to hurt our careers.

Signal #3: Codependency and the Drama Triangle

It's a silent epidemic, codependency in the workplace. It's something that makes developers (and employees), in general, miserable. But, what is it?

Here's a simple definition.

When I work on your desires, goals, fears and frustrations more than you do. It's a behavioral problem that masks itself in lots of different ways.

The micromanaging boss

Abandoning your work routine to bail out a co-worker

Allowing someone else to take the credit for your work

Feeling compelled --- almost forced --- to help an irresponsible co-worker solve the problem they created

Offering unasked for advice

Controlling others with guilt, helplessness, threats, shame, advice-giving, manipulation, domination, etc.

Pretending a problem isn't happening or isn't as bad as it really is.

This isn't a comprehensive list. It's meant to show the types of behaviors present in a dysfunctional workplace.

Why does this matter?

The Drama Triangle is a social model of unhealthy human interaction. In an unhealthy environment, developers and employers play a dysfunctional role where everyone fights for control.

Here's how it works.

This dynamic is at play in our personal and professional relationships. Here's an example of what that looks like.

An employer decides to become a rescuer, choosing an employee they feel will help them but also finding one they feel needs a leg up.

Their employee realizes they're making less than their friends and feels victimized, cheated by the employer because they're not being paid enough.

The employee asks for a raise. Employer, feeling taken advantage of (victim state), says No, becomes a persecutor telling their employee they need to see a performance improvement first.

The employee becomes enraged and swears revenge. They make the move to persecutor doing everything they can to punish their employer and their co-workers.

The employee takes revenge, completes the cycle of persecution and destroys the company.

Sounds a bit extreme, doesn't it? I mean, who'd go to the trouble of doing something malicious like this? Ask JournalSpace. JournalSpace was a blogging platform. The keyword is was, because their IT guy (the same guy who was caught stealing from the company), maliciously wiped out the main database (for which there was no backup). JournalSpace shut down immediately.

Here's how his employer described the whole affair.

It was the guy handling the IT (and, yes, the same guy who I caught stealing from the company, and who did a slash-and-burn on some servers on his way out) who made the choice to rely on RAID as the only backup mechanism for the SQL server. He had set up automated backups for the HTTP server which contains the PHP code, but, inscrutably, had no backup system in place for the SQL data. The ironic thing here is that one of his hobbies was telling everybody how smart he was.

Notice how both employer and employee decided to persecute each other. They both had a role to play but neither wanted to accept any responsibility for their role in the situation.

That's the destructive power of codependency and the drama triangle at work.

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