#surrounding myself with the bottles of hubris

[azuresquirrel]

Dungeon Meshi manga is ending THIS WEEK the weekend is going to be a time for fucking coping, my dudes

#Dunmeshi #Dungeon Meshi #my stupid lesbian brain asking Ryoko Kui to ignore every thematic thread she has set up #and let Falin live #not even to ship - just let her be happy!!! #let her eat monsters with her equally autistic brother!!! is that too much!!!! #surrounding myself with the bottles of hubris

[mikrowrites]

andromeda

(vignettes cut from cottages of constellations; can be read as a one-shot)

c!wilbur x reader

summary: a series of memories from y/n’s perspective; the war, the death, the stars, the secret, and the meeting.

warnings: fluff, angst, violence, war themes, bad mental health situations, death, language, manipulation

a/n: this is basically a bunch of scrapped ideas from cottages of constellations that i shoved together bc i already had them written and have been hitting a writer’s block with pt 3. the only part of this you should regard as “canon” is the syndicate vignette, that will be in pt 3. enjoy!!

Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets.

That was not something unknown by any, not a surprise to some. The two seemed to have words unspoken, existing between the glance of an eye or a brush of a hand, a nod of a head and a ever so soft sigh. Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets to themselves and themselves only.

The cottage was one. A secret kept along a peaceful riverbank, until the price of TNT seemed higher than that forgotten paradise. There were some other secrets too. Some inconsequential, some almost burdening.

Y/n and Wilbur kept a secret they chose to not share with anyone. A secret that would be for the best if left unsaid.

But the price of freedom would prove higher and more demanding. The price for a tall brunette man to whisper the words into an enemy’s ear, for the enemy to relay it to someone who was once deemed an old friend.

The moment Schlatt spoke the secret out loud to Y/n with threatening intent, everything came crashing to the ground.

It was a secret Schlatt would die with.

—

The War…

Y/n arrived as the sun rose at dawn.

Wilbur was there to meet her, his uniform jacket unbuttoned messily and his cravat askew. As she approached him closer he smiled softly, but the smile was tired, aching, the light in his eyes dimmed by the bags beneath them.

What was the saying, “winning is easy, governing is harder”?

Y/n feared both feats were insurmountably difficult.

“Hello, love.” Wilbur sighed, striding the distance of Y/n’s approach and pulling her into his arms, holding her like a lifeline.

“Hey Wil, it’s okay, I’m here.” Y/n reassured.

He pulled away with a less tight smile, wrapping his fingers around her own, pulling her towards the majestic walls.

“Y/n L/n, welcome to L’manburg.”

And L’manburg was small, and undeveloped, and nothing quite impressive really. But it was her lover’s nation, and to Y/n it looked like a spectacle of heaven. “It’s wonderful.”

Wilbur led her into the camaravan, where battle plans and declarations had been hung and placed about, with an occasional empty bottle or a misplaced piece of weaponry.

Y/n had fought in wars before, in another life, far from this server. She had played the part of diplomat, of ally, of enemy. It was all a language familiar to her like breathing, and she suspected Wilbur was well aware, why else would he write begging her to join the front lines?

She hummed in thought, running her hands over a tabletop. “When’s the next battle, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Wilbur replied simply.

Y/n nodded. “Okay. Where do we start?”

Wilbur smiled once more.

—

The Death…

Y/n struggled against Quackity’s hold, screaming her throat raw. “YOU KILLED HIM!”

Smoke from the firework barrage still lingered on the execution box, Schlatt turning from his podium to Y/n. He smirked. “Y/n, my dear, he was a traitor. You know what happens to traitors.”

Y/n spat at his feet, the man laughing. “That’s cute. Remember Y/n, I hold all the cards in my hands. You don’t want to step out of line, remember? Who knows what secrets could get spilled.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Y/n glared, her eyes like fire as the two stood off against each other on the podium under Manberg’s watching eyes. “Because I am going to fucking kill you before you even think about it.”

Schlatt laughed loudly again, facing the crowd. “Do you hear that, folks? Miss Y/n is going to kill me!” He lowered his voice, leaning so he was face to face with her. “That’s treason, my friends.”

Y/n hardened her eyes, as Quackity let her arms go. She stepped forwards, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Everything was quiet, not the crowd’s jabs or cries were heard by her, not even Niki’s protests to spare her best friend.

Schlatt smiled, unsheathing his own sword as Y/n stood her ground, preparing to produce her own in hopes of taking down the tyrannical man once and for all.

“These were not the ideals of L’manberg.” Y/n shouted so the audience could hear her. “And Manberg should be no different. And I’m getting really fucking tired of you hurting everyone and everything I love. So yeah, I’m a traitor, because I value people over a country.”

“People you’d be willing to lose a life for?” Schlatt jeered.

“Time and time again, yes.” She verified.

Schlatt shook his head in amusement. “Y/n, the patron saint of L’manberg. You’ll fall as easily as any man.”

Y/n smirked, drawing her own sword. “Good thing I’m not a man then, yes?”

“STOP! Stop!”

The two adversaries’ heads whipped over, catching the glimpse of a tall brunette in a brown trench coat walking down the aisle of seats, hands out in a preventative gesture. “Stop.”

“Wil…?” The man who left her behind. The man who promised safety. The man who most importantly, loves her. The former President, to protect his former First Lady.

Schlatt’s sword ran through Y/n’s body. Wilbur screamed.

The girl gasped, grasping Schlatt’s shoulder’s with tight fingers, looking at him in shock. He had gotten the upper hand. Y/n had never lost a duel, yet this one was over before it had even started because she did the one thing she had been trained to never do in battle.

Y/n found distraction in a lover.

Wilbur would always be her hubris.

Schlatt leaned over with booze-tainted breath to whisper in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He then ripped the sword out of her, and everything went black. The last thing Y/n heard before waking up laying in the soft grass of a forest was the sound of Wilbur shouting her name.

Y/n was killed by JSchlatt

—

The Stars…

Long ago, in a world different from where she was now, Y/n’s mother had taught her every constellation strewn across the night sky. The young girl would marvel at her mother, eyes shining with curiosity and awe as the soft-spoken woman would point to each cluster of stars.

Life was simple then, before war after war Y/n was forced to fight and win. Before aching loss and hurt.

Y/n laid on the angled roof of Philza’s house, her lips parted slightly as her eyes traced designs of warriors and beasts and lovers. Her breath fogged into the night sky, the girl indifferent to the cold surrounding her.

“Kid, what’re ya doin’?”

She flicked her eyes down to where Technoblade stood beneath her, staring up at her form with disinterest but yet a glint of confusion or curiosity.

Y/n smirked, her eyes traveling back up to the sky. “Chasing constellations.”

Technoblade definitely had the right idea to be a tint worried at the sight of Y/n on a roof, staring off into nothing. It had been a week and a half since they had both blown up New L’manberg, and her mind was undoubtedly conflicted. Techno supposed if he were in the same situation, he’d feel the same perhaps. But now (though he’d never show it) he was just concerned of the well-being of his old friend.

So Technoblade was immensely surprised when Y/n patted a spot on the roof next to her and said: “cmon”.

The blood god was silent and still for a moment before pulling out his trident, using it to launch himself up and land gracefully onto the roof next to her. The girl didn’t flinch a bit, just turned back to the night sky.

Y/n looked tired, Techno noticed, but yet relieved. He hadn’t seen her this relaxed since their last war fought together away from this server, where she had spoken of a kindhearted brunette she was running away with after the battle’s conclusion.

Technoblade sat next to her, the girl sighing. “No more wars, Techno. I’ve fought my last one. I’m tired of being a pawn in someone’s game, of breaking myself for others.” Y/n huffed out a laugh. “I think I might try that retirement plan.”

“Retirement is overrated.” Technoblade groaned. “So if I made you an offer, you’d refuse?”

Y/n shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her kneecaps. “Depends on the offer. I’m pretty done being taken advantage of.”

Techno turned to look at her. “All these years and you don’t trust the proof I wouldn’t.”

“Can’t blame a girl for having trust issues.” She grumbled. “What’s the offer?”

“I’m putting together a group of people with common ideals. Anarchy, we’d be there to abolish these kingdoms’ governments before they can cause more death and destruction, cause more Wilburs.” Techno explained, the girl turning to him at the sound of her ex-lover’s name. “We’re called the Syndicate.”

Y/n murmured the name to herself, furrowing her eyebrows. “Who’s we?”

“Philza and I. Zephyrus and Prostileus. And, potentially, you.” He stated. “Codenames.”

She turned back to the stars, silent for a few minutes. Technoblade patiently sat in the quiet, letting the girl mull over her thoughts. It had been about five minutes when he spoke up. “So? What’ll it be?”

Y/n pursed her lips, before parting them with a soft exhale. “Andromeda… call me Andromeda.”

Technoblade smiled at his old comrade in battle, now considered an ally and friend.

“Welcome to the Syndicate, Andromeda.”

—

The Secret…

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she had sat in the makeshift cell. Had it been days? Weeks? She didn’t know. All she knew was locked away to stand trial for “aiding fugitives in escaping”.

Her thoughts drifted to Wilbur, as they usually did in moments like these, where she fought desperately to remember the sound of his laughter or his loving assurances. Y/n hoped he and Tommy were safe, and she knew they were smart so they would be.

But she feared for Fundy as well. They had spoken on the night he announced his campaign for president, their hushed voices behind the podium as the rest of the server were asleep.

Y/n met the boy in the shadows of the podium, Fundy looking at her for some kind of reaction. Would she shout in anger? Cry in sadness? Running against his father was a betrayal, he should be reprimanded by the closest thing to a mother he had.

Instead, she smiled, and hugged him.

Fundy tensed in surprise before wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as his hands clutched the back of her jacket.

“You know I have to support and stand by your father,” she started, softly rubbing small circles into Fundy’s back. “but it will never overshadow how proud I am of you.”

“Thank you, mama.” He sighed out, Y/n smiling kindly.

“You are my pride and you are my joy, Fundy. There’s nothing you could do that could make me love you less. Don’t forget that, okay?” Y/n asked.

Fundy nodded his head against his mother figure’s shoulder, still embracing her.

He missed the tears in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her walls up. Indulging in this moment wasn’t something she was deserving of, and she knew that.

She had chosen to forego this path, it would be unfair of her to try and act as though she hadn’t changed everything.

The door to empty room creaked open, Y/n looking up to meet the eyes of a man she had once thought of as an old friend, but now some who repulsed her more than anything on this server. The man smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y/n. Long time, no see.”

“Schlatt.” The name sounded like venom on her tongue, Y/n glaring at the man with dark eyes.

“How are you, hm?” Schlatt pulled a chair over for him to sit on, Y/n scoffing in disbelief.

“I don’t know Schlatt, you tell me. What the fuck is wrong with you, you were our friend!” She shouted.

Schlatt sat back in his hair. “I’m no one’s friend here. I’m a president here to run this country.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall, the man smirking.

“I want you to join me.”

That made the girl start to laugh, shaking her head. “You are something else, Schlatt.”

“I’m serious, I want you to join me and Manberg.” Schlatt deadpanned.

“Fuck off.” was Y/n’s reply.

Schlatt sighed, standing from where he sat, and paced to another side of the room. “Tell me, does your little lover boy have an infatuation with TNT?”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “Not that I’m aware, and if I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair enough.” Schlatt said, his footsteps clacking against stone as he further paced. “Well, he recently made some deals with the devil and came into possession of a lot of fucking TNT. You wanna know what he traded for that much power? Secrets.”

She stiffened, eyeing Schlatt warily, her voice barely above a whisper. “Secrets?”

Schlatt hummed, grinning. “Oh yeah. Loads of ‘em. I’m a chronic eavesdropper, so I had to get the scoop. And you’ll never guess what I heard.”

Y/n stood slowly, like an animal bracing for a fight, her fists shaking. She uttered the man’s name in warning, Schlatt stopping and turning to her with a wicked grin.

“You have a child.”

It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Y/n momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Her mouth felt dry, her body numb. Schlatt laughed, knowing he had her right where he wanted her.

“Fundy’s actually your son! Biologically and everything! And you never told him, you just left!” Schlatt exclaimed.

Y/n burst forwards, slamming Schlatt against the wall and lodging her forearm across his throat. She spoke with a low, dangerous voice. “I was young. I was stupid. And I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I couldn’t be the mother he needed.”

“So you left. And then you come back and you play the part of his mother, while the poor boy thinks your lover fucked a fish? That’s fucked up, Y/n.” He chuckled lowly.

Y/n pursed her lips, glaring into Schlatt’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Schlatt slowly removed Y/n’s forearm from his throat. “I want you to join me as one of my officials. I want you to betray Wilbur and Tommy. And if you don’t…”

“… I tell Fundy your big secret… and then I personally kill him until he’s dead.”

Y/n felt completely and absolutely defeated. She had never let someone have the upper hand on her. Not like this. She remained distraughtly silent, Schlatt nodding Ashe received his answer.

He reached into his pocket, throwing her comm device onto the floor. “Lover boy’s been trying to call you for weeks. You should call him back one last time and tell him to never call again. You know what’s at stake.” Schlatt then turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll have a fine pressed suit for you tomorrow morning and a more comfortable room, then the real work begins. Goodnight, Y/n.”

And he was gone.

Y/n fell to her knees, her body shaking with fear and guilt. Why did she have to be so stupid why did she have to create such deep-sewn weaknesses, why did she leave her son?

She reached for the comms device, her trembling fingers clicking a button as she spoke out in a terrified whisper. “Wilbur?”

—

The meeting…

Y/n hated parties with a passion she could not fathom. The celebration of another war won, a country saved. She was just a wandering soldier, moving from one battle to the next, finding celebration a little tone-deaf.

But nonetheless she stood in the banquet hall, her sash of medals and patches detailing her great accomplishments hung on her frame, with the world’s most uncomfortable dress covering her. Technoblade had told Y/n to liven up, drink and dance a little, though what a fucking hypocrite because he didn’t show up.

Y/n sipped her champagne, leaning against the bar top, a bored expression laid across her face as she traced circles into the wood with her finger. She didn’t register the boy standing next to her, eying her with curiosity before he spoke up. “One vodka neat, please.”

She finally indulged to meet his gaze, the tall brunette smiling and offering his hand. “Wilbur Soot.”

Y/n knocked back the rest of her champagne, before shaking his hand. “Y/n L/n.”

“You seem bored, Y/n L/n.” Wilbur observed.

She scoffed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“So I can tell.” He quipped, Y/n beginning to question the audacity of this kid. But he just smiled widely, pulling a stool and sitting next to her.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but if it’s getting in my pants tonight it’s definitely not happening.” Y/n bluntly responded.

“Woah there! Take me out to dinner before we discuss that.” Wilbur defended, retrieving his drink from the bartender.

Y/n couldn’t even tell if the man was joking, but she rolled her eyes anyways. He was silent, she could tell he was trying to size her up. Figure out what made her brain tick, how to read her.

Must be frustrating for him to know he can’t.

She sighed, pulling away from the bar top, smoothing out her despised dress. “Well, thanks for the chat Wilbur, but I’d best be going.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Y/n.” Wilbur raised his drink and tipped it towards her in a kind of toasting or saluting gesture. She was a high ranked militia official anyways.

Y/n nodded and walked away, Wilbur watching her as she left. What she didn’t know, was he could read her like an open book. He saw her pain, her guilt, her stone disposition. But he saw her kindness, her generosity, her beauty. Wilbur was intoxicated by the mere presence of her, and her mystery.

Wilbur just had a gut feeling they’d cross paths again. And when they did, maybe in a space she was more comfortable than the loud and cheering party, maybe he’d offer her a drink, or even a dance. The boy slammed his drink on the table before standing, and rushing across the room.

Why wait when you know?

Y/n felt a gentle hand on her wrist, the girl turning to see Wilbur. She raised an eyebrow in question as he released his soft grip, and held his palm flat out in front of her. “May I have this dance.”

She had seen years of pretty boys offering her drinks and dances and the world. Each disappointed, each never following through. But Y/n looked up at Wilbur, and she could see the world in his brown eyes, she could see hope and chivalry and mirth. She pursed her lips, the boy seeming to deflate at her monotone and silent response.

Y/n took his hand, to the boy’s surprise. “One dance. That’s all.”

They danced all night. And laughed all night, more than Y/n had in years.

Y/n had never felt more alive than the night she met Wilbur Soot.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot imagines #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #dream smp imagines #dream smp imagine #dream smp x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp imagines #dsmp x reader #c!wilbur soot x reader

[moonstone-blues]

A Spark By The River - Chapter 8: Grief

River and Nick's journey back to Sanctuary was fairly quiet, traversing through various alleys and avoiding danger. They only had one run in with a couple of raiders which were pretty easily taken care of. Nick could see that River was getting better at handling herself without much fuss, but he knew that killing was never going to be a thing she could see it as any other chore most people treated it like. 

They had been travelling for a little while, not too far from Goodneighbor but not within a 'run back for safety' distance. River looked around at her surroundings, noticing the old Hubris Comic store. She smiled, remembering all the times as a teenager when she'd meet Jack outside the store, him having just purchased a new issue of Grognak.

"River?" Nick looked to her, noticing her stop in her tracks.

"Hm?" River turned to him. "Sorry! Just… reminiscing."

Nick chuckled. "Need a minute?" 

"No, I'm good." River turned away.

"If you say so." Nick looked around, pointing to the next alley. "Through there." He began to walk towards it. 

River soon followed but, after seeing exactly which alley it was, she stopped.

Nick turned to her, not hearing her following. 

"Everything okay?" Nick asked, concerned. River had gone pale. Terrified pale. She had a hand on her chest, slightly gripping the fabric of her shirt. She was shaking. 

River nodded. "Yeah… But the roads are clear." She pointed out. "Why don't we just walk down them?" 

Nick paused. "Just because they're clear now doesn't mean they will be later. You know how quickly raiders can come out." 

"It'll be fine." River said with feigned optimism. "I know these streets like the back of my hand. If we need to duck into somewhere we will." She explained, beginning to walk away. 

Nick turned to the alley, confused before catching up to River. "Something's up. You didn't have a problem going my way before."

River sighed. "I just want out of those alleys. They're claustrophobic."

"River, If I say taking the alley is safer, I probably mean it." Nick shrugged. 

"Nick, please drop it." River turned to him, frowning. 

Nick sighed. "I'm just trying to help." 

"I know that, but-" 

Nick suddenly dragged River into an alley. It was a little further up from the one before.

"What are you-"

Nick covered her mouth with his hand, whispering for her to shush. River struggled, trying to move away. 

Nick watched as a small group of raiders ran past. After he was sure they had gone, he let go of River.

River stumbled backwards as soon as she was released, tripping on a small piece of rubble and falling to the ground. She cried out in pain as her hand was smashed into a glass bottle. 

Nick sighed, lowering himself to his knees. He looked down at her hands, glass shards prominently stuck out of them. He examined River's hand with a frown. 

“If you keep acting like this, I'm going to have to take you back to the agency and find your son myself. I'm immune to radiation. I could go to the Glowing Sea with no problem." He began planning in his head how to remove the shards. "Listen, I know this is hard for you and I know that we are so close to finding your boy but if you keep this up, I'm leaving you with Diamond City security, safe in a locked cell.” Nick warned. 

He finally looked back up at River's face and froze. 

Tears streamed down her face as she frantically breathed. She shook even more than she did before. Nick let go of River to which she soon calmed down. 

River stood up, walking past Nick, wiping her face as she passed. Nick scrambled to his feet as he quickly followed her out. 

River cursed under her breath as she looked at her injured hand. It hurt like hell. 

Nick sighed. "Look, I don't know what's going on but we need to get rid of that glass."

River turned around. She held out her injured hand. "Fine, just… be quick, please. I want to get out of here."

Nick took River’s hand gently into his own. “These shards don’t look that big. You’ll still be able to use your hand and fire your gun without much pain.” 

River frowned, looking away from Nick. Nick dug in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bandages. He looked back at River. 

“You got any of that water left?”

After River replied with a nod, Nick went behind her and opened her backpack, pulling out a nearly empty bottle of purified water. He hoped it was enough. He went back in front of River. He opened the bottle of water, pouring some on his hands and the rest on River's hand. He rolled up his coat sleeves and grabbed her hand. 

“Use your other hand to stretch the skin away from this shard.” Nick pointed to the biggest shard. 

River nodded before she did as Nick asked, wincing in pain as she did so. Nick used his metal hand as tweezers to slowly pull the shard out. River hissed in pain, pulling her hand back slightly, causing even more pain. 

“Stay still. It’s going to hurt a lot more if you struggle.” Nick warned.

River took a deep breath before she pulled her skin apart again, trying her best to stay still. Nick finished pulling the shard out and threw it somewhere on the ground. 

He continued this process until all shards were gone from River’s hand. Nick grabbed his bandages and wrapped them around River’s hand. She pulled her hand back after Nick finished, observing them. 

"Thanks…" 

"Do you mind telling me what's going on now?" Nick asked. 

River looked at him, eyes narrowing. "I already told you, I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, you could’ve gotten us both killed, forcing us into the open.” Nick exclaimed, gesturing to the streets around him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” River turned away.

“So I need to know what’s going on.” Nick walked towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

River quickly turned around. “No, you don’t.” River hugged her arms. “It’s not relevant to the case and we it’s not going to happen again.”

“River-” Nick took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Look, I’m just worried about you.”

“That doesn’t give you a right to try and invade my privacy!” River turned back around, backing up slightly.

Nick groaned, annoyed. “I’m just trying to protect you-”

River threw her arms up in the air. "Do you coddle your other clients like this?!" She demanded to know. “Do you have this incessant need to protect your other clients?!”

"My other clients aren't like you!" Nick gestured to her. 

River scoffed. "How naive do you think I am?!" She took a step towards him. "I know this isn't the world I'm used to!”

"You just don't understand how much danger a woman like you can be in."

River scoffed. She shook her head disapprovingly as she glared at Nick. "You don't know me."

There was a moment of silence between them. They stared into each other's eyes, both having so much to say but neither wanting to say anything. Eventually River broke the silence. "Come on."

River began walking down the street, Nick having no choice but to follow her. 

River breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the old, broken down bridge leading into Sanctuary. The rest of the journey home had been too long and awkward. She regretted arguing with Nick, yelling at him… But she had a right to tell him how she felt. She wasn't obligated to tell him every single detail about her personal life. 

“Home sweet home.” River said out loud before heading across the wooden bridge with Nick following close behind.

River didn't get far until a mechanical whir alerted her and she immediately came face to face with a turret. She yelped, trying to move away before she heard a voice curse.

“Dammit! Those stupid things are going to get us all-”

The new figure quickly saw River and he blinked.

“Aw shoot. Sorry about that. It's a good thing these pieces of junk ain't workin’…” The man gently kicked a turret, causing it to face in his direction. 

“Those parts I got weren't enough? I thought you said you had everything you need, Sturges.” River folded her arms.

“Well I may or may not have made an error.” Sturges let out a nervous laugh.

After River raised an eyebrow, Sturges couldn't help but blush slightly in embarrassment. “I forgot to get ammo for the damn things.”

River looked at the ground, letting out a small chuckle. “If I see any, I'll bring them here.”

Sturges nodded his head in appreciation. “Thanks. Just need some fusion cells…” His gaze then latched onto Nick. “Who’s your friend, here?”

Nick took a step forward, offering his covered hand. “My name is Nick Valentine. I'm a detective.”

Sturges looked down at Nick’s hand before reluctantly shaking it. “The name's Sturges.”

There was a moment of silence between the two before River butted in. “Sturges, is that power armor still here?” 

Sturges pulled his hand away from Nick’s, turning to River. He nodded his head in response to her question. River smiled in appreciation before she began to walk away, waving.

“I don’t think he likes me much.” Nick stated, placing an unlit cigarette in between his rugged lips.

River forced a smile back at Nick. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone here is a bit…”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Scared of me?”

“...Jumpy.” River frowned at him. “Not everyone is against synths, Nick.” River turned away from him. 

Nick sighed, looking at the ground. He took out his lighter and lit his cigarette before he spoke again. “I know… sorry.”

“Miss River!”

River and Nick turned to a new voice. River couldn't help but let a big grin spread across her face as she saw an eager Mr Handy robot speeding towards her.

“Oh and you brought company! My, you should have told me, I would've put on some tea… That’s if there was any left… Ah well, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

River turned to Nick, gesturing towards him. “This is Nick Valentine. He's the detective helping me find Shaun.”

Nick flashed a nervous smile, aiming it at River's other mechanical acquaintance. 

“Oh! I do hope you find master Shaun soon. This home isn't as comfortable without the sound of laughter.”

“Don't worry. I believe that we are close to finding him. We just need to collect something here first.”

The robot let out what seemed to be a sigh before he let out a gasp. “Where on Earth are my manners? I am Codsworth. I am miss River's personal Mr Handy assistant."

River let out a chuckle before turning away. “The power armor should be… there.” River pointed at a large metal suit that stood next to a building. Nick nodded before walking towards it.

“Umm Miss River?”

River turned around, looking back at Codsworth. 

“You know I don't mean to intrude… but… ”

River looked at her broken down home before looking back at her friend. She bowed her head, running a hand through her hair, riddled with dirt and grime.

“I know.”

Nick stared up at the towering suit of metal. He frowned. The very sight of it was intimidating. A reminder that there were bastards out there who hated people… things like him for no other reason than to hate. He soon heard footsteps approaching and he hoped it would be who he thought it was. Nick turned to the smaller woman beside him. He smiled.

“You okay?” Nick asked.

“Yeah…” River flashed a smile back.

Nick turned to the set of power armor, pulling out a cigarette before placing it in between his lips. He took out his lighter and lit the cigarette, puffing smoke. He held it between his metallic fingers, the light reflecting off each mechanical part.

“So… What’s the plan?”

“Grab the suit, go to the Glowing Sea, find the crazy scientist, find the Institute and then find Shaun.” River stated surely.

“Sounds simple.” Nick let out a small chuckle.

“Well I’ve been completely negative ever since I woke up. I’d say it’s time to be optimistic.” River put her hands on her hips, looking back at Nick. 

Nick simply nodded in reply. They looked to each other for a moment, awkward. Thankfully, another figure approached them. It was Sturges.

“Hey General, you need that suit of power armor?”

River turned to the mechanic and nodded. Sturges frowned, scratching his chin. He walked over to the suit, pulling out the fusion core with a struggling grunt. 

“I'm afraid it won't work.” He gave the core a few taps on the armor. “Damn thing's empty.”

River let out a groan of frustration, running a hand through her hair. “Great...”

“What do you need it for?” Sturges asked.

“I need to head out into the Glowing Sea.”

Sturges scratched his chin, contemplating for a moment. “The Glowing Sea? I don't see why on Earth you would possibly want to go there... Well if it’s urgent then I can see if there’s any lying around… not a big chance of it though.” 

River flashed a small smile. “Thanks, Sturges.”

“No problem.” Sturges smiled before turning away. 

"Oh, Sturges!" River quickly called. "We're expecting a new arrival, a ghoul called Harvey, do we have enough beds?" 

"Sure we do, General." Sturges responded. "I'll go tell Preston and make sure we're ready for him."

And with that, Sturges jogged off. 

River suddenly buried her head in her hands and let out a loud groan. Nick raised an eyebrow as he stared down at River.

“Everything is against me! All I want is to find my son, is that so much to ask!?” River yelled into her hands.

Nick sighed, putting his hand on River’s shoulder. “Hey.” After River looked up at him, Nick smiled at her. “I’m not against you, am I?”

River looked down briefly. She remained silent. 

“These things take time. We are going to find your boy. It may take a while but I promise you, we will find him.” 

River took a deep breath before straightening herself. River ran a hand through her hair and smiled at Nick. “Okay.” 

River paused for a second, thinking. “I… Have to go do something.” She pointed to her house. “There’s my house. You can relax inside there if you want while I’m busy. Codsworth is more than accommodating. Or you can wander around Sanctuary if you want.” She paused for a moment. “You can look around the house, if you want. Maybe you can find something that can help.”

“Thanks.” 

Nick let out a small sigh, watching River head off in the opposite direction. Puffing some smoke, Nick looked all around him. He saw people farming, talking, laughing. This was a real community. People working together. 

People…

...Staring…

Nick noticed the gazes he earned from others who saw them. A lot of people smiled at him, some looked curious and others looked disgusted. Nick looked away from those who stared at him with such distaste. He didn’t want to cause any trouble.

Nick quickly finished his cigarette and threw the butt on the ground, stepping on it to ensure that it was out properly. He shoved his hands in his trench coat pockets before making his way over to the house River pointed out earlier. However as he approached the fading blue house, something began to feel off. Nick couldn’t quite place his finger on it though…

As soon as Nick entered the old house, the first thing he noticed was the Mr Handy River had addressed as Codsworth just a short while ago. Nick cleared his throat and nodded respectfully.

“Oh! Good morning, Mr Valentine!” Codsworth exclaimed. “Is there anything you need?”

“No, thank you. River said I could look around if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, anything you can do that could possibly help find Master Shaun!”

Nick looked around for a moment before deciding that there was nothing of immediate interest in the living room. He turned away and walked down a short hallway, glancing into each room. He stopped at the end of the hall and walked into the nearest room to him. Peering inside, he saw peeling wallpaper, toys scattered across a creaking floor, worn down furniture and a broken crib that was barely keeping itself together.

This room was the kid’s…

Nick walked in and took a brief glance around. The room was in total disrepair. He took a few steps inside before he heard glass shifting underneath his shoe. Nick moved his foot away and bent down, moving pieces of glass and wood off a picture, ripped and faded over time. It depicted two adults holding a child. Nick recognised River and also what must’ve been her husband. The child must’ve been Shaun.

Nick walked back into the front room, looking at the helpful Mr Handy robot.

“Hey Codsworth, mind if I ask a few questions?”

“Go right ahead, sir!”

“So the kid, Shaun… We suspect he’s much older than he used to be. He should be ten years old. Just in case I happen to spot him, are there any defining features I should look out for?” Nick glanced down at the picture. There was only so much information he could get from a faded black and white image.

“Ah, yes… If I recall correctly, Master Shaun looks quite like his father, Master Jack.” Codsworth suddenly paused. Nick looked back up. He could sense the grief.

“It’s alright, Codsworth.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… they were such a lovely little family. I wasn’t here long before the bombs but… there wasn’t a single day where anyone lacked a smile. Even when master Shaun cried, it didn’t take long for the mum or master to make him feel better.” Codsworth explained, his voice box full of nothing but sadness. “I understood that they both had issues with their extended family. Master Jack was struggling with his mother escaping from that retirement home and Miss River often argued with her sister over the phone… and poor Spud. That dog just kept running away again and again until he eventually never came back… They kept themselves together though, despite the hardships… They were never happier when they were with young Shaun…” 

Codsworth suddenly snapped back. “Oh! I’m terribly sorry! I appear to have gotten rather off track… Master Shaun… He quite resembles his father but has his mother’s eyes. So bright and full of life… He also had inherited her gelasins, I remember.”

Nick frowned. Not too much to go on… “How about anything like birthmarks or scars? Something unique to only him?”

Nick listened closely to Codsworth as his processors whirred in thought. “Of course!” He finally concluded. “He has quite a nasty scar across his forehead. From his birth. There were some complications and the doctors had to work fast but ended up accidentally injuring the poor boy in the process.”

“Complications?” Nick raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not too sure on the details. Besides, I shouldn’t be spreading gossip.” Codsworth explained.

Nick nodded, making mental notes. “I understand. Thank you, Codsworth. You’ve been very helpful.”

He turned away for a moment only to turn back. He knew he said he'd drop it, but… 

"Sorry, I have one more question." Nick began. "What's River's connection to the Hubris comics store?" 

Codsworth paused for a moment in thought. "I'm… Not too sure, actually! I know Miss River tended to avoid going but I don't know why. She always looked shaken when Master Jack announced he would be going. Eventually he just told me instead."

Nick nodded. Not a lot but it was something. 

"Thanks."

As he walked away, into the other bedroom, he thought. Was he in the wrong? What River did was stupid but, maybe he had caused her to act that way. Nick shook his head. 

"Damn…" He muttered. 

He decided to focus on the case as he looked around. He picked up a small American flag from the floor, putting it on top of the broken dresser.

A bark made Nick spin around, relaxing when he saw a familiar face. He crouched down, petting the friendly mutt. 

"Hey Dogmeat." He greeted, scratching behind his ear.

Dogmeat stuck out his tongue, a happy expression on his face. 

"At least someone's not mad at me." Nick muttered. 

"I was just trying to make sure we didn't get killed." Nick explained to the listening pup. "That woman is so stubborn…" 

Dogmeat whined, resting his head on Nick's knee. The detective sighed. 

"Yeah, I know. I should still apologise." 

He gave Dogmeat one last pet before carefully standing up. 

He had to talk with her… 

River took a deep breath as the door opened. She walked down the steps, the cold air sending a shiver down her spine. 

She took a deep breath as she reached the bottom, looking to her right. There she saw the face of one of her neighbours. She quickly looked away, continuing down. All these people dead… Her neighbours, friends. For what?

She made it to the pod. His pod. She hesitated before turning. 

River immediately covered her mouth, feeling the tears begin to fall. She had been preparing herself for this. To see him again. But nothing could've prepared her for seeing him once again.

Jack was exactly where he was, lying back in the pod, a small red stain on his chest. River didn't know what she was expecting. A part of her foolishly hoped she would walk in and he would be stood there, waiting for her. 

She pressed the button and stepped back, watching the pod open. River tried to compose herself to no avail. She sank to her knees as she looked up at him. He was such a strong man. So strong and resilient. He was a soldier, he helped take back Alaska! He had survived so much… And Kellogg took his life with a single bullet. He was defenceless and trying to save Shaun. And he was killed just like that.

She took a holotape out of her pocket with a shaking hand. A tape Codsworth said  Jack made for her. He was planning to give it to her but then the bombs… She brushed her thumb over the peeling label, reading it. The faded words simply said 'Hi Honey!'. River looked back at Jack once more before looking at her pip boy. She wasn't ready for this. But she had to be. She examined the computer for a moment, figuring out how to open the holotape player. She carefully put the tape in and turned around, resting her back against the pod. 

She jumped as static screeched. A chuckle made her eyes wide.

"Oops. Keep those little fingers away…" 

River quickly ejected the holotape. She wasn't ready for this… These would be the last words she'd hear Jack say.

She leaned her head back, wincing as it made harsh contact with the pod. She rubbed the pained area, taking a deep breath. It was either this or the last words she'd remember would be him struggling to keep Shaun in his arms, right before he was shot. 

River closed the Pip Boy player, being greeted with the same static noise and Jack chuckling to himself. 

"Oops. Keep those little fingers away…" River could hear movement and Shaun making noise in the background. She covered her mouth with one hand and she listened. "Ah, there we go. Just say it, right there, right there, go ahead." More movement. River then heard Shaun giggle and make spit bubbles down the microphone. She couldn't help but laugh. She could picture it perfectly. 

"Yay!" Jack made tiny clapping noises, presumably using Shaun's hands. After Shaun calmed down from his burst of giggles, Jack cleared his voice. "Hi honey, listen… I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are.” River nearly jokingly told the holotape to shut up instinctively. “But, we're going to anyway. You are kind, and loving, and funny.” Shaun laughed. “That's right, and patient. So patient, patience of a saint as your mother used to say.” River rolled her eyes at that comment. “Yes I know she only said that because she didn’t like me but she had a point. You need a lot of patience to deal with me. And this rascal, Isn’t that right, little guy?” His question was answered with another spit bubble.

“Look, with Shaun and us all being home together it's been an amazing year but even so I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes sure, things we'll need to adjust to. I'll rejoin the civilian workforce, you'll shake the dust off your law degree… maybe get tickets for the game this saturday...” Jack added on the last part quickly. River shook her head with a chuckle.

“But everything we do no matter how hard, we do it for our family.” River could hear him struggle to move Shaun. “Now say goodbye Shaun. Bye bye, say bye bye.” Shaun cooed affectionately. River heard a thud and strange noises. She then heard a muffled “No, no! Not food!” 

River laughed as she heard Jack struggle to take the microphone away from Shaun. He eventually succeeded as he made a disgusted noise, presumably getting saliva all on himself.

“Thanks, Shaun.” Jack joked. “Bye honey, we love you.”

River smiled. “Bye…”

The holotape ejected, bringing River back to reality. She laughed quietly to herself. She laughed… and laughed… before she turned round, punching the side of the pod, her bandaged hand burning with intense agony.

"DAMMIT!" She yelled through her tears. She buried her head in her hands, fingers tangling through her hair as she continued to cry… 

River sighed as the platform came to a stop. She looked down at the world below her, now getting dark with the setting sun. How long was she in there for? 

She turned around and jumped seeing Nick leaning out of a small structure close by. 

"Jesus Nick!" She took a deep breath. Her eyes suddenly widened. "Dammit- I'm sorry. I lost track of time and-"

Nick walked towards her. "Hey, don't worry about it. I actually wanted to talk to you but after I realised where you were… I thought it would be best to wait." 

River sniffed. Nick tilted his head slightly. It didn't take a detective to understand why she was upset. 

Nick looked around for a moment before sitting himself down on the hood of a car. He patted the spot next to him. River gave him a half smile as she sat next to him. 

"It's just…" River didn't even know what to begin with. "Everything." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "All I've been doing is thinking of Shaun and finding him. I can't sleep most of the time and when I do it's just nightmares." River explained. 

Nick nodded. He recounted when River stayed in his office when he'd hear Ellie scold her for being awake at God knows what hour and Nick catching her himself laying, staring at the ceiling with such a worried expression. 

River bowed her head, shaking it slightly. "It's crazy. I've been out for, what, a month? I've been inside my home three times." She looked back at Nick. "Three. And those were only visits. I haven't even checked what stuff is left."

"Really?" Nick asked, concerned. 

River shook her head. "I found Codsworth, got Preston and his people from Concord, proceeded to help out two settlements then I was off to Diamond City, then I found you and…. Well, you know the rest."

She couldn't help but chuckle. "Honestly? The only good thing Kellogg did was give me the longest sleep I've had since I left the Vault."

Nick continued looking displeased.

"I don't know if you noticed, but I've been very busy." River frowned. "I've had to try and find Shaun, I've had to rescue people, build up Sanctuary, help out settlements… Jesus I've not had a second to process anything." River stood up from the car, getting a better look at the landscape around her. "I mean… Just look at this." She gestured ahead of her. 

"The last time I was up here I saw a giant nuclear bomb decimate my city." She looked towards Nick. "I was holding onto Shaun while Jack shielded me from the blast just in case we were too slow." She felt the tears pierce her eyes again. "There was so much screaming and crying and I saw the end of the world. For ghouls, that was two hundred years ago. For me that was a month ago." River shook. "In fifteen minutes I lost everything. My home, my family, my life… and I haven't even had the chance to grieve." 

River walked back towards Nick but remained standing up. "I didn't even realise how messed up I was. I thought for once, I was being strong… The truth is, I just hadn't taken a break." River admitted. "I sat there, listened to a tape he gave me and… It all just hit me." She sat back down, staring at her feet, seeing occasional tear drops splash on her boots, making small, circular, dark patches. "Everything… A month's worth of pent up emotions just came out. The war, the world, Jack, Shaun, my Family down south, Kellogg, then fucking Randy of all people…" She exclaimed, frustrated. 

"Randy?" Nick asked. 

River's eyes widened, not even realising that she had said the name. "He… That's not important right now."

Nick wanted to inquire more but he already interrupted her and judging by the look in her eyes, the same look she had back in the alley, he could tell pushing the subject would be disastrous. 

River buried her head in her hands. "Look at me. Crying, again!" She wiped her face. "You're right. I am just a dumb housewife who has no idea what I'm doing." 

"Hey, hey, hey." Nick quickly said, putting a hand on River's shoulder. "I didn't say that."

River turned to him with a frown. 

"'You just don't understand how much danger a woman like you can be in.'" River quoted him. 

Nick frowned. "River…" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, regretting his words. "I shouldn't have said that." He admitted. "I know you understand, I just… Want to make sure you can take care of yourself." He explained. "I want to look out for you because I know what it's like to be thrown into a brand new world with no experience. I never got any help learning. I had to do it all myself, the hard way. Lost a few parts doing so." He held up his metallic hand as an example. "I guess I just don't want anyone else to feel as alone as I did." He told River with a shrug. 

"I… Appreciate the help. I really do." River thanked him. She looked back down with a huff. "I guess I have been a pain in the ass…" 

"Just a little." Nick smirked. 

River nudged the Synth with her elbow before pulling a face at him. She chuckled to herself. "Okay, a big pain in the ass." She rolled her eyes. "Looks like both detectives and lawyers can screw up equally." She joked. 

Nick smirked. "I think that's up for some debate."

River laughed, shaking her head. "But seriously. I think some ground rules would be good."

"Shoot." Nick prepared himself, full attention on River. 

River thought long and hard. "Okay. I guess one of them is don't treat me like a child. I'm a grown woman who knows how to shoot a gun."

Nick nodded. "Noted. One of mine is don't forget I actually know what I'm doing. I know how things work post war so it's best to take my advice." 

"Of course." River nodded. "Unless it's stupid." Before Nick could say anything, River raised her hands in defence. "That was a joke." She lowered her hands.

Nick tutted. "Another is you need more training. You can use your gun but you're still uncomfortable, I can see it." 

"Both my dad and Jack taught me." River told Nick. "I'm pretty experienced." 

"That's not what I mean." Nick shook his head. "You just don't seem like a pistol kind of gal. Next time we're in Diamond City, get a look at Arturo's supply. You might find a weapon you're comfortable with. Then, you need to train with it." 

"But-" River stopped herself this time. She sighed. "You know what you're doing." She reminded herself. "Okay, don't pressure me into talking about stuff I'm uncomfortable about." She said, pointing an accusing finger at Nick. "I'll tell you anything you need to know but I want some privacy." She thought to herself. "I think that's all of mine."

"My last one is… You need to get more sleep."

River cringed. 

"Hey, when you're tired, you're sloppy." Nick told her. 

"Fine, dad." River joked. 

Nick turned to her with a smirk. "You do realise you're technically older than me, right?" 

River waved one hand dismissively. "Hey, being frozen does not count. I am a thirty two year old woman and I look good."

Nick leaned closer towards her face, squinting. "I don't know, I think I see some wrinkles under your eyes." 

"Oh ha ha." River rolled her eyes. She stood up, patting herself off, getting dust off. "Well, I better talk to Sturges." 

"About the power armor?" Nick stood up. 

"Well I was going to ask him to fix those creaky old joints of yours but yeah that too." River shrugged innocently. 

Nick laughed, turning away. "Oh ha ha." He began to walk back down.

River smiled, looking back at the Vault. 

Nick turned around. "You okay?" 

River smiled. "I will be." She took one last look at the vault before walking with Nick. 

When she first left she was so scared and upset. Now, she was leaving feeling the best she had been ever since she woke up. And now…

She wasn't alone. 

#a spark by the river #asbtr #nick valentine x sole survivor #nick valentine #sole survivor #River McConnell #fallout #fallout 4 #sturges #dogmeat #codsworth

[averykedavra]

Leap in the Dark

(This is another crosspost from my Ao3 account! You can find it here! It’s partly based on personal experience, because concerts are stupid and dysphoria is even stupider and I want to project onto my babies for some second-hand comfort and satisfaction. Like a normal well-adjusted human would.I don't think I'll return to this exact AU, but if you'd like to explore this storyline or some of these ideas, be my guest! Title comes from In the Dark by Anna Blue and Damien Dawn.)

Summary: Virgil isn't the mood to make friends. He's trying not to panic and/or cry over the band concert.

Then a classmate asks him to introduce the band. Which involves speaking. Onstage. In front of literally everyone. Yeah, nobody's getting him in front of that microphone.

But if he doesn’t, Logan has to. And Logan’s also not eager to be seen.

Pairings: platonic Analogical, could be interpreted as romantic. Implied past Anxeit (in like one line, though.)

Warnings: dysphoria, anxiety, self-deprecation, a borderline panic attack, very minor self-harm, and one mention of making out.

Word count: 2678

Virgil Acevedo regretted every single decision he had ever made. He’d tried to do his best at life, and since he was still alive after fourteen-plus years of existence, he had thought he’d done okay. Now he realized every choice that brought him here was a wrong one. He had created his own personal hell through a combination of hubris, naivete, and choosing Band back in sixth grade.

Now he sat in the front of the audience, surrounded by the entire flute section, who were extremely chatty girls. He felt a phone flash behind him and winced. Even though he knew it was another selfie, Virgil hated photos.

He hated a lot of things. Anything that put the spotlight on him. Virgil Acevedo liked to lurk in the background. Performing was not his idea of fun.

Yet here he was.

Clenching a silvery flute, his knees knocking together and his fingers shaking, watching the terrible orchestra play their terrible pieces and dreading the moment those flooding stage lights would illuminate him.

Yeah, logically, he knew nobody would look at him. He wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in the school. And his mom had a late shift and couldn’t make it, thank god. But what if? What if someone just happened to glance in his direction? And they would see a skinny, sweaty boy with floppy black hair he’d tried to comb—still slightly purple from that dye the bottle said would have washed out by now. Playing a flute in a section full of girls, two seats from last chair, barely fumbling through the pieces. Wearing a too-small shirt and a pair of old black sneakers.

Virgil shuddered at the thought.

The orchestra finally screeched their way to a halt. Now someone was introducing the chorus. Roman Prince from Spanish class. He had way too much enthusiasm for the time at hand. He even cracked a terrible pun, which Virgil knew wasn’t in the script, because Roman looked away from the small paper in his hand before telling it. Only one person in the choir laughed. Patton from Biology. Everyone else glared at Patton, who looked unperturbed.

Virgil shifted slightly as the choir broke into song. They sounded truly hideous. Not that his flute-playing was anything stellar, either. But at least he could hide behind the rest of the band. Nobody heard the flutes.

Only a few more songs and Virgil would be up there. Did he remember the fingering for the first piece? What about the second? Did he still have his music? What if it all fell out of his folder? What if he bumped into the girl next to him and she hated him forever and—

Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He was spiraling again. It would be fine. It would be fine! Just three songs, barely ten minutes long, and it would be over. He’d never have to do this again.

Virgil looked down and realized his hand was clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm. He slowly uncurled it. Four red crescents marked where the nails had struck the skin. Virgil winced at the sting and rubbed at the marks, feeling his palms get sweatier as the chorus neared their close. Great—sweaty hands. Exactly what he needed to play the flute.

Someone tapped Virgil on the shoulder, and he almost screamed. Thankfully, he muffled his shout before it left his mouth. Turning around, he squinted towards the back of the auditorium to see who had tapped him.

It was a boy Virgil recognized from History class. He had dark hair and a sharp face, accentuated even more by his black-framed glasses and the honest-to-goodness tie he was wearing around his neck. Clearly a nerd of the highest proportions. What was his name again? Logan—Logan.

And now Logan was looking at him expectantly, oh god had Virgil forgotten something was he supposed to say something Logan probably thought he was so weird—he needed to be nice and smart and say something that would make Logan forgive him.

“What?” Virgil hissed.

Well. So much for that.

Logan blinked at the harshness in Virgil’s tone, but he didn’t immediately turn away. “Sorry to bother you, but do you have any interest in introducing the band?”

It was Virgil’s turn to blink. “What?” he repeated.

“Well, I was chosen, but would you like to say this speech instead of me?” Logan held out a small white paper. “It is quite short. You just stand up before our song and greet the audience.”

Virgil looked from the paper to Logan’s face. Logan looked serious and sincere, which ruled out the possibility of a prank.

“You…want me to…talk to them?”

Logan pressed his lips together. “Of course, if the idea is uncomfortable to you, you are under no obligation to fulfill my request. It is simply a suggestion.”

The boy talked like a dictionary! Virgil’s mouth twitched in both humor and gratitude. Logan may have been overly formal, but he was also being pretty nice.

Which meant he wanted something. Of course he did. He wouldn’t just ask Virgil about this unprompted. Virgil didn’t exactly have a reputation for being approachable, with his perpetual scowl, large headphones, and baggy purple sweatshirt.

“Why me?” Virgil blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I beg your pardon?”

It was too late to back out now. “Why are you asking me?” Virgil said. “I mean, people don’t usually talk to me, and you seem smart so you should know not to talk to me, and I’m still confused why you want me to do the script especially since I’m…not good at that,” he finished lamely.

Logan tilted his head. “I asked you because you are nearby, and because I know you to some extent. We are in History together. You ask good questions in History.”

Virgil smirked. “You know all the answers, though.”

“Hardly.” The barest flash of a smile lit up Logan’s face. “I just have a tendency to share them more than other people might deem wise.”

Virgil snorted, twisting around in his chair so he could talk more. He certainly needed a distraction at the moment, and Logan’s blunt way of speech was refreshing. No double meanings or tricks, no hidden feelings or blatant falsehoods like with…like with other people. Other non-specific people who definitely weren’t Virgil’s ex, definitely not, no.

“So…I just go up there and read off the script?” Virgil asked. Just the thought made his stomach twist in knots. “Sounds boring.”

“Please?” Logan fidgeted with his glasses. “I can repay you later.”

“How so?” Virgil raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Better choose wisely, Logan.”

“Hmm.” Logan stared into the distance, tapping his chin. “There are several options here. I could give you money, food, or some other tangible object that might please you. I could give you an intangible, such as friendship, though I have no idea whether you lack in those areas. I could also promise you a favor. Perhaps tutoring, or giving you answers for tests? I am quite capable of such things. I have done them in the past for friends and people who have blackmailed me.”

Virgil widened his eyes. “Blackmailed? What?”

“Or,” Logan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, “I could repay you in…other ways.”

Virgil stared for a second before bursting out laughing. “Oh my god, are you implying—like, we’ll make out if I give that speech? Dude!”

Logan chuckled too, his face flushing. “I have heard it is a useful bargaining chip when dealing with teenage males.”

“Dealing with teenage males,” Virgil repeated, still chuckling. “You sound like Jane Goodall. Maybe I’m not gay, did you think of that?”

Logan shrugged. “Are you gay?”

Oh no oh no what do I tell him what do I say he started this conversation so he’ll probably be okay with it but what if—no, Virgil, just play it cool.

“So what if I am?”

No, that was not cool. That was borderline aggressive. Way to go, Virgil, you came off as super defensive.

“There would be no problem if so,” Logan clarified. “I am also homosexual.”

“Intellectual and homosexual?”

“Exactly.”

Virgil smiled and let out a breath. “Yeah. I mean—me too. I’m…gay. Maybe not the intellectual part.”

“You do well in History,” Logan said with a smile. “I’m sure your intellectual capacities are above average.”

“Is that your way of saying I have big brain?”

“Actually, the size of one’s brain does not correlate to intellectual faculties—”

“I know, I know.” Virgil waved a hand, still smiling. “Back to the topic at hand. Would you actually tutor me?”

Logan nodded. “Of course. I enjoy helping others. What subjects do you have trouble with, may I ask?”

Virgil stared at his hands. “Math.”

“A common answer. You’re not alone.” Logan paused. “So if I give you my tutoring skills, in return you will give this speech?”

Virgil bit his lip. “I dunno, Logan…tutoring would be nice and all, but I’m not exactly a big fan of public speaking.”

“Well, no worries, I can ask another student.” Logan looked around. “Does anyone wish to say my speech instead of me?”

Nobody looked in his direction.

“Disappointing.” Logan adjusted his tie. “I guess I’ll just have to say it myself, then.”

The dejection and anxiety in his voice caught Virgil off guard.

“Are you…” Virgil began. “I mean…do you…why don’t you want to say it?”

“I don’t want to,” Logan said briskly. “I’m not a fan of public speaking.”

“What part?” Virgil asked too loudly. He began to fidget with his sleeves, avoiding Logan’s gaze as he tried to explain. “Like, for me, I’m scared of everyone watching me and that I’ll mess up or start crying or something. If it’s something specific, maybe I can…help? I have some…experience with getting nervous about things.”

Logan’s expression was unreadable. Finally, he spoke.

“Thank you, Virgil.” His voice was soft and quiet, different than the confident tone of a few minutes ago. “I appreciate that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Virgil asked.

Logan blew out a huff of air. “It’s not the public speaking that scares me,” he confessed. “I’m usually okay with attention, although I don’t seek it out like some of my more…exuberant friends. But today, I guess, well—” Logan ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. “Never mind. It’s illogical.”

Virgil reached forward tentatively and placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I bet it’s not. However you’re feeling, whatever’s bothering you, I know it’s valid. You don’t…have to tell me, ‘cause I’m just a weirdo who sits near you, but—”

“I’m not wearing a binder!”

Logan’s face was screwed tightly and his eyes were shut, as if bracing for a storm.

“I’m not wearing a binder,” Logan repeated, more quietly. “So I can have more breath to play clarinet. I volunteered before I remembered. I don’t want to—I don’t want to go out there looking like—”

Oh. Oh.

Logan’s eyes were still closed. He rubbed his face.

“Never mind. I’m sorry to bother you, I will just figuratively ‘man up’ and perform the speech myself—”

Logan looked dejected. He looked ashamed and desolate and waiting for Virgil to turn around and run away or call him names or just treat him differently. Like he was used to it.

He reminded Virgil of himself.

Before he could stop himself, Virgil reached forward and snatched the paper.

“You don’t have to. I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Logan’s eyes opened, and for a second, Virgil saw the pure relief on his face. Then his eyes darkened with worry. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you in a tough position.”

“You’re not,” Virgil assured him. “I promise. Just—you’d better be a good tutor, Lo.”

“I’m the best.” Logan crossed his chest. “Nerd’s honor.”

“Then we’re all cool here.” Virgil glanced down at the script. “The song’s almost over, what do I do?”

“Just stand onstage, take the microphone off the stand.” Logan spoke slowly and clearly, as if he could see Virgil’s increasing heart rate. “Click the button on the bottom, hold it and say your part. Turn the microphone off, put it back, and go to your seat. If you need help, ask the conductor.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay.” Virgil nodded to himself. “I can do that. I can.”

“Are you sure? Are you good to do this?”

“I think so.” Virgil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s a short speech. I think I’ll be okay.”

Logan leaned forward intently. “Please, Virgil. If this is upsetting you, please tell me. I do not want to force you into this because I can’t face my own fears—"

“No!” Virgil interrupted. “It’s completely cool to not do things you’re uncomfortable with. You’re not a coward. You’re being reasonable. And, I mean, it’s not exactly what I’d have chosen, you know? But it’s for a friend. I know we just met!” he added hastily. “I hope it’s not weird, and I mean, I don’t really know you, but you’re the nicest anyone’s ever been in a while, so…it makes me happy to help you. That’s what…friends do. If we’re friends. Because…I’d like to be friends. With you.”

Logan’s mouth opened slightly. He looked speechless.

“I’d love to be your friend, Virgil,” Logan finally said. “Thank you.”

Virgil found himself smiling, and Logan smiled back. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pen, taking Virgil’s music folder and scribbled down a sequence of numbers.

“My number,” Logan explained. “For the tutoring, and for…anything else.”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll text you when this is over. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

The choir hit a truly terrible pitch and finally silenced, enjoying the dull applause from the parents around them. The band around Virgil stood up, and he walked onstage with the rest. His hands were sweating again, and shaking, and he felt his fingers slip from his folder and flute. He tightened his grip and walked faster, placing his things on his chair before making his way to the front of the stage.

The auditorium was almost full. Virgil scanned the crowd briefly. Faces stared back at him. In the front few rows were the orchestra and choir students, sitting down to watch the band. Roman whispered something to Patton and both of them giggled.

Behind Virgil, he heard the rustling and clinking of the band getting ready. Soon the sounds faded away. The conductor caught Virgil’s eye and nodded, gesturing for him to start speaking.

It took a second for Virgil to turn on the microphone. He clasped it in one hand. How close should he put it to his mouth? He didn’t want a feedback squeal or to be too loud. But if no one heard him, that would be a problem, too. He was running out of time! Everyone was staring, behind and in front of him—he felt trapped on this stage with the too-hot lights and a small crinkly script he’d barely glanced at. He glanced at it now, feeling his heart pound. His mouth was dry. Maybe he’d try to speak and nothing would come out, or he’d just lean forward and puke. He’d never live this down.

There was a loud thud behind him. Virgil turned automatically and saw Logan had hit his stand with his clarinet. Virgil stared at him in confusion. Logan smiled back.

“You can do this,” he mouthed.

Virgil felt a bit of his nervousness ebb away. Logan had put the spotlight on himself just to encourage Virgil. He could see Virgil was panicking and he helped.

Virgil turned around, holding out the script, reading the words over and over. It was only five sentences. Five sentences.

Five chances to mess up.

Five sentences. For a friend.

You can do this.

Virgil closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

And spoke.

#fanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #analogical #virgil sanders #logan sanders #logan angst #pre-relationship #anxiety #self-deprecation #trans logan #dysphoria #public speaking #high school au #human au #band au #friendship #virgil is a good friend #averywrites

[ofxcxdemics]

THE TRUTH OF DAISEY RUTHERFORD.

trigger warnings: mentions of death, murder, blood, assault.

it was the night of the bonfire; the crackle of a fire, the snapping of twigs underfoot, the crunch of leaves, the whisper of fall breezing through the trees, the moonlight pouring in through askew branches.

the lingering breath of a killer.

he regretted it. his hubris had made the academic insatiable, standing by an illicit bonfire on the edges of the st etienne campus. he had no desire to socialise with his fellow classmates, nor entertain the idea that he was ‘one of them’. in light of the scandal that had rocked his life, he had been a recluse. his superiors no longer talked to him, his peers combed over his frail physique with questions. underclassmen laughed when he walked by. although the transformative blog that once belonged to daisey was a well kept secret between the twenty nine other students chained to a fate as caustic as his own, it didn’t stop the blaze of gossip to burn rampantly through private circles and consume attention throughout the school.

texts. emails. word of mouth. even the fucking school therapist approached nate not two days later, their sanguine vocals tinged with sympathy as they drawled, ‘do you need someone to talk to ?’ no, he did not. he wanted to be left in his self appointed isolation, hidden from the world until the torment of his truth had long since ceased. however, it was like... his pain was necessary. his humiliation a means to an end. it had to happen. 

that friday night however, the corrosive feelings of pity had malformed into something far more insidious  — a rage was building inside of him. even as a child, the foundations were set to his inherent anger. every time his parents dismissed him and praised his brother, every time he spoke of joy in academic pursuits that only went on to be ignored, every time his character was made out to be something it wasn’t. brick upon brick upon brick. the wall of his rages now resembled a jenga tower, and that night at the art gallery was enough to send the entire wall crumbling down into a pile of debris.

nathaniel had no interest in attending the bonfire, at least, not for puritan reasons. he did not want to revel in the jollies of his fellow youth, nor acclimiatise to the life he could have had, if things… were different. if his childhood hadn’t been marred by something supernatural that tainted his ability to form connections with those around him. that made him unable to pursue anything other than the truth, and to do things... that no other people understood. no, nate had found himself on the outskirts of the bonfire, the woods surrounding him as the flicker of flames licked at the sky. he heard laughter, shouting. the occasional clang of a bottle against wood for those too inebriated to keep their drinks in their hands. concealed in a curtain of darkness, his eyes traced over the people before him. in particular, the infamous thirty: of which one was a killer, a sentiment that only made nathaniel think of daisey, of the fights they’d had, the truths she’d stolen, and the fate she met. 

and the guilt that would forever swirl in his stomach from what he did, and what... he has to do. 

—

“trust me, nathaniel. playing people is what i do best.”

i stared at her. she sat on the sofa as though anything that wasn’t a throne caused her tremendous discomfort. her legs were crossed, her eyes steely, her eyebrows knotted. her lips full. the look of disinterest was shared in my own, and we stared at each other for an unnatural progression of time. 

“his misery has no applicable utility to my everyday life that vigorous study and academic pursuits could not achieve. your proposal is inane.”

we were as still as marble, or as though we’d been ripped from a painting and left to dry. the infallible daisey rutherford had just become engaged to my brother, through familial connections. neither the future bride nor groom were happy about the arrangement, but money had a way of guaranteeing silence on the matter. upon one of her visits to the ballantyne manor, she sought me out; trouble in her eyes. 

“maybe it’s not about what is useful,” she purred, her lips slowly twisting as she uncurled from her spot on the love seat, strutting over to me. she closed the space that once permeated the room. “maybe it’s about what you want.” her hands on my chest, her head cocked proactively to the side, her tongue tracing her lips - i stared at her in morbid fascination. i swiped her hand away before rising to my feet, towering over her. 

“i have no use for your ulterior motives. your touch will not promise a transaction, nor will an expression elicit the response you are trying to coach from me. be forthcoming with your true intent, and i will hear you. if your desire is to play games, then tear to shreds the manual you’ve used before me. you cannot anticipate my next move.”

the smile on daisey’s face was something i’d never forget. a spark of recognition, awash with something akin to... pride. comfort. taking a cautious step back, she presented her hand in an offering of solidarity. “marrying your brother is my own personal hell, and i want him to pay for it. i need your assistance in making sure that happens.”

despite my better judgement, the clause in my own personal contract that prevented anyone else from joining ranks in my life... i took her hand. and we shook on it. 

that was the day i let daisey rutherford into my life. 

—

the plan was simple. daisey had planned to use me as a weapon to carve out my brother’s heart. the brother who has been used to getting everything he ever desired, being the best compared to his strange and odd brother. in front of him and him alone, she endeavoured to make my brother jealous. daisey was free to have any dalliance she liked, for if anyone were to speak out about it, no one could possibly conceive the estranged match that she and i were. this meant that my brother was sentenced to watching what he assumed was a flourishing relationship as it slowly chipped away at his self worth. 

it had been months now. the charade was no closer to ending.

after one of the many parties the rutherfords’ hosted, i had found myself lingering in a drawing room towards the rear of the house, away from the calamity of the event. daisey got what she wanted, the pained look in my brother’s eyes as we were to pretend not to latch onto each other’s hands as though he couldn’t see. the mask i had been forced to wear had become suffocating, and began to itch. a dissonance struck me whenever i met with daisey. what she and i wanted no longer aligned, and the purpose of our act seemed fruitless. 

it wasn’t long until daisey sought me out. there were only so many places i was known to hide in, and the look on her face suggested that this was the first place she had ventured to. closing the door behind her as she entered the drawing room, clad in a dress made only from the most expensive of fabric, she raised an eyebrow at me. 

“you look miserable.”

“incorrect. this is my natural predisposition.” i deadpanned.

daisey paused for a moment, a sliver of discomfort painting her features. 

“ your natural disposition is your nose upturned, your lips thin. right now, you’re acting like someone you care about fucking died.”

nothing more was said, as the silence simmered around us. turning around, i walked to the window and turned my back to her. as inaccessible as my inner thoughts were, it was true that i had grown tiresome of the predicament we faced. i no longer wanted to be attached to a fictional daisey as i played a fictional nathaniel. but she was a leech; sucking out your blood and extracting your inner most secrets like she had a right to them. she was impossible to quit.

gnawing on her bottom lip, daisey sauntered over to where i stood by a windowsill, resting her head to the highest point she could reach of my arm, wrapping her arms around them. the act was... domestic in nature. i turned to her in confusion.

“but… there’s no crowd. no benefit. no purpose. who are we trying to fool?”

if there was one thing you had to know about daisey rutherford, it was that she took what she wanted. she didn’t know the word no. she got everything she could ever dream of, simply by aligning her attentions to attaining it at any possible cost. to this day, i still do not know if her succeeding actions were motivated from desire... or utility.

“ourselves,” she whispered, turning my head to face hers.

she closed the gap between us, and she pressed her lips against mine.

i didn’t stop her. i don’ think i ever had a choice.

—

“stay. don’t leave me,” daisey whined, her lips pursed as she sat on the corner of my bed.

i stared at myself in my full body mirror, slowly buttoning up a white shirt. my expression was stoic as always, painted almost as pale as the fabric that covered my body. “i promised oz we’d go, dais. categorically speaking, you enjoy all social events.”

daisey rolled her eyes at me, before slipping out of bed in her everyday attire, which always somehow managed to eclipse the best formal wear of others she was in acquaintance with. her lipstick however, was smudged. 

“i enjoy you. i tolerate social events. they’re useful  to me.”

i paused. it was not... in the plan for daisey to not attend the homecoming party that night. with the 2019/20 st etienne year beginning, nate could agree that the last place he’d desire to be is an event in which intoxication and duly conversation was its’ goal. but despite his reticence, they had to go. they... they had to go. 

“your peers will find your absence suspicious.” i commented gingerly, knotting my tie around my neck. my breath hitched for a moment. daisey evaporated by my side as her face rested on my shoulder. she put herself on her toes, and she did not look impressed.

“why do you want me to go so bad, nathaniel ?”

i didn’t know how to answer that. and so i didn’t, and instead, stared at her blankly. 

“ugh.” with her signature groan, daisey tossed her hair out of her face before heading to my closet, where a generous stash of her clothing had been deposited over time. 

the feeling sank in my stomach as i watched her go. i couldn’t look anywhere else. i knew that this was a sight to be savoured. 

—

holding onto the bark, jutting into his skin until it drew blood, nathaniel stared at the students, completely oblivious to his looming on the edge of the woods. his mind swirled with thoughts of his secret, out there, floating on the tips of the fire. his mind was affixed to the fact that one of the students in that very woods knew what happened to daisey. his daisey. his mind was also caught on the blog, a killer, a mural, the never ending threats. the role they were all made to play. 

after everything that had happened, nate wasn’t the same person that he once was. and no amount of therapy, of people in his life, or even academic pursuit could change that. 

vengeance in his blood, the brunette stepped away from the trees. he fell into the shadows of the night, as the naive innocence of his fellow students chimed around him. they were happy. they didn’t know. they didn’t know what he did. and as nate slowly fell into the night and the landscape of trees, one thing was true: 

that was the last anyone would see this nathaniel ballantyne. 

#( nate ; self para ! ) #law and order vc: DUN DUN #IF YOU READ THROUGH THIS #I LOVE YOU

[pcrfide]

I wanted to love you. 

I wanted to lose myself into the sulfur of your skin, and the lies of the promises we’d made to each other in the madness of youth. I wanted to devour the slickness of your tongue, the noises you’d make as we fell together in blood and smoke. 

I wanted to twist and turn, snakelike as shells and death surrounded us- a reminder that we were still alive. 

I wanted to hate you. 

The way we yelled and screamed, bared teeth like rabid dogs and circled each other from sun to moon, light to dark. The way we sank fangs and worried flesh until blood swelled up at the gum-lines and torn wounds blood and festered into things we could not fix. Until we shattered more than just stone and bones, until we brought down bodies and dreams.

Until we died, reborn phoenix-like in the fires of our hubris. 

I want to forget you. 

But I can’t. You’re there in the shadows, staring at me from the corners of my own mind when I try to sleep. Reminding me every day of the choices I didn’t make, the choices I did. A literal devil that i can’t slake one way or the other. I hear your voice chiding when my gun jams, or I stagger from bad choice to worse decision. I’m as obsessed with you, as you were with me- and this cycle?

Will this cycle end? Will you want to forget me, like I try to erase you in whiskey and at the bottom of flasks and beer bottles? Or is it easier for you, as you travel from body to body- washing away old memories as easy as you ever did and leaving bodies like the calling card they are.

Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. 

How is this going to end, old friend- at the end of both barrels of our guns, or is it going to be one last fight. I won’t go easy. Won’t go at all, if I can help it- but time isn’t infinite and luck runs out. 

Tick tock- old friend. Come and find me, if you dare.

#stream of conciousness #can be anyone really in that particular spot #𝘝 𝘐 𝘎 𝘐 𝘓 𝘈 𝘕 𝘛 𝘌 ╪ ┘ little soldier boy come marching home ┌

[stained-carmine]

‘Come on, it’ll be fun!’

‘W-well, I’m not so sure...’

‘Trust me!’

...

‘Admittedly, I’m a little scared...but, if you’re by my side, then I don’t need to be afraid.’

‘Something like that...being a part of it? It’s like we’re pioneers in a new chapter of history...isn’t that exciting?’

‘As long as you’re here with me, holding my hand, I have the courage to face anything.’

“...ey”

‘Today’s the day! Are you ready to change the world?’

‘I-I won’t lie, I’m a little nervous...my heart won’t stop pounding...I’m afraid it might burst...but...I’m also excited, it’s so overwhelming...’

“Hey...”

‘Wait...Something doesn’t feel right...What’s going—’

‘AAAAAAAAH—’

‘It hurts...It hurts so much...I don’t want to die...! I’m scared! Where are you? I can’t...see you...anymore......Where are you...?! Please...don’t leave me....Don’t let me die here...Please...!’

‘BLAIRE!’

“Hey!”

A sudden touch brought you back to the present, and away from the nightmares of your past. You looked up to the individual who had shaken you from your trance. Before you stood the bartender, gazing at you with concern.

“Are you alright there?”

You stared at him blankly for a moment, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, then it dawned on you that he has asked you a question.

“Ah....N-no, I’m fine.“ You responded sheepishly.

The bartender frowned at you, unconvinced, but let out a sigh as he shook his head. “If you say so...” And with that he sauntered off, seeing to the needs of the other patrons.

As the man walked away, you lowered your gaze to the glass of whiskey you’d been nursing for the past hour or so. The ice cubes had all but melted away by now, leaving you with a mix of alcohol and water. It’s not as if you had your heart set on drinking the whole thing, but it was a little disheartening nonetheless.

Letting out a soft sigh, you pushed the glass aside. You thoughts wandered back to earlier that day, when you had told told Marcel you were leaving. Of course, he objected to it, saying you hadn’t full healed yet and that he could do more to help you recover—to help return you to your former self—at least physically.

You glanced down to your right arm, which was resting on the bar. The right side of your body had suffered quite a bit of damage from the fire, with scars extending from your neck, all the way to your ankles. While Marcel had told you that with skin grafts, you would be able to reduce the amount of scar tissue that covered your body, letting you return to the way you looked before, you weren’t ready for that. You weren’t ready to let go of the past, to forget what happened, to move on from your loss...

It was then that you heard something that caught your attention. The television in the corner of the room, anchored to the ceiling, had been set to a new broadcast since you entered the bar. It had mostly been local news, recent events and crimes, nothing of interest to you really—until now that is.

“It’s been six months since the tragedy that claimed the lives of over a hundred people in Hycasal, yet authorities are still no closer to finding the perpetrator.” On the screen were the remnants of a burned building, half collapsed in on itself, like someone had detonated a bomb in the building. “The man responsible for the disaster is Shin Kiromura, age 25, the former head of research and development at Alistarias Pharmaceuticals.” A photo of a man is brought up on the screen as the newscaster gives a verbal description of his appearance. A hateful glare replaces your sorrowful visage as you lay eyes upon that man, clenching your teeth as you scowled at his likeness. “He was conducting research into the effects of a drug his team was developing. Kiromura failed to report the possible dangers of a compound used in the creation of the drug to his supervisors, ignoring the risks and possible dangers this could pose to human health. With government funding, a clinical trial was carried out late summer of last year under the Caristalian Military’s watch. During clinical testing, an explosion occurred at the military facility located on the edge of Hycasal, causing a fire to break out in the lab. All 30 participants in the clinical trial died during the explosion along with 10 researchers who were in the lab monitoring the vitals of the participants. During the evacuation, the structural integrity of the building became compromised and the building collapsed, killing 73 more people, 16 of which were first responders. Eye witness reports from a survivor state that Kiromura fled the scene with the remainder of the highly volatile compound used in the manufacturing process of the drug. Authorities issued a warrant for his arrest and began a manhunt following the disaster, but have been unable to locate him.”

The screen displayed a series of shots, focusing on the building and the surrounding area, one of which caught your eye. At the main entrance to the building, a memorial had been erected in order to honor all the lives lost that day. You bit your lip slightly as you felt a twinge of pain in your heart. So many dead...and all for what? Some scientist’s hubris? A man who thought himself above the risks? Who didn’t care about how his choices would affect others? And to think that the police hadn’t caught him. For such a man to be free, to go unpunished for his heinous crimes, to still be out there with that reactive material, allowing him to create yet another tragedy if he so desired. It was infuriating.

“Kiromura is wanted for 113 counts of second degree murder, criminal negligence, and terrorism. This man is believed to be highly dangerous, and in possession of high explosives. If you see this man, contact authorities immediately, do not approach him. If you have any information regarding this man’s whereabouts, please contact—”

“Terrible, isn’t it?”

You flinched at the sudden voice coming from behind you, causing you to spin around swiftly. A man had sat down next to you at the bar, waving the bartender over to order his drink. You eyed the man with suspicion, ready to fight back should he have malicious intent, but he just gave you a friendly smile in return. “You seemed really focused on that broadcast, did you lose someone in that disaster?” He asked, raising the beer he had ordered to his lips.

You were hesitant to answer him. You didn’t know this man, you couldn’t tell if he had ulterior motives behind this idle conversation. Giving him another once over with your eyes, you didn’t see anything that would indicate he was armed. He also didn’t look like an officer, either of the police force or the military. Everything about him seemed ordinary, from the clothes he wore, to the way he carried himself. With a lingering doubt in your mind, you opened your mouth to answer him.

“...Yeah, yeah I did...” You replied, turning your gaze from him and lowering your head.

“Sorry to hear that...” The man’s smile faded, replaced with a concerned frown. “Can’t believe they haven’t caught the guy yet. You figure finding one man would be easy when his face is on every news station in the country.” The stranger took another swig from his glass before turning towards you. “You know, I heard that the military are offering a reward for his capture. Those meatheads and gun nuts can’t stand to have their pride sullied. Way I figure, they think if they can catch the guy, they can earn back the trust of the people. Like we could ever trust that shady general after that though. The military was supposed to be overseeing that trial right? How could they have missed that psycho hiding right under their noses?”

You had to mentally reel yourself in to stop yourself from snapping back at the man. Keeping a calm facade, you responded. “Is that so? How much are they offering?”

The man shrugged, downing the rest of what was in his glass before calling the bartender over for a refill. “Mm, not sure myself. Only heard about it from a friend you see. Don’t even know if it’s true.” Thanking the bartender, he raised the glass to his lips before pausing. “Though if it is, they’re awfully desperate. You’d figure they’d start by interrogating all the survivors first before offering rewards to the public.”

“They probably did already. Usually that’s the first thing they do in an investigation. Question witnesses, bring in the people that knew the culprit.” You had to catch yourself so as to not give away your former occupation. “...Or at least that’s what they do in police dramas.” If they hadn’t caught that man by now, interrogations probably turned up no leads. You felt your heart sink a bit. If you were going to go through with this plan of yours, that would have been your first course of action. You scowled slightly from beneath your hood, you might need to rethink your plan at this rate.

“My cousin’s friend was employed at the facility, and was in the building that day.” The voice came from across the bar, from the bartender who seemed to have overheard our conversation. After serving up some mixed drinks to a group a friends who had come into the bar to celebrate, the bartender wandered back over to the two of us. “Said the guy had been in a coma ever since.” Noticing the drink I had sat aside with no intention of finishing, the bartender took the glass and poured it out, washing and rinsing the glass out for a future customer to use. “Just the other day I heard the guy had just woke up for the first time in six months. My cousin was ecstatic. He was actually going to go visit him today actually.”

A spark lit up in your mind as this opportunity presented itself. “That’s great. Will your cousin be coming here to celebrate after?”

The bartender laughed in response. “You kidding me? He wouldn’t be caught dead in here. Too shabby of a place for him. If anything, he’d probably hit up one of the bars in the city.”

“Ah, your cousin is one of those guys. Too good for a small place like this. Needs one of those fancy restaurants where you buy a whole bottle of wine to go with your meal.”

“Well, I can’t deny that but still...” The bartender frowned at the man who had just finished his second beer, and was now demanding a third, garnering an eye roll from the man behind the counter. With a sigh he took the man’s glass and began to pour him another. “What about you? Did you want another drink?”

“Ah no, I’ve spent long enough sitting here, it’s about time I left. I have things to take care of.” You said, rising from you seat and waving the notion off.

“Is that right? Well, take care then. Thanks for the patronage.” The bartender said as he handed the man his third beer.

With a nod and a slight wave, you departed, making your way out of the building. One outside, the friendly smile you were wearing vanished, replaced by a stern frown.

With resolve in your heart, you stepped forward, away from all that tied you to this small town to the east of Hycasal. Taking what would be the first steps in a long journey, you pressed on, with goal in mind and a drive in your soul.

That broadcast, there was something off about it. The details didn’t add up. Memories of brief interactions with that man, with Shin Kiromura, flashed in your mind. He had seemed like a rather hopeful individual to you...so why would he suddenly sabotage his own experiment? It didn’t make sense.

You wanted answers—no, you needed them. If there was any hope of you being able to move forward, to accept the death of your dear friend and overcome the tragedy that befell you that day, you had to know why it all happened.

That was another thing the news had wrong, that no participants had survived that catastrophe. No, there was one participant that did survive.

You.

The burns that marred your flesh, the haunting memories of that day, and that feeling you had felt in the moments before the blast. All proof that you were there. That you survived. Against all the odds, you, and only you, had made it out of that room alive.

Out of the fires of hell you rose. Determined to get answers. And if one thing was for sure.

You weren’t going to stop until you found them.

#Notes of a Mysterious Researcher #Narrative #World Building #Original Story #Fiction #Original Fiction #The Game #500th Post #tw; death #tw; arson #tw; terrorism #tw; alcohol #The Phoenix

[testo0987]

Literature10 of the Best Poems about the Sea The best poems about seafaring selected by Dr Oliver TearleWhat are the greatest sea poems? We’ve scoured the oceans of verse to bring you these ten classic seafaring poems, covering over a thousand years of English-language poetry. So if you’re ready to take to the sea, we’ll begin… 1. Oliver Tearle, ‘Sea Glass’.… this cocktail of colour, found among the rocks, crafted by the patient ocean’s constant dance, leads this same glass to lose its former lustre.But whilst it loses this, it gains a gloss of frost slow-formed that shapes a stronger matter, a shell as tough as nature can command, and fragile glass becomes as hard as diamond.Permit us to begin with a short poem written by our own founder-editor (the full poem can be found via the link above). Sea glass is glass that has been weathered by the ocean, which turns the broken glass from bottles into natural frosted glass. The process of converting real glass into sea glass takes decades; the point of the poem is that, just as brittle glass is weathered by the years and the elements, so we are weathered, but also shaped, by the passing years as we grow older. Glass loses its original slickness when it becomes sea glass, but it acquires its tough, frosted appearance which makes it durable and resilient.2. Anonymous, ‘The Seafarer’. This 124-line poem is often considered an elegy, since it appears to be spoken by an old sailor looking back on his life and preparing for death. He discusses the solitariness of a life on the waves, the cold, the danger, and the hardships. As such, the poem captures the bewitching fascination the sea holds for us, but also its darker, more unpredictable side. Ezra Pound produced a loose translation of the poem in the early twentieth century.Men who have never known hardship would be unlikely to believe the seafarer’s description of the difficulties of life at sea. The seafarer is without a lord, without wine or the company of women: all he has are the waves surrounding him. No man undertaking such a life could fail to fear, at least a little, what the Lord (Jesus) might have in store for him at the end – i.e., what his fate might be. Like so much Anglo-Saxon literature, ‘The Seafarer’ was almost lost forever. I’ve previously remarked on this, but it’s a sobering thought that all of the Anglo-Saxon poetry that has survived is found in just four manuscripts which escaped the ravages of time, the pillaging of the Vikings, and the censorship of the Church.3. Edmund Spenser, from Amoretti LXXV. One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey. ‘Vain man,’ said she, ‘that dost in vain assay, A mortal thing so to immortalize; For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wiped out likewise.’One of the earliest sonnet sequences written in English, Amoretti dates from the mid-1580s and features this fine sonnet about the poet’s seemingly vain attempt to immortalise his beloved’s name by writing it on the sand at the beach – the tide comes in, and the name is washed away. Spenser is more famous for writing the vast (and unfinished) epic poem The Faerie Queene, but as this poem demonstrates, he also helped to pioneer the English sonnet during the Elizabethan era. Spenser’s beloved chastises him for his hubris and arrogance in seeking to immortalise her in this way, when she is but a woman, and only mortal. Her body will itself decay one day, much as her name has disappeared from the sand; her ‘name’, as in all memory of her, will be wiped out, just as her (literal) name has been erased from the shore.

[beaumontwrites]

Aftermath, Chapter One.

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Fruit had become strangely bitter in the aftermath. The ashes had stained into the flesh of the apples that grew in great groves across the Illawarra, and the sulphur in the air permeated the winds across the entire state.

The scent of baking damper slowly overpowered that smell, mingling with the scent of roasting apple - caramelising butter and cane-sugar to sweeten it - and a herbal tea that steeped in a cast-iron pot.

The small camp-site on the edge of a small quickly desertifying town, in a small fenced in car-dealership lot. The rusted wrecks of the cars had already been stripped for useful parts. The heavily boarded up dealership was a safe-house for the Pathfinder patrols that crossed the suburbs. Forward scouts for the resistance against the living and the dead.

Sam leaned her head against her friend’s shoulder. Jess, too busy drinking to stop her. Patrol 36, eight unfortunate souls, sat around a campfire made from scavenge and dreams. It was mostly silent, until someone spoke, a long day had taken most of the joviality from them. A few ‘chem-lights’ - glow-sticks - lit the road beyond the dealership’s thick chain-link fence with bright yellow and orange lights. Nothing was out there yet. But it was probably due for some rain.

The newcomer, a young woman a few years Sam’s junior, sat across from her, hand still clutching their rifle as they drank the thick soldier’s beer. Two meals a day, three litres of water and two bottles of the thing the commissariat was generously calling beer.

Jess: “Got any smokes still on you?”

Sam pulled a tin-box from her breast pocket and took a peek. Still a few left.

Sam: “Three.”

Jess was her second-in-command, her last remaining friend from before the end. Nearly as fucked up as she was. Jess rummaged through their pockets.

Sam: “Here.” She offered a cigarette, “Don’t worry about that shit.”

Jess: “You sure?”

Sam: “Yeah, I gotta quit anyway.”

Jess took the cigarette, those things’ll kill ya. Herbal cigarettes, half the time they were padded with saw-dust because it burned but didn’t fuck up your lungs or the taste quite as much.

Jess lit up, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close. Dinner took a long time, and most of it was just spent in silence staring at the flickering flames. A few sips of soldier’s beer and a bite to eat, then it was time to sleep. Nights out on patrol became bitterly cold, so it was always welcome to have Jess to share them with. The entire Greater Sydney Basin had started to turn into a desert, ashen and grey. The small town where they made camp was too small to retain much heat and she could feel the ache in her bones as she laid in the back of their truck to rest.

Had it only been five years? She had lived in this town once, her school was just down the road from here. Everything that had happened in the aftermath; death, misery, suffering, darkness. Everything from before felt like a dream, another reality. The only thing that reminded her it was real once upon a time was Jess.

It had begun with a cough. A small outbreak of an unknown virus in the heart of Manhattan.  It was entirely innocuous, life went on as everyone simply struggled through another bad flu season. Then people started to die, it spread so quickly that the world was on-fire before anyone had any clue what had happened. It went from a sniffle to a pandemic in a month. Governments went into crisis, the world locked down, quarantined the sick.

Whatever it was presented itself, bleeding membranes and bruising on the more delicate skin of the body.

In a month one percent of the entire world’s population was dead. Nearly eighty million people. And that would have been survivable, if they had stayed dead. In two months, five percent of the population had died. Then they stopped keeping track. It was pointless to quarantine the sick, so they quarantined the healthy.

Every single healthy person they could fine boarded the long-train west. The sick but not yet dead were rounded up and told to die fighting. Ten percent, the population of the world that was resistant enough to the virus that they weren’t killed outright. Half of one percent, those who seemed physically immune. It wasn’t immunity, they were carriers, with no symptoms and no need to fear.

Sam and Jess were two of them, they were torn from their family. They all died in the war as Sam and Jess boarded the long train.

Day Zero, the last day of the war, when the dead had overcome the living. A broadcast echoed out across the world, the final radio signal to reach out and transmit what little the Australian Government knew about the virus. It had broadcast on all frequencies, it cut through all the static, it interrupted broadcasts and it said the same thing for a week.

It is airborne, it is airborne, it is airborne.

There was no escape, simply breathing the air was enough to infect you. And you could tell if you were going to die just by how the bruising spread across your body. If it was only isolated to the eyes and mouth, you had a good chance of surviving.

The government was gone, and rather than descending into anarchy, fear brought the remnants of society together. Those that filled the power vacuum had a few ideas about how the world had come to end. As a punishment for the sins of the living; the queers, colours and heathens. Hedonism and addiction, the old world had to be eaten to cleanse it for the righteous.

Fire-brands in the shell of the old Commonwealth, the entire world started to burn.

“By the fires of the grace of the Fallen God, we are cleansed of the impurities of the soul. Be they called as Jehovah, Allah, or by any other name, the Fallen God lights the path to our salvation.”

They took root in the quarantine camps, and immediately began their reign of ‘correction’ and ‘cleansing’.

“It is upon us to correct the sins of those who do not walk in the light of the Fallen God.”

Being a young girl trapped in the confines of a cell, surrounded by monsters, having them know you are with another girl. Seeing the pyres they light, hoping that is your fate over the alternative - yet knowing the real fate for you.

“You are too precious to burn.”

Death is a kindness.

“Through the grace of the Fallen God, we were made. And yet by our hubris we rebelled and slew them. With no guide to take our souls to eternal paradise, instead we shall return to consume our own flesh and drink our own blood until the final body is devoured and nothing remains but the purgatory.”

Sam woke, she had missed her shift. A grumpy Ashley, one of her closer friends, had no issues taking over.

Ash: “Boss needed her sleep, she’s been running herself into the ground.”

Elizabeth: “What’s her deal anyway?”

Sam laid listening to them.

Elizabeth: “Why’s she hate them so much?”

Everyone here hated those pricks, that’s why they rebelled, why they fought two wars instead of one.

Ash: “It’s not my place to tell that story. But there are worse things you can do to someone than killing them.”

Sam got up, there was no point delaying it. It was nearly dawn, just the slightest hint of colour had made it into the sky. She approached the still burning fire and sat down. They noticed her, greeted her with a nod.

Elizabeth: “It’s not really the best I’ve ever made, but...”

Elizabeth was making something from the left over bread and apple. Tea was reboiling.

Elizabeth: “Beats the alternative.”

They offered her the first slice, it was toast. Toast with some kind of crushed apple spread.

She took a bite, it was surprisingly good. Crushed apple paste, a hint of something she couldn’t put her finger on, maybe some butter in there, nice and brown with a bit of a char to the ashen bread.

Sam: “You’re good at this.”

Elizabeth smiled warmly: “Thanks, I taught myself how to cook. I didn’t have much else to trade.”

Ash: “What’d you get for that sort of thing?”

Trade was pretty simple, if you didn’t have a service to offer, you needed a good to barter. The Pathfinders were a good place to scavenge up some stuff, but the Free Colonies of Sydney that the Pathfinders were a part of also gave them rations and a few luxuries for doing their job. Luxuries were basically the only thing worth trading because there was always a shortage.

Elizabeth struck Sam as a pragmatist: “Coffee, smokes, condoms, grog.”

Sam: “So why give that up?”

Elizabeth: “Boredom.”

Ashley drank a morning beer and stoked the flames: “Gotta do something ‘til you die.”

Ashley definitely was a pragmatist, the kind of girl that traded all her smokes for condoms so she could spend some time earning some more smokes.

Sam: “Thanks for letting me sleep in.”

Ash: “No worries, mate,” Ashley took the slice of bread offered to them, “I figured I’d get Jess on my good-side for once.”

Ashley was one of those country-town girls that had been rounded up for the long-train ride. Wouldn’t know it by looking at her though. A grimy, scarred, messy kind of a girl that scrubbed up alright with a bit of steel wool and elbow grease. They were all like that though, Sam supposed. Ugly young women in tattered repurposed clothes designed for a different world, torn and gnawed and cut into a thousand pieces. The only real difference was her hair. Digging through ruins, killing undead, crawling through mud and dirt and marching through rain. Sam had been such a delicate girl in her youth, Jess was the tomboy.

Ash: “This is pretty good, you should do some cooking back at base.”

Sam agreed: “I’ve got nothing to offer, but I know people that’d give an arm and a leg for something decent to eat.”

Plus people hoarded up cigarettes and alcohol just because they liked to feel like they’ve got something to their name. They’d definitely part with a little of their stash for some proper food.

Ash: “If I weren’t on the hook to Jess for fags-uh, sorry.”

Ashley chagrined. Sam shrugged.

Ash: “I already give her smokes.”

Sam was curious, she’d never actually bothered to ask: “What does she trade you anyway?”

Ash: “Rubber.”

Sam traded them the same thing for their coffee...: “Wait, then how are you always complaining you need more?”

Ashley shrugged: “Sun’s up, I’ll go wake everyone.”

Ashley dashed off before any more questions could be raised. Elizabeth poured herself a cup of tea. Coffee had been in short supply for a while now, whatever the substitute was they’d been having trouble getting more.

Sam: “She’s gonna be pissed when she finds out I’m giving up smoking.”

Elizabeth laughed, Sam chuckled.

Elizabeth: “She can have mine if she wants, I’ve got no use for ‘em.”

Sam: “I’ve still got no clue where they get half this shit from. Logistics is fucking magic to me.”

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully: “I guess it’s no less impressive than the dead coming back to life.”

Sam: “Guess not.”

Elizabeth: “I bet you’ve seen some shit. You’re a career soldier right?”

As far as occupations go, she was a philosopher. She’d never actually trained to be a soldier, she just refused to die easily.

Sam: “Yeah, guess so.”

Elizabeth: “You’re a black-shield, right?”

Sam nodded. The whole shield thing always kind of bothered her. It was a pseudo-rank thing the Free Colonies did and all it really meant was that you had logged a lot of time out in the field. Every three months you got a different colour, from White which was untrained, Green which was trained but under three months. All the way to Black, which was an entire twelve months spent in the field. Her actual military rank was captain. Ashley who was a red-shield, nine-months, was also a captain and Jess who was second-in-command was a lieutenant but also a black-shield. Elizabeth was a green-shield, and a private. In the end, it meant fuck all, it was just some revolutionary bullshit the high-command was pulling because they were worried about any associations at all with the Commonwealth. They had even considered renaming Sydney but never came up with a good name for it.

Elizabeth: “How many times have you been bitten?”

Sam: “Twelve, maybe as high as fifteen.”

The others started showing up for breakfast. Elizabeth passed around the food and the tea. The eight women of Patrol 36, much more cheery than last night, but all still looking like death.

Jess: “So, where to next Boss?”

They wrapped an arm around her, hugged her to their side as they ate.

Sam: “Well, I’m out of cigarettes, so I say we head back to base.”

She offered Jess her last cigarette. They were getting low on supplies anyway.

#beaumontwrites #fiction #prose #literature

[sending-the-message]

In The City Of Meatbot-Powered Killers (part 4) by molotok_c_518

Table of Contents.

Part 3.

I hit the dark web for a few minutes, burned a couple of Bitcoin for a block of stolen credit card numbers, and searched for what the hell just happened downtown.

While I took a couple of the platinum card accounts to activate some of my burner phones (their fraud support will save them some charges, and I'll still have some prepaid phones to work with), I digested what the Army and Air National Guard just did.

(*26 hours ago, in RQZ HQ...)

Col. {Jones}, HQ "Six" (HQ6): This is Six, go ahead, sir.

Adjutant General, New York National Guard (AGNY): This operation is strictly need-to-know now, Six. It has been designated "Top Secret: Compartmentalized" at the highest levels, and the code name attached is "Glass Chipmunk."

HQ6: What the... who comes up with this shit... uh, sir?

AGNY: Some spook at the NSA. More time on their hands than sense.

HQ6: Yes, sir.

(Side note: The reason top secret stuff gets odd code-names is because they are words you would not accidentally say in a normal conversation. Try to work "Glass Chipmunk" into a sentence without sounding like you're crazy. It *might** work with someone with a curio collection... sort of like Alpine Shepherd Boy... but otherwise, you will stand out.*)

AGNY: How is the perimeter?

HQ6: Solid, sir. Nothing is getting out of there. We've had a few... anomalies, but no breaches.

AGNY: "Anomalies?"

HQ6: Well... it appears that the mad scientists' little toys don't hole up well in non-humans. We've had some animals come to the wire and just melt. The larger ones, we need to put down... have you ever tried shooting a cat and her kittens? They melted, too.

AGNY: I'll arrange to get some more men rotated in. Things like that obliterate morale.

HQ6: Thank you, sir... but we need a longer-term solution to this. We've gotten lucky, so far, in that only a few infected have tried to hit us. Tracers work well, so we've taken to loading all of our SAWs with nothing else. If they hit us in anything larger than 3 or 4 at a time, we're gonna get overrun in a heartbeat and a half, and you'll have a lot more than a city's worth of these things to worry about.

AGNY: Roger that, Six. I gotta tell ya, Tom... I've never thought, not even once, that we'd be talking about bombing American citizens.

HQ6: Roger that, Six. Voting demographic will definitely shift.

AGNY: Are you suggesting...

HQ6: No, sir. Just a bit of gallows' humor. Whistling in the graveyard, as it were.

AGNY: How about our reluctant big-brain?

HQ6: Still no sign of him. We lost him during his move towards the campus. We think he's in the Advanced Research Labs facility on campus, but we're not sure enough to risk an extraction team in a hostile-heavy area of the city.

AGNY: We have a good set-up on the plaza. Give the green light for the Reaper to launch. You are covered.

HQ6: That's an order?

AGNY: Direct order, Tom. Take solace in the fact that it's an act of mercy for the poor bastards.

HQ6: Yes, sir.

(23 hours ago.)

Reaper drone pilot, designated RD-3: On station, awaiting instructions.

HQ6: What's your load, RD-3:

RD-3: I have 4 Hellfires, sir. I see the target, awaiting order.

HQ6: You've been briefed as to the situation?

RD-3: Yes, sir. Glass Chipmunk. (almost inaudible chuckle)

HQ6: Right. When you have the target locked, you are cleared to engage.

RD-3: Order received. Lightin' em up.

Video footage from RD-3

It's daytime, timestamp on the video is 1106. Wide shot of a square plaza surrounded by concrete and glass buildings, in a Brutalist architectural style.

In the plaza is a large, pulsating mass of bodies, covered in dirt, rags, dried "blood" (in reality, it's mostly meatbots at this point), sweat, and strips of dried flesh.

A fountain in the center has kept these people hydrated since the outbreak. It has allowed this... gathering... to continue unabated.

"Gathering" is too weak a word. It's like a Roman orgy crossed with Cannibal Holocaust or Green Inferno.

The weakest have either stayed at the fringes and devoured what scraps they can, knowing that they have no chance at survival in the main body, or threw themselves in early, were torn to shreds and eaten whole, in order to kill the all-consuming hunger driving them.

The strongest have formed a horrific symbiosis, tearing chunks off of each other, letting chunks get torn from them, then healing enough to repeat the process. The looks of pain when injured are almost indistinguishable from the looks of rapture when they devour a neighbor.

There is no "sex," per se. Hunger has replaced sexual desire. If anything, the erogenous zones seem to be the most targeted areas for consumption... and since they grow back, they get targeted a lot.

I don't want to look. I want to make a bad joke about oral sex and fix myself a bottle of rum. Better still, a keg.

I look anyway.

At 1113, a missile tears into a fuel truck abandoned at the east end of the plaza. The angle is perfect: flaming kerosene or diesel splashes over the crowd, and thick clouds of boiling black smoke quickly fill the space.

Some of the (un)lucky few who escaped the initial blast run away.

Most, either sensing a well-cooked meal or realizing this will end the agonizing hunger, dive into the center of the holocaust.

In one strike, the National Guard have eliminated about 3/4 of the population of [REDACTED].

I've been working frantically for the past day, trying to find a way to protect myself from possible infection. I can't think "if" anymore: those idiots out there will see me at some point and launch an extraction. I've seen enough horror movies to know how catastrophically it will fail, and how likely I will be to have highly-trained, inhibition-impaired, hungry, rapid-healing killers at my door.

Yes, I'm a pessimist.

I know now how we got to this point, and I have the entire sequence ciphered out. My meatbots were part of a power struggle within the group, and were weaponized purely by circumstance.

First, Dr. A. He got in to the GATACA compiler and dropped his little brain bomb in the code. Hidden in the "comments" in the DNA (we had plenty of space to put messages in the DNA, and did so frequently to explain why Sequence 8c, for example, was written to repair a long muscle in a certain manner, rather than another) was his excuse:

Dr. A: By the time you read this, you will no longer head this project. If I can strike quickly and "prove" that you bungled the neuro programming, I can capitalize and run this program as I see fit. Some people aren't worth saving. Others should be reprogrammed for the greater good.

Dr. B followed this up by checking out the endocrine codes and cranking hunger to 1000. His excuse:

Dr. B: Need more. We can fund this by selling the old versions on the black market, and keep the excess for ourselves.

Profiteering, meet societal re-engineering.

It might have gone almost unnoticed, except for player 3.

Late in the project, I had an assistant basically forced on me. Dr. C was also a computer scientist, come to us from government service. He said the right things, asked the right questions, and made himself indispensable.

What I didn't know until last night was, he was a military contractor on the side, and was looking for combat applications for the 'bots.

He knew what the other fuckwits had done, and instead of fixing it...

It was he who showed Bobby the "Jesus room" (he used a different name for each guard, knowing they would be impressed with what was within). He managed to get a copy of Steve's key card to the most pliable guards, then waited for the inevitable.

He got very lucky (or unlucky) that we had just begun to prep for primate trials when Bobby's wife died. He had the "perfect" weaponized version of my project, and its spread was the perfect test.

I know this because the dumb fucker emailed his superiors on a civilian email account.

The NSA grabbed him up rapidly after that. He's sitting in Guantanamo Bay, if there's any justice.

What I've learned in the past 48 hours is sickening.

When I was a kid, I read Frankenstein several times. Mary Shelley shares my birthday, so it's like we're soul mates separated by 200 years.

I always told myself, "Don't let hubris be your downfall. You're doing this for mankind. You're not playing God... you're doing God's work, if we really are created in His/Her image."

This has never been about doing it because we could. It's doing it because we need this... to save lives cut too short by disease or accident.

Do this now, decide later how it should be used. That was always the mission.

Now... now, I'm using my knowledge of chemistry to destroy my life's work. I know what to mix for the best explosives I can make given what I have on hand. The labs we've been working will be utterly annihilated.

There's no way this project gets out. They aren't ready.

They aren't worthy.

Before I do that, though, I am going to call several people and let them know what happened. I am going to tell the press why my malignant miracle is being denied to the world.

NOW I'm playing God.

I've already made several vials of my counter-bots and hid them on my person. They're untested, but better than the alternative.

I may have a way to sneak off-campus, and from there I have a possible way to get out of town. It's going to involve laying low after the powers-that-be order a full sweep and cleanup of the bot-ridden, which I fully expect in a week or so.

I did some very rough calculations. Fatty tissues have probably all been digested by now. Protein can be burned for energy, and some of it will be consumed by each repair and replication cycle. I figure that, in 3 or 4 more days, there won't be enough metabolic energy to drive a flea left in anyone with meatbots in their blood.

Before I do anything else, though... time for a smoke.

I head up to the roof, and take a deep breath... then step to the wall and puke as the foul reek of thousands of roasting bodies pours into my sinuses.

I won't be eating barbecue any time soon.

By some dark miracle, I puke right on a bot-ridden at the base of the building. He looks up, then begins licking the vomit off of himself.

Didn't need to see that.

I move away from the wall. I fumble a smoke from the pack, and light up with very shaky hands.

I also crack the seal on the cheap водка I found in a lab assistant's office and take a deep swig. I dislike the cheap stuff... it has this nasty chemical aftertaste.

All of this is distracting me from the little fucker I puked on, who is free-climbing the wall.

I catch the barest hint of movement out of the corner of my eye as he crests the retaining wall and leaps 20 feet across the roof to tackle me.

I drop the водка and spin quickly to meet him. I'm unarmed, because "Of course they can't get to me. I'm behind two locked doors!" and this is going to kill me...

...and it gets close enough for me to see that "he" is a "she," and she's emaciated and nothing but bone, skin and wiry muscle and hunger and fuck I'm going to have to punch a girl to save my life as I loop a right cross straight into her oncoming jaw, and she drops to the roof...

...and I grab my водка and run for the door as she scrambles to her feet and makes the sprint after me with frightening speed, and I stop and duck as she comes at my back and misses her grab and I stand up straight into her jaw and she staggers backwards...

...and I spin around and plant a solid left into her gut and she doubles over but she has a grip on my back and can't bite through my shirt but I stand up straight and she flips over my back to the ground at my heels...

...and I spin again and kick her in the head and she grabs her head and it gives me just enough time to get to the door and open it...

...but she's on her feet and after me and through the door just as I pull it shut and now I'm in the stairwell to the second floor with a crazed bot-ridden woman who lunges for me...

...so I throw her over the railing and she hangs on barely and I'm running down the stairs and to the second floor entryway and through the door...

...and she drops from the railing and down all the way to the first floor and I hear the CRACK-CRACK of both of her legs snapping on impact and she screams in agony but she's up on both broken legs and trying to limp up the stairs...

...and the door to the second floor closes on the stairwell.

I'm now trapped in the building with a for-now injured bot-ridden.

Oh... and my knuckles are bleeding.

I may be infested as well.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story