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sushiburritonoms · 3 years

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I've been having terrible writer's block lately, not enjoying anything I've written, not getting anywhere with WIPs. Poor @darkisrising and @bronze-lorica have had to talk me off edges lately (thanks guys you're the best!). I think I finally have a chapter 3 for Sacred Texts but I'm sitting on it for a while to see if that's the direction I really want to go. I'm soooo sorry for the delay.

In the meantime I was looking through my notes for The Father the Son and the Exile and I found a bunch of scenes I wrote and abandoned as the fic moved in different directions. I figured I'd post some of them because they'll never see the light of day otherwise and because I have nothing else to offer right now.

Originally in Exile, Din and Luke were supposed to make it to Tython. I had them meeting up with Han AND Leia on the planet Ajan Kloss (its the planet Luke and Leia train on in TROS). Its interesting looking back at this, Din and Luke have a different dynamic since I wrote this a long time ago back in March when the story was going in a different direction (I also wrote an homage to one of Writer Owl's fics in the dialogue). I enjoy playful Luke, I don't really write him that often and that's a real shame. Anyways here's wonder wall, enjoy!

Ajan Kloss was a swampy humid hellhole of a planet that no rational, sentient being should visit, let alone enjoy. Of course that meant that Grogu and Luke were comfortable in the sticky humid environment. In fact there was a rare smile stretched across Luke's face and he sounded almost nostalgic as he talked around their campfire.

“There’s a certain type of moss that grows on the trees here that’s edible.”

Din refused to look up at Luke from where he was cleaning their meal. “I’m not drinking any tea you make out of it.”

“It’s more of a garnish?”

Din sighed. “Don’t touch my fish.” He forcefully stuck a stick lengthwise through the fish as an emphasis.

“Grogu should really have more vegetation in his diet. Master Yoda used to eat plants.”

Din snorted. “You’re welcome to try.” It wasn’t like the kid never ate vegetables but they were always fried and covered in spices. That probably wasn’t what Luke was getting at.

“Maybe later. He did eat two whole frogs.” Luke edged himself closer to the fire. “Maybe after this we could swing by Dagobah. You know, assuming we’re not about to trigger some sort of sneak attack or trap. There are tubers I could dig up for him that Master Yoda ate, plus I could pick up more gnarltree bark.”

Din blinked and raised his head up to properly look at Luke. He knew what Luke was doing. He was trying to distract himself with thoughts of the future. It was a tactic Din often used himself--strategize every possible outcome in the hopes the future won’t be as terrifying as it feels.

On the one hand, he was amused and touched by Luke’s continued fixation on Grogu’s eating habits, even if it was hypocritical of Luke given his own poor diet. It reminded Din of some of the older members of the Covert that used to watch Din when he was little. They always used to harass him to eat everything offered to him and gave him sharp nudges when he tried to skip directly to the occasional sweet treat left out for all the foundlings to share. It was very Mandalorian of Skywalker and it felt good. Familiar.

On the other hand, Din really, really didn’t want any more tree bark in the Wayfinder. So Din didn’t really know what to say.

“Hold this.” Din shoved a fish skewer into Luke’s hand. Yeah that worked.

Luke took the skewer with a hint of a smile. “Master Yoda used to eat certain mushrooms too, I think I can safely identify them. Or maybe I could put together an aquarium in the Wayfinder and we could take more frogs with us. I bet I can repurpose one of the smaller cloning cylinders I have in the back and add a filtration system...”

Din shuddered at the thought of living with a cloning vat filled with frogs and the likelihood of frogs, moss and tree bark for dinner several nights a week. Just no. “This is why our people are ancient enemies,” he shuddered. “You live like animals.”

There was silence. Too long of a silence. Din looked up.

Luke was staring at him with a shocked look on his face. “Our people are ancient enemies?” He whispered.

Ah kriff. Din winced. “So I’ve heard.”

“....Oh.” Luke looked crushed. “Nobody told--well. There’s a lot nobody told me,” he sighed. “About being a Jedi.”

Damn damn damn. Din wanted to throw his hands up in the sky.

“I guess that makes sense,” Luke mumbled. He was fiddling with the fish skewer in his hands. “All the other Mandalorians I’ve ever met have tried to capture or kill me. I thought it was just the Bounty…”

“I’m not like other Mandalorians.” Din interrupted, desperate to turn the conversation. It was technically true, probably just not in a way that helped their relationship. Er--their partnership? Their--whatever this was.

“I mean I like you…”

Din froze. What.

“You’re really good at fishing and Grogu loves you. I’d hate to have to kill you.”

Din’s heart restarted in his chest again. Was Luke...messing with him? “You wouldn’t leave a mark.”

Luke blinked up at him innocently and fluttered his damn eyelashes. “I could totally kill you in your sleep.”

The little shit! “I’ll poison your tea.”

“It’s pretty much already poison. I’m immune.”

Heh, true. “Your fish then.”

“I’ll just go grab a frog.”

“You’re staying here and eating my damn fish!”

Luke burst out into sudden loud laughter. It was like a sudden fierce rainstorm in the way it showered over the camp. It startled Grogu, who had been ignoring both of them in favor of playing with some shiny rocks nearby. He tilted his head and then matched Luke’s laughter with a baby chuckle of his own.

“Sorry! I think it's just my nerves talking but that just sounded wrong and so funny--”

Din just shook his head. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what had set Luke off but he didn’t care. “Crazy Jedi.”

“Trigger happy Mandalorian.” Luke gave him a giant smile. “Hurry up and finish this.” He gave Din back the fish skewer and chuckled again. Despite his comment about his nerves, Luke’s shoulders were relaxed and his legs were spread out comfortably by the fire. Din could stare at his lopsided smile all evening, especially as the sun set and the fire highlighted the delight in his eyes. The sun shone through the lighter parts of Luke’s shaggy long hair. It was now untied from the neat bun it had started in and looked soft and golden in the light.

Stars above help him. Luke was beautiful. Din was tired of denying the thought. He wanted to touch Luke’s face with his bare hands, run his fingers through his hair and that was terrifying. He hadn’t wanted to take off his armor for anyone, besides Grogu, in ages. Maybe with Omera...but this was much different. The feelings he’d had for her were a momentary weakness compared to the colossally bad idea this was to develop an attraction for this damaged Jedi. Din had no idea what tomorrow was going to bring. Even if nothing happened, there was the uncertainty of the next day and the next to worry about. Luke was a marked man and every day there was a chance something could take him out. Take him away. The thought burned in him like a chemical fire inside a reactor. Caged deep inside of him, destructive it released, and burning with an intensity greater than Din could stand.

This was why he never got involved with people before he found Grogu. He didn’t know what to do with the intensity of his feelings and how to fit them into his unpredictable life.

“Din?” Luke’s smile fell slightly. “You ok?”

“..Yeah.” Din did what he always did. He pushed his feelings away and tried to focus on the present. What had they been talking about? Food. He sat and thought for a moment. Maybe...

“I have a contact on Tatooine, from a rural town few people have heard of. Mos Epsa.”

“Mos Eps--I thought that was wiped from the planet years ago.” Luke looked impressed.

“It’s still there.” Din handed Luke a cooked fish skewer and settled back with his own. “We could go there, for a while. We’d be safe. I’m assuming we can both eat Tatooine food.”

Luke picked at his fish. “I do miss blue milk.”

Good. “I’ll add it to the list.”

Luke chuckled. “You have a list?”

“Of safe planets we can stop at. We should have alternatives to the drop pods and not be reliant on the New Republic. My list is probably different from yours so we have more options.” Din stabbed his fish a little harder with his skewer to make his opinion of Luke’s employers known.

The smile on Luke’s face got impossibly wider. “That makes sense...Thank you.”

Din grunted. The smile on Luke’s face was too distracting. Instead he looked down at his food. Oh. Right. Damn.

Luke made the exact realization at the same time. “Sorry! I forgot, I can go back to the ship--”

“Shut up and sit down, Jetti.” Din shook his head. He only hesitated for a half second before he reached up to his helmet and unlatched it. He opened it wide enough to take a bite.

“Or you could do that. Of course.” Luke babbled. He turned his head so he wasn’t looking at Din. Which was sweet. But also meant he wasn’t looking at his food.

“Eat.” Din growled. “All of it.” How was it this hard to feed a grown adult? Grogu gave him less trouble. Gods help Skywalker, Din was about to channel some of the fiercest warriors he knew to get him to eat more.

Luke gave him a mock solute. “Yes sir.”

Din began to reach for his sidearm.

Luke responded with a rather unnecessarily dainty bite of fish.

Din began to unhook his blaster.

Luke nibbled at one edge of a fin.

The blaster powered up.

Luke kriffing licked his fish.

“That’s disgusting.” Din gave up. He couldn’t help it--he chuckled as he powered down his blaster.

“Yeah it is,” Luke stuck his tongue out. “Fish is gross.”

“I thought you said you’d eat anything.”

“I do. I don’t have to like it. I didn’t grow up eating fish, it’s both slimy and spikey at the same time.”

“You eat frogs.”

“You can eat a small frog in one bite! I’ve gotten fish bones stuck in my throat.”

“You’re not supposed to eat the bones.”

“Nobody told me that the first time. What part of ‘raised on a desert planet’ does no one understand?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Luke sat back. “I’m done now, mom. May I go now?”

Din sighed. “No.” He held out another fish skewer.

“You got to be kidding me.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“How hard is the har--YIKES! NO! LETGO! ARGHHH!!!!!”

‘Yup’, Din thought to himself as he held the struggling, still too skinny, Jedi in a headlock. He had it bad and he was going to regret this.

Tomorrow. He’ll regret it tomorrow.

“DJARIN LET ME GO NOW OR YOU’RE GOING IN THE SWAMP!”

Here’s hoping the desert boy could swim.

#Still bummed I never used any of this #Luke the frog eater #lives on a diet of moss leaves and swamp dew #Luke was actually less damaged in this version wtf sb #I made it gayer but also angstier #I miss the exile universe so much #may the writers block end and the words flow soon #have i posted this already?#I feel like I have argh idk #I still like it #The Father the Son and the Exile #sb fics

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stormquill · 5 years

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Misconduct, Ch. 11 [Soldier 76/Reader]

You have an extremely inappropriate crush on your commanding officer. Maybe if you work hard enough, you’ll stop having feelings.

[ AO3 Link ]

Author's Notes: Collaboration with @antiloquist. Follow the blog @ http://miss-conduct.tumblr.com/

Chapter Notes: look man it's been a solid year and a half i don't really have anything to say for myself lmao

The dead of night gave you plenty of cover as you kept perched atop your roof, overlooking the harbour.

Several days of recon had pointed to the indication that Amélie would be prepped for transport tonight, smuggled aboard one of the many ships bound for the Atlantic the following morning. However, some last-minute digging had uncovered Amélie herself—safe and sound in suspended animation—hidden away in a repair dock on the opposite side of the harbour.

You and 76 had the upper hand for three simple reasons: first, you were aware of the trap waiting for you at the harbour; second, you knew the real location of your target; and third, they weren’t expecting your Commander to be approaching the situation with backup.

76 was advancing towards the repair docks at that very moment. All you had to do was sit tight and pay attention to their presence at the harbour, in case there were any additional circumstances you hadn’t accounted for.

Surprisingly, getting out was the easy part.

The dropship was already in-range. Your handheld evacuation devices—the ones you’d developed with Winston to make your technology more portable—would transport its wearers to the main evac apparatus, installed safely on-board. One of the major flaws of the new tech was that, like its outdated, bulkier version, all nodes had to be activated at once, and once they were activated, it took several hours for them to recharge.

There were three devices in total—one with you, two with 76—and as soon as he confirmed that he’d affixed one to Amélie, you would activate the devices and transport all three of you onto the dropship.

Wait for 76’s confirmation. Hit a button.

“Easy,” you reassured yourself.

You were so tired.

Maybe it was a good thing, you thought. The unholy mess of stress and exhaustion numbed your fear and steadied the grasp on your rifle. At the same time, however, it dulled your senses, making you feel unreactive, and slow. As much as you didn’t want to dwell on the idea, you couldn’t wait to be rid of this mission.

You didn’t tell him that, of course.

Your Commander had glanced down at you before you parted ways, the glaring light of his visor back to the familiar cherry red that suited him most. When you held his gaze, a sinking feeling dropped heavy in your gut, with the inescapable anxiety of absolutely everything going wrong. You’d completed enough training and gone on enough missions throughout your lifetime to be able to control these last-minute fears, but within that moment, you couldn’t shake them off as easily as normal.

“Nothing reckless,” was all you said, “we promised.”

He nodded.

You felt stupid for thinking it at a moment like this, but you wanted to nestle against him again until your raging nerves ebbed to a crawl, until his scent was all you needed as reassurance that everything would be alright.

A few moments of awkward silence passed before you realized you were holding your breath.

“Good luck out there,” you settled on.

“You, too.”

And that was the last you saw of him.

Sudden noises drew you from the memory.

A box truck pulled into the streets below, near one of the boats docked along the harbour. Once they killed the engine, four men rushed out of the vehicle and rounded towards the back of it, hoisting the rear door and prepping to transport something out.

“Athena,” you whispered, voice still feeling too loud in the chill of the early morning. “How many heat signatures in the back of the truck?”

“Calculating...” The female tone was cool and even in your ear. “Detecting six additional heat signatures in the back of the vehicle.”

Four in sight, six in hiding.

Hissing urgent commands at one another, the four visible agents worked together to ease a massive crate from the truck onto a large metal dolly.

“And how many signatures that crate?” you asked.

“Zero.”

As expected, you thought. The crate was a decoy. They were expecting 76 to muscle his way in—and maybe, if you weren’t here, that’s exactly what he would’ve done, only to be met with an empty container and an ambush.

...you both should’ve been gone by now.

You touched the communication device clipped to your ear. “Commander, do you read me? Do we have an ETA on evac? Over.”

The silence sent your mind racing.

“Athena, can I get a status report on the Commander?”

“Vital signs: stable. Communications online. Evacuation node two is prepared for activation. Evacuation node three is prepared for activation.”

Then why the hell wasn’t he responding?

The answer was obvious—he must have encountered enemy interference, either en route or at site. However, the agents below were still maneuvering the decoy cargo towards their ship docked at the harbour, meaning neither them nor the ambush in hiding had been notified of the compromise.

That meant you could still buy him time.

“Commander,” you started, “assume contingency 32B. If I do not receive orders within five minutes, we abort without payload. Athena?”

“Understood. Initiating contingency 32B.”

A split-second later, several cracks shattered the air like fireworks, as every hidden camera your Commander had planted in the immediate area self-destructed.

Neighborhood dogs began barking. Windows of nearby apartment complexes lit with newly woken civilians. The agents below surrounded the dolly, drawing their own guns in response.

Amidst the sudden confusion, you balanced your rifle along the edge of the rooftop, charged your shot to maximum power, and fired at the ship—another crash echoed through the harbour as you blew a hole in the ship’s main hull. The damage wasn’t enough to sink it, but it was enough to keep it from disembarking—more importantly, it was enough to get their attention.

The hidden agents were already piling out of the back of the box truck, while those guarding the dolly shouted and pointed towards your rooftop. Though the shot had given away your position, you immediately lined up another, this time aiming for the vehicle’s engine. The explosion tore through the air louder than any disruption that had come before it. You ducked for cover just before automatic fire began spraying in your direction.

The self-destructing cameras had woken up half the neighborhood, so French authorities would be on their way. You made yourself out to be someone making a play for the fake cargo, which would buy 76 a few extra minutes. And you’d crippled the agents’ ground transportation, meaning they couldn’t fall back to your Commander’s current position, even if they were called to retreat.

Rifle slung around your shoulder, you fell back. You could already hear the heavy footfalls of enemy agents scrambling up your fire escape; you headed for the opposite side, instead, using your grappling equipment to hook onto the roof’s edge and scale down the side of the building.

Three agents were standing guard at the bottom of the fire escape.

You hit the ground running.

Enemy fire sent your heart rattling inside your chest like a bell in a cage, but you kept focused. You’d studied the layouts of these alleys a hundred times over, and outmaneuvering the enemy was child’s play—but the knowledge of what was behind every corner did nothing to ease the sound of their bullets ricocheting as they missed, blasting off bits of brick and concrete around you.

Behind this dumpster. Through this door. Right turn. Left turn. Right turn. Right.

You couldn’t let yourself get hurt again. Not after last time.

“Payload secured,” came the voice you were waiting for, like music to your ears. “Requesting evac.”

“Copy.”

And you hit the button.

Teleportation felt like being yanked by a set of wires tied to your ribcage—it always left you feeling disoriented and unsteady on your feet, even as you made solid contact with the floor of the dropship.

The sight of the unconscious woman jarred you to your senses. Though she was unarmed and barely out of stasis, you weren’t about to underestimate the lethality of a known Talon agent held in such high regard.

Falling over yourself with urgency, you rushed over to the side of her unmoving form. You lifted her body, bridal-style, to the small holding chamber in the back of the dropship, and sat her upright.

You sealed the door shut, and stumbled backwards with the shock of what you’d just done.

You did it.

You rescued her.

As your adrenaline-fueled haste died down, the electric excitement vibrating within your chest replaced itself with a cold, harrowing realization—that the dropship was far too quiet, far too empty around you.

You knew what was behind you before you bothered turning around.

A spent evacuation node sat on the floor where your Commander should have been standing.

“Athena,” you near-whispered, voice weak, “status report?”

“Vital signs: unstable. Communications offline. Evacuation node two, offline. Evacuation node three, offline.”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

You knew what you had to do.

To say you hadn’t planned for this was a lie.

Of course you’d planned for it—you’d planned every iteration of every possibility of any combination of the three of you becoming compromised. The contingency of this scenario was clear: neither one of you would leave without the other. Surely, he’d know that.

Surely, he knew you were coming.

All three of your evacuation nodes were spent, which meant you would have to get him out the good old-fashioned way. The question gnawing at you remained: what could have happened that necessitated him removing the transportation device from himself? The node was an instant get-out-of-jail-free card, one which hadn’t been damaged or malfunctioning at time of transport, so why would he ever take it off?

You didn’t have much time to wonder.

Athena dropped you off as close as she could to your Commander’s last known coordinates on the dry docks.

If your positions were switched, you had little doubt 76 would’ve come after you, guns blazing, regardless of enemy numbers or positioning, but you couldn’t afford the same bravado. If you were too heavily outnumbered, trying to get him out on your own would be nothing short of suicide. For 76 to have been taken down, you expected to be faced with an army.

But the dry docks were barren when you arrived. Almost serene.

There were no signs of recent activity in the area, let alone of a recent fight. Aside from 76’s signal pinging you from across the docks, Athena confirmed there were no other heat signatures in the immediate area.

Had he been abducted, maybe? Taken to a secondary location without his tech?

You shook your head, doing your best to parse contingency from paranoia. You were approaching the cargo ship where Amélie’s body was being held mere minutes earlier—unfamiliar enemy territory—and you needed to pay attention.

Readying your weapon, you ascended the set of metal stairs along the side of the ship; already, your footsteps sounded far too loud.

The large, open deck of the cargo vessel was crowded with storage units—massive, rectangular metal boxes of identical shapes and sizes stacked on top of each other like multi-coloured building blocks. As you approached 76’s signal, you kept your steps light and your wits about you, checking your corners while keeping your back pressed to solid surfaces. The deck was dark, claustrophobic, terrible grounds for a fight—if it weren’t for Athena’s confirmation there were no other living souls on-board, you wouldn’t have stepped foot in here without backup.

The pinging in your ear grew more rapid as 76’s signal became stronger on your radar.

To your right, an open storage unit containing the now-empty stasis machine, still running, casting an ice-blue light across the deck and illuminating the scene before you.

Several toppled cargo units crowded the area, all of which were heavily damaged with massive dents and bullet holes. The path of destruction led to the rear-most area of the deck.

A splash of blood was illuminated brilliantly against the dark surface of the ship, awash in the stasis machine’s ice-blue glow, as if it were under blacklight. Another spatter, smeared along the side of a storage container. Several drips along the metal flooring, rounding the corner of another open unit nearby...

You checked your corners before checking inside.

Inside the open storage container sat the form of a man in the glow of his own cherry red visor, hunched over with a hand pressed to his thigh, a pool of his own blood seeping beneath him.

“Don’t,” 76 croaked, sounding weaker than you’d ever heard him, “it’s a trap—”

Reflexes kicking in, you raised your weapon and did a swift 180, aim landing on the head of the other man standing behind you.

And you fired.

You thought you missed, at first—your laser burned a hole in the storage unit behind him—but you realized your shot had gone through him, as the man’s entire body morphed into a cloud of black vapour before your charge made contact.

This didn’t make any sense. There wasn’t anyone else alive on this ship.

You’d checked.

“Athena?” you whispered.

“Target possesses no heat signature. Target possesses no pulse.”

The insinuation of her words sent your mind reeling.

You had no contingencies for this.

The swirling cloud solidified into being once more. Hooded and broad-shouldered, the man towered before you, the sharp edges of his bone-white mask glinting in the blue light. His gloved hands—every finger clawed with a sharp silver talon—carried a mammoth pair of black shotguns you could’ve easily mistaken for cinder blocks. He was black leather and red adornments. He was dread and absolute foreboding.

The partner in more ways than one.

The one he cared about finding.

And Gabriel Reyes laughed at you, his voice as ethereal as the rest of him. “You’re late.”

You blurted out the only words that came to mind. “What the fuck?”

“...eloquent.”

As much as you were trembling, you didn’t lower your gun. “You’re here to kill us, then?”

“And if I am?”

“Anything happens to either us, Amélie is dead,” you snapped. Your voice was much steadier than you were. “The dropship is already en route to headquarters—if we don’t both check in within the hour, it’s set to self-destruct.”

“That so?” His claws readjusted their grip on his shotguns. “How were you planning on getting out of here?”

“Dunno.” You swallowed, hard. “Didn’t think that far ahead.”

He made an amused noise, low in his throat. “It’s been a while since you’ve had someone so willing to die for you, Jack.”

...Jack?

Attention faltering, your blood turned to ice beneath your skin. Pieces of the puzzle were jamming themselves into place, violently, all at once, and as the big picture revealed itself to you, you felt more and more like a complete fucking idiot for not having seen it earlier.

As if reading your mind, Gabriel tilted his head to the side.

“Oh my god,” he chuckled, darkly. “You didn’t know.”

You stood there, facing each other—his guns still at his side, yours still pointed at his head. If your Commander was Jack Morrison, that meant the Gabriel Reyes in front of you wasn’t just any Gabriel Reyes—this was the Gabriel Reyes, ex-commander of Blackwatch, public scapegoat for the first fall.

You suddenly found yourself in the company of men who were killed in an explosion nearly a decade ago and you no longer knew what was real.

“Congratulations, Jack,” said Gabriel. “You managed to find the one person on the planet who bought into the world’s worst-kept secret.”

“Leave them out of this,” snarled the voice behind you. “Your fight is with me.”

“Oh, but this is so much bigger than you and I. Why shouldn’t your new lackey come along for the ride?”

Your desire for an explanation outweighed your caution. “I thought you died, Commander Reyes.”

You could tell the use of his name gave him pause.

“He did,” he replied. “It’s ‘Reaper,’ now. Or did he leave that part out, too?”

Your breath caught in your chest. So not only was Gabriel Reyes still alive, but it was the true identity of the infamous terrorist you’d only ever heard rumours of. The ghost of the battlefield, the shadow of death, the one rumoured to steal the very souls of his victims until their bodies were nothing but dried husks—here he was, standing before you, dismantling your worldview one word at a time.

And yet, you didn’t want him to stop talking.

You lowered your rifle by an inch or two, just enough to better meet his gaze. “What did Commander Morrison do to you?”

He sneered beneath his mask. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.”

Though you continued aiming at him, Reaper still had not yet raised his weapons against you. He seemed to consider you for a moment—your quivering hands, your unblinking gaze, your steadfast positioning in the face of common instinct screaming at you to run. The sounds of your Commander’s laboured breathing seemed to do little to break your resolve.

Were you really so curious?

Reaper took a few steps forward, his footfalls heavy against the ship deck.

“War is a game,” he said. “A game you can’t win if you’re the only side playing by the rules. But Jack was never one to get his hands dirty. That’s where I came in.”

He continued his approach. The closer he came, the less you could move.

“You’ll do what they ask. You’ll do what is needed. Then they’ll orchestrate your downfall, and deny they had anything to do with you.”

He was inches away from you, now.

He smelled like a battlefield—like death and decay, like earth and gunfire.

“There will always be war,” he continued, “and there will always be people they need to do their dirty work. People just like you.”

“I haven’t—”

“You’ve taken Lacroix. You already are.”

Though you managed to keep your rifle raised, your subconscious had already surrendered, knowing full well you posed no semblance of a threat to this anomaly of an undead man who could dissipate at will.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed the aim of your rifle off to the side, as if he were drawing a curtain in his way.

He closed the distance between you by pressing the tip of his shotgun beneath your chin, tilting your head up until you were gazing into the black sockets of his mask.

You hear your Commander’s voice call out one of your names. You can’t tell which one.

“Remember, when you leave this place.” His gravelled voice was low and deliberate. “Every breath you take is air I’ve let you swallow. Your every heartbeat is a gift from me. From this moment on, you are living on time I’ve allowed you to borrow. And I will be back to collect my dues.”

You barely registered the next words that left you. “I’ll be waiting.”

To your surprise, Reaper laughed. “You don’t deserve them, Jack.”

To your surprise, 76 responded. “I know.”

And Reaper was gone, dark plumes of smoke vanishing into thin air.

Once again, you didn’t have time to wonder.

You immediately unslung your rifle and yanked your jacket off, rushing to 76’s side, the floor of the storage unit scraping hard against your knees.

“...Reader.”

You reached for the side of his belt and pulled out the Biotic Field canister yourself, slamming it onto the ground and activating it. Reaper had prevented him from using it, you figured, in order to have 76’s unstable vital readings lure you here faster.

“Reader.”

You bundled your jacket and helped him apply more pressure to his thigh to stop the shotgun wound’s bleeding. The blood loss had made him several shades too pale, you noticed, but the flow already seemed to be easing as the biotic yellow glow knit his insides back together. It wasn’t going to be a complete recovery, but it would be enough to keep him stable until you reached headquarters.

A gloved hand brushed your bangs out of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear.

You looked up to meet the light of his visor.

“Hey,” he offered, sounding almost playful.

“Hi,” you said back, still feeling numb.

“I know asking if you’re okay is a stupid question, but I’m asking it anyway.”

“I’m...compartmentalizing.” You took a sharp breath. “We’re not safe, yet. We need to get out of here.”

“Mm. How are we getting out of here?”

“Dropship’s on standby. Should be here in a few minutes.”

“I thought you said the dropship left.”

“I lied.”

With your jacket soaked through with blood, the fabric as a whole became easier to twist around; you wrapped the wet jacket firmly around his thigh, tying the sleeves into a tight knot to keep the makeshift tourniquet in place. He reacted little to the pain—he must have been exhausted.

“You took off the evac node,” you said, dully. “You took off the evac node to go after Reaper.”

You didn’t need to see the look on his face when his silence already spoke volumes.

“We promised.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“Nothing reckless.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You promised.”

“I know.”

As hard as you willed against it, tears stung the corners of your eyes as you tried to look down to hide them, down at the rapidly blurring vision of your hands covered in his blood. The memory of you turning the corner and finding him sitting here, bleeding to death, rewound and replayed in your mind’s eye. What if he was hurt just a little worse?

What if you got here just a little too late?

“You promised.” Your cracking voice gave your tears away. “But you don’t give a shit about dying, do you?”

“Not until I met you.”

“Don’t give me that.” Your chest felt tight. “Not after what you just pulled. We could’ve gotten killed—Commander, I almost lost you—”

His hands reached for you, moving up to hold the sides of your face, and your words died in your throat. You could feel the blood in his gloves pressing against your cheeks—everything around you smelled like it now, smelled like him now, like regen and blood and leather—but he leaned his forehead to yours, and the warmth of his skin steadied you.

You’d never felt him tremble, before.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he breathed, and the way his voice broke on the words shook you to your core. “I’m sorry.”

The sound of his faltering only made you break worse. Your shoulders shaking, tears still streaming down your face, you held your hands against his, keeping them pressed against you—he was holding onto you as if he needed you to anchor him in place, as if you were the only thing on this earth keeping him tethered to it.

For the briefest of moments, he touches your lips to where his would be.

He passes out against your shoulder before you can register what happened.

And your dropship arrives.

#soldier 76 #soldier 76 x reader #overwatch oc #overwatch fic #misconduct

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striving-artist · 7 years

Note

I'm not sure if you take prompts but I had this idea where the avengers have a stimulation where they have to fight against each other(one of them will be the villain and the others fight against them) and Tony never participates but one day he gets super angry at them and just crushes all of them and achieves world domination? Like either with the power of the iron man suit and his weapons and cages or with his connections and money and intelligence. Just BAMF Tony and the team terrified.

Normally I don’t take prompts. This one worked for me. So. Enjoy?

Iron Man was a menace, and taking him down rose on Steve’s to do list with each wave of robots he fought. They were endless, clever, zippy things. They hovered mid-dair and used some kind of pack or swarm mentality. Two dozen launched themselves at the team as they breached the perimeter, and it nearly ended the assault on the spot.

The hole in the surveillance had lasted all of ten minutes. Long enough for Natasha to get them past the fence, not enough to get them to the next potential safe point.

Clint was already limping.

Thor eventually built up enough electricity in Mjolnir to fry the entire swarm, but he had to wait until they were all covered to do it right.

None of them got away unscathed. The injuries only goaded them onwards: They were going to finally take Iron Man down.

***

It was his own fault for getting drunk and nostalgic and building a holodeck.

It wasn’t cost effective, and probably never would be. There wasn’t a commercial market for it. Or, there was, but he couldn’t get the price point below a hundred thousand a simulation. It kept the Avengers fit though. They could run simulations beyond their previous capacity, and prepare for potential wars. They could practise. They could train.

Now that Bucky was Bucky and no longer an ice pop, they could work him into the fold.

Usually, they ran against simulated opponents. Friday ran the enemy, and each time Tony reprogrammed the system to make them harder to beat, harder to predict. But the team knew that not even brilliant AI could compete with human thought. It was best for them to spar against each other.

Well. “Spar.”

One or two of them would be the Villain of the month, and the rest would try to defeat them.

It was a point of pride, and betting. They wanted to be able to defeat their teammates, just for bragging rights, even if it did imply that the Avengers had lost to Evil. The team got into it. They planned and plotted. They gave themselves fake names for the event. The Spider was excellent in what turned into a three day bout of espionage overthrowing a government, but not quite enough. Captain Hydra’s utter lack of deception nearly won him the day with his straightforward attack on Buckingham Palace.

They got competitive, and the winner got to claim a boom, which was about as important as the right to strut for the next month.

So, the team loved it.

Tony didn’t.

He participated when they ran against Friday, but he wouldn’t even stay in the compound when they ran against each other.

It drove the Avengers crazy.

They wanted him on their team during simulations, sure, but what they really wanted was to have him run the side of Evil.

They wanted the challenge of trying to take down a genius opponent.

Tony didn’t participate, didn’t explain, and didn’t care when they all pouted at him.

Two years after Siberia, sixteen months after the team came home, ten months after Bucky defrosted, eight months after the holodeck was functional, the Avengers declared that they wouldn’t run another sim until Tony played for the other side, just once.

Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist, idiot.

He agreed.

***

Steve flung himself behind the wall as another explosion tore through the hallway. The heat from it licked at his arms and hurt enough that his hand itched to shut off the uplink on his neck. But that would be admitting defeat. He tucked into a tighter ball behind his shield, nose pinching with the smell of burning hair.

The heat ebbed, Steve gestured to Bucky across the hall, and they surveyed the new damage.

A twenty foot break lay between them and the door they needed. The blast had taken out at least three floors above and below, and with the debris on the ground, the run up would be rough.

Bucky shrugged, latched his weapons in their holsters and sheaths, and sprinted. He landed bare inches past the ledge, turned and taunted.

Steve’s mind tripped on memories of the first mission he took, of Bucky and Red Skull, and of a desperate leap to reach safety. He brushed it aside, believing it was a coincidence.

Anything he would have shouted across was lost to the percussive explosions beneath his feet. Iron Man was blowing the whole area. There was no time to wait, no time for fear and memory. Steve flung himself forward to jump.

***

Tony didn’t play along and come up with a villain name.

When the rest of the Avengers got their data packages, it talked about the activities of Iron Man, eccentric weapons designer and billionaire, morally untethered and brilliant. There were recon photos of the base Tony designed, and enough information that they could potentially beat him. That was part of the rules of the simulations. It always had to be possible. So the team read every word of them. The packets talked about the crimes Iron Man committed and the number of people he’d killed, and, huddled in their command center, the team didn’t mind anymore that he hadn’t come up with another name. He was taking it seriously. He had written articles and op eds. He had photoshopped images. He had in memoriam pieces about his victims. If some of them itched with a faint sense of deja vu, it was probably because those kinds of articles ran together after a while.

Name change or not, the Avengers knew this was going to be the best simulation they had ever run.

With the new sensors on their suits, they would feel pain from the holographic explosions and bullets and scrapes, but take no actual injuries. Hand to hand would end in real bruises, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle.

The system was a marvel, using something similar to the non damaging protocols that Star Trek broke every other episode. Once they disconnected the uplinks, they’d retain no pain, not even echoes.

But, the system operated on certain rules. Not even Tony could get around the laws of physics and preset conditions once it started. No one could rewrite the code and add more enemies. No one could change how much gravity there was. All the pieces were on the board when the sim started, and it played out from there.

They had done this many times. They were always excited about getting to play, and yes, it was play for them to go fight knowing none of them would die. Clint was giddy. Steve was predatory and eager. Bucky was as excited as they’d ever seen him – just barely smiling.

So the Avengers suited up, eager to finally face off against Iron Man, and bring the bastard down.

***

There were more of the tiny flying robots once they reached the control room, and Thor was stuck on the other side of the compound with Natasha, trying to override the missile launch controls.

Of course Iron Man didn’t have one plan; he had four. Minimum.

They stopped the plane from taking off, only to find there was no one on it, just a note pinned to the front of a Bucky Bear, and the engine set to autopilot. One metal fist through the controls ended that prospect, but it meant they were in the wrong place, and had to scramble for a new plan.

Bucky and Steve had a technique, not a great one, but batting through the tiny buzzing bastards got them to the next door. One punch at a time, Bucky ripped a hole in it, and Steve stood guard, swatting the robots aside. The metal arm was working fine, but Bucky’s other arm hung limp at his side, still trembling from a booby trap they’d triggered trying to shut down the gas release.

If their intel was right, – and it was, for a few seconds they’d accessed the live video of Iron Man’s inner lair – their quarry was less than two hundred feet away.

Nat and Thor and Clint would take care of the missile launch. Steve and Bucky would bring down the Big Bad, and the Avengers would win the day.

They always did.

***

When Tony tried to back out of the simulation in the week leading up to it, the team protested so loudly they sounded like he was threatening to kill their puppy. He tried delaying, bringing up the idea of improving the system first, and they declared they could just run against him twice. Tony offered to swap out with Rhodey, since they knew Tony better, so War Machine would make the more challenging opponent.

They didn’t let him.

He did try to get out of it. He was an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that the simulation would end in anything but disaster.

So, when the system was prepped, and they were in final countdown, Tony decided to let them win. It would be better like that. He’d put up a good fight, and when the team reached him at the center of the labyrinthine compound, he’d be sure they thought he’d given it his all. He’d make it harder than it had been before, and when there was a reasonable opening, he’d let them take him down.

Easy peasy.

He even made sure the robots and tech they faced in the lead up to that final fight would be good training for them. They relied on him for tech based evil too much. They needed the practice. If he ever did turn on them, really turn, they had to be able to handle technological attacks.

He had a plan.

And he would have stuck to it, but the night before the simulation was bad. Very bad.

Almost exactly two years since Siberia, and Tony woke up shivering from a nightmare. He called Steve and Bucky at half past three, ready to beg, to prostrate himself, to tell them honestly why it was a bad idea if he had to, whatever it took to get the day cancelled. He wasn’t going to fight them again. They didn’t need to know what he really was.

Bucky was grumbly. Steve was snippy.

They were happy and cozy together, curled up in Steve’s bed, and taunting him about being afraid to face the team, afraid to lose. They told him when they won, the Avengers had already decided what they were going to ask for: Tony would have to play the Evil again. Steve said it with a grin.

Tony was an idiot.

He hung up, let himself softly cry until the chill in his bones faded, and shifted his plan.

The Avengers had never lost against Evil, simulated or otherwise.

But.

The Avengers had never fought against Iron Man, not really.

***

Vision and Wanda and Thor missed the rendezvous entirely, trapped in cells.

Clint and Nat were too badly injured to be of help on the other side of the door.

Steve was limping.

Bucky’s right arm was moving slow.

They got the doors open.

Bucky slipped into the smoky darkness first. Steve followed just behind.

They’d faced worse odds. They would win, and Iron Man would lose. And Tony Stark would have to keep participating in these games.

***

Two years ago, Tony Stark fought his teammates. Fought against his friends.

Two years ago, he pulled every shot he took.

Even when he took off the Winter Soldier’s arm, he pulled his shot.

He could have killed him instead.

He chose not to.

***

Steve cleared the smoke and found Iron Man on a riser in the middle of the room. There was a control panel behind him. There was a screen showing DC. A screen showing missile silos. One monitor showed a list of four, only one of which blinked with an error message.

The Avengers had fought Evil, real and imagined dozens and hundreds of times, on scales small and large. They’d faced what they thought was the end when Loki brought the Chitauri. They’d thought they’d failed in Sokovia. They thought there was no saving anything after the fight that tore them apart and sent the majority into hiding in Wakanda.

Steve gaped at the scene, knowing already that it was hopeless. He was the strategist, he knew. Something sickening twisted in his stomach as he realized it.

Looking back on all the times they’d barely survived, barely prevailed, it hadn’t ever been Tony that needed the Avengers. It was the other way around.

Bucky fired, but it ricocheted off the armor into the air. Steve’s thrown shield was caught and dropped to the ground.

The clang of it hitting steel at Iron Man’s feet echoed with the thunk in his memory as Steve left it behind. It wasn’t the same– not at all, the room, the moment, the energy, the constant knowledge that it wasn’t real – everything was different, but Steve could feel a hint of Siberia as the three of them stood there, waiting for a fight to begin.

Iron Man tilted his head to the side, fired twice, and turned to the launch system while Steve and Bucky lay on the ground in agony.

Iron Man typed the passcode, the missiles launched, and the Avengers failed.

***

It was a terrible idea.

The holograms dissolved after the simulation was won, leaving Tony standing in the middle of a massive warehouse, dressed in a bodycon suit, staring at the space where the monitor had been when he chose to destroy the world. Nearby, the rest of the Avengers rose, no longer feeling pain from their various simulated wounds, and gaped at him.

Thor shouted a question about the victor. Natasha answered that Iron Man won the day. It started a round of cheering and congratulations.

Tony glanced to the others for a moment, lingering on Steve and Bucky where they were still leaning into each other. Thor started orating on the excellent battle and the challenge Tony had crafted. The others joined in on it, praising how good he was at being evil. Joking how lucky they were he was on their side. They laughed. Tony didn’t. Steve and Bucky looked at him too intensely to be anything but a question.

Tony smiled at the group, feigned exhaustion, declared he would never do another Evil Sim again, and walked away, keeping to himself how quickly he could have won the game. They didn’t need to know that he had let them get past the guards outside the building. They didn’t need to know that he’d chosen not to set off one set of bombs they’d missed. They didn’t need to know how good he was at playing for the other team.

Behind him, communicating in silent looks and concerned grips, were Steve and Bucky, who were finally starting to see the ending they should have met in Siberia, if Tony had actually wanted them dead. Bucky had his hand clenching the bicep of his metal arm, recalling the pain of it being torn away, trying to stay calm.

That night, Bucky had new nightmares. Steve did too. It was no longer dreams of them losing each other, of going too far and killing Tony in an icy bunker, or Hydra conquering the world. They dreamed of Tony, unleashed, uncaring, unstoppable, razing his enemies to the ground, salting the earth, and turning to the next. They shuddered as they woke, clingy and shaking, but together.

They didn’t know that four floors up, Tony had the same nightmare, and woke up alone.

#my writing #mcu #tony stark #this is bleak?#I don't know what else to call it #post cacw pain #that's what I'd call it #I just wrote this fast bc I need to make the words go #and they haven't lately #so sorry if it's bad

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hysterialevi · 6 years

Text

In the Smoke pt. 31 (Cobblebats)

From Bruce’s POV

THE CATACOMBS

Skulking my way through the dank tunnels, I searched every inch of the crumbling tomb for a certain sniper as my heart hammered in my chest, threatening to leap right out of my rib cage. It had been a long time since I felt this type of fear, and the latest memory I could recall where I experienced the same thing was way back during the debate.

I let out a sigh. Things were so much simpler for me then. I had a single goal in mind, I knew who my enemies were, and nothing was holding me back. For once in my life, I actually had a clear vision of where I was supposed to go. Now though, it was like trying to navigate a blizzard. I couldn’t see more than two steps ahead of me, my feet were stuck in the ground, and with every passing day, the bone-biting winds only grew stronger. Even if I did manage to kill Gideon, I didn’t know where the hell we would start cleaning up this mess.

Pushing my way through a thin layer of cobwebs, I eventually found myself standing in front of what looked like to be an underground chapel. There weren’t any seats in sight, but an ornate altar stood proudly on the other side of the room, dimly lit with a collection of tall candles. There were also a few, intricate stone sculptures watching over the secluded sanctuary, and in the center, I spotted Gideon himself, sitting against the altar while clutching a fresh wound. Blood stained his hands as well as the floor beneath him, and judging by his fading breath, I could tell he wasn’t going to last much longer. I guessed Vicki wasn’t the only one who got hurt during their fight. I carefully approached him.

“...Gideon...?” I softly called out, pointing my gun at him. He glared at me.

“...well, well,” he weakly coughed, straining in pain. “Look who it is. ...Bruce. Fuckin’. Wayne. You certainly got a habit of showin’ up where you’re not wanted.”

I gestured to his wound. “What happened to you? Did Lady Arkham do that?”

Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “She couldn’t do this to me if she tried, and she sure tried her damnedest not too long ago. No, it was the goddamn traps that got me. Opened a door when I wasn’t paying attention, and a spike went straight through me. I limped around for a while, hoping to find a way out, and ended up settling down here. Then you arrived.”

I stepped closer to him. “Why did you even come to the catacombs in the first place?”

Gideon peered at me with an expression that told me I should know. I remained silent, waiting for an explanation.

“...Mayor Hill and your father used to operate down here,” he said. “Always did the dirty work where no one could see them, and this place was perfect for that. It was secluded, away from everyone’s sight, and it blocked any signals trying to break through. No one ever suspected a thing.”

Gideon’s face drooped with sorrow and his eyes scanned the area, almost like he was re-watching an old memory play in front of him. He frowned.

“...Do you have...any idea...how many people Hill killed in these catacombs? How many he tortured?” He scoffed, glancing at the ceiling. “And the GCPD were worried about the people upstairs.”

I was now only a few feet away from Gideon, and with my gun still in hand, I felt the urge to just finish him off right there, but a part of me wanted to know what else he had to say. I decided to hold off the execution for a little longer.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” I replied. Gideon paused for a moment, clearly reluctant to tell me his secrets. He pointed an almost lifeless finger at his scars.

“Eight years ago, I used to guard this place. That’s right. I was a damned security guard for that bloated pig, Hill, and my job was to watch the prisoners he locked up down here. It was my only option back then, and it paid enough to keep me and my family fed, so I never questioned it. No matter how many people begged me to let ‘em out, or give them some extra food, I just stood where you’re standing right now...all damn day...waiting to go back home to my wife and kid.”

“What changed?” I asked. A wave of bitterness spread across Gideon’s face.

“Hill kidnapped my wife -- that’s what. I dunno what I did to piss him off so much, but I clearly fucked up somehow. He suspected that I had told the GCPD about his secret prison, and as a result, dragged my wife down here as punishment. Threatened to use her for a number of their experiments.”

I lowered my head in sympathy, trying to avoid eye contact. “...I assume... she didn’t escape?”

Gideon’s nose crinkled in anger. “Nothing I said or did was able to convince Hill to let her go. So I finally gave up, and simply told him to take me instead. The last thing I wanted was for my wife to be alone, but there was nothing else I could do. He accepted the offer, and kept me in the catacombs as his personal lab rat for almost an entire year. I don’t know what happened to my wife after that. She was alive last I saw her, but that was ages ago. She could be dead now, for all I know.”

Gideon suddenly hissed in pain, still suffering from his injury. “I managed to escape after Hill injected me with this certain...chemical. I don’t know exactly what it was -- and I don’t think he knew either --but it made me resistant to a variety of things, which allowed me to break free. I immediately went straight home after that, and killed a lot of people in the process of doing so...only to find a new family living there. My wife and little girl were nowhere to be seen. I suspected he had taken them into the catacombs also, but I never got the chance to search for them. And now, seven years later, I’m finally back in this goddamn tomb, trying to find something that doesn’t even exist anymore...and you’re going to kill me.”

Gideon laughed in a dark tone, gritting his teeth at me. “Those are the type of men your father protects, Wayne. Those are the men controlling this city, and soon enough, you’ll become one of those men yourself. I hope you enjoy it while it lasts.”

Kneeling next to the dying sniper, I lowered my gun for a second and put a hand on his shoulder, a bit worried that he’d jump at me at any minute -- but nothing happened. I let out a breath.

“Gideon,” I nearly whispered, “I’m sorry you went through all of that, but it’s not over. Not yet. Your daughter...she’s still alive.”

His head perked up at me, instantly hooked with interest. He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean she’s still alive? How the hell do I know you’re not just bullshitting me?”

I looked him directly in the eye. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Gideon. Her name’s Eva, right? A nine-year-old girl who used to be kept prisoner by Hill’s men, and escaped recently. I did some research.”

Out of nowhere, the sniper grabbed me by the collar with an iron grip and yanked me forward until our noses were nearly touching. I could feel his hands shaking slightly.

“You know about Eva,” he growled. “Where is she!? What did Hill’s men do with her?”

I remained still in Gideon’s grasp, not wanting to provoke him.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I just know that she’s still alive, and most-likely, probably looking for you. We don’t have to be enemies, Gideon. I can help you find her, if you’ll let me. I can’t guarantee that we’ll be able to get a hold of Eva, but I can at least try to figure out where she is.”

Releasing my collar, Gideon fell back against the altar once more, his body even weaker than before as he tried to stay conscious.

“There’s no point,” he sighed. “I’m gonna die today, and I accept that. I’m already half-dead thanks to this wound, and it’s only a matter of time before I bleed out -- or before you kill me. I was hoping I could lead the Children of Arkham in a better direction -- which is why I turned against Vicki -- but we lost this war ages ago.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gideon’s hand inching towards Vicki’s staff.

“The best I can do now...” he groaned, “...is go down with a fight.”

Jumping backwards, I managed to dodge what would’ve been a fatal attack as the violent lightning crackled mere centimeters away from my face, practically lighting up the entire chapel single-handedly. Gideon was back on his feet again despite his severe injuries, and before I even had time to react, he was already swinging wildly at me, determined to take me down.

Making my way around the chapel, I tried to distance myself as much as possible from the deranged sniper currently trying to kill me as bolts of energy singed into the walls around me, sending small rocks flying. There was no telling how old these catacombs were, and I had no doubt that if our fight carried on, we would soon be buried with it.

If I wanted to get rid of Gideon, I would have to do it fast.

Adjusting my mask, I took out both of my weapons as Gideon charged towards me with his staff raised in the air, preparing to slam it directly onto my head. I had no idea how he was moving around so eloquently, considering his numerous wounds, but the man was a tank with feet. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be nothing more than a pile of ash before the end of the day.

Firing a few, carefully aimed bullets at Gideon, I quickly switched back and forth between my two main attack methods, swinging my axe anytime I saw an opening. It was difficult to get anywhere close to the man, what with all the lightning and electricity, but I decided to use the chapel’s crumbling state to my advantage and began baiting Gideon to damage certain weak points.

There were a couple times when Gideon’s lightning bolts nearly burned right through me, or a giant boulder almost crushed me, but after running a few laps around the chapel, I managed to send a number of small pillars toppling down towards him. Of course, with my luck, none of them actually landed on Gideon, but it was still enough to hinder him a bit. And myself, as well.

Hopping out of the way as another rock plummeted from the ceiling, Gideon prowled in my direction, staff still in hand while the rest of the chapel collapsed around us and the statues began to tilt.

Without much space left in the catacombs to run around, I had no choice but to stand my ground, and face Gideon one-on-one as the floor beneath my feet threatened to break apart at any second. The other man didn’t appear to be any more fatigued than before, and as our vicious battle carried on, I couldn’t help but wonder what type of drugs Hill had injected into him all those years ago. Was it possible that it was a modified version of the drug Lady Arkham used? Gideon certainly contained the superior strength that it came with, but unlike other victims, he was able to retain his own mind. That was the dangerous part.

Suddenly, before I could even stop it, Gideon had bludgeoned the staff directly into my face and sent my mask flying across the chapel, causing me to fall backwards. For a moment, the world spun around me like a whirlpool, and all the noises in my head echoed aggressively against the walls of my skull. By the time I was able to return to reality, Gideon had already grabbed my neck and lifted me up from the floor, strangling me mid-air. I could see his eyes piercing through mine.

“Your father did nothing to stop Hill when he took my child away,” Gideon snarled as the staff’s zapping tip got closer to me, “so now, I’m going to take his.”

Before Gideon could move a single muscle however, a Batarang hurled itself right into the sniper’s hand, causing him to drop me along with the deadly weapon. Though, as soon as I hit the ground, one of the toppling statues slammed on top of my lower body, trapping me in place as I desperately tried to crawl away from its restraints. I could hear Dad’s voice projecting throughout the chapel.

“Batman,” Gideon chuckled as he tore the Batarang out, “I knew I’d see you again. I just didn’t expect you’d choose now to show up.”

Batman stood protectively in front of me.

“Leave him out of this.” He demanded.

The sniper shook his head. “You’re defending the wrong crowd, Batman. This...” he gestured at me, “...innocent boy you’re tryin’ to save...has probably taken more lives than Lady Arkham herself. You can’t be a hero if you protect villains.”

Batman took out a smoke grenade. “The only villain I see here is you.”

Not even a second later, the whole chapel had been shrouded by smoke, and the only things I could hear were the sounds of battle as sparks illuminated the thick fog, revealing both my father’s and Gideon’s silhouettes fighting behind the screen. In the midst of all this chaos, I patted my hands around the stone floor, frantically searching for something to grab onto that could possibly pull me out from under the statue. As soon as I reached my hand out however, another chunk of rock came raining downwards, causing me to retract my arm.

There was nothing around for me to use as leverage, but to my right, I spotted my gun resting not too far away from me, just within arm’s reach. Stretching my hand outwards, I practically dislocated my spine as I attempted to get a hold of the pistol, my fingers desperately straightening in hopes of extending my grasp.

Just then, with a stroke of luck, the impact of a nearby falling boulder caused the gun to bounce off the floor and right into my hands. I hurriedly reloaded the firearm, and squinted my eyes as I peered through the smoke, trying to aim for Gideon’s head. It was tricky to get a clear shot with all the constant movement, but eventually, Batman managed to hold Gideon in place, allowing me to shoot directly at his forehead.

The bullet ended up hitting him a bit lower than I anticipated, but it still caused a great deal of damage and buried itself into his neck, causing blood to gush down his shoulder. For what felt like ages, Gideon stumbled around weakly on his feet, clutching the side of his neck as he gaped at Batman, his expression softening with relief once he realized he had been defeated. With one last wave of strength, he uttered out a series of final words, his breath faltering with every syllable.

“...Go ahead...and smile,” he wheezed out, collapsing to his knees. Both my father and I simply watched in shock, slightly in disbelief that we actually got him.

“...Your mask ain’t hiding shit...” Gideon was now on all fours, nearly face-down on the floor, “...Thomas...Wayne.”

And with that said, the sniper finally fell limp, his dead stare landing on me as the life drained out of them and they gradually rolled into the back of his head, leaving me and my father alone in the chapel.

He knew all along, I thought to myself. He knew who Batman was, and he knew that I was his son. Why did he wait until now to reveal it?

Oh, well. Those questions were for another time. At the moment, the catacombs were about ready to crumble right on top of us, and with this statue locking me in place, I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. My father rushed over to me.

“Bruce, grab my hand! We gotta get you out of there!”

I glanced at the ceiling, unsure of what to do. “I’m stuck, Dad,” I exclaimed. “If you wait for me to escape, we’ll both die! Just run while you still can!”

Thomas strengthened his hold on me. “You are not making me listen to this nonsense. Now, grab my hand and let me pull you out! We’re leaving this place. Together. I didn’t come down here just to have you die.”

Latching onto my father’s arms, the two of us used as much force as we could, but the bone-crushing weight of the statue proved to be incredibly adamant, and wouldn’t budge.

And as if that wasn’t enough, I saw a particularly unstable boulder above my father getting ready to smash the floor beneath it. Judging by the way it trembled, we didn’t have long until we were both nothing but mush, but that didn’t stop Thomas. He only continued to tug at my arms, hopelessly trying to slide me out of the statue’s unrelenting grip.

“I’ve almost got you,” he encouraged. “You’re gonna be all right.”

“Dad--”

“--I said you’ll be all right!”

The boulder was now dangling by a thread, and I could tell that it was about to drop at any moment. Out of fear, I pointlessly began pressing my hands against the statue in an attempt to push it off, but my energy was dwindling. Even with all the adrenaline rushing through my veins, and the anxiety pumping my heart, my body couldn’t keep up with its demands. Unless my father somehow got me out, I was stuck for good.

Just then however, as if by miracle, I suddenly felt myself crawling free from underneath the statue and into my father’s arms, but the relief didn’t last long.

With one last look at the sky, Thomas saw the aforementioned boulder plummeting directly towards him, seconds away from mashing his entire body. Just before it was able to hit the ground though, he gave me one strong shove, throwing me out of harm’s way while he stayed behind to face his demise.

“Dad!” I shouted, but it was too late. The boulder had already landed, and underneath it, I could see a morbid splatter of blood beginning to spread. He was gone. Just like that.

Quickly getting back onto my feet, I limped towards the chapel’s exit, desperately trying to find a way out as I leaned against the walls for support. Oz was nowhere to be seen, and thanks to the thick, stone walls of the catacombs, it was impossible for me to contact Alfred for help. My survival depended on no one but myself right now, and if I didn’t pick up the pace, I would soon be sharing my father’s fate.

Retracing my steps, I slithered my way through the narrow tunnels as the structure collapsed behind me, nearly catching up at several points. The entire escape probably only lasted several minutes, but to me, it seemed like an eternity. With all the dust, rocks, and cobwebs, my vision was more than impaired, and the fact that my legs had just been crushed certainly didn’t help matters. Thankfully though, I was able to find what looked like a ray of sunlight not too far in the distance. That was my way out.

Forcing myself to ignore the pain, I charged through the crumbling catacombs like a wild horse and squeezed through the shrinking walkways as rocks began to fill them up, threatening to trap me in here forever, but I wouldn’t let it. Instead, I took a leap of faith and reached for the exit, climbing out as fast as humanly possible.

I felt like I was moving at the speed of light, but the minute I set foot outside, the entirety of the catacombs had fallen apart within a heartbeat, sending a large cloud of dust through the air while I stood by, witnessing all this chaos.

Despite the happiness I felt over Gideon’s death, a part of me couldn’t help but feel regret for what happened to my father. He sacrificed himself to rescue me, even after all the horrible things I’d done -- and if that didn’t define what a true hero was, I didn’t know what would. But there would be time to mourn him later.

Right now, I finally had a moment to take a breath, and just savor this short period of peace. The battle between the Children of Arkham and Gotham’s people was finished, and with the end of Lady Arkham came the end of the most difficult chapter in my life.

It was all over.

It was all finally over.

#cobblebats #batman telltale #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #harvey dent #fanfic #story

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annastrxng · 7 years

Text

Insatiablevalor: YOU COULD HAVE DIED!!! ~ Annlett~

@insatiablevalor

“Edmund, I could have lost you! Why? Why didn’t you leave for Scotland?!!! So many people wish to kill you!” She relinquishes a heart-heavy sob. “Why? Why did you stay?” Anna sharply demands. Her entire body quivered violently with all the power of the adrenaline rush.

insatiablevalor answered:

Edmund looked down at his black boots as she pleaded with him, not knowing exactly how to go about answering her— not just yet at least. She had been the woman that he once loved, and he had even thought about giving up everything for just a chance to be with her and to make her happy. Deep down, those feelings for her had never truly went away and yet being in her presence made the white hot sting of betrayal burn even hotter than it had before. “That is precisely why I had to stay.” he said, finally looking back up at her. “I realized that I was running away from all of my problems, but… I then I also realized that problems have a tendency of catching up to you… eventually.” Then something else stuck out to him. “You could have lost me?”

Concern radiates in the concentric confines of honey-dipped maple-syrup hues as she studies the Major. A nagging pain grips its icy weed-like tendrils into her heart, till it threatens to suffocate every beat. Lungs burn with the flames of shame’s caress. Guilt settles between the breath of her diaphragm like a heavy cannonball. The Rebel spy knows she has no right to demand answers- not after all she had done. Yet, that does not keep her from such persistent pursuit.

Anna’s trembling hands want to reach out to Edmund. Hell, she contemplates acting on the desire to seize hold of his uniform lapels and give him a good shake, until he returns to his senses. Or at least until he understood how deeply she loves him. Was Edmund being so reckless because she had refused to answer his question about loving him? Was this all her fault? By trying to solve a problem, had she unintentionally gone and made it worse? Perhaps, Ben was right to have offered her back up to Selah so quickly. Maybe… all she did was create messes, break hearts, and destroy the things she meant to protect and preserve. Just look at the disasters that her love had wrought with Abraham, Selah, Cicero, Abigail, her home, the tavern, and even the Cause.

The brunette had partly contrived the notion to walk away and accept that she was no longer something he cared for- nor someone he wished to answer to. But the sudden sound of his pleasant gravel-filled voice brings her to pause.

Anna considers letting his words stand, met only with her stunned silence; even though she holds a few cards that he could not have foreseen. Edmund wouldn’t want to hear about her intrigues, the things that drew her into skulking about in the dead of the night with the expectation of results. Would he?

No, damn it! He deserves to know. The brunette internally argues with herself. Keeping secrets is what had done damage to the beautiful thing they had growing between them in the first place. She could not keep the concealed information in any longer for fear that Edmund may yet again, find cause to believe she was being insincere- instead of biding her time by being evasive and reflective. “We only needed a little more time…” Anna whispers. The rebel-spy despises the sound of her own voice in the same way she is repulsed by Simcoe. “Time to make another plan and execute it without any more loss…” She continued, albeit hesitantly.

“B…but you “had” to come back. You “had” to put yourself in harms way again. This time, in a place where I could not defend you from him!” She spits in complaint, her tone bordering on the soft but still accusatory side. Anna isn’t entirely angry. No. Edmund’s return pleases her. It is the situations that he has put himself into that cause her the greatest distress.

Her gaze bashfully drops downwards until she is practically inspecting every grain, scuff-mark, and notch in the wooden floor below.”Aye.” A one word confirmation is followed by a labored sigh. One hand frees itself from the comforts of her skirts before landing delicately upon his arm. Her stance shifts as she considers the right words to use. Words, that would bring mending to all of the wounds she had caused and inflicted. But such powerful vocabulary seemed to lay just outside of Anna’s extensive and highly developed lexicon. For what compilation of letters smashed together could ever restore a severely shattered heart? Anna can think of nary a one.

Would Edmund even believe her? Dubious. Hell, does she even trust herself anymore? No. The thundering traitor taps out notes on her rib-cage that can be felt reverberating through every muscle, tendon, and fiber of her being. It declares it’s own war against the spinning-wheel called logic that resides in her mind. Silver sweeps of agony fall across dark hues and threaten to cling to long, delicate lashes. Pale-raspberry lips quiver with the need to explain but feel burdened, nearly mute.

Hadn’t she already lost him the very day she could not bring forth a confession of love from a dangerously divided heart? ‘Have you found some…some hidden love for the ENEMY? ANNA, have you forgotten who your ENEMY is…?’ Abe’s poison and spite filled lecture clogs her ears. The speech brings with it the first drops of rain which, slickly slide down the gentle curves of her cheeks; although they are indoors. A shaky inhale is sucked in with the hopes of quieting the tide of sobs moving through her seemingly hollow chest.

She loved him. A stubborn more unrelenting part of her knew it was genuine; more tangible and pursuit-worthy than anything else she had ever found. Anna doubts she could ever feel the same way for another person even if she lived to be 300 years old. Still, Anna feels she must beg his forgiveness. “For…forgive me. I have spoken out of turn. I ha….have no right to presume that you were ever mine. Nor that you were ever mine to lose….” Her apology bores like acid through the final enduring piece of her soul. There was nothing more she yearned for than Edmund and still, he could not see it. Her infinite affection was not transparent enough through her actions and deeds. The Major was not fluent in her love language and he needed a translator. “I meant no offense..” The suffering brunette chokes out, the tangle of emotions making the words difficult to pry free of a twisted tongue. Her eyes squeeze shut in an effort to stop the maddening torrent but one drop of silver seems to latch on to another, till wave after wave crashes over her lids and spills pathetically down her face.

Keep yourself together she internally chastises. Pushing away the tears with her trembling fingers Anna further elaborates. “I meant only that I was .. worried over your safety and feared…I… I would find you dead….somewhere in a s…shallow grave…” A visible shudder over takes the brunette’s slender figure as her gaze refocuses on him through the smoggy blur that had befallen them. She wonders if he will catch on to the more subtle confession - that she had been searching for him with every visit into the city.

Having seen at least twelve shallow graves in Washington’s camp, the mutineers seeking what they were due for their services, the images of death were forever branded upon her mind. How many nights had passed since, that she awoken with the same terrifying nightmare plaguing even the deepest of rests? Hewlett’s face was cold and ashen. His uniform soaked in his own scarlet tide. Her fingers clutch his un-moving figure to her own curvier one, only to discover that he was beyond revival. Edmund was taken and she was left behind to suffer the miserable consequences of having loved something that could be so easily snatched from her- again. How many nights had she forced herself to ignore the burden of an invisible weight crushing down upon her, battling for air as she contemplates the places that Edmund could wind up? Hadn’t Simcoe left countless dead in his wake? Even Magistrate Richard Woodhull, the law of Setauket, had not been immune to the Ranger’s trap.

Presently, Edmund stands before her flesh and blood, more than the ghost or the corpse, she had imagined she’d find when Abe told her that he had reappeared on the shores of York City. All she wanted to do was embrace him, to finally confess the three words she had been unable to share before.

But what if Major Hewlett had moved on from her? What if he was happy with his life and her admission would only drag him further into an abyss of misery and darkness?

“You could have died…” Anna amends, in a hushed entreating tone. That was the same as a confession of caring if not, love- without having to say those exact words. Was it not? Her heavily quaking hand moves to tuck a few strands of his straying dark hair away from Edmund’s face. Her callous fingertips accidentally brushing against the contour his cheek. She knows not what else to say other than. “I’m so glad that you’re alive. Please, don’t make a habit of scaring me like that.” It was lame, all things considered but at least it was the Gospel truth. The second phrase was more of a desperate plea on the behalf of her poor aching heart.

#Anna Strong #insatiablevalor #Annlett #tw: angst #tw: mentions of death #this was supposed to be a nice fluffy thing BUT IT TURNED INTO MEGA ANGST #turn season 4 spoilers #tw: longish post #GAH MY HEART #just take fragments of it now #Gah Anna turned up the angst #I see your angst - raise you 50 XDD #I also hope this makes a lick of sense. I'm writing it on 0 sleep XDD #don't feel pressured to match the length most of this is Anna rambling and imagery XDD #if you need me to re-write it - I will #tw: long post

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kuro-me · 7 years

Text

Desperate Measures

Warning for implied rape!

The pain in his leg was excruciating, but it was nothing next to the damage done to his pride.

Ordus had just met with the Crown Prince, his direct superior, who was displeased with his progress. The fact Ordus was alive was a miracle in itself, knowing what the prince did to those he perceived as failures, but the ultimatum presented had the Tribunus at his wits end.

One month. One short month, that was all he had left to attain the asset he had promised Prince Zenos, or else he would meet the fate of the Praefectus who had died for his failures in Gyr Abania. It wasn’t enough time, there was no way he was going to be able to break the man on time, which meant a new approach was needed.

“But what?” He mused aloud, limping his way down the halls of the palace in Ala Mhigo with a cane firmly gripped in his right hand.

He had been making decent progress on getting into in the beautiful boy’s head again, if he only had more time he was sure he could have broken him. Now he needed to change tactics, but he was loathe to admit that there was only one way he could think of to lure him in quickly. Ordus needed to make the boy angry, but the anger was…

A shudder ran down his spine, stopping dead while his free hand planted against the wall, breathing laboured. Ordus recalled the uprising, that masked figure that had cut its way through countless loyal Garlean soldiers, he had barely survived several ambushes by the one the Domans in northern Yanxia had called Kuro-Me. Deep down he knew it was luck, only luck, he was no skilled warrior.

But he was a keen strategist, he could come up with something.

“Breathe…” He hissed, gasping in breaths as he got over the mild panic attack that had hit him at the memory of that masked demon. “Think.”

What would incur his anger enough to lure him in?

Well, there was the Xaela and her children. He knew of them, a niece and nephew, a sister, that could do the trick. But she was well protected, rarely ventured out alone and when she did venture out there were many other Xaela with her, including that violent savage she called a wife. No, that would be more trouble than it was worth, he didn’t have the time for that.

If only he hadn’t slain the Maeda boy, he could have used his last true surviving clan member to lure him, but now that calculated move was wasted. His fist hit the wall as he slammed the door to his chambers within the palace behind him, all that hard work wasted because the idiot prince was impatient. No, no he couldn’t go thinking of Zenos that way, he feared he’d somehow hear it even if the thought remained solely in his own head.

Finally his thoughts turned to the two encounters he’d had with the beauty since he’d arrived in Eorzea, there was a constant there, something that had caught his ire both times in varying degrees of anger. The girl, yes that was the key he was sure of it, his beauty loved her or was at least very attached to her. No, no it was definitely love, nobody reacted that strongly without their heart being a major contributing factor.

“Hiina Kusakari,” he mused, limping over to a chair in his chambers and groaning slightly as he sat upon it, relief washing over him as he felt the pressure taken entirely off his leg.

She was a kunoichi, skilled enough to have drawn the boy’s attention- ironic how Ordus thought that strength of arms was all that would draw Yoshiro in- but not quite on his level. If he could corner her somehow, she would make easy prey for a few squads of soldiers lying in wait, the trouble was that since his failed assault on the refugee camp she rarely left Ul’dah alone.

Besides, taking her when he couldn’t see would be counter to what Ordus wanted, he needed the boy to be seething- that thought sent a small shudder through his spine but he pressed on- and wanting to chase Ordus down. So he should take the girl when the boy was there to see, make sure he knew he had failed to keep her from his enemy’s clutches, that would cut deeply and Ordus was nothing if not petty toward the beauty who’d escaped him.

“He cuts down squads too easily…” Ordus mused aloud again, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair slowly. “I need something more.”

A colossus perhaps? Plus an entire century of soldiers, it had taken him five seconds to cut through his men and injure Ordus last time, but after that he seemed to have slowed down which was intriguing to say the least. To think he could somehow transfer the energy of the eye to his other eye too by regulating his flow of chi, what an industrious little beauty he was.

Ordus was going to crush the life out of him when this was over, take the eye fully formed, break the boy again the way he had before and then force him to watch as the girl was taken too. He hissed in a sharp breath suddenly, he couldn’t take the girl like that while Kuro-Me was free, it would be too much. Too far. He would never survive the wrath of that demon baring down on him, not this time.

Fear clutched his chest, seized at it for a moment, his breathing becoming laboured again as he slammed his fist hard into the arm of the chair. He would not falter, he would show the girl every hospitality short of taking her, soon as he had the boy he could force them to watch the other taken.

“Ha..” He chuckled, amused at his own sick machinations.

But he was getting ahead of himself and his mind was slipping off course, he had to focus on the task at hand for now. The two would inevitably leave Ul’dah together eventually, whether it be for training as Ordus had caught them before, or for some other reason all he had to do was keep a century at the ready to move the instant his spies informed him they were in the open.

The girl would be caged like a bird, in the very cage he had kept the demon in before, this would end at home for the both of them. He would need every soldier available to him to ensure the boy’s capture when he came, surely he would bring allies of some kind with him, there was no chance he’d come alone. Not this time.

“Not long now, Lord Yamauchi..” He whispered, smiling coldly to himself. “You and your little girl will both be mine.”

He shook slightly in anticipation, but the anticipation turned at once to a lingering fear, he was going to intentionally anger the boy. The boy might become the demon again, the thing that Ordus saw in his nightmares. But it was alright, he would use the one thing the demon cared about as a shield, and if he became too dangerous then he would break him by other means.

If the worst happened, he’d snuff out the girl’s life in front of him, all to drain the last vestiges of his resolve. His hubris of wanting both might well be his undoing, but it was just far too tempting.

“At least they’ll suffer together.” He said, a sick smile curling across his face as his tongue ran steadily over his top lip. “I’ll might even bury them together at the end…”

My, but wasn’t he benevolent?

#caius van ordus #yoshiro #yoshiro ametsuchi #hiina #hiina kusakari #ffxiv #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv rp

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terresdebrumestories · 7 years

Text

Chapter 10/24: Breakdown

✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS

FANDOM: Marvel’s MCU SERIES: SEADLA Verse, version 2.0 RATING: Mature WORDCOUNT: 4 626 PAIRING(S): - CHARACTER(S): Tony Stark, Nick Fury, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Tony’s therapist and the rest of the avengers in the background. GENRE: Plot twist. TRIGGER WARNING(S): Mentions of suicide and generally low self esteem (Check the AO3 listing for a glimpse of what’s to come). SUMMARY: In which things are revealed, and none of them are pleasant. Also, Tony may or may not make Steve cry, but it’s not like he cares.

DEDICATION(S): As always, to the first version’s readers, to the people who leave comments on the fic three years after its last update, and to 2012!me, who needed to write this fic a lot.

SEADLA ON TUMBLR: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9]

Tony stares at the therapist—is the guy even a real professional, or was he just acting?—until the world starts swimming, his ears buzzing with the same white noise that deafened him after his jeep blew up on an unnamed desert road. He watches the room swim in a strange kind of slow tango, arc reactor desperately trying to split his chest open even as he tries to make sense of Steve’s wide eyes and pale face. He fucked up—he fucked up and he’s screwed, and the thought of it is almost enough to pull him to his knees.

He reaches for Lorna’s—Loki’s, it’s Loki’s—knife in his pocket and clenches his fingers around the handle hard enough to hurt while he tries to breathe the storm out of his lung, the blankness out of his brain.

He hasn’t told anyone about Loki—not Pepper, who’s seen him through more shit than she should have had to, not Rhodey, who’s undoubtedly going to kill him for the omission, and with good reasons to boot. The only moment Tony even used the name—ha. He really should have guessed, shouldn’t he? Kebradalvin’s presence should have been a dead giveaway! Oh, how stupid can he get?

Months. Months of therapy, of spilling his guts out to a stranger because he thought it’d be safer than trust any of his friends with the mess of him and now—this? Well fucking done, Tony, way to prove you’re actually the idiot you thought you were.

“You said you weren’t keeping tabs on us anymore,” Bruce says from his seat at the very edge of the kitchen.

His voice is full of the same quiet challenge he’s used to coax more than one arrogant dick think of their following words with a lot of carefulness. On the side, Fury gives Bruce a wary side-eye, and Tony wants them both to shut up—to slip into silence and leave what’s left of his world alone. Hell, he’s just about ready to start praying right now—indulge the wobbliness of his knees and call for whoever happens to hear to come and get him out of this nightmare—but Fury steals the rug from under him when he says:

“We at S.H.I.E.L.D came to the conclusion that Iron Man’s safety required special monitoring.”

Tony manages to brace himself on the wall before he actually falls, but it’s a close call—and it doesn’t even really matter anyway. The room blinds him with its harsh lights, overexposed and burning at his eyes harder than the lamps thrown into his face in a darkened cave until he has to swallow against the sudden urge to vomit.

Four months—four months of his life—the thought seizes at his throat, his stomach, his chest, presses at him until he has to gasp around it, drowning in all the things he should never have said, never have confided, and he can’t make himself stop, can’t get air—

“Can’t breathe,” he gasps through sheer miracle, sliding halfway to the floor before Bruce springs out of his chair and stabilizes him, leaving Steve to try and open Tony’s collar.

Tony, meanwhile, can’t—won’t—look anywhere, at anything but Bruce—Bruce, and the way his eyes look like they’re trying to catch Tony and not let him go. Bruce, whose voice is steady and solid when he tells Tony to breath—come on, Tony, in through the nose, out through the mouth, we’ll get there.

It hurts—breathing hurts, looking hurts—but Tony wrestles himself back into some semblance of control, forces his lungs through one, two, three cycles of controlled breathing before he stops feeling like he’s about to have an out of body experience. The whole of him screams, like an exposed nerve rubbed raw, and a small part of his brain wonders if Bruce, who first used the metaphor, feels half that terrified when he hulks out.

If yes, tony is never asking the Big Guy to come out again.

“I have trouble believing you did this for Tony’s sake,” Bruce says after Tony calms down a little, the evenness of his tone keeping Tony anchored there.

Steve’s fingers hurt where they dig into his biceps. Clint and Natasha haven’t made a move either way.

“You don’t have to believe it,” Fury replies with a slight shrug.

Tony grips at Bruce’s shoulder as tight as he holds Loki’s knife, and wishes one or two Norse gods would crash through the ceiling right now. They don’t, though, and so he clings to the tremors of anger in Bruce’s voice when he summarizes:

“You lied to us, breached the doctor-patient contract of privacy—if your boy here is even a real doctor—and set Tony back months in terms of personal progress, and you’re trying to tell us it was all for his sake?”

“I’ll have you know I am—”

“If you’re not a fraud you’re a piece of shit,” Bruce cuts off with uncharacteristic profanity, “either way, you’re seriously starting to annoy me.”

Whatshisface the maybe-therapist shuts up with a squeak and Tony—oh, Tony could kiss Bruce right now, if he weren’t too busy trying to think straight without going into another panic attack. He’s not going to prison—or wherever S.H.I.E.L.D wants to take him, that’s certain. He’s seen the kind of cage they built for Bruce. He’s seen what they think of when faced with a problem—he’s not going down without a fight.

It’s a new though, the refusal to die, but there’s no time to examine it—Tony pulls it close instead, wraps it around him like armor while Bruce—skinny, puny little Bruce with the strength of a nuke beneath his skin—continues to stare Fury down, every line of his body rigidly refusing to give Tony up.

“I think we’ve all noticed Stark’s abnormal behavior,” Fury says, as if he hasn’t heard Bruce’s barely-veiled threat, “and considering he’s mentioned wanting to bone a guy higher than Erik Lehnsherr on the public enemies list—”

Tony gags while the others gasp, mostly because he can almost hear it again—the way he wished Loki weren’t such a complicated person and—no, stop. Shut up—focus. Focus, or give yourself time to get there.

“I was thinking of dating actually,” he manages through the tight lump in his throat, mind racing over possibilities, “just so we’re clear.”

Fury twitches at the touch of sarcasm—it’s good. Piss him off, he won’t be thinking quite so well, will he? Shit, Tony was so stupid though, so naïve—for fuck’s sake Tony, focus!

“Do you really think it matters?” Fury asks with a raised eyebrow, “Did you think we hadn’t noticed you dropping off the radar on the regular? And your behavior hasn’t been going better—

“It’s called depression and suicidal tendencies,” Tony counters, the familiar, thin veneer of sarcasm holding him up against the thought of Fury rattling off all the ways he’s still failing.

If Steve’s face is anything to go by, though, it’s already too late. He steps away from Tony and Bruce, eyes wide as saucers, and while Clint and Natasha aren’t moving any more than they have since the beginning, it’s still easy to guess their surprise in the glance they share.

Think, Tony. Either Fury’s genuinely mistaken—unlikely, considering his resources and the ample evidence that Loki on a mind-controlling spree is far from being that subtle—or he’s deliberately pretending for a reason. The first problem would be easy to solve—a couple of hours, at most.

If it’s the second one, Tony needs to get out or he’ll definitely be doomed.

“Look,” Fury start, looking as genuinely regretful as they come, “I didn’t want to come through this, but you’re not giving me a choice. We are taking your assets into custody.”

“The Iron Man is a private property,” Bruce says, the threat in his voice more evident, you can’t—”

“It’s a private weapon,” Steve counters, kind enough to wince when two unknown agents slip into the kitchen.

He says something else next, but Tony’s brain doesn’t bother tracking that, caught up on Fury’s words. We’re taking your assets into custody. Not the suits. Not the armor. The assets. Dummy. Butterfingers. You.

Jarvis.

Tony’s eyes widen as if in slow motion, and then he’s on his feet, running out of the kitchen as he shouts for Jarvis to put the tower on lockdown, Fury’s rage-filled voice roaring for the agents to catch him. Tony manages to slide one of the bulletproof doors back to the hallway, at least two or three guards slipping in after him—damn, he should have made this whole process faster.

Ten more steps, barrel past another doorway—only two guards and the horrifying sound of crushed limbs follow him into the living room. He has to slam the hidden door hidden next to the chimney into somebody’s face to delay them by a precious few seconds, and clatter down the stairs with a hurricane in his lungs.

He wishes Pepper were here—he’d make a joke about actual secret staircases and forget about the phantom weight of a car battery in his hands—but by the time he realizes she’s too far to reach he’s already in the workshop and screaming his core processor access code. Think, he tells himself as he shoves the hidden panel closed behind him and locks it just in time to keep attackers out, damage control, what would Pepper do?

S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t get Jarvis—it can’t, not ever. Tony has seen the kind of things they did with only their best brains to work on it, and the thought of Jarvis’ decades of advance on any other technology in their hands sends chills down his spine. Tony has to keep him out of anyone’s reach, that much is clear—at least this way, even if he does something horrible, it’ll be on Tony’s head, and no one else. Come on, what would Pepper do?

Not get involved with Loki, for starters. But if she did—if she somehow took a hit to the head and got herself in that situation, with the same profound conviction that Jarvis cannot be allowed into foreign hands, well...it’s not like Tony hasn’t thought of it on his own. One step down, a couple more to go. Now, as Pepper keeps demonstrating, the key to a successful career is time management, right? Right. Let’s manage time, Tony.

“Jarvis,” Tony asks, fingers clenching and unclenching around Loki’s stupid knife that won’t hold its fucking promises, “how long until Fury’s goons get in there?”

“The two in the workshops are currently being kept away from the tools by the house units,” Jarvis replies with a little more trepidation to his voice than usual, “but one of their bullets is bound to hit home, eventually. Best case scenario, you have a little over ten minutes, sir.”

“Let’s assume we’re on worst case,” Tony pushes through gritted teeth.

“Two point fifty-seven minutes.”

Too short to try going around and grabbing a suit, even if it hadn’t been a last-ditch, ‘I don’t want to do this’ reach. Alright. Pepper’s tip to a successful life number two—prioritize. Breathing first—in, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out, hold, repeat until brain starts back. Think.

Plans. They have to go. No one but Tony could have made Jarvis, but any idiot can follow a plan. If S.H.I.E.L.D wants Jarvis, they’ll need the plans or buckle up for twenty years of full-time work. Hardly the takeover they’re going for.

“Okay,” Tony gasps, blinking moisture out of his eyes, “Jarvis, I need you to send a message to Pepper, if you can.”

“The emergency line is under attack,” Jarvis warns, “Transmission not guaranteed.”

“’Kay,” Tony croaks out, eyes closing before he can stop them.

Loki’s knife digs in his palm, between his fingers. His cheeks hurt, nose itching with saltwater dripping onto the tip. His lungs are only seconds from bursting, but he manages to nod when Jarvis announces he’s recording.

“Pepper, they’re wrong, I’m not compromised, I know I’m not, it’s—”

Tony forces his mouth shut when his voice wavers. Limited time. No babbling. Go.

“S.H.I.E.L.D wants Jarvis. Not sure why but I’m not letting them. I’m sorry—don’t leave me there!”

Something bangs outside Tony’s compartment—the metal is too thick for him to hear anything else, but he really hopes none of the bots is damaged beyond repair. There’s no time for a last-minute save, anyway.

God, he’s spent so many hours hunched over the little guys, poured so much of himself into their codes, their casings, their quirks and boo-boos, what’s he going to do now they’re—unavailable, he tells himself firmly. They’ll just be unavailable. For a while. They won’t even notice. They’re just—just—they won’t notice. They won’t hurt. Come on, Tony, you can do this.

“Sir,” Jarvis says, voice oddly gentle through the speakers, “you are running out of time.”

“I know,” Tony replies.

He chokes on the words a little, bumps his forehead against the walls to clear his thoughts—it works and doesn’t at the same time—and manages to produce a pitiful gargle:

“I’ll miss you, Jarvis.”

“Initiating Project Napoleon,” a horrendous excuse for a vocal simulator intones in a droning voice, “execution in fifty nine seconds, fifty-eight, fifty seven—”

A safe box opens next to Tony’s hand, a memory card barely larger than a thumbnail rattling into it for a mere second before Tony catches it and shoves his pants down his legs—

“—thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six—”

—shoves the chip and its plastic up his anus, wincing when the angles catch at the sensitive skin there and why didn’t he—why did he have to—oh, fuck, Jarvis—

“—thirty four, thirty-three, thirty-two—”

—yanks the whole thing back up, holds in a scream as the first suit explodes overhead—

“—sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten—”

—zips himself up, vaguely hopes he’ll die—

“—nine, eight, seven, six, five, four—”

—closes his eyes, breathes out—

“—three, two, one.”

Acrid smoke burns at his lung with the hiss of an air-tight door opening.

Alarms howl to life.

He falls.

{ooo}

“I’m not mind-controlled,” Tony repeats for the thousandth time, forehead braced against the glass wall of his cell, “Fury’s lying.”

On the other side, Steve looks at him with infinite sadness, the kind that says he wishes he could believe the lovely lie he’s being offered but will face the truth for a friend’s sake. The irony is not lost on Tony, and he sorts of wants to smash the expression off with a crowbar.

“He’s made an enemy to the Avengers when he tried to take your suits,” Steve points out, “and he knows it.”

“And yet you’re still with him,” Tony replies, too tired to put much venom into it.

“It’s too stupid a move to be a conspiracy, Tony,” Steve insists, infuriatingly gentle though it all.

Tony hasn’t slept or sat down since he woke up here about five hours ago, which he figures explains why he can’t even bring himself to shake his head. He doesn’t even know if this is a Steve thing or a forties thing, clinging to the possibility of brain washing, but it hardly matters. He doesn’t have any way to prove this—not when they’re all working under the assumption that he’ll try and lie his way out of this mess.

They’ve been around, the lot of them. Fury, to inform him Clint got freed by a solid knock to the head, but S.H.I.E.L.D is willing to try softer treatments. Clint and Natasha snuck in—or so their poses seemed to say—to make sure his cell was as nice as a bare, sheets-free bed and the chrome equivalent of a hole in the ground can be...and Bruce, telling him the blood samples he’d taken of all of them for study purposes have gone missing.

And Steve, presumably to assess the damage by himself, like he always does.

Too bad he’s inflicting most of it at the moment.

“I’m not mind-controlled,” Tony repeats after a long silence,idly wishing he had bars to rest his arms on, “I’ve been hanging out with Loki for four months. If he really were controlling me it’d be one hell of a long-term game.”

A shit strategy, too. What do they all think, that Tony was gonna join the dark side out of pity? Please. Loki probably knows better than try that—should know better, in any case. Tony would tell Fury as much, really, if it didn’t somehow feel like betraying someone—Loki or himself, that’s still a mystery, but betrayal is betrayal, regardless.

Besides, what could he say? ‘It’s not mind-control if he spills his git as much as I do’? Best case scenario, someone would try to use that as a way to get more intel and, well. Friend. Or at least, from where Tony’s standing there’s friendship.

Loki’s radio silence doesn’t exactly say good things about where Tony stands on his priority list.

“Maybe he’s already got what he wanted,” Steve replies, “and he’s keeping you on a leash because you’re a valuable asset.”

“I didn’t take the samples,” Tony sighs, weary of that non-conversation already.

Bruce said the safe was broken into, though the means are still to be determined. If anything, Tony likes to think he’d be smarter about covering his tracks, even under mind control. Besides, from what he’s seen of Loki, he doesn’t seem the type to hold onto useless things unless they’ve got some form of sentimental value, but well. It’s not like saying that would make his situation any better. Worst case scenario, people are going to assume he’s Loki’s accomplice, anyway.

“Honestly, the guy managed to play Thor’s all-seeing bodyguard. Wouldn’t he be a little more subtle about theft?”

Not that Loki has a big history of subtlety in this world, but still. There’s showy, and then there’s stupid.

“Tony,” Steve sighs, disgustingly weary for someone who isn’t in a cell, “are you trying to imply somebody is using you to frame Loki?”

It’s ridiculous, Tony knows—that’s the only thing keeping him from saying yes. Still, he’s been thinking and over-thinking this thing through for the past five hours, and everything else makes even less sense. He can’t be the prime target of this stint—not when S.H.I.E.L.D as personified by Fury recovered so well from Jarvis’ loss. Not when everyone is still firmly blaming Loki for this debacle...not with the battery of tests, some of which he’s imagined himself, looking for magic he’s been subjected to. So, given that he isn’t dead or being taunted with the news coverage that his fall would generate, Tony is pretty sure he’s not the main objective.

The question is, who would frame Loki, and why?

Tony as a proxy sort of makes sense—he’s big, with enough resources to be a threat if compromised—but Loki already tried to conquer the planet, it’s hard to make himself more undesirable than that. Whoever is behind this, whether it’s Fury—impossible to dismiss, although something about the idea feels off—or someone else entirely, they were clearly hoping for Jarvis as a neat bonus prize. They failed, thanks to Tony’s Afghanistan-born paranoia, but that doesn’t change anything to it.

None of that solves the question of why though, and Steve seems to take Tony’s silence as a confession of guilt because he sighs and says:

“See? Even you can’t come up with a reasonable reason for us to trust you.”

“I kind of thought trust came with the ‘friends’ territory,” Tony hisses before he goes for the belt: “either I got some funny idea about us being friend or that guy Bucky wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

“Bucky didn’t try to kill himself!” Steve roars, angry snarl stopping inches away from the glass, “he didn’t suddenly decide his friends couldn’t be trusted with anything and start giving them the slip whenever he couldn’t be arsed to deal with his problems! And he certainly didn’t go from hating the enemy’s gut to pretending they were good guys in four months’ time!”

“I’m not saying he’s a good guy, I’m saying he’s not doing anything to me right now!” Tony protests, voice rising dangerously close to a yell.

Don’t do anything stupid, he tells himself, fingers clenching into fists against the glass, don’t go there.

“Right,” Steve says, voice tight and body taut, “because you’d know that.”

“I’d at least hope you guys could see I’m still using my brain!”

“Are you?”

Steve’s gaze pointedly goes to Tony’s wrist, and Tony surprises himself when he pounds on the glass hard enough to feel something give under the skin. Steve gives him a shocked puppy look, like he’d only been saying the most reasonable thing, like there’s no reason for fury to tear at Tony’s temples—his ribs, his palms—until the world drowns into a sea of red.

“Oh, of course,” Tony hisses, barely more than a breath between the two of them, “of course you’d think I’m stupid for it—”

“I didn’t say—”

“Yes you did!” Tony cuts off, bile burning at his throat like poison, “Stupid Tony Stark, with his money and his name and his brain who builds things no one else could dream of and still finds ways to try and die! Useless Tony Stark, who could do so much for the world and gets drunk and parties instead—don’t you think I’ve heard it all by now? Don’t you think I know that?”

“Tony, I wasn’t—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Rogers!”

Steve’s face falls, and Tony should stop, should be ashamed and hate himself—will be ashamed and hate himself soon enough—but for now he’s hurting as much as he’s ever hurt, and he’s taken it in silence long enough damnit! He’s taken it all in—the punches, the disdain, the reproaches, and fuck they’ve hurt, but to have them fall from Captain America’s mouth? From the same guy he’s admired and hated since he was old enough to remember?

Well, there had to be a last straw at some point.

“I’m a screwed up, useless piece of shit of a failure, don’t you see that? We’re not all like you—we can’t all be America’s golden boy, the poster child for everything good and righteous on this earth—some of us are just useless messes, that’s how it is! You want a lie? You want a facade? Try the guy you thought I was before this whole debacle! God, Rogers, why do you think I wanted to die?”

“Tony, you didn’t really—”

“Oh yes I did!” Tony hisses, voice dropping almost to a whisper, a thin sliver of poison he can almost feel drifting out of his body and into Steve’s ears, “believe me, I wanted to—haven’t you heard the docs? Five minutes later and I was done for, and that was the goal. But of course,” Tony continues in a more regular volume, “you don’t see that. You don’t believe that. How could you, you perfect, self-righteous ass? You don’t have to wake up every morning wondering if anybody would ever miss you, do you? I bet you’ve never even doubted you had anything to offer the world, have you? You have no idea what it feels like to be me.”

“Tony,” Steve tries again, eyes shining as his face crumbles, “I didn’t mean to—”

“You know I hate you, right?” Tony asks, voice rising with every word, “I tried to hide it—I tried to be a good teammate, a good friend, even, ha! Like I’d ever be worth that! But I hate you, Rogers. I’ve spent my entire life listening to the world rant about how perfect, how chivalrous, how painfully golden you were—all my life. Gods, the hours Howard spent looking for you, talking about you—the house was a fucking museum, your name never to be spoken in vain, and I spent so much time trying to beat you, trying to be better than you—I should have known it was a lost fight from the start! How dumb can I get, right? And the worst part is—the worst part is you—you’re—you! You don’t even have the decency to just be a random schmuck with lab-grown muscles, no! You have to go an live up to the legend! Smile at kittens, never cries, always right mister Rogers, prancing around like a gift from God while the rest of us just—just—”

Tony turns away from Steve with a strangled cry of anger and frustration, hands flailing aimlessly at his side. He wants to break something—smash a vase, rip sheets apart, kick the toilets until he dents the metal, scream into a pillow all at the same time but somehow, all of it seems so—so—stupid, and over dramatic, and Tony just—just—

“Tony, no!” Steve yells when Tony hits his forehead with the butt of his hand for the first time, “stop! Don’t do that!”

Tony doesn’t stop, hitting at his forehead again and again until a piercing headache settles in his skull for the long haul. There’s just—there’s too much. It’s all too much. The pain, the anger, the hatred, the frustration, and now Steve—what the fuck is Tony supposed to do with this? Be patient? Be understanding? Be kind? When was the world ever kind to him?

Yeah, sure, they’re the accident of birth—there’s the money, and the girls—but there’s the loneliness and despair too, there’s the betrayals and the attempted murders, and there’s the gnawing pit of emptiness inside, where he knows even Pepper and Rhodey can’t reach because they’re trying—bless their souls, they’ve been trying so hard—but Tony is just far too fucked up for it to work! And really how is any of it fair? Is that what he gets for being born filthy rich? Is that it? Some kind of cosmic punishment saying he can have one but not the other, that if he’s going to go through life not knowing what it’s like to worry about money he’s damned well gonna know what it’s like to watch everyone he loves leave though his own faults?

“Please, Tony,” Steve tries again when Tony’s hands reach for his face and settle there, as if he could make the world disappear just by not seeing it, “you don’t have to do that. This isn’t—”

“Get out,” Tony tells him, voice muffled by his fingers.

“Tony, I’m trying to—”

“Just get out. Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you.”

There’s a quiet gasp and a shuffle of feet, like Steve is about to protest again, but Tony doesn’t have it in him to ask again. He wipes his face instead, more surprised than he should be to find it wet, and makes his way over to the bed.

His brain feels like it’s banging at the edges of his skull when he faceplants into the mattress, the pain sharp and pointed as a knife, but he doesn’t care. He’ll hate his words—hate himself for them—soon enough, maybe. If he’s good enough a man for that. For now, the whole thing feels mostly like he’s drawn all the pus from a wound—not lighter exactly, not better by a long shot, but still feeling like it’s a first step of healing.

Steve leaves.

#MCU Fic #SEADLA #Tony Stark #Steve Rogers #MCU fanfiction #MCU #Fanfiction

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ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

'[SF] Banshee 7'

The Yellow Jacket dropship cracked through Gaia 76’s atmosphere with speed and ferocity. Its sleek black paint made it a shadow in the night's sky. You could only ever tell it was nearby if you could hear it or get close enough to notice the streamline yellow stripes on the wing’s edges. Even on the quietest of nights, you would be lucky to hear the hum of her engines. She may have been bulky compared to any fighter jet, but she was sleek and quick. Her slightly angled up wings cut through the air. Her revolving engines between the engines and wings continuously shifted slightly every few seconds or so keeping flight steady and calm which is what the crew needed more than anything especially on risky missions like this. The belly of the flying beast was devoted to the cargo/drop bay. Great for storage and throwing out soldiers on insane missions. The flight crew found a strange humour in lowering the back door and forcing people out. It was mostly funny because nine times out ten the soldiers were trained and it was just their pre-mission nerves but there was also that one in ten who died mysteriously. Missions behind enemy lines meant it could be anything. Enemies could’ve spotted them and taken them out in the air or ground, the wildlife might’ve gotten hungry, they might’ve forgotten all their training, panicked too much and just fallen to their deaths or everything could’ve gone perfectly right. The soldier could’ve deployed their chute undetected but then they could not realize that tree is closer than it looks and sharper too.

That’s why the Banshee and Yellow Jacket programs were created. I.S.A.A.C needed a small squad that could get in behind enemy lines without giving themselves away and take on anything they encounter. They put billions into both programs to get seven soldiers in the best armour and jetpacks. (insert acronym for space military here) only need three for this mission. “Banshee 3” Mathias Byrne the heavy.

“Banshee 4” Daphne Archer the sniper.

“Banshee 7” Sora Tanaka the recon guy.

Mathias sat in his seat playing with his gun and his short red beard. He was a large man, a mix of fat and muscle but when he was in that armour it was all power. He looked up at Sora who was still gawking at Gaia 76 below through the X-Ray scanner on his glove.

“Hey boy this planet might look pretty from all the way up here but I’ve been on the ground around here. It gets scary.” Sora turned off his hologram view of the planet and looked up at Mathias’ red face to acknowledge him. He was curious what bullshit he could come up with this time.

“Not the enemy no, it’s the beasts that live there. Our colonists have lived here for only a short decade and they come back with stories that’ll turn your fancy armour brown. Stories of the monsters that live down there. Behemoths and Leviathans. Nature allowed to go rampant without and superior species like us to get in the way until late in their evolution. So that’s why they send badasses like me and you two to make me look bigger.” Mathias laughed in his Scandinavian accent.

“This is Yellow Jacket 0001 we’re approaching the enemy base about 50 clicks out. Better get ready to jump guys.” The pilot said over the comms. The crew could understand even if the comms made his voice unbearably scratchy.

Sora thought of something that made him snort behind his helmet. “Dude I don’t think you need our help to look fat.” Sora laughed back.

Mathias’ smile drained from his face quickly as he thought of something to say. “You’re talking a lot of shit for someone in a smaller crappier armour.” He retorted while flexing his huge arm.

“That’s because I know I can run around you quick and quiet while you run out of breath, kinda like you and Daphne when you think you’re alone on here,” Sora smirked.

Daphne shot away from her locker and gave Mathias a look he would never forget.

The intercom beeped loudly and the trio all looked up to acknowledge the pilot. “Yeah sometimes we’ve been in here doing tests and you guys just sneak onboard. It’s really uncomfortable so can you please go somewhere else?” He said nonchalantly.

Sora was struggling to contain his laughter while he watched Daphne scold Mathias. “I told we should just go to your apartment but nooo,” Daphne yelled. “Baby no-ones here. What if we get a mission call and we’re already on the ship waiting?” She yelled doing her worst impression of his voice.

Sora burst out laughing as Daphne turned back around to her locker. She quickly shot back around for only a second before snapping back to her locker. If you blinked as Sora did you would’ve missed seeing the knife sticking out of the cushion next to his head. Mathias and Sora gawked in shock at Daphne. She turned around in her full blue armour cocking her sniper rifle. She flipped up her visor to address the two.

“What? Your last knife broke I thought you might need a new one.” She smirked she got no response and started playing with the interface on her left gauntlet. “Song choices? I was thinking since Gaia 76 was an ice planet we could play a classic like Cold Cold Cold- cage the elephants. I know it’s no NovaHawx but I gotta soft spot for the classics. What do you guys think?” She asked.

They nodded immediately not wanting to experience her wrath for a second time today. She pressed play on her screen and through their helmets the music hummed.

“You boys should get ready I think we’re about to jump.” She chirped while blowing strands of her purple hair out of the way. Mathias was already sitting in his bulky yellow suit. He pressed a button on his neck plate and the helmet folded around his head perfectly.

Mathias opened his locker to retrieve his favourite gun. A simple LMG with the body crafted out of metal and the stock and grip made from wood. Over the years Mathias had modded the gun to the point where the metal and vinyl wood merged. The metal was spray painted with grey urban camo. The wood was left polished and scratched except for the barrel which had a shark mouth painted around it. Mathias slapped in the heavy oval shaped drum mag and heaved up the heavy weapon in one arm.

Daphne already had her sniper rifle holstered on the back of her jet pack out of the way of her wings or jets. Compared to Mathias’ LMG her gun was sleek and beautiful. The stock body barrel and scope were all apart of the same elongated diamond shape. The only deviations to this shape were the grips, magazine and the back end of the stock.

Sora was making the final checks to his retractable wrist SMG’s. He pressed the buttons on his gloves and opened his hands giving the guns room to stretch out into his grip. He gestured his guns forward as if an enemy was in front of him to check the sights. He let go of the grips and flicked his wrists back forcing the gun to fold back again.

Daphne stood in the middle of the drop bay and displayed a holographic map in front of them. “So Gaia 76 is a friendly colony. Our people have been operating farms in these indoor climates to keep out the wildlife and the cold. Despite the shitty weather, the soil here is some of the best out of all our colonies. If we lose that we lose over 40% of our agriculture resources. We drop, Sora does recon while I provide overwatch. We take them off guard, then Mathias you go in fast and strong, Sora will join you and keep them off balance.” She finished the briefing and shut off the hologram.

The lights inside the drop bay dimmed and shot up green. The pilot's voice came over the intercom.

“Guys just a weather update, there’s a snowstorm so we have to drop early if you wanna miss it, over.” He stated.

Daphne acknowledged the pilot. “Copy that Yellow Jacket.”

They all sealed their visors and switched on their displays as the drop bay door slowly opened at the back of the ship.

Mathias slung his LMG over his shoulder before noticing a blinking red light in the distance.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked getting the attention of Sora and Daphne as the light moved closer. When it only picked up speed Daphne could see the rest of the object. It was a goddamn rocket.

“DEPLOY NOW!! YELLOW JACKET USE YOUR FLARES…” She yelled before being cut off by the loud and powerful explosion. The rocket had hit the left revolving engine. Shrapnel and fire had broken into the hull and the dropship was falling out of the sky and spinning out of control. Sora and Mathias were barely holding on, but Daphne was stuck under debris.

Mathias was closer to the drop bay and couldn’t move. “Sora get to Daphne so we can drop and get help!” He panicked over comms. Sora launched his grappling hook near Daphne and pulled himself towards her. He started digging at the debris while trying to get Daphne to wake up.

All this spinning and moving was giving him vertigo but he pushed through it, his friend needed help and he was there. Until Daphne gave him that look. That look when you know… when you know that the worst is about to happen, but you accept it because there is nothing else you can do. She only needed to smile and hold back her tears to tell Sora what to do. Sora shook his head in defiance. If he wasn’t so dizzy and had the lump in his throat, he’d be yelling at to get her ass up. He’d be telling her no. But he couldn’t there was no time.

Daphne reached for her rifle and fired at Sora’s cable. The cable snapped in an instant and Sora was sucked towards the drop bay door. He crashed into Mathias nearly crushing his right wing on his pack. Mathias lost his grip and was sucked out of the ship with Sora. A second missile went right through the drop bay door once they were out and the Yellow Jacket erupted in flames and debris. After the violent fireball, there was only burnt shrapnel and scraps left. Sora turned over to Mathias who was free falling in far away he had shrapnel sticking out of his belling and blood was spilling out of his side. Sora not realizing his wing was damaged deployed his jetpack. The left wing only deployed while the right wing only twitched and sparked. Folded up on the pack the wings were each comprised of two rectangular sections which would retract into the wings. The top section with a more aerodynamic angular section would be the wing tips. The bottom section would hold two jets where the wing tips would meet the main body. Sora spiralled out of control with only one wing he couldn’t keep stable. He’d need both to survive the drop he thought.

In the panic, he lost sight of Mathias. He couldn’t look in any one direction while spiralling there was nothing he could do. Sora’s altimeter was dropping fast he had to do something. On his suit the mechanical straps had side plates inside were two yellow levers on each strap of his pack he pulled on them violently. A rush of air burst from the pack and both wings were launched away from Sora.

Now he could pivot his body and control his fall. He rolled his body over so his belly was facing towards the ground. Suddenly everything his drill sergeant screamed in his face was perfectly envisioned in his head and he knew exactly what he to do like flexing a muscle. He extended his arms and legs out keeping him stable and somewhat slowing himself down. He had no wings but he still had a fully functioning propulsion pack and state of the art armour. Sora knew his best chance was to slow himself down with his main jet and hope the landing wasn’t as rough as it looked.

Below him, he saw the white snow and large dark brown trunks of the giant tree’s that persevered through the constant harsh cold weather of Gaia 76. He saw the base of the mountain and all the black and white jagged rocks surrounding it. He realized his best option was to aim for the trees. He pivoted his body to the right and slowly angled his body closer to the trees until he cleared the line and was just over them. He swung his body upright with his legs facing down and blasted the small rockets strapped to the sides of his boots and the large one on his back. He began slowing down significantly but it wasn’t enough he was still falling rapidly into the trees.

As he got closer and closer Sora winced in preparation for his landing. He broke through the first branches with no worries but it was the trunks that were problematic. He a large trunk feet first but he was going so fast he only spun out of control into the trees shattering branches and tearing into trunks. His visor was cracked and his armour was gradually getting more and more ruined. When he slammed against the trees he bounced off but still continued down like a ragdoll. Every tree he hit he felt himself slipping away and his engines turned off leaving him to freefall into the cold snow. Everything turned black and Sora slipped away.

Sora reawoke slowly to the blaring sound of the several alarms warning him of extreme cold, armour breach, helmet breach, altitude and the lack of wings. He took off his helmet and switched them all off. He felt a quick chill carry from his neck all the way down his spine leaving a cold feeling all around his body. This shocked his nerves making his whole-body shudder. Sora was covered in snow and the sunrise was glowing in the distance. “Oh, fuck it’s morning already?” he thought to himself.

Sora grunted and groaned in pain as he tried to lift himself up, it was no use, he was freezing cold, tired and beat up. Every single joint in his body ached with stiffness. He could lie down and wallow in sadness all he wanted but he would die if he didn’t move. Daphne’s words from his early days in training echoed in his head. “Get up kid and move kid or your dead. You gotta run to make a last stand.”

Before he lifted himself from the small pile of snow, he was buried under he received a hail from I.S.A.A.C.C (The International Space And Astronomical Command Centre. Or as Sora simply knew them as the military.

“Banshee 7 do you read? This is Echo base. Over.” The deep static voice repeated while Sora tried to fix up the signal. When he could finally hear the man’s voice clearly, he jumped to answer.

“Sorry mom I know I said I’d be back by 10 but I got wasted and had to stay the night.” He weakly laughed.

The man on the other side joined in Sora’s laughter.

“It’s okay kiddo we’re just glad to hear your voice. What’s your status? Over.

Sora could only think about the Yellow Jacket and Mathias and Daphne. He choked on his words because he couldn’t think of a formal way to give them the news. They were his only friends. It took him a moment, but he mustered what little strength he had and delivered the news.

“Banshee’s 3 and 4 are K.I.A. The pilots of our Yellow Jacket died when the aircraft was shot down. Banshee 4 also died in the aircraft. Me and Banshee 3 managed to jump in the chaos but when the shuttle exploded shrapnel pierced the weak spot in Banshee 3’s armour killing him.”

Sora paused again. He was a soldier; he was tough, and he had friends die before but this still rattled him. He never wanted to say what happened out loud, but he had to. To get it out quick so he could focus on himself. Focus on his life and how he was going to keep it.

“My wingsuit was damaged, and I had to eject my wings and use only my propulsion systems to stick the landing I crashed down in the forest at the base of the mountain. My suit is ruined, I think my pack and other propulsion systems are still operational, but I’ll have to ditch and destroy the armour.”

He heard the heavy breathing over the radio. This was a lot to take in even for someone who didn’t even know Sora or the others. “Are you in need of any medical assistance? Over.” The voice asked quickly.

“Mostly I think I’m fine, just bruised up to shit I think,” Sora answered as he tried to get up his left arm got caught on part of the tree he was resting against. He could it wasn’t his arm getting caught it was something on his arm. When he looked over he finally realized that a large amount of the aching feeling was the large stick protruding from his bicep. The pain only began kicking in as he noticed it and he groaned in severe pain. Sora gripped the stick and ripped it out fiercely. Bloodshot out from the wound and flew through the air following the stick. He quickly applied medigel to the wound sealing it and stopping the pain quickly.

“Banshee 7 are you okay?” The voice asked.

“Well aside from the aching bones and a splitting headache, and possible future therapy sessions I thought I was doing great. I just pulled a foreign plant out of my arm.” He grunted.

“Banshee 7 can you describe the plant? Over?”

“It’s a brown stick with large red thorns all and it’s sap is green. Can I please have some good news?” Sora said while sinking back against the tree trunk.

“Hold on let me just run this by someone… Oh, shit...” He muttered.

Sora became quickly distressed and agitated.

“You gonna finish that sentence or leave me hanging?” He asked aggressively.

“It’s called Deadman’s barb… It’s extremely poisonous and common around these parts. You’ll experience light burning around the wound and a headache but it’ll kill you.” The radio voice responded with a swell in his throat.

Sora leaned back against the trunk and started throwing his head back and forth into the trunk in a fit of rage. “FUUUCKK!” He yelled. He calmed down as he heard his voice echo across the forest and mountains.

“What a fuckin day amirite?” Sora said trying to hold back any more outbursts.

“It’s okay, its pretty common around here we got an antidote at the base. You got 2 hours to get here before it’s irreversible. You’d have 10 minutes to spare from where you are. That’s if you use your pack for short jumps and boosts. We’ll be waiting here for you with the antidote prepped.” The voice said.

Sora calmed down to recollect himself. “So if I use my pack to boost myself there I can make it? Where’s your base?” He calmly asked.

“Your heading is North. We’re just on the other side of the valley your in. You get out of the valley you can’t miss us.”

“See you soon,” Sora said before switching his helmet comms off.

Sora moved past his aching bones, he needed to get moving. The mission was a bust, all he needed to do now was move. Sora stripped off his armour. It was either damaged or just unusable and too heavy. The armour plating had tears and scrapes all around. Its funny Sora thought “2 million dollars for an impenetrable flying suit and it falls out of the sky and breaks.”

All Sora was left standing in was his flight jacket. A black jacket with shoulder and elbow pads. It included tight-fitting straps for the jet pack he so desperately needed. His urban camo combat pants kept him surprisingly warm despite spending a night resting in the snow.

His black combat boots had some extra weight on them with the extra boosters on the outside of each heel but Sora didn’t mind they would help him move faster.

The last thing to check was his SMG’s. He didn’t even know if they survived the crash or not. He kneeled down and started fishing through the scattered pieces of scrap metal for his gauntlets. He wished he had full finger gloves instead of the fingerless, then maybe his fingers wouldn’t feel so numb. He put that behind him on the list of other medical worries he had this morning alone. He found the gauntlets and stripped the guns from them. He then strapped them to his Jacket arms which were already lightly padded. He tested the guns flicking them in and out over and over till he could be sure that they were reliable. Sora had no other supplies nothing else to carry and no other burdens but himself now was the time to move.

Sora was already trudging quickly through the snow, he wasn’t nearly out of breath, his rigorous training had made sure of that. Every now and then would he jump up into the air and let his boots and pack carry him forward. The snow was cold and fierce. The harsh winds had finally slowed down from a wail to a breeze. Sora could finally calm down and keep his mind clear. The leaves of the trees sora broke through with every jump were as white as the pure untouched snow making the forest floor. Sora almost felt sad for disrupting the calm piles of unaltered snow and breaking the branches of the trees he jumped through but he had one thing to focus on. Everything had to be blocked out. Every instinct in his body had to be programmed to one goal. Get out of here and get help.

Even in this rush, Sora was still aware of his surroundings, his mind was more focused than ever despite being on a one track mind he could still notice the slightest change in detail. Being on recon and using a scope had taught Sora there wasn’t much difference between a sniper and a painter. Able to notice and observe the slightest change in the scenery. Able to see when something has moved or when a new colour appears. Able to be still and patient and be fully absorbed in the work in front of them, whether it’s canvas or whatever's on the other end of the scope.

That’s why Sora came to a violent halt and swung his body into cover behind a tree when he heard the small cracking sound of a twig breaking.

He didn’t panic, despite his heart rate and body temperature rising, he kept his cool, he knew what he had to do if he wasn’t as alone as he thought. He tapped the buttons on his gloves with his thumbs and his guns retracted from his wrists and felt good in his grip. He turned his gaze over his shoulder and behind the tree and saw the distinct black body armour of the enemy and the glowing red eyes on their helmets. Sora turned back and began preparing himself for a fight. He counted two but he knew there could always be more. He figured stealth didn’t matter since they were moving closer to his tree.

“You boys ready for this? Cause I sure as hell am.” He called out angrily.

Sora was surprised when he heard them jump at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t him they were looking for. They were clearly on edge and Sora wasn’t the one they were looking for so what? Sora thought to himself not knowing his answer would come sooner than expected. He also wished he never got his answer. Mostly because it came roaring and charging through the trees crushing a man under its paw and ripping the other in half with its razor sharp teeth and powerful jaws. The snow in the surrounding area was dampened under blood and the insides spilling from the lower half of the enemy soldiers corpse.

Sora was already on the ground staring at the beast, it was truly a monster. It was like a large white bear. Its fur was thick but despite this, its defined muscles could still be seen. Its bones were so thick and strong some were growing outside of it. It had thick, grey spikes around its neck and head. Its paws, however, were entirely external bone like armour. They looked tough too, judging by the small chunks and scratches on the bone armour it looked like it had seen some action. They seemed closer to concrete than bones. Sora was horrified by the sight of the giant primitive, bear-like creature before him, especially since it was almost triple the size of any bear he had seen before.

“Mathias was not fucking around. That thing is a Behemoth.” He said to himself quietly. Sora was surprised he wasn’t discovered sooner but as soon as his last word left his mouth the Behemoth jerked it’s head around and set it’s deep, dark, red eyes on Sora and let out an aggressive low growl. The Behemoth stepped out slowly into the clearing it had created. Sora stepped out from his cover behind the tree knowing the creature could easily crush him behind it anyway. He began looking for ways he could escape, anyway he could jump over the Behemoth and just keep moving. The beast was too damn big and it was clearly a hunter, he could never lose it in the forest and one small slip up and it could swallow him up. He’d run out of breath running from it before he even got close to the base. If he did nothing he’d die, if he ran, he’d die. He had to stop thinking of how to run, he had to think like a soldier, he had to think about how to fight.

The Behemoth continued its low growl while it stared Sora down, Sora only looked right back at it knowing what he had to do. He looked down at the counter on his gauntlet. The seconds dripped away. 0h/59min/40sec.

“You going to wait for me to die or are you gonna show me how tough you really are?” He asked gritting his teeth.

He flicked out his SMG’s and quickly flung his arms in the general directions of the Behemoth’s eyes and opened fire. The bullets splattered and splintered across the Behemoth’s face never once breaking the skin. The small pieces of shrapnel, however, were as simple as dust to a creature like this. Now Sora knew where he could hurt it. Go for the eyes he repeated in his head.

The Behemoth roared in fury charging in Sora’s direction, or just wherever the pain was coming from. Sora lowered his left arm so he could dash towards the left just to avoid the enormous beast. He kept his right arm gun trained on the beast’s eyes, anything he could do to hurt this thing was a welcome opportunity. The Behemoth crashed into a fallen and splintered stump of an old strong tree. Sora noticed giant splinters and spikes of wood no protruding from the shoulder of the now wounded monster. “The only thing that can take it down is its own home.” Sora thought aloud as he quickly looked at his guns realising, they were only good for pissing the monster off.

Sora was collecting himself before he even realised the bear was in motion again. It lifted its tall muscular body and wrapped its sharp, jagged paws around one a giant, thick tree. The Behemoth began forcing down all its weight down on the tree cracking and splitting it at the base. Almost like it was tearing it up from the roots. But the Behemoth wasn’t lifting it was pushing, forcing the tree to splinter and break under its humungous weight the tree began to fall it was only now Sora realised what it was doing. The tree was going to crush him. He watched as the once tall powerful trunk fell to the power of the bear and gravity as it came crashing towards him. First branches and twigs all over began snapping and falling to the earth. The fall began slow but the closer it got the faster it moved. The woods creaking followed the movement of the tree only getting faster. Sora had to be quicker. He used his pack to dash narrowly out of the way of the black and brown trunk that shattered the very rock that was once beneath his feet with a surprising ear-shattering crack.

Sora had to catch his breath. He was still wrapping his mind around how the beast could possibly force this thick powerful tree down to the snow-ridden forest floor. But as he would quickly learn there was no time for that on Gaia 76 because the bear was furious its cunning plan didn’t work. Giant splinters remained of the old tree, scattered across the snow. They were already pointed and still very strong some of them. Sora had a plan. He dove to quickly grasp one in his hand.

As he did the beast had regathered its strength despite the blood flowing from its shoulder staining its marble white fur in a light red. It roared furiously bearing its jagged yellow teeth. It dropped to all four of its powerful legs leaving a large echo in the mountains and charged towards Sora. It raised its enormous paw and slammed it back down to the ground attempting for a second time to crush Sora. But again, he was too quick. With his pack, he jumped out of the way before the paw even fell. With the large splinter in his hand, Sora boosted his way through the air holding the splinter like a large dagger over his head. With all his might he forced the splinter into the Behemoth’s eye bursting it like a watermelon. The bear was roaring in agony and violently shook its head trying to get Sora off it. Sora pressed his boot against the large splinter and launched off the splinter forcing it deeper into the bear's skull. Sora came into a crashing roll against the snow. He was maybe a little more bruised but overall the adrenaline was making him feel great.

He looked over his shoulder to see the bear standing stiff not dissimilar to a statue only before crashing its mighty weight down to the snow.

“Choke on that Hugh Glass.” Sora laughed once he was able to catch his breath.

Sora began his journey again, with the adrenaline pumping through his veins he was only going faster, using the jet pack as a booster to momentarily launch him through the air only helped greater. He checked his guns to see he had completely run out of ammo without noticing. “Fuck,” he thought but he hoped he wouldn’t need them again. Sora was finally approaching the end of the valley. It would only be a short climb now before he could finally be free of this nightmare. But all that would have to wait. Because he heard someone call his name through the trees.

“Sora…Sora… Banshee 7… Kid, I’m over here for fuck's sake.” The gravelled voice weakly called out. Sora slowly broke through the shrubbery masking the man’s voice. His high hopes were met. When he found a weak bloodied, red-bearded man lying against a tree, loosely gripping his LMG in his left hand.

“Mathias, holy fuck your alive!” Sora rushed to his aid.

He groaned in response still trying to wake up and respond.

“It’s okay man, your lucky… we’re near the base so if you can get up now it’s just up that hill.” Sora quickly said trying to unstrap Mathias’ broken armour. Mathias instead took his own helmet off despite not much of it being left. He forced Sora’s hands away from him trying to make him stop. His face was pale and sunken in, his lips were dry and cracked, despite this he spoke.

“Kid I can’t go anywhere in case you forgot.” He gestured to the shrapnel visibly forcing its way through the side of his rib cage. “It went through my spine; I can’t walk, and I’ve already lost too much blood. Don’t fuss about me just sit here with me, just slow down for a minute.” He said calmly.

Sora again had to force tears back today and for the same reasons.

“I thought I lost you guys this morning.” He said.

“I know this is the single most fucked up mission I think I’ve ever had. Most boring too. I have been stuck here the whole fuckin time.”

That word “Mission” Sora had completely forgotten the mission. His only goal was to get himself fixed up so he wouldn’t have to die like his friends.

“What makes it worse is I think the missions scrubbed. I got poisoned by some plant now my orders are to get my ass to the nearest friendly base for treatment. I maybe got a half hour now.” Sora said as he sat across from Mathias.

Mathias was about to speak before he was interrupted by the booming sound of enemy dropships moving towards what looked like a colony. Alarms were blaring and the dropships were following a convoy of more troops. Mathias looked away at Sora’s face and looked at his gun, he allowed himself to a moment, because of what he was about to do to his friend. He gripped his gun tightly.

“Way I see it kid is you got two options. The first is you get to the base and get patched up and go on to fight for the cause another day. Or, you take this here prized possession ‘o’ mine and show those fuckers how we play rough. Those farmers and colonists aren’t fighters like us. This isn’t their fight; they don’t deserve this.” Mathias finished while using what strength he had left to raise his gun up and lay it into Sora’s hands.

Sora took the gun in his hands and looked into the dying eyes of his friend. “Those colonists can rest easy tonight because they sent a badass like me to deal with it,” Sora said confidently

Mathias laughed at this. “That’s why I always liked you kid. Make them remember you.”

Sora stood up with tears in his eyes. “I’ll make them remember all of us.”

Mathias felt like he could finally rest. He closed his eyes and leaned back with a smile on his face. It took a moment, but Sora almost felt it, the exact moment that Mathias wouldn’t wake up again. The moment he could finally rest. Sora didn’t feel like he had to mourn this time. This was a good thing; his friend didn’t have to suffer alone anymore. His time was up and he was at peace with that.

The gunfire grew rampant as the enemy troops scattered out across the small town and opened fire on the colonists within. The soldiers were gathering families and forcing them into crowds while they slaughtered the men who fought back. One father was gripping his son and daughter while his wife was in front of him searching for a safe way out of this mess. She peered from her front door only for a soldier to slam the stock of his rifle against her head throwing her to the veranda floor. The children cried but the father knew he had to force his children away to maybe even have a chance of saving his wife.

They screamed for him, but he told them to run and that he would find them. He turned to face the soldier who struck his wife, but he was no fighter and was thrown through the railing of his veranda. He tried to get up, but the soldier kept kicking him down. He could still see his wife trying to force herself up, but she had no chance. Her head was badly damaged and more soldiers were watching her struggle. She began weeping as they yelled at her and pointed guns in her face. She saw her children being pulled by the scruffs of their necks towards trucks where they might never be seen again. They were crying for their parents. She was crying for her husband and her children. Just when the soldier was getting tired of beating the farmer, he raised his weapon at him and was about to open fire.

Just before they heard an unfamiliar sound, it wasn’t a drop ship, all of theirs had been deployed and sounded different. This was smaller. He turned behind him to see Sora dropping from the sky to meet him. Sora landed on the soldier with heavy metallic boots he took from Mathia, his pack and gauntlets too. He raised up the LMG quickly and began firing at the other soldiers in the surrounding area with ease. Large amounts of the gunfire aimed at Sora either missed him or hit Mathias’ scrapped armour.

Sora dispatched the enemy soldiers with furious ease mowing them down all around him. When the immediate threat was gone, he helped the injured farmer to his legs and took him to his wife.

“I’ll get them,” Sora said before jumping in the air.

Sora flew up high to see the large colony, once silver and green, lush with life and now burning and bloodstained. Sora was looking for one thing, the trucks other civilians were being taken away too he had to find them otherwise he’d be dying for nothing.

He spotted the trucks and rushed his way there. Between him and the trucks, however, was a heavily armed anti-air turret ready to fire. Sora weaved and rolled his body out of the way of any shots. Sora found the body of a dead soldier he had killed previously; this would have been of no interest to him before had this man not had a loaded grenade launcher still in his hands. Sora dropped to the rooftop and retrieved the launcher before dodging another shot from the turret taking the roof in an explosion. Sora knew he could fire grenade this close to the trucks and civilians. He was stumped for ideas until he saw a silo next to the soldiers that were weakened on one side. “A small explosion and the whole thing would take them to shit creek.” He thought to himself.

Sora flew as close as he could to the silo and fired 3 grenades at the base of it just as he planned the silo fell towards the soldiers and turret. They all screamed and panicked but it was too late the silo cleaved right through them. Sora threw away the grenade launcher and began using Mathias’ LMG to cut his way through the enemy. He dashed across rooftops and rammed into unsuspecting enemy soldiers sending some flying off the rooftops and leaving others for him to gun down before they could hurt anyone else.

Suddenly one truck began moving, still attempting to get away from Sora’s wrath. He wasn’t going to let it. He jumped over the truck and crushed the front engine when he landed on it. The driver was already dead from the crash. Sora was ready to keep fighting but to his joy, the enemy had already begun retreating. The Calvary was finally arriving. Sora was tired and beat up, he walked slowly towards what was the old town square, now an old battlefield. He laid down as he watched the same children run to their injured parents and embrace them with all the pure love, they had for them. Sora was grateful. He didn’t waste his death because he finally felt the poison overcome him and put him to sleep. Other soldiers quickly ran to his side but as with Mathias, he was already at peace with his death.

submitted by /u/The_Barbaric [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2L0I350

#Blogger #Story

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salty-dracon · 6 years

Text

SAFuture- The Doctor

Brid’s eyes opened when she heard the swish of the airlock. Heavy footsteps clomped across the floor. When she looked up, she saw a person standing there, with a reptilian guard behind him.

The person in front was extraordinarily muscular, with tanned skin and broad, strong shoulders. He wore a pair of rippled jeans and a harness around his chest. His short red hair matched the patches of scales on his sides, and the scales on a long lizard tail. Brid tried not to widen her eyes when she saw that the man’s tail had been shot off.

“Envy, correct?“ The man stared at her, his yellow eyes deftly examining her body. “I need to examine you.“

“Yes, sir.“ Envy stood up and allowed the reptilian guard to unlock her cage and lead her towards the strange new man. She tried to smile at him, as a show of friendship, but the man only maintained his neutral expression.

He led them to a room with an operating table outfitted with cuffs and a table full of surgical tools. The man told the reptilian guard to leave before he locked the door, with only Envy and himself inside.

“On the table.“ The man pointed to the table. Envy obliged, allowing the man to cuff her down. Next to him, a little robot assistant floated up next to his ear.

“Could we, um... not do this?“ Envy asked, as he pinned her arms down. “I’m a girl, you’re a guy... it’s kind of weird... you know what I’m getting at, right?“

The man turned to her and stared for a few seconds before turning back to the cuffs. “You’re the patient, I’m the doctor.”

“Okay... “

The man began to wrap a measuring tape around various parts of her body, muttering numbers. The robot appeared to be recording all of them while scanning her body.

“So, should I be quiet, or... “

The doctor stopped and stared at her face for a few seconds before going back to his work. “Vitals are 34-24-32. Height is five feet, ten inches. Feet are ten point five inches.”

“Okay.“

“Artificially healed wound in left arm. Scar has mostly faded. Stab wound with skinny blade, two inches in length. Non-fatal. Causes subject no movement problems.“

“So, I noticed your tail... “

“It’ll grow back. Wrist is six inches.“

“Oh, so you’re a reptilian?“

“Yes.“

“But you look mostly human... “

“Yes.“

“So, how’d you lose that tail, anyway?“

“Shot off. Subject’s hands appear normal.“

“What happened?“

“Mission to capture someone. Target had a friend with a plasma rifle. Shot my tail off. Subject’s ankle shows signs of strain.“

“Oh, that might’ve been me.“

“What?“

“You said the target had a friend with a plasma rifle... that might’ve been me. I was boarding a boat from London with my friend when two people attacked, and one of them had a tail, and they were going after my friend, so I shot their tail off.“

The doctor remained silent except for his occasional mutterings of measurements and evaluations.

“Um, if you expect me to apologize-“

“It’s fine.“ The doctor stepped back for a bit. He turned a dial on his harness. A few seconds later, he sighed and began writing stuff on his clipboard.

“Um-”

“Here’s what I wanted to see most.” The doctor undid the cuffs and allowed Envy to sit up. He then pried off her jacket with a surprisingly gentle hands and pulled her wings away. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“They’re really sensitive.“

“Understood. Open them for me.“

Envy did so, showing off the full glory of her black wings. The man examined each feather, writing down comments on the clipboard.

“They don’t seem to be organic.“

“They’re not.“

“What are they?“

“A steel exoskeleton with jet engines, hidden blades, and blood vessels, muscles, and nerves on the inside to control them.“

“I see.“ The doctor stroked them gently. “Can you fly with these?“

“Yes.“

“Very well, then.“ The man stood up and handed her her jacket. “We will be returning you now.“

“Why did you feel the need to examine me?“

“For Genetika. She requires a physical examination of every new potential candidate for the new order. Seeing your internal symbots and those wings, she was interested in your power.“

“Well, I’m not interested in her.“

“Trust me, she will be glad to hear that.“ The doctor stroked her hand. “That was sarcasm. You’re all alone here. If you try to kill her, she will get rid of you, and no one will save you. However, if you ever decide to join the new order, I will be your ally. Genetika does not take kindly to women, but she does respect those who are acquainted to her higher-ups.“ He tried to smile. “I mean no disrespect, but if you ever need my help, I will give it.”

“I thank you for the offer.“ Brid smiled. “What’s your name?“

“Typhon.“ The man took her hand. “I take it your name is Bridget.“

“That’s right. Um, I have one more question.“

“What is it?“

“That night, when you attacked me and my friend, there was someone else with you. An assassin that shot bolas. Who was he?“

“... I don’t know. He was not affiliated with Genetika. We just happened to chance upon the same target at the same time.“

“And you worked together?“

“He said he was here for the girl, I said I was here for the boy. We agreed to go after our respective targets, but both of you managed to fight us down before we could stop you from leaving for the ocean.“

“What could you tell me about him?“

“Dumb accent.“ Typhon turned the dial on his harness again. He then imitated a familiar British accent. “If you even dare touch the girl before I get to her, I’ll tear you apart.“

“... I might just have to take you up on that offer.“

“You know him?“

“My father. I think he’s looking to kill me.“

“You’re his kid out of wedlock?“

“No, I was adopted. But I’m trained as an assassin. Recently I botched up a mission, and he doesn’t take kindly to imperfection.“ She pointed to her arm. “Got stabbed right here before he swooped in and finished the target off.“

“I see.“ Typhon gently placed his huge hand on top of her head. “Would you like me to defend you from your father, if he ever comes for you?“

“Would it require me serving Genetika in return?“

“It would.“

“Thank you, but I refuse.“

“... I see. My offer still stands.“ Typhon led her to the door gently. The reptilian guards allowed them through.

As he led her back to his cage, Brid noticed the blush on the man’s cheek. He was gently holding her hand and playing with her fingers. She turned away from him in embarrassment.

When she was back at her cage, he opened the door. Before leaving her, he kissed her hand and stroked her hair.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, Bridget... “ he whispered, “but you are too kind and intelligent to be killed.“

(TL:DR Meet Typhon, the guy whose tail Brid shot off. He’s a ripped ass dragon (well, lizard rn) dude and probably my biggest character. Despite his large appearance, he’s incredibly gentle with his patients and friends. His enemies, however, are in for a bad time. He is in no way a thug, instead choosing to be very kind and respectful to the people he meets and loyal towards his superiors. He also, as you can see here, develops a little crush on Brid, which might develop into something later. Although he seems very human at the moment, there is a synthetic organ under his skin that secretes a chemical that can make him turn savage.

His powers stem from his ability to turn into a lizard monster, versus just a man with a tail. While in lizard form, he has greater strength, more speed, wall-climbing, and other lizardine powers. He also has the power to breathe fire. Later on in the story, Genetika will give him a pair of dragonlike wings. Typhon is generally respectful towards his enemies, being careful to not cause collateral damage. However, Genetika has implanted a synthetic organ in his body that secretes a chemical that makes him turn basically into the hulk. She is the only one that can control that organ. His biggest weakness is cold.)

#secretagents #safuture

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