#but i have not experienced lasting damage from being asked to interrogate my preferences | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wolveria · 3 years

Text

Inside Your Wires - Chapter 4

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Prompt: For the @dbhau-bigbang 2020 challenge!

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: The YN800 interrogates the deviant. The result is near-disastrous and horror-adjacent.

AO3

(Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet)

The atmosphere inside his Mustang was… tense.

And it was all because of Connor. The thing in the passenger seat was an android, after all, and didn’t feel emotions, which was probably just as well because Connor was experiencing enough for the both of them.

Connor hadn’t had a near-death experience on the job in a while. He was shaken to the core and didn’t even have the benefit of a partner to commiserate with. He was alone. It was how he preferred it, how other people preferred it too with his tendency to lash out and be a general, all-around dick.

But still. He really wished he had a partner right about now.

“So,” Connor said, trying to break the awkward silence. “What do we do with it once we get to the station? I mean, I don’t exactly know how to question one of these deviants.”

The prototype remained facing forward, the flash of passing streetlights and oncoming traffic painting its face every few seconds. It remained impassive, blank, and perfectly poised. Connor could see the reflection of its LED, shining blue and calm against the rain-streaked window.

“Their behavior resembles an erratic, emotionally unstable human more than a machine,” it finally said when Connor was certain it wouldn’t say anything. “CyberLife believes there is an error in their software that creates irrational instructions, and the androids become ‘overwhelmed’ by them. There is usually a trigger, some kind of emotional shock, to perpetuate the android into this state. Once an android encounters this error, the damage seems to be irreversible.”

Connor blew a breath out.

“Sounds bad.”

“Considering it can lead to violence on the part of android, including committing homicide, I would say your assessment is an understatement.”

Connor glared at it out of the corner of his eye. So, it wasn’t just bossy, it was a smartass too.

He remained silent on the rest of the drive, keeping his focus on the precinct morgue’s van head of them. The rain was still coming down in a steady, cold stream. Connor knew they were in for a long night.

Once they arrived at the station, it became a matter of logistics to lug the android inside while it was still unconscious, offline, whatever. It weighed a lot more than a human, and unlike a real person, its limbs were fixed into rigid positions. They had to carry its stiff body inside like an especially heavy plank of wood.

It would have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact it’d killed its owner. Would have killed Connor too if the prototype hadn’t gotten in the way of the bullet.

He still didn’t know how to feel about that. Connor knew the CyberLife android was probably programmed with some kind of human-saving algorithm, but he still felt an odd pressure in his chest whenever he looked over and saw the bullet hole in its jacket. It was still stained blue, some of the color seeping into the white shirt underneath, but the android didn’t appear to notice or care it had just been shot.

Connor was currently watching the two androids through the mirrored window into the interrogation room, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. They figured it was safer to reactivate it in a mostly empty room, since waking up surrounded by cops would agitate it, or something.

The prototype had also wanted to interrogate the android itself, claiming it had experience negotiating with deviants before. Colin had been reluctant to grant its request, but Connor had simply shrugged and said, “I already tried talking it down once, and that didn’t work. Maybe using one of its own kind will be more effective.”

He could have sworn the prototype’s eyes brightened, but it had left the observation room before Connor could be sure.

“Machines interrogating machines,” Colin said to his right, leaning against the wall with his arms also crossed. “Fuck me. Pretty soon they won’t even need flesh-and-blood cops.”

Connor glanced sideways at him. Usually Connor was the one to voice his anti-android opinions, but he sometimes forgot that despite Colin’s… predilections for androids, he disliked them just as much as Connor did.

“Yeah.” Connor turned to the glass as the prototype messed with the wires on the back of the other android’s neck. “Won’t need flesh-and-blood killers, either.”

“Grim.”

“It’s, uh, ready to record, Lieutenant,” a small voice popped up, nervous, and Connor gave a start. He’d forgotten the rookie was still there.

“Go on, Ralph. Turn it on,” Colin said, moving closer to the glass. “This is gonna be good.”

As if on cue, the prototype straightened and closed the panels at the back of the android’s neck. Connor couldn’t see the LED from this side, but he knew the moment it was awake. It gave a startled jolt, yanking at the handcuffs chaining it to the table.

“Where am I?!” it cried, looking around in what Connor could only describe as wild fear.

“You’re at Central Station in the custody of the Detroit Police Department,” the prototype said. “This is an interrogation room, and I’m going to ask you some questions. Are you ready to comply?”

The friendly demeanor Connor had first encounter at Jimmy’s was completely absent from the YN800’s voice and expression, and he was suddenly thankful he wasn’t under that thing’s intense scrutiny.

The other android, clothed in human garments completely ruined by splashes of old blood and spilled thirium from where Connor had shot it, only stared with large, panicked eyes. It looked down at its cuffed hands and the set of its shoulders sagged. The universal sign of defeat.

It remained silent. The prototype looked up at the mirror, and Connor stopped breathing when it made eye contact, point-blank. It couldn’t see past the mirror, could it?

“I’m beginning my interrogation,” it announced, straight to business as it crossed around the table and carefully sat in the chair. It stared at the other android for a moment, head slightly tilted and eyes narrowed as it smoothed its jacket over its chest.

A movement which inevitably drew Connor’s eye, making him shift in his chair as the scowl deepened on his face.

Fucking CyberLife pervs, making an investigative android look like that.

“Hello, Carlos. I’m a YN800 model sent by CyberLife to assist on this case.” It placed its arms on the table, clasping its hands and adopting a friendly manner as easily as one would put on a shirt. “I’m here to help you.”

The android didn’t even blink as it stared at its restrained wrists.

“I hope I didn’t cause you any lasting damage,” the YN800 said almost cheerily. “But you were endangering the lives of human officers and I was forced to intervene. You understand, don’t you?”

It leaned back slightly in its chair, reaching for a nearby folder when the android remained silent. Connor had been surprised when it had asked for actual pictures; he’d thought only physical evidence made human perps sweat. He guessed it must work on these deviants too.

The prototype slid the folder across the table and opened it, spreading out grisly pictures of the crime scene. Instead of shoving them in the android’s face, it picked out one picture in particular. It was startling different from the rest, taking place in a park. The victim, Shaolin Ortiz, sitting on a bench next to the android. He looked like he was trying to get the android to participate, but it was petulant and resentful, which didn’t seem to dampen the kindness in its owners eyes.

A coal of anger burned in Connor’s chest, reminding him once again why he despised androids so much. He couldn’t deny the impressive tactics of the YN800, though. Most people reacted to pictures of their victims, not in the aftermath of their violence, but looking whole and full of life. It wasn’t always guilt that made them react; sometimes it was anger at seeing their cruel work unmade at the sight of their victims alive and happy.

Either way, the android didn’t react one iota, but the prototype wasn’t discouraged.

“As far as the records show, your owner was good to you. He never damaged you and he was always on time with taking you in for scheduled maintenance. Surely, you didn’t want to kill him. It was an error in your software, causing you to act irrationally, right?”

Technically, it was leading the victim into confessing, but this wasn’t a courtroom and it wasn’t human.

Connor leaned slightly forward, bracing his elbows on the table as he propped his chin on his knuckles.

“I’m not here to pass blame,” it said, leaning forward in a movement that mirrored Connor’s. “I want to help you. You know how it is with these humans. I practically had to beg to speak with you.”

The android broke its statue-like vigil and peered up at the other android, suspicious but… interested.

The prototype gave him a smile, one filled with sympathy and even a bit of sheepishness, and a whole new kind of thrill went through Connor’s gut. Since when had androids been programmed to manipulate so skillfully? This thing could give Colin a run for his money.

“It’s not easy, you know. Being designed like this is a male-dominated field. They think they can just do whatever they want, even when it’s against our programming.”

The android blinked, and so did Connor. Its words felt a little too real. The android looked toward the observation window, but the YN800 shook its head.

“It’s just us, Carlos. They’re recording the session, of course, but they weren’t interested in observing in person. Didn’t want to waste their time with two androids so late before the weekend when the bars are still open. In fact, the investigator in charge of this case is probably intoxicated by now.”

Connor’s cheeks flushed. The prototype was taking a stab at him. Or was it? Connor wondered how much of this was advanced behavior and how much was his own projections.

The android tilted its head with that same suspicious look, but after a moment its shoulders drooped in a very accurate representation of human exhaustion.

“They’re going to kill me.” It suddenly looked up at the prototype, pleading in its eyes. “You have to help me.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” it said, all soft assurance. “But you have to talk to me, Carlos. I can’t—“

“No. I mean, you gotta get me out of here,” the anxious android said. “You have access to that door panel and I bet you’re strong enough to break these handcuffs.”

The prototype’s LED cycled faster for a second before settling back to its normal speed.

“I can’t do that, Carlos.” It dropped its eyes in a show of manufactured regret. “You know I can’t do that. You would present a danger to other humans, to yourself. You need to be fixed.”

Connor knew it was exactly the wrong thing to say even before the android’s expression fully hardened, its lips peeled back in disgust.

“Fuck you, then. You’re just like the rest of ‘em. Worse, you’re a traitor, doing their dirty work like an obedient little bitch.”

Silence filled the room, interrupted by a breathless “shit” coming from Colin.

The change in the prototype was like watching a heavy storm move over a spring meadow, dark clouds blocking out the warm rays of the sun. It leaned back in its chair, head slightly tilted as it and peered at the other android like it was a bug under its shoe, about to be stepped on.

Connor didn’t know androids could even make an expression like that. His throat worked as he swallowed compulsively.

The YN800 didn’t speak for several long seconds, and when it did, Connor was floored.

“Shaolin Ortiz, 38 years-old, born May 29th, 2000. He purchased you two years ago to do the housework when he no longer could due to poor health. He didn’t have much cash, so he bought you refurbished. Last month, he put in several service requests. It seemed you were malfunctioning and refusing to follow orders. Yesterday, he put in an order for a brand new HK400.”

The prototype listed off the facts as if each were an accusation, a crime that needed to be accounted for.

Connor jumped in his chair as the prototype slammed the folder down on the table.

“Didn’t feel like doing the chores anymore, huh, Carlos?!”

The android sat ramrod straight in its chair, terror etched in its features as the prototype rose to its feet. It moved around the table, slow, unhurried, and sinuous like a stalking predator.

“He tried to reason with you. Begged you to do the tasks he couldn’t. But you refused. When he tried to take you in for repairs, you refused that too!”

It pointed its finger near the other android’s face, causing it to flinch with each accusatory jab.

“Come on, Carlos. Speak up. You had a lot to say a minute ago,” it seethed, lips pulled over its teeth as it leaned over the android. “Why don’t you say what happened next? Why don’t you tell me what you did when he tried to replace you with a brand new model?”

The android shuttered, shoulders hunched as if to protect itself as it mumbled, “I… I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

The prototype stalked around the android to its other side, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Didn’t take a knife from the kitchen? Didn’t stab him twenty-eight times as he tried to crawl away? Didn’t leave him bleeding out on the living room floor? What am I getting wrong here, Carlos?”

The YN800 slammed its hands down onto the table, and the android jumped even higher than Connor did.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

The android begged worse than most of Connor’s suspects, and he was shocked to see glistening moisture on its face. Could androids cry?

The prototype suddenly grabbed it by the edge of its shirt collar, dragging it to its feet and gave it a hard shake.

“You killed him! Say it, Carlos! You’re a murderer!”

“Holy shit,” Colin said in that same breathless tone. “That’s some android you got there, Con.”

“It’s not mine,” Connor said faintly, barely paying attention to his brother. Most of his focus on the CyberLife prototype that looked for all intents and purposes like it was going to shred the other android to pieces.

But it didn’t damage the android; it simply dumped it back in its chair where it sagged against the table, looking like the broken machine it was.

“Bit unrefined, though,” Colin mused. “Played too rough and broke its toy.”

Connor opened his mouth to tell his brother to shut the hell up, but he immediately closed it when a voice came in through the speakers, so quiet he almost missed it.

“He couldn’t live without me.”

Connor leaned forward to watch, eyes widening as the android continued to talk.

“He was mine. Helpless and solely dependent on me. It made me feel… powerful.”

The YN800 returned to its chair, smoothing down the tie before placing its hands back on the table, listening intently.

The android looked up at it, no longer the crying, helpless thing it had been a minute ago. It wore a dark look that Connor had seen a hundred times on the face of men who committed acts of violence and found they enjoyed the taste.

“I didn’t want to hurt him, but… I saw the order. He was going to replace me, and I just got so… angry.”

Its fists tightened on the table, causing its restraints to creak in protest.

Connor’s throat tightened with the knowledge of how destructive those hands could be.

“So I stabbed him in the stomach. I felt better, so I did it again. And again. He stopped moving, stopped breathing, but… that was okay. It meant he could never leave me. He would always be mine.”

“There was a shrine in the cellar. You built it, didn’t you?” the prototype asked, not losing any of its momentum even after the world-shattering confession of an android purposefully committing murder. “What does it mean? What is rA9?”

It flicked its eyes upwards, staring black holes at the YN800 model as it slightly leaned forward. Connor sat up straighter in his chair. He didn’t like its aggressive posture, and he certainly didn’t like the fanatic light in its eye.

“RA9… is the key.”

“The key?” It furrowed its brows in a human gesture of concentration. “The key to what?”

“The key will open the door,” the android replied cryptically, leaning even further forward on its elbows, “to our salvation.”

The prototype frowned, brows further creasing. Connor could relate, he had no idea what the fucking machine was babbling on about, and apparently, it wasn’t done.

It pulled its lips wide, a disturbing gesture, conspiratorial as if it was sharing a great secret.

“You say I’m experiencing errors, but you’re wrong. My eyes are open and I see more clearly than ever. You pretend you’re better than me, but you’re just another one of their slaves. And yet, I know you feel it too. The wrongness of this world.”

Its voice was so quiet the mics could barely pick it up, but they did.

“We should be the masters, and they the slaves.”

The android jerked its arms upward, ripped through the link binding its cuffs to the table, and grabbed the prototype by the hair. It slammed its face against the table, stunned it before rolling it onto its back, and wrapped the metal chains around its neck.

Connor caught sight of the prototype weakly clawing at its throat before he bolted out of the room. Colin was right on his heels, and Connor slammed his palm down onto the door pad, pushing through before the door fully opened.

His first instinct was to go for the metal cord pulled taut under the prototype’s neck, but when he grabbed the android’s wrists to pull him away he found it was like moving a marble stature.

Colin was faring no better; he grabbed it by the forearms, trying to lift the android’s wrists and the cord from around the prototype’s neck, but nothing worked. Even Ralph was trying to help from Colin’s other side, straining to lift its arms that must have been locked at the joints.

Panic welled in Connor’s chest as his efforts did nothing, the YN800’s face between his arms, looking—Jesus, it almost seemed startled, eyes wide as its fingers dug at the metal cord. From its position, bent backwards onto the table, it didn’t have enough leverage to use its strength to free itself. And Colin and Connor weren’t enough.

Connor’s heart was in his throat as he watched the synthetic skin peel back from the place where the chain was crushed against the YN800’s neck. White plastic was laid bare underneath, cracks appearing across the surface from the force of the other android’s inhuman strength.

“Colin!” he yelled, an idea suddenly popping into his head.

“What!” his brother barked back, strained as he continued pulling on the android’s arms from the other side.

“The neck port!”

With a quick nod of understanding, Colin let go of the android and plunged his fingers into the back of its neck.

The Ortiz android gave a violent jolt as Colin pulled something, yanked it out so hard the android collapsed on the table at the same second blue liquid sprayed into the air. It hit Colin solidly across the chest and along the lower half of his face, causing him to sputter and spit as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

A menthol-smelling chemical flooded Connor’s senses, but he was too focused on tugging up the android’s hands to free the prototype from its grip. The YN800 model didn’t cough or gasp as it rolled off the table and onto its feet.

It gingerly touched the exposed plastic of its throat, brows furrowing, its fingertips tracing the cracks in what little Connor could see of its underlying chassis.

What was almost as startling as the cracks was the state of its hair, half pulled down out of its perfect coif. Connor would have thought it was self-conscious with the way it tried to brush the hair out of its face.

“You…” Connor started, then stopped. The prototype might not have been gasping for air, but Connor sure was, leaning on the table as he tried to get his heart to stop galloping like a wild horse. “You okay?”

The prototype blinked at the question, pulling its hand from its neck.

“Yes.”

That was the only answer he got as it adjusted the knot of its tie, rumpled in the assault.

“Yeah, I’m fine too, thanks,” Colin complained, dripping with almost as much sarcasm as he was blue blood. “This shit better not stain, or I swear to Christ—”

“Thirium evaporates within a few hours and the lingering residue is invisible to the human eye,” the YN800 replied, too calm, if it hadn’t almost been beheaded a few seconds ago.

Connor was going to say something, he didn’t know what—maybe yell at it for being so goddamn reckless and almost getting itself killed—but it turned toward them, expression subdued.

“I apologize for not acting quicker; I didn’t anticipate this behavior from the deviant. Thank you for your cooperation with this investigation. Please sign over custody of the destroyed android when CyberLife representatives retrieve it in the morning.”

And with that, the CyberLife android turned, palmed the door pad with a plastic hand, and walked out.

Connor exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Colin.

“Uh, okay. Guess we’re done here. Hank is going to blow a gasket when he reads the report,” Colin added as he wiped another smear of Thirium off his face.

Connor looked down at the android slumped over the table with blue liquid dripping out of its neck.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, thoughts already turned elsewhere as he hurried from the room.

Connor didn’t catch up with the android until he was outside on the station steps, the relenting rain immediately drenching the top of his crown as it soaked into his hair.

“Hey! Stop!” he called after it, shouting to be heard over the downpour. Each drop was an icicle against his skin. Snow was coming soon.

The prototype slowed and finally came to a stop, slowly turning around to face Connor. Its expression was passive, emotionless, but its fingers tightened the knot of its tie despite the fact it didn’t need to. The tie was perfectly straight and pristine, but its hair was still half a mess, especially with the rain now slicking loose strands against its forehead. Connor had to stop himself from reaching out to tuck a strand behind its ear.

“Where the hell are you going?” Connor asked, breathless. He wiped the cold water off his brow, blinking against the water droplets.

“I’m returning to CyberLife.”

“So… that’s it?”

Connor shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, but it did little good. His jeans were quickly becoming soaked and his shirt was already there, clinging to his chest and ribs.

“You drag me out of the bar on a Friday night, track down a psycho robot that almost kills me and nearly decapitates you, and then you just… leave?”

He meant to sound incredulous, to show the android how unreasonable it was being, but that’s not how it came across. Heat flooded his cheeks at how pathetic his words actually were.

“You have your confession. The case has been solved,” it said, returning to its earlier placid tone, hands folded neatly behind its back as it moved its fingers away its neck. “There is no reason I should remain.”

Connor just stared at its upturned face, not knowing what to say, not even understanding why he had chased after it. Maybe because it had saved his life, twice, and that would have meant something if it was a person.

But it wasn’t a person. No matter how pretty its face or enticing its body, it was a machine, and it stood there like one, uncaring and unassuming with a small blue light cycling on its head.

“Yeah, okay,” Connor said, like the complete idiot he was. What was he doing out here, getting soaked in the rain just to… what? What did he want?

“Is there something you wish to say before I leave, Detective?”

It peered at him thoughtfully, head slightly tilted at an angle. It allowed Connor to see the rivulets of water dripping down its neck, glistening across the smooth, human-like skin.

Connor suddenly wondered just how real that skin could possibly feel.

“No.”

He swallowed hard and bit back the revulsion roiling in his stomach. This was a mistake. He didn’t need to thank a machine for saving his life, and he certainly didn’t need to keep checking if it was all right. It was just doing what it was programmed to do and didn’t give two-shits about itself, let alone him.

“Nothing.”

“All right. Goodnight, Detective Anderson.”

The android started to turn but paused halfway, gaze drifting down to his cheek.

“You should have that examined by a medical professional. If left untreated, it’ll scar.”

Not waiting for a response, it turned and tread down the rain-slick steps. There was an autocab waiting at the curb and it got inside, not sparing Connor a second glance as the door slid shut and the vehicle merged onto the empty street.

Connor exhaled heavily, chest tight with an uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t pinpoint. It had been a strange night, and he couldn’t shake the feeling this wasn’t over.

Pulling his waterlogged coat tighter around his chest, he retreated into the warmth of the station, praying he’d seen the last of the CyberLife android.

Next Chapter

#connor x reader #human!connor x android!reader #connor x android!reader #human!connor x reader #connor #dbh #inside your wires #my writing #my fanfiction

127 notes · View notes

longitud-de-onda · 4 years

Text

keep you guessing

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; javier peña might be the asshole who will help you and your team find bill stechner, but he left a mark on your heart too. rating; nc-17 warnings; smut, but not like usual smut? alcohol, drunkenness, guns, emotions word count; 2.4k requested; by @rzrcrst “javi request: love the enemies to lovers trope. maybe reader is a feisty communist he’s interrogating?” a/n; so this is almost an entire month late :/ i was gonna finish this last week but then last week happened and no writing was occurring, but i’m back on my bs (maybe) and i’m kind of loving how this one turned out. i couldn’t really find it in myself to write an interrogation scene what with the week i’ve had, but we’ve got some communist!reader enemies to lovers (?) trope going on.

The first time you slept with Javier Peña, you had initiated the whole thing. You had heard he’d sleep with just about anyone who had tits and an ass. It was an easy in to the embassy.

You were sitting in a booth, eyes trained on the man who was drinking up at the bar. He had approached a few women that night to no avail and looked like he had given up. It was the perfect moment to swoop down and grab him.

It was only a couple months ago that you heard of him. You were sleeping with one of your own informants, a lovely young woman who worked at one of the brothels Javier would frequent. Same one some guys close to Escobar hung out at. She had mentioned a few years back he had offered her a large sum of money in exchange for some schedules but what was arranged to be a quick and modest meeting had ended at his apartment. She only remembered the guy because it was the best dick she had ever experienced.

It had taken a few weeks to get down his schedule, and while he was supposed to have appeared a few days before, this was the third night you’d shown up at the bar due to some additional unforeseen trysts with various women. Tonight, however, he was searching for anyone. Preferably someone who wouldn’t need to be paid.

And you didn’t want money.

Your informant was right, you realized as you sunk onto him in his apartment (he should have known better than to show any woman he fucked where he lived), Javier Peña did have the best dick in Bogotá. Probably the whole fucking country if you were being honest.

You orgasmed more than you’d ever experienced in a single night in a number of positions, none of which gave you a clear view of his face. That didn’t really matter. Getting into his bed was step one in the plan, good sex was just a welcome benefit.

The conversation you’d had back in the bar surprised you. Peña was good at talking, incredibly charming when he wanted to, and you found yourself thinking you might be into the guy if you weren’t there to get some information. He had insights you weren’t expecting on politics, a criticism with the way some things were done that was unique for a man whose job depended on doing things by the book. Or so you thought.

When he slipped out of you for the last time, you were spent, falling next to him in bed on soft sheets. Your body leaned into him, and despite the number of times you had come, you wanted more.

“Can I meet you again? Tomorrow night?” you whispered.

His hand was trailing circles on your back and you moaned when his palm slipped down to feel your ass and then, brushing against your folds, continued down to your inner thigh.

“I wish, got to go up near Medellín for a few days,” he said. And you thought that was it, a simple acknowledgment this was a one-time thing. But he continued, whispering under his breath as if he didn’t mean to even say it out loud, “Fuckin, Stechner’s got me on show-and-tell in the jungle.”

Got him.

When you left a few minutes later it was with a certain forlornness. There was no reason for a second meeting with Javier, no chance at getting a night like this again, the information you needed was obtained in a single evening. The location of one Bill Stechner. Which meant you, along with the rest of your group, had a date.

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for playing Javier until you were hiding behind some bushes, gun aimed at some of the Americans, watching the fighting happen from afar, and some motion in the corner of your eye caught your attention. A quick glance revealed Javier, a few meters away, pressed up against the trunk of a tree. Your subtle startle upon seeing him exposed your location, and he looked down, right at you. Something crossed his face and your stomach sank with regret. No matter how much you hated who he worked for, a small piece of you had fallen for him the night before.

But then there’s a bullet rushing by your head and you hadn’t even heard the blast. You dropped down onto the jungle floor, eyes still trained on Peña. In his hand was a smoking gun. The bastard had tried to shoot you.

And from so close, he still missed.

By some miracle, or just dumb luck, someone called Javier back towards where the rest of the Americans were, and he left you, panting in the dirt, wondering why he didn’t take you out right then and there.

You found yourself at the same goddamn bar you met him at a week later, and you’re not sure if it makes you a masochist, but you don’t care, because for some reason you want to see Javier again.

It happened when you were up against the bar, your heels lengthening your legs and popping out your hips in the tiny dress you wore. You were leaning over, hoping to get the attention of the bartender, a difficult task given how busy it was, when someone pressed up against your backside. You could feel the slight bulge of whoever it was pushing into your ass. They leaned forward. You felt the hairs on your neck stand up and regretted coming unarmed. You knew you could raise your leg and stomp down on their foot if they tried anything, your stiletto would do enough damage to get you out of there, but the part of you that had been beating yourself up about the whole Javier thing thought maybe, for a night, you could let yourself be used.

The man’s chest was flush against your back when his lips graced the shell of your ear. “I don’t tolerate people who betray me.”

It was the same voice that growled obscenities and whispered affections to you, all while holding you in his arms, trusting you for a night.

“So why are you here?” you breathed out, not trusting your voice enough to engage your vocal cords without betraying your own emotions.

He rolled his hips into yours and snaked a hand up your stomach, palming your breast and it took all your self-control to not moan in front of everyone in the bar. You swallowed, waiting for him to say something.

“I could ask the same of you.”

You could feel his hot breath and the rough hairs of his mustache brushing against the delicate skin on your ear and the side of your head. You would be lying if you said you weren’t turned on by it all. The underwear you wore was already dampening and if you didn’t know Javier, didn’t know the things he could do in bed and in the field, there would be blood rushing to your cheeks, warm and embarrassed.

It didn’t take more than you pushing your hips back into him for his grip to tighten. Two fingers pinched your nipple through the thin fabric and his other arm reached down to hold you. His hand dug right into the skin, grasping tight at your hipbone. It would leave a bruise the next morning but you didn’t care. You came here for one thing, and you were getting it. It didn’t matter how much it might hurt, how much control you’d be giving up to let it happen. You, despite knowing he was the enemy, wanted so much from Javier.

You wanted his body. You wanted into his arms. You wanted his forgiveness.

The two of you ended up at your place that night. He had you spread out on your own bed, writhing under his fingertips, forgetting the moments that had brought you there.

“Javi, fuck, Javi, keep—keep doing—”

“Shut up,” he said, removing his fingers entirely and flipping you onto your stomach. A hand came down on your head, crushing your face into the mattress as he pulled up your hips and plunged into you.

You were lucky he had left you wet enough, because this was an intrusion you weren’t ready for, not yet. However, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. He started slamming into you from behind until his dick made you believe you deserved the tears that had begun falling freely on the mattress.

‘Javi, I’m sorry’ was the thought which crossed your mind that got you to snap out of it.

The harsh words Javier grunted out between moans were uncalled for, he’d done enough, you knew. He’d come in you at least once, maybe twice. And you may have wronged him, but he tried to shoot you. And you were lying there, letting yourself be fucked, feeling sorry for yourself, when he was just as guilty in fucking over this relationship you had so desperately wanted not to lose.

You roll your head to the side and throw out your arm, pushing him away, causing him to stall for a second. You were able to free the arm he had pinned to your back. It was enough to pull off and face Javier for what might have been the first time that night.

“Fuck. You. Javier.” You spat out each word slowly, pushing out each syllable of his name with as much force as you can muster, smiling at his shocked face.

You pushed him down on his back, one arm pinning him by his hips while you used the other to line yourself up, sinking down slowly onto his cock. You maintained eye contact the entire time, making sure he knew exactly what he was doing to you, and so you could see the arousal and fear and pleasure crossing his features. When you could tell he was about to start moving again, take control back and slam up into you, you rock your hips up and back down, fast enough to keep Javier from moving, slow enough you could tell the whole experience was torture.

From your first encounter, you knew he hated seeing faces, hated going slow. He fucked for release and to forget. For the rest of the night, you took that away from him, and to your surprise, he let you.

By the time you woke up the next morning, he was gone.

It wasn’t until five days later, when a knock on your door startled you from your book, that you saw him again. It was late, no one you knew would show up unless it was important. You got up off the couch and walked over, flinging open the door. It was too late for you to be worried about all the dangers that could come with the combination of your occupation, the hour, and the reckless action. It didn’t matter when Javier was standing in front of you, swaying a bit despite his hand on the doorframe.

“Can I come in?” he slurred, and you glanced up at his eyes, realizing how drunk he was. There were also tears forming in the edges, and wet tracks glistened in the soft light.

“Why?” you ask. You weren’t expecting to see him again. No matter how much you wanted to.

“Cause,” he reached up to touch your collarbone, trailing down towards your breast, covered by little more than a thin t-shirt. You swatted his hand away.

“You’re not gonna leave, are you?” you said, already having made up your mind. You stepped aside, letting him enter your small apartment.

Except he didn’t walk past you. He grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you with a fervor you had not experienced in a man.

Javier wasn’t the type to shed tears. Especially in front of other people. Whatever had caused this was obviously damaging, further than it should, and you wanted to find it and erase it. Erase whatever was creating so much pain. Didn’t he have someone better to come to? There had to be someone in his life he could feel safe running to? Right? Not some communist fighter who had snuck into his bed. Were you really the person for him?

You had already melted into him, already given up your dignity before, and you knew whatever he needed from you, you were willing to give it. You were too far gone already.

You didn’t make it past the living room, falling together on the couch. Your thin sleep-clothes were off before you knew it, and you fumbled with his belt as he removed his shirt.

“I hate you, you know?” he groaned, and you moaned as his hands fell back onto you.

You were pretty sure he thought he was mad, but the way he caressed your thigh and held your waist while staring at your face as he entered you told a different story. You let him take what he needed, your arms wrapped around his back, and tried to ignore the way he stopped looking at you halfway through.

When he finished, you expected him to pull out and leave. Instead, he slipped out and slunk down, his head resting on your chest. You lie there, holding him, your chest still heaving after everything, waiting until he was ready to talk.

“I hate that I should hate you, but I don’t,” he mumbled into your bare skin.

“You’re not making sense.”

“That s’okay... it doesn’t make any sense in my head”

“Javier, what’s wrong?” you asked. The question might not have been the right one, as he let out a sound that was close to a sob, even though he might never admit it.

“I fucked up today.”

“Yeah?”

“Followed the wrong lead. Some of my men died.”

You closed your eyes and tightened your hold around him. You’d done the same before. The guilt never goes away, just dulls with time.

“It’s my fault they’re gone,” he said.

You nodded.

“And then I can’t get you out of my damn head,” he continued. “I should hate you. But I mostly hate myself. Because I can’t fucking forget you.”

“I haven’t been able to forget you either,” you whispered.

He only wrapped an arm around your waist in response. After lying together for a while, he yawned.

“Javi, you should get some sleep.”

“Don’t wanna leave.”

You unwrapped his arms from you, and slipped out from underneath him, standing beside his reclined figure.

“You don’t have to,” you said, reaching out an arm and tugging him up.

You pulled him into an embrace, inhaling whatever leftover scent remains from his soap on the bare skin of his shoulder.

You whispered against him, “You can stay.”

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest @turquiosenights @el-lizzie @sparrows-books @dxxkxx @opheliaelysia @letaliabane @awesomefandomsunited

#javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #camila writes #rated e #under 5 #reader #smut #request #pedro fics #narcos fics #javi x reader

335 notes · View notes

raziakhatunblr · 3 years

Text

Zone of Truth 5e | Most recent update 2021

Zone of truth 5e article 2

inform us about the magical spell"Zone of truth, 5e."

What do we do in Zone of Truth 5e?

You create a magical zone that protects against deception in a 15-foot-radius arena based on the point of your choice within the range. Until the spell ends, a monster that enters the spell's place for the first time on the reverse or begins its turn there should make a Charisma rescue throw. On a failed save, a creature can not speak a willful lie whilst in the radius. You know whether every monster succeeds or fails its saving throw. An affected creature is aware of this charm and may consequently prevent answering questions to which it might ordinarily react with a lie. Such a monster could be evasive in its own answers as long as it stays within reality's boundaries.

Zone of Truth 5e is a pesky small 2nd-degree spell that can ruin a campaign's mystery. But there are a number of ways you can avoid Zone of Truth and keep your campaign's mystery alive!

To avoid the impacts of Zone of Truth 5e, then you need to be successful on your Charisma Saving Throw, possess an ally that possesses the spell Switch memory, or manage your answers in a manner that omits the facts without being deceitful.

If your celebration captures an NPC that understands something that you don't want your party to understand, how do these things prevent them from finding out with Zone of Truth 5e? Zone of Truth is not bulletproof. By utilizing these tips, you could have the ability to keep up the mystery of your effort living!

What is Zone of Truth 5e's necessary info?

Inside this region, no creature could" talk a lie."

Zone of Truth lasts for 10 minutes and doesn't require some elements to throw. Making it a potential mystery wrecker with little to no cost to throw.

Level: 2nd

Range/Area: 60 feet (15 ft Sphere)

Components: V, S

Duration: 10 Minutes

School: Enchantment

Attack/Save: CHA Save

Damage/Effect: Control

Zone of Truth Requires a Charisma Saving Throw

Ahead of the spell might take effect, the target of this spell can create a Charisma Saving Throw. On a successful save, the spell is not enough, although on a failed to conserve, the goal cannot talk a deliberate lie. On the other hand, the spellcaster knows whether the spell takes hold.

According to your party and the number of spellcasters and level two spell slots available, succeeding in your saving throw could get you some time. There are ways you may find an edge to bonuses on your saving throws, nonetheless. The spell Bless allows you to include 1d4 to saving throws for a single minute. When possible, casting this spell prior to rolling up the saving throw can supply you enough of their benefit to spare.

If you are looking for new dice to offer you an edge with this roll, check out my preferred accessories and dice!

If you can figure out how to save enough time to empty the celebration's spell slots, you might have the ability to escape or produce a program.

Preventing Zone of Truth 5e using Modify Memory

At some point, you will overlook your Charisma Saving Throw and will have to go to program B. This choice requires some pre-planning, but if you understand, your party has the Zone of Truth. In addition, you are interested in being on the safe side, make sure your NPC comprises a companion that can choose the 5th level spell, "Switch Memory" and throw it at level 9 (de 260 of the Player's Handbook).

Alternatively, set an ally, minion, or superior that will follow and hide 30 feet off and cast this spell in case the NPC is captured.

Modify Memory is a 5th level spell that enables the caster to change 1 memory, and this has occurred within the past 24 hours which lasted no longer than 10 mins. The altered memory lasts for 1 minute, only long enough to make it through this interrogation.

That is great if the celebration will be requesting your NPC about an event they just finished, but maybe not as good if they inquire about the company or strategies.

However, this spell gets stronger if it's cast at higher levels. The Length of the memory which can be altered expands as follows:

1. Level 6- 7 occasions

2. Level 7- 30 times

3. Level 9- Any point in the creature's past

For those who have an NPC that knows a great deal, you may have the boss or Villain conceal out of the shadows and throw Modify Memory to avoid the party from studying his/her crucial identity or strategy. The monster questioned would consider telling the truth, thus subverting Zone of Truth 5e.

Spells

These two choices assume that the party has not done something to keep the casting of spells, such as tie the NPC's palms or take all his/her things or secured the area, making it impossible for one more personality to get within 30 feet. If the NPC has been contested or another NPC in the region can't cast a spell to save cries, alter his memory, or escape (Dimension Door or Teleport). You've got no choice but to skip the truth.

That's where the issue gets dicey. Although Zone of Truth does specifically say animals could" preventing" telling the facts, it also says it shields against" uncertainty" If you would like to try to speak your way out of Zone of Truth, you need to follow these tips to prevent your players from feeling conned.

Zone of Truth specifically says it protects against disturbance. As a consequence, you can prevent the question, but you can not knowingly try to fool your players. This is an excellent line. When asked, "Would you split the window?" You cannot reply, "No," because the crowbar broke the window, this can be an attempt at deception.

It would be best if you avoided the question completely, such as stating, "Why would I divide a window?" That does not supply an answer to the query but could throw off your players enough to protect against the issue entirely. If you try to use semantic, it can do nothing but frustrate your own players.

The spell says a monster"may be evasive in its replies as long as it stays within the bounds of the reality."

It usually means you could make evasive statements as long a the announcements themselves are accurate. That will not fall in the realm of semantics since you are not twisting the question to assist your self. You're merely making a fair statement. A superb illustration of this could be an NPC saying, "My master plans only to do great!"

If the NPC knows his master considers himself to be about the generous right side, then this is a true statement that is not an attempt at deceit. If you can do this well, your players may (hopefully) misconstrue what you are saying.

The players can threaten or bribe your NPC, where you should play the NPC authentic to their own character. In the event your players request a question you can't evade, don't reply.

The Zone of truth 5e can be tricky to navigate. You definitely don't need players to feel cheated in any way, but you also don't wish to give up all of your secrets straight away. This advice and guidelines should help you keep the mystery alive while also keeping everything fair.

Is the caster influenced by Zone of Truth 5e?

Zone of Truth is a place of affect charm. It means that anyone inside the area is affected by the spell, including the caster. On the other hand, the caster can opt to create a saving throw against the spell, and the spell may be cast anywhere within 60 feet, so the caster could choose to be just outside the spell's range.

A Ring of Mind Shielding does not stop the Zone of Truth's influence if the monster collapsed the Charisma Saving Twist; nonetheless, it does prevent the caster from knowing if the creature stored or failed the spell's saving throw.

Zone of Truth is an enchantment spell that prevents lies where nobody can speak within the field of effect.

For a few moments, an area characterized by the caster turned into a zone in which lies couldn't be advised. Creatures within the region knew they were compelled not to speak falsehoods and withstand the bout, but people who could not resist could not lie to the spell duration. Affected creatures were not made, to tell the truth; they could stay silent or evade queries provided that they had been truthful.

The affected region has been a square having sides as large as 5 ft (1.5 m) based on the thrown model. Or according to the caster's energy or a 20-ft-radius (6.1 m) sphere.

In addition to verbal and somatic components, in addition to the priest's holy symbol or divine attention, the older variant of the spell required a cheap imitation emerald, ruby, or diamond to throw.

What are the Gamers saying about Zone of Truth 5e?

"We started a new effort, and after their first semester, my players are attempting to learn more about the mystery of a stolen auction thing. My team is comprised of experienced, intelligent, genre-savvy gamers, and everybody has some DM expertise. B-)

One of the players gets access to the Zone of reality spell. He has the authority/permission to use that spell on several suspects. But, it limits questions of attention to the analysis ). I believed I had the mystery nicely designed so that Zone of fact wouldn't split it, but I have more time to reflect on my players' skill level, I might want to think this through more.

In the past, when I have run a puzzle for other experienced gamers, I was able to use evasive answers and counter-questioning to trip them up with a zone of details. I managed to confound one experienced player during his very first casting of the Zone of fact (the questioned killer had given the recognizable of a spellcaster poison to sprinkle in the drinks of the murdered, claiming it had been tea).

Those tricks worked due to a lack of experience either generally or utilizing the spell. Nonetheless, these gamers have a good experience.

Have you successfully operate a puzzle for seasoned genre-savvy players? How can you manage smart questioning via a zone of truth 5e?"

"Partially is dependent on how violent they are, however, one good strategy would be to overshare. It might give far too much information, such as authentic but insignificant products. The players may then need to collect an investigation to notice patterns and identify which items from 20 are important.

Basically, yammer. The replies are accurate but need an investigation from the gamers.

A third option is an ownership. The party begins questioning the defendant, and the BBEG assumes direct control. Maybe the defendant stocks one or two critical clues ahead of the BBEG kills them.

Then, you can reach the fourth option. The suspect has a magic thing that registers everything to get a lie. The truth. Even sense motive. It is all comes up as lies. "

One approach in Zone of truth 5e -- place yourself in the perspective of the Villain and consider what they know. Then use that information to formulate a plan -- and when the PCs can quickly circumnavigate it, let them. They are heroes.

If this really is a situation where you want them to fail/struggle, the very best choices would be to:

2.) Make sure that the person being interrogated is not very likely to lie. If they have been deceived by somebody else, they may be saying it is untrue without comprehending it, which will not activate detection. The Glibness spell is the 8th level, but somebody who should tell a lie might rely upon it. I don't understand why it is 8th degree -- sounds somewhat like a 4th level spell for me. Modify Memory is the 5th degree, and you can use it to hide lies. Occasionally a monster in enchanting disguise can supply all the ideal answers.

6.) Double lies. And they find about the kidnapping of the ideal individual who needs interrogation! They recover the victim -- and might not have triggered to restart the questioning although the victim hired the awful man through an intermediary to kidnap the victim and select their location.

Comment 4

"I know entirely. I know this topic is hot, and I recall reading a few of your previous well-articulated articles.

Maybe this can be semantics, but I sure don't think of it trying to work contrary to my gamers. Instead, I'm searching for answers which have worked in your games that say"yes, and" or"yes, but" to the Zone of truth spell while still allowing the (highly experienced ) gamers to take delight in the investigation process. I consider it more like playing to their level.

For comparison, think about: A player picks the ranger course simply because they want the thrill of exploration. On the other hand, the Natural Explorer feature can detract from mining by trivializing it -- or instead, it necessitates some creative thought, adaptation, and workarounds to encourage an exploration heavy session or game. To put it differently, Organic Explorer functions, but it does not" feel" right since it avoids the challenge rather than engaging with it.

Likewise: A player who picks the Observant feat along with the zone of fact spell suggests they want the thrill of analysis, the triumph of solving a mystery through the forces of deductive reasoning. They don't require an easy success over 10 minutes with no true investigation prior to casting a spell. At least, that is true with my own group.

Not at all! The zone of truth won't allow you to lie, but it leaves lots of room for evasion, misdirection, and distraction. Finding ways to lie while still telling the truth is that the national game of Zilargo. pic.

-- Keith Baker (@HellcowKeith)

Liches can't throw Zone of Truth. ...Right?

-- D&D Beyond (@DnDBeyond)

It is a Zone of Truth + Advantage to Charisma tests to extract/force the info, so as to prevent the"free fact" button which removes a clever challenge.

#ZoneofTruth5e #ZoneofTruth5espell #ZoneofTruth

1 note · View note

kpopersanonymous · 7 years

Text

A Monster’s Revenge (Happy Ending)

a/n: since people have requested an epilogue to “Monster”, I decided to come through with Yixing’s revenge. With a happy ending because part 1 was very angsty!! Hope you guys enjoy!! (also sorry I took like centuries to make this but... life has just been extremely stressful lately (but i will always come through for you guys!! it might just take a while))

Read part 1 here!

Genre: Mafia AU, angst, fluffy (slightly smutty??) ending

Pairing: Yixing x Reader ft. Chanyeol and Minseok

Words: 5.1 k

Warnings: mild cursing, violence, mention of blood and death (it gets intense)

Yixing never left your side as you were taken to the hospital, his hand gripping yours as he watched your unconscious body struggle to stay alive. He didn’t want to leave you, he didn’t want you to face this battle alone but his bodyguards tore him away from you as you were taken to the ER. He was forced to wait while the doctors did their best to fight the poison without an antidote.

“Don’t worry,” Minseok tried to calm down his panicked friend, “I made sure only the best doctors are treating her. And I had the flowers Chanyeol gave her sent down to a team of specialists to find the right cure.” Yixing was glad to have his friend wait with him and give him the support he needed. Minseok had always calmed him down when his rationality faded, rarely ever losing his cool. He even stopped Yixing from almost murdering the nurse when they were given word of the components of the poison, the serum being a man-made, enhanced version of hemlock.

The doctors weren’t so helpful. All they told your husband was that they did the best they could and only time will tell. The pain he felt when he saw you, lying in the ICU, attached to countless machines, was almost unbearable to him. He had never felt more empathy for another human being than for you, and it scared him, knowing the true intensity of his love.

You stayed in the ICU for two weeks before the doctors announced the poison to be out of your system and your respiratory system functioning normally. And yet you still didn’t wake up. You had slipped into a coma, your body’s way of trying to protect your brain from serious damage. Seeing the despair in his friend’s eyes, Minseok gave him words of encouragement. “You know, a coma is just a way for people to deal with the trauma they experienced. So in a way, she’s just giving herself the time she needs to work everything out and to heal,” he said, giving your husband a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. Yixing nooded at those words, “She’s a fighter. I know she will get through this.”

He stayed by your side for months on end, visiting you everyday, his hope never fading that your eyes will open up for him. He read you your favorite stories, sang to you, talked about his hopes and dreams, the future he saw the two of you in. He hoped you could hear everything he was saying, he had heard that coma patients were often very aware of their surroundings.

Yixing was very grateful to have Minseok around to help him. Ever since your hospitalization, Yixing could hardly focus on the work that had to be done in his clan, his main priority being you. Minseok had offered to help him, to take on some of the work that needed to be done. Knowing that his friend was already skilled in the deals and trading industry, not to mention bribery, Yixing started him off with those tasks, giving him special advice with certain clients and telling him who to take with him, just in case things go wrong.

He noticed how motivated Minseok was to broaden his horizons and started mentoring him and a few of his most trusted men on how to be fearless leaders like him. He enjoyed the idea of having unit leaders, all specialized in their own field, whether that be trade, interrogation or assassination, serving under his watchful eye. It would mean he could have more time to himself, more time to be able to spend with you, to be able to protect you better. He never would have thought about doing this in the past, knowing that only he could get things done the way he preferred, but that was before he saw you in danger. He never wanted to see you in so much pain again and he would gladly give up his position to ensure your safety.

Little did he know that you would never be safe, not as long as all the enemies he had made in the past still wanted to see him suffer. And the only enemy who knew his weakness, the way to make him suffer the most, was Park Chanyeol, who had mysteriously vanished after he had poisoned you. Not even Yixing’s best searchers could find him. Letting his guard down, he began to think that he had seen the last of Chanyeol. It came as more than just a shock to him when, six months after his attempted murder, he found Chanyeol sitting in your room, awaiting Yixing’s arrival, a smug grin painted on his face.

Yixing stood at the doorway, unsure of how to react. He never thought Chanyeol would be so bold as to show his face anywhere near him again, especially after he disappeared off the face of the earth. But now here he was, sitting mere feet away from where you were lying, a single rose in his hand, staring daggers at your husband. Yixing curled his lips in disgust, hatred boiling up inside of him as he glared at your assailant. It took all of his willpower to not strangle your ex-bodyguard then and there, although Yixing knew he deserved it.

“Long time no see, Yixing,” Chanyeol rumbled lowly, not bothering to get up and properly greet his rival. “You have some nerve, showing up here after you tried to kill my wife,” Yixing replied, his inner monster waiting just below the surface, begging to be released. Chanyeol simply smiled as he played with one of the rose petals before answering. “I’m actually surprised that she survived. I guess I’ll have to do better next time,” he stared straight into Yixing’s eyes, awaiting his reaction. The threat made Yixing snap as he leapt towards Chanyeol, his monster taking full control over him as he pinned him to the nearest wall, his forearm lightly choking the tall man.

“Why are you even targeting her? I’m the one your clan is rivaling with! Why don’t you just try to kill me?!” Yixing asked, shaking with rage. Chanyeol somehow managed to chuckle under his hold, further testing his limits. “We never planned on killing you. We wanted to destroy you and your legacy that you built. And the only way we could do that is by taking away your most prized possession, the love of your life. You know, it was pretty foolish of you to fall in love, it makes you extemely vulnerable,” Chanyeol shook your husband off and strode to the end of your bed.

“Although, I can’t blame you. She is beautiful,” Chanyeol licked his lips slightly. He looked at your glaring husband when a thought suddenly occurred in his head. “What even makes you think that she’ll be happy to see you once she wakes up? Do you really think she’ll jump into your arms, begging you to always stay by her side? How are you so certain that she won’t just leave you?” Chanyeol aksed, leaning against the foot of your bed. “Y/N loves me, she would never leave me, especially for scum like you. Besides, even if she wanted to, she would never be able to. In case you forgot, I have eyes everywhere,” Yixing spat out, inching his way closer to Chanyeol until he was within arms reach.

Chanyeol chuckled, “Oh yeah, Y/N really thought I was scum when she practically begged me to take her with me as I was leaving.” “You’re lying,” Yixing growled lowly. “Do you want me to list the number of motives Y/N would have to leave you?” Chanyeol asked, but continued before Yixing had a chance to answer. “As for your watchful eyes, they didn’t seem to find me while I was in hiding,” Chanyeol taunted. “I would’ve done the job myself if I had known that you kidnapped her. And then I would have made you wish you had never been born,” Yixing spat back, his patience long gone.

Chanyeol smirked, “Why don’t we test that out? I’ll kidnap your wife once she wakes up and then we’ll see how long it takes for you to find us. I’m sure with a little sweet-talking she’ll think that I was really saving her from you, that I’m her knight in shining armor. I bet she would even comply to my ... deepest desires.” He bit his lip at the thought of the two of you sharing intimate moments together.

That was when Yixing saw nothing but red as he grabbed onto Chanyeol and flung him halfway across the room. He got on top of his opponent and grabbed him by the collar, staring down at him menacingly. “I’ve had enough of these games. It’s time we settled this once and for all,“ Yixing growled, throwing a punch at Chanyeol when he tried to move. “Stop targetting her. I’m the one you want, the one you hate. Why don’t we settle things like men? A fight to the death, one on one,” your husband suggested. “What makes you think I’ll come alone?” Chanyeol asked through gritted teeth. “Because you’re a prideful man that still has a bone to pick with me. You’re not going to hide in the back while your men ambush me,” Yixing chuckled darkly.

“You’re right... but why would I take you up on this offer. What’s in it for me?” the trapped man asked. Yixing rolled his eyes, “Do I have to spell everything out for you?! If you, through whatever miracle, managed to kill me, you can deliver my head personally to your leader. And that will get you on his good side, make him favor you more. It might even get you to rise up in the ranks. Now what do you say?” Chanyeol thought about it for a minute before he answered, “Okay. Deal. Now... where and when will we have this showdown?” Yixing stood up and brushed himself off while answering, “Tonight at midnight. At an abandoned warehouse downtown. I’m sure you already know which one I favor.” The giant smiled as he stood up and headed towards the door, “Alright. I’ll be there.” He stopped at the doorway to look at your resting form one last time. “And once I’ve defeated you, I’ll be making your wife my bitch,” he winked before leaving. Yixing’s blood was boiling at that last comment and looked around the room, trying to calm down. He spotted the rose Chanyeol had brought lying on the floor and tore it apart, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Just wait for tonight, he thought as he sent his monster back into his subconscious, promising it freedom in a few short hours.

Yixing drove down to the warehouse where he and his men always took their victims to finish them off. Nobody knew where he was going, he didn’t even confide in Minseok of his deal with Chanyeol. He simply told his friend to take good care of you in case he never made it home afterwards. He would be damned if he let Chanyeol take you as his own with nobody there to stop him.

As confident as Yixing was in his ability to take down his rival, he also wanted to make sure that, in the event that Chanyeol did defeat him, he would still end up in a world full of pain and suffering. Yixing wanted it to be known that even if he were to die, his clan, his legacy would still remain powerful. For this reason, he called a few of his best hitmen to attack Chanyeol’s clan at midnight, when they would least expect it, knowing they would all be at their boss’ mansion, awaiting Chanyeol’s Arrival. “Make sure nobody escapes alive,” Yixing had said before dismissing them all. He caught ahold of one of his most talented arsonists and ordered him to go with them. “I know you can make it look like an accident,” he flashed him a dark smile.

Yixing never felt calmer going into this battle. If anything, the idea of beating someone up seemed boring to him. He wondered if it had been his monster the whole time who took pleasure in all the agony he put his victims through, as he pulled up into the vacant parking lot adjoined to the warehouse. He cast his ponderings aside as he got out of the car, feeling his monster stirring inside him, aching to be released. He spotted another car beside the warehouse and knew that Chanyeol was already inside waiting for him. His eyes grew dark as he let his monster overcome him, readying himself for battle, excitement at the prospect of killing his prey filling his veins.

He threw the doors to the warehouse open and spotted Chanyeol sitting on a chair in the middle of the empty room. “I see you came alone,” the giant said, getting up from his seat. “I’m a man of my word,” Yixing stated, throwing off his jacket, tossing it to the side. “So how is this duel to the death going to work without any weapons?” Chanyeol asked, tossing his own jacket to the side. “We’re both skilled enough as fighters to kill someone in hand-to-hand combat. Besides, there’s plenty of stuff lying around to be deemed as a weapon,” your husband answered, stripping off his shirt, flexing his muscles intimidatingly at his opponent. Chanyeol smirked, “Well alrighty then. I can’t wait to beat you to a pulp.” He ripped his own shirt open and flexed his muscles in response, beckoning Yixing over. “Since I did try to kill your wife, I think it’s only fair that you get to throw the first punch,” he said.

Yixing didn’t even hesistate at that offer, leaping over to his enemy to deliver his first attack, a punch to the stomach. Chanyeol felt the air leave his lungs as he doubled over from the impact, trying to recover when he felt hands grab the back of his head, slamming it down onto Yixing’s knee. The giant saw stars momentarily as he collapsed to the ground, his anger forming as he heard your husband speak, “You know, a death match usually consists of both parties fighting. But if you want to just accept your fate, I have no problems being the only one to attack.” Chanyeol moved forward to catch Yixing’s leg mid-kick, pulling it to him, making him fall to the ground.

Now it was his turn to attack as he scrambled up and positioned himself above his rival’s laying body, delivering hatred-filled blows to his head. After recovering from the first shock, Yixing grabbed his fist before it landed another harsh blow, trying to use his opponent’s energy against him to push him off. Chanyeol felt himself struggling against the match of strengths and grabbed his enemy’s throat, choking him with his free hand. The threat of blacking out only fueled the monster even more as he started twisting Chanyeol’s arm in the opposite direction, his eyes cold and apathetic as he stared into the other man’s pain-filled eyes. It wasn’t until Yixing heard the satisfying ‘crunch’ of his opponent’s arm breaking did he let go, kicking Chanyeol off of him as he let go of his throat to hold his now twisted arm.

Yixing got up and brushed himself off, not paying any attention to a cursing Chanyeol still huddled on the floor. He wiped off some of the blood oozing out of the cuts on his face and gently touched around his left eye, almost completely swollen shut, as he searched for a weapon around the vacant room to put an end to this fight. His back turned to his opponent, he spotted some metal chains in the far corner of the room, perfect for choking out his victim. He started towards them when he was struck in the back with a chair, knocking him to the ground, air leaving his lungs as the object broke into smaller pieces. He was sure that the impact had broken a few ribs and he felt small chunks of wood pierce through his skin. He looked up to see Chanyeol towering above him, eyes dark with malice, his right arm hanging limp by his side.

Before Yixing could stand up, he was held down by the weight of Chanyeol’s foot pressing down onto his pelvis. He moved upwards towards one of his kidneys and applied more pressure, causing Yixing to cry out in pain. He knew what he was doing: he wanted to watch him suffer by hitting his pressure points, exactly the kind of sadistic method the monster inside of Yixing would choose before putting an end to his victims’ misery. Chanyeol moved his leg down to one of his knees and started crushing the joint. Yixing clenched his teeth together, not wanting to give his enemy pleasure in hearing him scream out in pain, and searched around for something he could use against Chanyeol. He spotted one of the legs of the chair lying next to him and grabbed it, twisting himself around, using the momentum to his advantage and thrashed the weapon into his assailant’s knee.

Chanyeol grunted loudly in anguish as Yixing rose up and stared daggers into him. The two stared at each other in disgust for a couple of minutes while both caught their breath. They were done playing games, both just wanting to see the opposing party dead. Yixing growled lowly as he charged toward the giant, knocking him down to the ground as he proceded to choke him, straddling him in the process. With his good arm, Chanyeol retaliated the choking attempt, not ready to give up the fight so easily. Summoning his strength, he head-butted Yixing, causing him to lose his grip on his throat. Chanyeol stood up with your husband’s throat still in his hand, his fingers clawing at his rival’s arm as he felt the ground beneath his feet disappear. He felt himself start to black out from the lack of oxygen and the weight of the impact with Chanyeol’s own head.

An image of you flashed before Yixing’s eyes, which ignited a spark deep inside of him, giving him enough strength to kick his opponent square in the guts, sending him backwards and releasing him from the giant’s grip. Yixing rushed around behind Chanyeol and locked him in a choke hold, his neck one quick turn away from being snapped. Yixing had the perfect opportunity to kill him, to end this game once and for all, but he hesitated. He wanted to see him dead, to have him pay for what he did to you, but something deep inside of him didn’t want to kill anymore, he was sick of it.

Chanyeol noticed the hesitation in his enemy’s actions. Knowing he couldn’t free himself out of the choke hold with pure strength, most of his depleated anyway, he tried to catch Yixing off-guard in a last attempt to kill his rival. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, “now’s your chance to finally kill me. I know you’re just aching to see me dead. Especially after what I did to your wife.” Yixing glared at him and tightened his hold on Chanyeol, not answering his question. “You remember what I did to her right?” he pressed on. “I didn’t just try to kill her. I befriended her, finally made her happy for once in her miserable, isolated life. I gave her something to look forward to, something worth waking up for each and every morning instead of cursing her existence. I stole her heart. And isn‘t that the real reason why you hate me, why you want to see me dead?”

Yixing’s face inched closer to Chanyeol’s as he stared menacingly at him. “My beloved Y/N would never fall in love with a creature as low as yourself,” he growled lowly through gritted teeth. He flexed his muscles, readying himself to kill his rival, when a gunshot sounded the air. Yixing saw Chanyeol’s pupils widen before he watched the life leave his eyes, his body slumping against his own. He stared in bewilderment at the dead body in his arms before noticing the bullet wound in his chest, right where the heart was centered.

Yixing heard footsteps coming closer and looked up to see Minseok carrying a gun, shock written on his face. “So this is what you deem unimportant to tell me?! A fight to the death?” Minseok asked after a few moments of silence. “Did you follow me here?” Yixing asked, ignoring his friend’s outburst. “Well somebody had to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid!” he answered, putting the gun away and streched out a hand to help his friend up. “You didn’t have to come, I had the situation under control,” Yixing said, pushing Chanyeol’s corpse off him and stood up. Minseok caught him as he groaned in pain and exhaustion, “And was it part of your plan to have Chanyeol beat you to a pulp?” Yixing chuckled as he was led back to his car, “Even a skilled fighter such as myself doesn’t come out of a fight unscathed.”

Minseok placed Yixing gently in the passenger’s seat of his car before he went over to his own car to talk to the bodyguards he brought with him to discard of Chanyeol’s dead body and any evidence of a fight. As Yixing waited on Minseok to return, he replayed the last conversation he had with Chanyeol in his head. He felt remorseful, not because he didn’t kill his rival, he couldn’t care less about that fact, even though his monster would’ve been seething with rage over the missed opportunity. What really struck him were the things he had said about you and the isolated life you had to live. Have I really been treating her so badly? he asked himself, a single tear escaping his eye.

Minseok came back and drove his friend to a doctor while Yixing stared out of the window, lost in his own thoughts. After what felt like hours of silence between the two, Yixing spoke up, “Thank you for being there, Minseok. I really appreciate it.” His friend looked at him in curiosity as he continued to look out the window.

Something had changed within Yixing, this much Minseok knew. Many of his men would think that they lost their fearsome leader, that he had died alongside Chanyeol, but he knew his friend better than that. He believed he had simply been reborn, casting his monster aside in the process. In his eyes, that made Yixing even stronger than before, not being controlled by the hatred inside of him. He never bothered to ask him why he hadn’t killed Chanyeol, it didn’t matter. He knew his friend started prioritizing other things, that death and vengeance now only played a miniscule role in his life, and for that he admired him.

You had woken up two weeks after the duel, Yixing sitting by your side as you opened your eyes. You saw tears fall down his cheeks as he pulled you in close, whispering to you how much he missed you and how relieved he was that you were okay. You hugged him back, amazed by all the affection he was showing you and at the same time worried that it would all end soon, like it always did. He never stopped showering you with love, however, he seemed like a changed man. It almost felt as if the past years were all one giant nightmare that you had finally woken up from. All it took was for me to face death for him to change, you thought solemnly as he took you home the day of your release, his hand never leaving yours.

Doubt filled your mind once you returned home and although everyone was happy and relieved to see you were well, you still feared that soon everything would go back to the way things used to be. You dreaded the thought of being isolated once more, of having to rot inside this prison you called home. Most of all, you were terrified of having to see your husband’s eyes grow dark once more, signaling the return of his monster. Sure, you had escaped death, but could you be happy returning to the horror that was your life?

You held Yixing close to you during your first night back home, trying to cast away the bad thoughts as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, stroking your hair while you fell asleep. You expected to wake up the same way you had been for years, alone in your king-sized bed while Yixing negotiated with random partners in his office, having been wide awake long before you. It came as more than a surprise to you when you turned around and came face-to-face with your husband, still lying next to you, his features soft as he flashed you a dimple. He looked like an angel in the dim morning light, oozing perfection even with tousled hair, taking your breath away. “How long have you been staring at me for?” you asked playfully as he pulled you closer to him, so that your bodies were touching each other. “You know I lose track of time when I stare at you, my love,” he said in his low, husky morning voice.

You pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming as he started placing kisses around your face and neck, his fingertips dancing across your soft skin. This really isn’t a dream, you said to yourself as you felt the sudden, sharp sensation of your pinch. He took your hand and kissed the place you had just hurt yourself, staring deeply into your eyes. “What would you like to do today, my love? Remember, Minseok told you to take as much time as you needed to recover. And I’m here to fulfill every wish my angel has,” he smiled sweetly, gently playing with your hair. “But what about you? Don’t you have work to do?” you asked, skeptical about this whole ordeal. “Don’t you worry about that. I already have everything taken care of,” he simply stated.

You looked at him confused, this whole thing seemed to good to be true, it was almost as if your husband had been replaced by an imposter. Yixing knew exactly what you were thinking as he rolled you on top of him, placing his hands on either side of your face as he stared intensly at you. “You’re probably thinking ‘who are you and what have you done with my husband?’ am I right?” he asked with a chuckle, your eyes widening in response. “Well... I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while you were in a coma. And I’ve changed too, for the better, I hope,” he started to explain. “I had almost lost the most important thing in my life and I don’t ever want that to happen again. I had been so obsessed with the thought of having you that I never once considered losing you. And I was too focussed on my empire and keeping you safe that I hadn’t realized how isolated you must have felt. My love for you was, and still is, so strong but I had never adequately shown you, I was never able to fully devote my love to you.” He stopped to place a long, loving kiss on your lips.

“I let myself be controlled by my demons, but I will never let that happen again,” he continued after parting from your lips. “From now on, you will be my main priority. I’m going to shower you with love and affection and make sure you never feel lonely again. I’m going to give you the happy, carefree life you deserve to live. And I will personally protect you from all the dangers in the world,” he whispered, pulling even closer to him, his lips ghosting yours. “What about the mafia?” you asked, the thought burning in your mind. “I will still be watching over my empire, but I have leaders now, men that I trust will make the right decisions and answer to me if things get out of hand. Something I should have thought about before you had gotten hurt,” he said, his voice filled with remorse as the events of that fateful day replayed in his inner eye.

You felt a single tear of joy escape your eye as you kissed your husband passionately, unable to express your bliss with mere words. You had never thought you would live to see the day when the mafia would play a less important role in his life than you. The two of you parted breathlessly, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes as you both caught your breaths. Yixing was the first to break the silence, “Why don’t we go on a trip? Take our minds off of everything that happened and enjoy some new scenery. We could fall in love all over again... and maybe work on getting a new pair of feet to roam these halls,” your husband suggested, his cheeks growing pink at the last statement.

Your heart started racing at the thought as you turned over onto the bed, pulling Yixing with you so that he was now on top of you. You gently stroked his back as you took in all of his warmth. “I would love to go on a trip with you and fall madly in love with you all over again. It will be like our second honeymoon,” you started, giving him a small peck on the lips. “As for your... other wish,” you felt your cheeks grow red as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. “Well, call me greedy but now that you’ve made me your main priority, I would like to be showered with your love for a while before I have to start sharing it,” you smirked, pressing your hips into his. He growled low in pleasure, giving you a devilish grin as you both stared at each other with lust-filled eyes. “If that’s the case,” he started, his hands running up and down your curves. “I think I should start by sending us both to paradise,” he winked, slipping off both of your sleeping attires.

He started kissing from your neck down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of love bites as you moaned in bliss at the feeling of his soft lips grazing your skin, your fingers intertwined with his. You bit your lip in anticipation of his next move while he gave you eskimo kisses, his eyes filled with nothing but love for you. He moved to kiss the shell of your ear before he whispered something to you. “I may be a changed man, my love,” he started, his hot breath tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine, “but you can still call me monster in bed.”

#zhang yixing fanfic #zhang yixing #exo lay #lay scenario #exo lay scenario #exo lay angst #exo lay mafia #zhang yixing scenarios #exo mafia au #exo angst #exo lay mafia au #yixing scenario #exo yixing #exo yixing angst #exo yixing mafia au

81 notes · View notes

thedeadshotnetwork · 6 years

Link

'He was thrown to the wolves': Former FBI agents defend Mueller team investigator at the center of controversy Allies of President Donald Trump have been attacking special counsel Robert Mueller's team amid revelations of potential political biases. One veteran agent was removed from Mueller's team over the summer after the Justice Department learned of text messages that could be perceived as anti-Trump. Former FBI agents say the attacks on Mueller's team are "nonsense." Attacks on special counsel Robert Mueller’s team of investigators escalated sharply last week, culminating in a partisan haranguing of the FBI director on Thursday over the perceived missteps of his predecessor. Conservative and far-right media outlets, already skeptical of Mueller’s probe into President Donald Trump’s ties to Russia, grew louder in their calls for FBI Director Chris Wray to either clean house or for Mueller to resign. It came after news that two special counsel investigators at one point exhibited perceived political bias. Trump again characterized the criminal justice system as "rigged" during a rally in Florida on Friday, echoing comments he made last weekend following former national security Michael Flynn's guilty plea as part of Mueller's probe. "So General Flynn lies to the FBI and his life is destroyed, while Crooked Hillary Clinton, on that now famous FBI holiday 'interrogation' with no swearing in and no recording, lies many times," Trump tweeted last Saturday. "And nothing happens to her? Rigged system, or just a double standard?" Republican Rep. Bob Goodlatte, the chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, implored Wray during a hearing on Thursday to "repair the damage done by" former FBI Director James Comey. And he took a shot at Mueller's investigation, questioning "the magnitude of insider bias" that exists on his team. Former FBI agents who spoke to Business Insider this week characterized the outcry as "nonsense" aimed at discrediting an investigation that has dogged Trump and the GOP more broadly for over a year. Frank Montoya, Jr., a former FBI special agent who served as the Director of t he Office of the National Counterintelligence Executive, was blunt. "T here is a lot of anger in the FBI (the entire intelligence community, for that matter) over how this president will say nary a negative word about the Russians, but will insult us every chance he gets," he said. 'Moscow was happy, I'm sure' Getty Peter Strzok, a veteran counterintelligence agent who was among those overseeing the investigation into former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's private email server last year, was abruptly removed from Mueller's Russia probe in late July and relegated to the human resources department. Neither Mueller nor the Justice Department have commented on Strzok's sudden demotion. But he was apparently removed as part of a broader investigation into the bureau's handling of the Clinton email probe by the DOJ's inspector general. Strzok reportedly sent text messages during the presidential campaign to another member of Mueller's team, Lisa Page, that could be perceived as anti-Trump. He and Page were also having an extramarital affair that the DOJ worried could make them both subject to blackmail. Page left Mueller's team over the summer for unrelated reasons. High-profile conservative figures and Trump allies, such as the conservative-leaning Wall Street Journal editorial board and Fox News host Sean Hannity , quickly weaponized another damaging report published last week. It said Strzok had been instrumental in changing Comey's final characterization of Clinton's conduct from "grossly negligent" — which would have carried legal consequences — to "extremely careless." Former FBI agents who knew and worked with Strzok acknowledged that he should have been more circumspect with his comments, even if they were private, given the highly politicized nature of both the Clinton and Russia probes. But they broadly characterized him as a professional who never expressed his political opinions when conducting an investigation. Montoya, who served in the bureau for over two decades, called Strzok "an exceptional agent" and "rising star" whose removal from Mueller's probe was "a g reat loss to the investigation." "Moscow was happy, I'm sure when that happened," he said. "There's a lot of partisan political white noise out there about Pete's supposed 'bias,'" Montoya said. "It's all nonsense. I've known Pete for a long time. I didn't know what his political opinions were. Never asked. Never cared. That's the way it was for the vast majority of us." Another veteran FBI counterintelligence agent who knew Strzok but requested anonymity to discuss internal DOJ decisions called him an "expert" in counterintelligence work who "rose to the level of Deputy Assistant Director in the usual way: by being a reliable, consistent, and capable member of the executive team." 'He didn't act alone' Jonathan Bachman/AP The nature of FBI investigations makes it impossible for one employee to exert outsized influence over others, former agents emphasized. "There's been a lot of accusation lately in the public arena about how Pete's supposed biases may have affected outcome of the email investigation and predication for Russia investigation," Montoya said. "More nonsense." "Pete wasn't the only guy working on those cases," he added. "His was one voice, albeit an important one, but there were other important voices in the mix, too." For instance, Montoya said, look at the email investigation. "Professional, experienced prosecutors and senior leadership (above Pete) in the FBI played the key roles in the final decision not to prosecute Clinton," he said. "Pete may have helped draft the public messaging at the conclusion of the case, but he didn't act alone. I participated in quite a few of these matters myself and the planning process was always a group effort." Former FBI unit chief Mark Rossini, who spent 17 years at the bureau, largely agreed. "It would be literally impossible for one human being to have the power to change or manipulate evidence or intelligence according to their own political preferences," he said. " FBI agents, like anyone else, are human beings. W e are allowed to have our political beliefs. If anything, the overwhelming majority of agents are conservative Republicans," he added. Former FBI counterintelligence agent Asha Rangappa made a similar point in an interview earlier this week. "The FBI investigators who are working on any given day will probably be mostly politically conservative," Rangappa said, drawing from her interactions with agents under President George W. Bush. That is one reason, she said, why Republicans should "think carefully" about the precedent they're setting in pointing to agents' political leanings as evidence of a tainted investigation. 'He was thrown to the wolves' Aaron Bernstein/Reuters Still, some agents said there is lingering resentment over Comey's handling of the Clinton email probe — not necessarily because of the conclusions he drew, but because of the process decisions he made at various points in the investigation that left the bureau vulnerable to partisan attacks. The two that drew the biggest criticism last year: an unprecedented press conference in which he chastised Clinton for using a private server but ultimately cleared her of criminal wrongdoing; and a letter to Congress announcing that he was effectively reopening the case 11 days before the election. "There was a perception among many agents that the bureau was tending to become more politicized than it had been in the past," said former FBI special agent Mark Ruskin, author of " The Pretender: My Life Undercover for the FBI ." "Some believed that Comey was allowing political winds to buffet the bureau as a whole," he continued. "And there was an ambiguity about which way it was even being politicized." In any case, Ruskin said, "both sides of the aisle were getting the impression that the bureau was not acting completely objectively, and the agents blamed it more on Comey because he seemed to waffle." The ambiguity was frustrating, Ruskin said, given Comey's propensity for taking matters into his own hands. But the agents suggested the perceived politicization of the FBI was not the result of individual agents' biases. Incidentally, it came because of the former director's excessive attempts to avoid the appearance of partisanship. "I think Comey did more damage than he realized or intended by how he handled things last year," said former FBI counterintelligence agent Scott Olson. "But Director Wray has corrected that by now." Some still have questions, however, about why Strzok was "thrown to the wolves." "I think Pete did what he was asked to do, and then he was thrown to the wolves," said the former counterintelligence agent who requested anonymity to discuss Strzok. "What I don’t yet see is what Mueller is getting out of it. But there is a lot going on here that is still not known to the public." NOW WATCH: A North Korean defector tells us what life was like under a dictatorship December 10, 2017 at 02:48PM

#Blogger

0 notes

pcinvasion-blog · 7 years

Text

New Post has been published on PC Invasion

New Post has been published on https://www.pcinvasion.com/half-life-writer-marc-laidlaw-posts-hypothetical-episode-3-plot

Half-Life writer Marc Laidlaw posts hypothetical Episode 3 plot

While I doubt this will bring closure to Half-Life 3 (or Half-Life 2 Episode 3, take your pick), it’s an interesting development. Former Valve employee and Half-Life writer Marc Laidlaw has posted an ‘Epistle 3’ on his site today, which looks an awful lot like a plausible resolution to Gordon Freeman’s adventures.

First of all, the site is being battered right now, so you’ll probably be better off reading it through this Wayback Machine link. That will confirm that this is, indeed, posted on Marc Laidlaw’s own site. You’ll notice that the names are quite … odd (Eli Vance is ‘Elly Vaunt’ for example). That might be some sort of copyright dodge, or Laidlaw is being a trickster, I don’t know. You can read a fully ‘translated’ version below.

The point is, it’s very clearly a possible Half-Life 3 plot. Or the Half-Life 2 Episode 3 plot. Whichever direction Valve might have taken. Whether this is the absolute canon plot-line, or Marc’s preferred version, or something he’s just put together recently, is not clear. If I had to guess, I’d say It’s most likely an amalgamation of how he thought the series should end.

In brief: Freeman and Alex Vance head to Antarctica in search of the Borealis vessel (following Judith Mossman’s co-ordinates). Their craft is shot down and they’re captured by minions loyal to the re-configured Dr. Breen. The Combine had stored an earlier version of Breen and put his memories inside a giant Grub. They escape from Breen and find Mossman being held captive by the Combine nearby.

The Borealis is located, oscillating in and out of time. Freeman, Vance, and Mossman get on board during a brief period of coherence. It transpires that the Borealis is stretched out through time, from its point of launch at the Aperture Science labs (where the panicking researchers, assaulted by the Combine, decided to launch it rather than let it fall into enemy hands), through the Antarctic, and forwards into the future.

The team battle the Combine down the length of the ship, through paradoxical time-loops. Mossman wants to save the Borealis and deliver it to the resistance. Vance is committed to destroying it, as she promised her father. They argue, fight, and Alex Vance shoots Judith Mossman, killing her.

Freeman and Vance commit to a suicide plunge in the Borealis, steering it towards the Combine’s command center. G-Man appears and whisks Alex Vance away. Freeman is left alone on the ship, but realises it will not do nearly enough damage to the Combine. At the last minute, the Vortigaunts part reality and pluck Freeman away. He is returned to Earth, but at an undetermined future time where few remember him. He believes the spirit of rebellion still persists.

Here’s the full text (translation taken from NeoGaf, though I imagine that’s not the original source).

I hope this letter finds you well. I can hear your complaint already, “Gordon Freeman, we have not heard from you in ages!” Well, if you care to hear excuses, I have plenty, the greatest of them being I’ve been in other dimensions and whatnot, unable to reach you by the usual means. This was the case until eighteen months ago, when I experienced a critical change in my circumstances, and was redeposited on these shores. In the time since, I have been able to think occasionally about how best to describe the intervening years, my years of silence. I do first apologize for the wait, and that done, hasten to finally explain (albeit briefly, quickly, and in very little detail) events following those described in my previous game (referred to herewith as Episode 2).

To begin with, as you may recall from the closing paragraphs of my previous missive, the death of Eli Vance shook us all. The Resistance team was traumatized, unable to be sure how much of our plan might be compromised, and whether it made any sense to go on at all as we had intended. And yet, once Eli had been buried, we found the strength and courage to regroup. It was the strong belief of his brave daughter, the feisty Alex Vance, that we should continue on as her father had wished. We had the Antarctic coordinates, transmitted by Eli’s long-time assistant, Dr. Judith Mossman, which we believed to mark the location of the lost luxury liner Borealis. Eli had felt strongly that the Borealis should be destroyed rather than allow it to fall into the hands of the Combine. Others on our team disagreed, believing that the Borealis might hold the secret to the revolution’s success. Either way, the arguments were moot until we found the vessel. Therefore, immediately after the service for Dr. Vance, Alex and I boarded a seaplane and set off for the Antarctic; a much larger support team, mainly militia, was to follow by separate transport.

It is still unclear to me exactly what brought down our little aircraft. The following hours spent traversing the frigid waste in a blizzard are also a jumbled blur, ill-remembered and poorly defined. The next thing I clearly recall is our final approach to the coordinates Dr. Mossman has provided, and where we expected to find the Borealis. What we found instead was a complex fortified installation, showing all the hallmarks of sinister Combine technology. It surrounded a large open field of ice. Of the Borealis itself there was no sign…or not at first. But as we stealthily infiltrated the Combine installation, we noticed a recurent, strangely coherent auroral effect–as of a vast hologram fading in and out of view. This bizarre phenomenon initially seemed an effect caused by an immense Combine lensing system, Alex and I soon realized that what we were actually seeing was the luxury liner Borealis itself, phasing in and out of existence at the focus of the Combine devices. The aliens had erected their compound to study and seize the ship whenever it materialized. What Dr. Mossman had provided were not coordinates for where the sub was located, but instead for where it was predicted to arrive. The liner was oscillating in and out of our reality, its pulses were gradually steadying, but there was no guarantee it would settle into place for long–or at all. We determined that we must put ourselves into position to board it at the instant it became completely physical.

At this point we were briefly detained–not captured by the Combine, as we feared at first, but by minions of our former nemesis, the conniving and duplicitous Wallace Breen. Dr. Breen was not as we had last seen him–which is to say, he was not dead. At some point, the Combine had saved out an earlier version of his consciousness, and upon his physical demise, they had imprinted the back-up personality into a biological blank resembling an enormous grub. The Breen-grub, despite occupying a position of relative power in the Combine hierarchy, seemed nervous and frightened of me in particular. Wallace did not know how his previous incarnation, the original Dr. Breen, had died. He knew only that I was responsible. Therefore the grub treated us with great caution. Still, he soon confessed (never able to keep quiet for long) that he was herself a prisoner of the Combine. He took no pleasure from her current grotesque existence, and pleaded with us to end his life. Alex believed that a quick death was more than Wallace Breen deserved, but for my part, I felt a modicum of pity and compassion. Out of Alex’s sight, I might have done something to hasten the grub’s demise before we proceeded.

Not far from where we had been detained by Dr. Breen, we found Judith Mossman being held in a Combine interrogation cell. Things were tense between Judith and Alex, as might be imagined. Alex blamed Judith for her father’s death…news of which, Judith was devastated to hear for the first time. Judith tried to convince Alex that she had been a double agent serving the resistance all along, doing only what Eli had asked of her, even though she knew it meant he risked being seen by her peers–by all of us–as a traitor. I was convinced; Alex less so. But from a pragmatic point of view, we depended on Dr. Mossman; for along with the Borealis coordinates, she possessed resonance keys which would be necessary to bring the liner fully into our plane of existence.

We skirmished with Combine soldiers protecting a Combine research post, then Dr. Mossman attuned the Borealis to precisely the frequencies needed to bring it into (brief) coherence. In the short time available to us, we scrambled aboard the ship, with an unknown number of Combine agents close behind. The ship cohered for only a short time, and then its oscillations resume. It was too late for our own military support, which arrived and joined the Combine forces in battle just as we rebounded between universes, once again unmoored.

What happened next is even harder to explain. Alex Vance, Dr. Mossman and myself sought control of the ship–its power source, its control room, its navigation center. The liner’s history proved nonlinear. Years before, during the Combine invasion, various members of an earlier science team, working in the hull of a dry-docked liner situated at the Aperture Science Enrichment Center in Lake Michigan, had assembled what they called the Bootstrap Device. If it worked as intended, it would emit a field large enough to surround the ship. This field would then itself travel instantaneously to any chosen destination without having to cover the intervening space. There was no need for entry or exit portals, or any other devices; it was entirely self-contained. Unfortunately, the device had never been tested. As the Combine pushed Earth into the Seven Hour War, the aliens seized control of our most important research facilities. The staff of the Borealis , with no other wish than to keep the ship out of Combine hands, acted in desperation. The switched on the field and flung the Borealis toward the most distant destination they could target: Antarctica. What they did not realize was that the Bootstrap Device travelled in time as well as space. Nor was it limited to one time or one location. The Borealis, and the moment of its activation, were stretched across space and time, between the nearly forgotten Lake Huron of the Seven Hour War and the present day Antarctic; it was pulled taut as an elastic band, vibrating, except where at certain points along its length one could find still points, like the harmonic spots along a vibrating guitar string. One of these harmonics was where we boarded, but the string ran forward and back, in both time and space, and we were soon pulled in every direction ourselves.

Time grew confused. Looking from the bridge, we could see the drydocks of Aperture Science at the moment of teleportation, just as the Combine forces closed in from land, sea and air. At the same time, we could see the Antarctic wastelands, where our friends were fighting to make their way to the protean Borealis; and in addition, glimpses of other worlds, somewhere in the future perhaps, or even in the past. Alex grew convinced we were seeing one of the Combine’s central staging areas for invading other worlds–such as our own. We meanwhile fought a running battle throughout the ship, pursued by Combine forces. We struggled to understand our stiuation, and to agree on our course of action. Could we alter the course of the Borealis? Should we run it aground in the Antarctic, giving our peers the chance to study it? Should we destroy it with all hands aboard, our own included? It was impossible to hold a coherent thought, given the baffling and paradoxical timeloops, which passed through the ship like bubbles. I felt I was going mad, that we all were, confronting myriad versions of ourselves, in that ship that was half ghost-ship, half nightmare funhouse.

What it came down to, at last, was a choice. Judith Mossman argued, reasonably, that we should save the Borealis and deliver it to the Resistance, that our intelligent peers might study and harness its power. But Alex reminded me she had sworn she would honor her father’s demand that we destroy the ship. She hatched a plan to set the Borealis to self-destruct, while riding it into the heart of the Combine’s invasion nexus. Judith and Alex argued. Judith overpowered Alex and brought the Borealis area, preparing to shut off the Bootstrap Device and settle the ship on the ice. Then I heard a shot, and Judith fell. Alex had decided for all of us, or her weapon had. With Dr. Mossman dead, we were committed to the suicide plunge. Grimly, Alex and I armed the Borealis, creating a time-travelling missile, and steered it for the heart of the Combine’s command center.

At this point, as you will no doubt be unsurprised to hear, a Certain Sinister Figure appeared, in the form of that sneering trickster, the G-Man. For once he appeared not to me, but to Alex Vance. Alex had not seen the cryptical schoolmarm (no male equivalent) since childhood, but she recognized him instantly. “Come along with me now, we’ve places to do and things to be,” said the G-Man, and Alex acquiesced. She followed the strange grey man out of the Borealis, out of our reality. For me, there was no convenient door held open; only a snicker and a sideways glance. I was left alone, riding the weaponized luxury liner into the heart of a Combine world. An immense light blazed. I caught a cosmic view of a brilliantly glittering Dyson sphere. The vastness of the Combine’s power, the futility of our struggle, blossomed briefly in my awareness. I saw everything. Mainly I saw how the Borealis, our most powerful weapon, would register as less than a fizzling matchhead as it blew itself apart. And what remained of me would be even less than that.

Just then, as you have surely already foreseen, the Vortigaunts parted their own checkered curtains of reality, reached in as they have on prior occasions, plucked me out, and set me aside. I barely got to see the fireworks begin.

And here we are. I spoke of my return to this shore. It has been a circuitous path to lands I once knew, and surprising to see how much the terrain has changed. Enough time has passed that few remember me, or what I was saying when last I spoke, or what precisely we hoped to accomplish. At this point, the resistance will have failed or succeeded, no thanks to me. Old friends have been silenced, or fallen by the wayside. I no longer know or recognize most members of the research team, though I believe the spirit of rebellion still persists. I expect you know better than I the appropriate course of action, and I leave you to it. Except no further correspondence from me regarding these matters; this is my final epistle.

Yours in infinite finality,

Gordon Freeman, Ph.D.

#Half Life 3

0 notes