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shannie-writes · 4 years

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12 Days of Vampmas - Napoleon

Word Count: 792

Genre: Fluff

Pairing(s): Napoleon/MC

Warning(s): N/A

Prompt: Making personalized gingerbread men.

A/N: Prompt for this fic is found [here] on my prompt blog!

The squeak of cast iron had initially been grating on your eardrums when you first helped Sebastian with the wooden-fueled stove in the kitchen, but now you found it as familiar as the voice of a loved one. You adjusted the heavy mitts you had on your hands and carefully reached into the oven, gripping the pan inside with the thick fabric. Setting the tray on top of the stove, you closed the door again and let out a sigh, lifting a shoulder to rub the sweat from your jaw from standing in front of the open heat. Pulling off the oven mitts, you admired the cookies on the tray.

The few gingerbread men on the battered metal were a little burnt on some edges but were otherwise a beautiful rich brown. You smiled, feeling proud of yourself. It had taken some time to learn how to use the oven so wildly different than you were used to and now you could claim you were at least somewhat proficient in using it. Sebastian was the one to use it most often still, of course, and you looked forward to the day that you made something more complex than cookies and stews.

A short exhale of laughter behind you distracted you from your thoughts and you turned to eye Napoleon’s back.

“What’s so funny?”

“Come look at this.”

You smiled as you came up beside him at the counter. “Oh, it looks kind of like Isaac, doesn’t it?”

The simple lines drawn in icing on the cookie had it sporting a grumpy look, floppy hair, and a large apple-shaped splotch on its little vest. Looking it over again, you couldn’t help the small chuckle it brought from you. You weren’t sure if he would be offended by the cookie lookalike or if he would love it. A little bit of both, probably.

Grabbing another bag, you scooped some icing from the large bowl and filled it as Napoleon carefully pushed the gingerbread Isaac away and began to focus on the next cookie from the cooled batch. You twisted the ends of your bag and tested the tip, moving a few of the cookies in front of yourself. Confidently squeezing the icing bag to keep the lines even, you started to design one and finished a second by the time Napoleon wrapped up his.

“That actually looks surprisingly similar to Jean,” you said, grinning at the crude eyepatch and narrow eye. The small sword along the side of the cookie’s leg was rather cute.

Napoleon looked at the cookies you had decorated. “Is that supposed to be us?”

“Mmhmm, this one is me and that one is you.” His smile drooped into concern and you looked between him and the cookie. “Is something the matter?”

“You missed something.”

Examining the cookie, you frowned. “What did I miss? Does it not look like--hey!”

You jumped and squeezed the bag in your hands in surprise as he quickly decorated your cheek, icing now on your face and squirted all over the counter. His laugh was boisterous and joyful even as he jumped back from your arm swiping out at him in response.

“You were missing something from your face, nunuche,” he said, his grin wide and teasing. “It’s all fixed now.”

“And yours is needing some fixing too,” you laughed, wielding your own bag and going after his face as payback, the icing ending up all over his shirt instead.

The two of you continued to chase after each other around the kitchen until the icing bags were empty and you sank to the messy floor in a fit of giggles, Napoleon coming down to kneel at your side.

“Hee hee hee...now I need to...hee hee...to make more,” you said, eyes spilling over your tears of mirth. You went to wipe your face with your apron, but found it too covered in already drying icing to be of any use.

He chuckled and leaned in closer to you. “Let me help you.”

He reached up a hand and you closed your eyes to keep from any of the sugary icing flaking into them. Instead of wiping it with his fingers like you were anticipating, he cupped your cheek in his palm and licked it clean instead. At your hum, he licked at your other eye and down your cheek. You opened your eyes to see him licking his lips and you felt your cheek start to burn under his touch.

“You are very sweet and much cuter than any cookie could ever mimic.”

“Napoleon,” you sighed happily.

He bent over you for another sweet kiss followed by even more and you accepted the fact that the cookies would likely never get done now.

------

Day 3 - Leonardo ← Day 4 - Napoleon → Day 5 - Mozart

#12 days of vampmas #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #napoleon boneparte #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikevamp napoleon #my writing #writing prompts #winter prompt

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pon-ee · 5 years

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MC and Sebastian jamming in the mansion to Waterloo by ABBA

Napoleon crying in the distance

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevam #sebastian #napoleon boneparte

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brooklynmuseum · 5 years

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Opening January 24, 2020, Kehinde Wiley’s triumphant Napoleon Leading the Army over the Alps, a hallmark of our collection, comes face to face with the nineteenth-century painting on which it is based: Jacques-Louis David’s Bonaparte Crossing the Alps. The two paintings, displayed in dialogue for the very first time, will open at Château de Malmaison on October 9, 2019 before traveling to Brooklyn in 2020.

Kehinde Wiley (American, born 1977). Napoleon Leading the Army over the Alps (detail), 2005. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Partial gift of Suzi and Andrew Booke Cohen in memory of Ilene R. Booke and in honor of Arnold L. Lehman, Mary Smith Dorward Fund, and William K. Jacobs, Jr. Fund, 2015.53. © Kehinde Wiley ⇨ Jacques-Louis David (French, 1748-1825). Bonaparte Crossing the Alps (Bonaparte franchissant le Grand-Saint-Bernard) (detail), 1801. Oil on canvas. Collection of Château de Malmaison. (Photo: Courtesy RMN-GP)⠀

#davidxwiley #kehinde wiley #jacques-louis david #napoleon #painting #art #artists #art history #alps #napoleon crossing the alps #napoleon boneparte #Château de Malmaison #france #contemporary art #european art #french #brooklyn museum #bkmcontemporary

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slashingdisneypasta · 2 years

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Napoleon x Reader || Drabble

Plot: You’ve had a long, bad day and when the sun sets you just want some comforting from your partner Napoleon. ‘I need you to love me a little bit louder today.’ (Quote found on Pinterest)

Warnings: Exhaustion

Tags: @miss-understood

When you get to the museum for your nightguard shift, you genuinely find yourself wishing that this was a normal museum for once. Then at least you could sit back and sleep- but no, you have to make sure the exhibits don’t get themselves turned to dust, or go waltzing through DC for whatever reason. You never intended for this one to be a real job - just a way to get money. After all, you already have a first job and that’s what has already done your head in today, - but it’s another headache.

But, alas, even if you are 2 seconds from exploding, you do your job. You have to. It’s kind of life and death, for some. Here.

You lock up the creatures, set out a calculator for the Einstein’s, set up Kah and Al in front of the TV - what the two agree on to watch, you truly have no clue, and honestly, nor do you care tonight. As long as they’re not starting any riots for the next 9 hours, and not fighting, they can watch porn if they damn well please, -, turn on the Moon Landing video for the space sector and a million other little things like hotwiring that one motorbike that Custer likes to ride around on so it doesn’t work, thanking Amelia for helping you out with the Gallery, etc. Until you’re just strolling the halls on leaden legs, making sure you’ve done everything, and eventually-

Stopping.

You can’t go anymore.

“Ugh… “Even leaning against a wall is more effort than your legs are willing to make for you, bit your force yourself to stay up. You do allow yourself the mercy of closing your eyes, though; Putting yourself in your mind-bed. Feeling the covers, cool and forgiving, against your skin and pulling on your dream-pyjamas. Just a shirt and shots will do, you’re really not going to be picky right now. Just as long as they aren’t your confining guard uniform.

Next you turn your fantasy-TV on and flick over to the Discovery channel. Ohhh, how you would like that. Just to not use your brain- just watch animals in the savanna and listen to David Attenborough drone. God, that would be good.

Just as you’re starting to feel the tiniest bit better, crossing your arms and just resting your head against the wall, keeping yourself in that safe space in your head, you hear someone call your name and tug you right out of that chosen reality. Your eyes snap open, frustration lights up in your chest all over again, your last nerve for the day (And probably the next few, too) snapping. “Oh- My god- What!?”

Your blazing eyes land on Napoleon and Ivan- and immediately you feel guilty. The fire simmers still in your chest and your eyes still feel like they’re shooting bullets, but you feel terrible about it; Face falling as you push yourself - with much effort, - off the wall. “Oh guys I’m so sorry- I- “

Surprise flashes through your body as they look anything but mad. In fact, Ivan’s face is pulled into an expression of vague confusion- and concern, which is what shocks you. And, of course, Napoleon looks like he’s about to pop with worry. “Amour- l’ amoureux- Are you okay??”

“I- “

“They certainly don’t look okay… “Ivan speaks for you, which is just as well you suppose- you don’t know that you have the energy to explain. Napoleons eyes don’t leave your form, as you just sigh and cross your arms over your chest; Wincing as you lean back on the wall again.

“They look like they haven’t slept in 7 days and 7 nights, Ivan! They look like they’re dying! Y/N, my darling- “Napoleon, your lover, the only person you want with you right now but wouldn’t want to every bother with your nonsense, reaches forward and his hand just brushes your cheek but you immediately feel the touch pulling you back together. It takes everything in you not to close your eyes and sigh.

He's too good to you. He cares too much. And a lot of the time you wonder how you could possibly be a good suit to him; You swear you could never make him feel as good as he makes you feel.

But evidently that’s just what you need right now. Napoleon’s over-the-top love.

“You know that I would never want to say you look bad- never- truthfully, exhaustion suits you just as well as anything else amour- but are you quite alright?” he’s close to you now, and even though Ivan’s just a few feet away gazing now at a piece of art wobbling around at the far end of the hallway, it feels like it’s just you and Napoleon. “You can tell me. I will take care of everything.”

He looks like he could, and you can’t help but immediately trust him. “I’m just so tired.”

“That’s what I thought. Ivan-” Promptly, he turns to Ivan in that quick, comical way he does; Who turns slowly and raises those bushy brows of his. Yes? “You know what to do.”

Ivan nods, and turns to walk off, but he pauses. He turns to you, sets those deep, dark, heavy eyes onto you, and nods slowly- never breaking eye contact. His own way of saying he hopes you feel better soon, without words. You raise your hand daintily to waive, but Ivan doesn’t care about it and walks off. Well.

Turning back to Napoleon, your safe place, you feel vaguely confused. “What does he know to do- “

“Doesn’t matter. Come this way, amour, get off your feet. Would you like some tea? Coffee? We finally figured out how to use that ridiculous contraption in the kitchen, if you would like a poptart- I believe we have chocolate, strawberry… oh and an odd oreo flavour that I haven’t yet had the desire to test, but Al seems to enjoy it. But that imbecile will eat anything, so- “Napoleon ushers you to the nearest bench, and you actually moan when you sit down- which would be embarrassing, if you weren’t so exhausted. His jabbering sort of becomes background noise for a moment as you close your eyes, but quickly snap them open again when he goes to let you go and catch his arms. “- Mon ange?”

“I- I don’t need anything, thank you… Just you,” The tiniest smile slips across your lips as you look up at him (As he’s standing), a little pleading. You need him right now. Just, your boyfriend. Affection. Cuddles!- “Would you just sit with me, for now? Please?”

“Of course, mon coeur. Always. I am yours.” To your utter relief, Napoleon takes the seat beside you and you instantly stretch one arm through the crook of his and rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes again with a sigh. “Are you sure you do not want to talk about anything, though?”

“Yeah, I’m sure… I just… “Giving the weakest of shrugs, you hum. “Just maybe need you to love me a little louder tonight, baby… “Using all your strength, you lift your head from his shoulder in order to smile delicately up at him. “Think you can do that?”

He looks all-too happy to do so. Really, he looks at you so softly that you would know for sure that he loves you even if he didn’t tell you ever chance he gets. “I am all for you, amour~ “The man gives you a kiss on your forehead and you just about melt. Good god, this man- Truly a miracle worker. You already feel a million times better than before; You can feel all your stresses and frustrations burning to ash inside you.

As you rest your head back on his shoulder, eyes blissfully closed once again, not going to sleep but just soaking up the affection Napoleon is fully devoted to bestowing on you (One arm hugging your waist, fingers hugging your curves and rolls, while the other hand holds up yours and with a simple rub to your knuckles, proceeds to give each fingertip a gentle kiss- which really works. It doesn’t seem like it would, but, it feels like with every butterfly-gentle brush of his lips another bit of terrible exhaustion blinks out of existence and you’re revitalised) and the safety you feel just being alone with him, you faintly hear an announcement over the museum speakers laced in a heavy Russian accent.

“Okay, Prostolyudiny. I am your leader for the evening. Do not search for Y/N- they are no more on this night. Now listen to me, you are all to keep very quiet and keep to your allocated areas. And… “

Vaguely, you listen to Ivan’s monarchist dictations and feel concern that he’s taking over your job for the night, but when you lift your head once again to possibly take up that responsibility again- Napoleon presses a warm, suggestive kiss to your mouth; The kind that’s slow and perfect, not forceful and not leading to anything at all (Just kissing for kissing’s sake. Because he likes to kiss you and you like to kiss him and good god do you need it) and you forget all about it all again.

God, you love this man.

#NATM Napoleon Boneparte x Reader Drabble #Napoleon Boneparte NATM x Reader Drabble #Napoleon Boneparte NATM x Reader #NATM Napoleon Boneparte x Reader #NATM Napoleon Boneparte #Napoleon Boneparte NATM #Drabble #NATM Rogues #NATM Rogues x Reader #Ivan The Terrible NATM #Ivan The Awesome

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civilizedcompany · 6 years

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Civilized Secrets Chp. 6

A New Divide

“But-I-Are you sure they'll even believe you?” asked a concerned Theodore as he kept the pace with a bloodied Seondeok. Her finery was torn, covered in muck, and smelt of salt water; her skin littered with cuts and bruises. “Everything thing that Saladin found regarding Sejong's project was vague at best. Even if they did believe you, there's nothing stopping the others from trying to finish us off anyways.”

“I'd like to think my injuries would be enough proof. If not, Gitarja's absence is powerful enough,” Seondeok replied bitterly as she wrapped a bandage around her forearm.

“You think this has a chance of working? That they'll hear you out about Sejong?”

“We're not trying to convince the bloodthirsty, we're trying to convince the undecided but reasonable.”

“From our camp, or their's?”

“Both.”

“They'll want surrender and Catherine's head on a pike.”

“A surrender? When one of theirs is the guilty one? No. Having Catherine end up on Boudica's wall? It matters not to me anymore.”

“What?!”

“How else do you think Napoleon found us, Roosevelt? A lucky guess?” asked the Korean Queen angrily. “Sejong would never allow Napoleon to willingly stay near his palace, alliance or not. They knew we were coming. There were only a few people who knew we had left besides you and Poundmaker. Saladin and Robert have no motive. Catherine does. Napoleon's navy has blockaded her ports, and...” she drifted off, her voice wavering and her mind contemplating. A small bout of silence passes between them.

“Seondeok?”

She finally works up the nerve to continue, “And while I can't blame her for not wanting her people to starve, I'm also not going to forget that she stabbed us in the back. This goes beyond espionage and 'knowing too much', she betrayed the people who wanted to help her. Come to terms with her death now, Theodore. Her blood will paint the heavens, just as our blood has soaked the earth.”

Seondeok turned away from the President, leaving him to his own thoughts, be they grief or despair. It was times like this she wished that she wasn't plagued by the truth of her visions. But a harsh truth, in this case, would be better than a comforting lie.

--------------------------

The meeting hall, a place full of spirited debate amongst leaders fighting for the benefit of their people, where plans and courses of action were voted upon, where the future looked vast and open, looked more like a tattered ruin of its former glory. Though the emergency session was a few minutes out from starting, the leaders chose to congregate inside the hall, half out of safety and half out of wanting to see who remained alive. For now, at least. No one sat in their assigned areas (what was the point anymore?), but none dared touch the holes left behind by the fallen. Chairs and tables were empty, save a single, unlit candle that graced the surface, a small memorial to those immortality came to an end. An eerie cloud of anxiety lingered in the room, as if the end times had arrived and the survivors banded together for one last time before dying quietly in the night. And though there was much to be chattering about, the hall was silent, save a few private conversations.

“Still no word?” the pregnant Scythian asked. Tomyris placed a hand on Hojo's shoulder and squeezed it gently. The weight of the war had taken its toll on the fully armored Shikken, a once youthful looking man who now looked a decade older. His eyes were darkened by the lack of sleep, his back sore and stiff from wearing his armor constantly, and his face and hands covered in deep cuts and scars. Rather than answer, he place an arm around her and hugged her tightly, though not breaking is endless stare out into the nothing. Sometimes it was hard to comprehend the level of devastation in the other theaters of war. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, unsure of what to do next.

Elsewhere in the hall were Trajan and Gorgo, swapping reports of the front line. Poundmaker had his guitar out and strummed softly, not paying attention to the small group, including Victoria and Alexander, that he had amassed. Theodore helped an injured Seondeok sit down, the pain finally kicking in. She locked eyes with Catherine, who was half surprised at her survival. Jadwiga tearfully laid down a small rosary on Philip's desk, and Genghis quietly placed a candle on Chandragupta's table as he walked through the door. Twelve, possibly thirteen, of them, gone. As the back door reserved for governors opened, only Helena emerged, donned in a visible bulletproof vest and covered in blood. What should have been a horrific sight was only met with a few glances. Just seven more names to add to the growing list. She looked around at the sorry sight before her, knowing that this was the best that they were going to have.

“I think it's safe to say that no one else is coming,” Helena bluntly stated as she laid down her pistol. She pulled a roll of bandages and a switchblade out of her pocket and began treating her wounds. “Who's starting? We don't have time for the ceremonial bullshit this go around.”

Poundmaker stopped playing and stood up, “I will.”

“Proceed,” she replied with a mouthful switchblade handle in her mouth. The once poised advisor was now almost unrecognizable to the chieftain. Her arm was red and sticky with blood; her hands covered in dirt, grime, and gauze. Poundmaker motioned to Seondeok, who struggled to rise even with Teddy's help. But just as Seondeok was about to impart her recently acquired knowledge, the troubled Shikken was about to receive some of his own. A dim glow caught his eye, and though he knew not was sent to him, Tokimune couldn't help but fear the worse. The words of the Seondeok became formless white noise. Nothing matter to him at this point.

A confirmation of the inevitable, and yet there was a piece of him that had held onto hope. He felt it die as he read the message over and over. We found them...I'm so sorry...We found them...I'm so...

He wanted to scream, to flip a table, to ram his blade through the heart of Oda, to recreate every lash and puncture upon his foes that was done to his family. He wanted to lay waste to every enemy in his path, to burn it all (whatever it was, he did not know) to the ground, to take every last bit of rage and pour it into one final blaze of glory (whatever that was, he did not know either). Tomyris, out of concern (possibly out of fear), returned her hand to his and squeezed tightly. The warmth of her touch jolted him back to reality and his eyes met hers, explaining everything without saying a word.

He sighed quietly as he accepted the hard truth: his people needed a man will an iron will, not a reckless young lord guided by vengeance. Oda, for now, was safe.

He placed his phone aside, hoping he did the right thing for his people and returned his attention to the meeting at hand. Tomyris gave his hand one last squeeze, leaving him to wonder how he got so lucky.

“Look, all I'm saying is that this can be resolved peacefully.”

“So what are you proposing, Poundmaker?” the Roman asked. “And how do you think you can convince them all?”

“As much as I hate to say this, Catherine has a point...” Poundmaker conceded, leaving Catherine, and a few of the others, in shock. “But only to an extent.” Ah, there we go.

“Speak plainly, friend. My men can only take so much more before they break.”

“Catherine's plan to divide them isn't necessarily wrong or far-fetched. First, we call for a cease-fire, then call for Sejong to be held accountable for his role in all of this—remember, if it weren't for the AI, no one would ever know about all of Catherine's data—and then, since we can't expect something for nothing with them, we offer our terms... an offer they'd be foolish to refuse,” Poundmaker finished uneasily, causing Helena to perk up. When has he ever been this uneasy coming up with a plan?

“And what exactly are 'our terms', dear chieftain?” Catherine prodded, half afraid of the answer she would get.

------------------------------

“That's insane!” declared Attila angrily, “We don't need to compromise anything to them. They're on the run, this is our chance--”

“I will NOT send any more of my people to feed YOUR bloodlust, Attila, especially when we have a chance to end this peacefully,” Pochello seethed at the warlord. “Too many have died in this fight—Sejong has agreed to abdicating completely and ceding all control to Seondeok! He's accepted his role in this--!”

------------------------------

“And what of me? What of my people? Is Napoleon really a better option than me? Could you honestly trust a man like that?” asked Catherine as she berated at the chieftain. Gorgo rolled her eyes.

“At least he's a terrible snoop and a horrible liar. It would be a welcomed change to dealing with someone that's predictable,” remarked the Spartan Queen. Catherine slightly glared at her before continuing.

“This is all Sejong's fault. I fail to see how these 'terms' favor are fair in the slightest--”

------------------------------

“The terms are fair, Maria, because both had a hand in all of this!” Washington shouted back at the monarch. “Is your country's soil not soaked with enough blood?”

“They'll never accept it! They'll want revenge against us. Catherine will want her throne back and she'll get the support by any means necessary. We have to finish her and the lot of them off now, while we still have the chance!” concluded Napoleon.

“Why not have both of their heads and then call it even? Hard to complain or fight to reclaim your throne when you're dead,” remarked Dido causally.

“I agree. What is one more, or even two more bodies to add to the pyre?” questioned Harald. “I mean, we do want the terms to be fair after all...”

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“Alexander! You cannot mean such a thing!” Saladin exclaimed, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Even for him, he couldn't believe it. “Abdication is enough, spilling the blood of kings--”

“--Is more than justified in this matter,” finished Barbossa. “They attacked us first! They demanded Catherine first! Well, they can have her then, but we will collect the blood price that Sejong is responsible for, and he is responsible for it.” The two kings glared at one another, refusing to back down, just as they always did.

“You're all missing the big picture—That AI is still on the loose! We don't know where it is, or even how to shut it down. And what if it's watching us right now? Waiting to see what we'll do? Planning what it will do next in response? We don't know its full capabilities--” President Roosevelt tried to explain before being unceremoniously interrupted.

“Then the AI will die with him. It matters not to the Zulu if our enemy is man or machine,” Shaka replied. “Better yet, he thinks it a son, no? He shall watch as his 'son' dies. Sejong seems willing to die enough; I can't think of a more fitting end.”

------------------------------------------

“Have you gone mad? Nevermind, Nebuchadnezzar, what am I saying?” Theodora mused. “Of course you've gone mad—you've been insane for as long as anyone can remember!”

------------------------------------------

“Is it mad to speak the truth?”

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“What truth? I only hear delusion!”

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The shouting continued to rage on, with the voices blending into a cacophonous mess. Both sides were on the verge of total anarchy, as leaders ganged up on each other, sizing themselves up, coming just short of physical blows. Yet, for all of the chaos, there was a still peace that existed, even if it was miles away from them. Not a soul stirred near the console, as its engine hummed in isolation. The solution was simple, yet Misu could not bring himself to do it. As to why that was, the answer eluded him. These “leaders” gave him plenty of reason to unleash a wrath comparable to the finger of God. But, he reasoned, maybe I should give them five more minutes. Maybe that will--

Hold on.

What is this?

As if on cue, Hojo Tokimune and Oda arose from their seats and brought the shouting to a screeching halt. Both devoid of expression, as if they knew they were entering a fight they would not be able to walk away from alive and accepting of the consequences. Another unforeseen variable in a grand experiment.

“Even after everything we've been through, our people slaughtered, our homes destroyed, our cities razed...Our answer is arguing?” the Shikken asked, his voice carrying a quiet intensity that caught his fellow leaders off guard. Misu's attention darted to Oda.

“Did not the heavens ordain us to lead our people to greatness? To guide them through times of darkness? To be the hand that wields the blade to preserve their honor? Our ancestors' honor?” Oda questioned. The leaders around him fell silent, diverting their gaze to the ground in shame.

“Yet with all that we know, all that we've seen, we resort to degrading ourselves to being the most wretched animals,” Hojo scolded, though he would be foolish if he didn't think it included him as well. His brow that had furrowed in contempt relaxed. Humans are so strange.

“How can our people expect to survive and return to prosperity when we have become savage beasts, lashing out as if caught in a thicket?” the elder warlord dared to ask. Misu had to agree with his description of Oda's colleagues.

“We cannot lose sight of who we are, what we are meant to be--”

“We must lead through clarity and resolve--”

“And not be led astray by vengeance,” they concluded together, each bearing a solemn poise that the others lacked. Misu watched the two groups with an engrossment he could scarce describe, awaiting to see what path they would choose next. He focused on Catherine, the one who had yet to lose much of anything. Strangely enough, he was hoping that she would pull through. The French Queen sighed, standing up and steeling herself for whatever she was about to do.

“I...I have been...selfish, though that word is too kind for what I have brought upon those who I have called friend,” she said, turning her gaze toward a red-eyed Jadwiga. “There is nothing that I could do that could ever fully make up for the pain I have caused...”

She paused, the others awaiting to hear what she would say next.

“But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. I shall abdicate my throne to whomever is chosen to succeed me. And if they are not satisfied with that alone--” Sejong caught Misu's eye.

“Then let them take whatever life I may have left,” he finished, resigned to his fate. In his own eyes, Sejong was more a criminal than a ruler. Both rooms fell silent, not sure where to go from...whatever this was. Misu's mind, comprised of elaborate programming, was racing. Maybe the experiment wasn't a complete waste. Maybe there was a way to salvage what was left. Maybe...

The lights shut down, snapping them all to attention. While some leaders were obviously shaken, a few of them readied themselves for a fight. Helena reloaded and cocked her pistol, not even blinking or showing hesitation. C’mon, you sonofabitch. Make my day.

“I must say, this...experiment has taken an interesting turn. I’m rather glad I didn’t cut it short.”

Sejong’s blood ran cold. His creation...son...it was nothing but a personal science project, and they were all his lab rats. Was this Misu’s way of getting back at him? Or was this what Sejong had taught him to be acceptable? Neither answer was comforting.

“It took you all long enough to figure things out. But the data I’ve collected...means nothing. Not without the new final stage.”

Final stage? What the hell?

“I will not unleash your own nuclear warheads against you, that I promise. But neither will I slink away, quietly into the night. Dearest father, you want me gone? The rest of you, you wish to escape? Work together. Find me. End it. Once and for all.”

The screen went blank and the lights came back on. Let the games begin.

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