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feybeasts · 8 months

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HEY I'M STILL ON A CALLIE AND ROSE KICK please enjoy this goofy lil' script I wrote for a scene I imagined about the Battlemoms:

Backing track is: Waltz of the Tornado

[0:00 to 0:33]

We open on a slow zoom into an austere northern european-style city at night, something like Paris or Barcelona. The central focus of the shot is a palatial hall, lit up in amber hues against the cold evening sky.

Callie: She wasn’t born into this, you know. Where she came from was… about as far as you could get from it.

[0:34 to 0:55]

The zoom continues, now through a dressing room. Centered in front of a mirror is Rose, but not as we know her. Her hair, white as snow, runs down her back, and she’s dressed in a beautiful ballgown, a member of some manner of nobility. As the pace picks up at 0:45, we cut to her walking across a ballroom, where other nobles are dancing and partying, not a care in the world. Rose’s head is bowed low.

[0:55 to 1:05]

Callie: She was a member of her country’s nobility. She could have just run like most of them did when things went sour- but…

As the music takes a dark turn at 0:55, Rose approaches a banner, which takes precedence over all other symbols in the ballroom. Below it stands a smiling, male wolf- her apparent partner. As the whine of an electric guitar enters the music, we cut to Rose’s face. She’s not smiling at all.

Callie: Something kept her there.

[1:06 to 1:32]

We cut to a different scene. It’s daylight in some ruined city. Starting at the boot-clad feet of a disheveled soldier- a rebel of some kind from the looks of them, we watch as the camera pulls back to reveal them racing to ready a rocket-propelled grenade launcher with their allies, pointing it down a roadway strewn with rubble- waiting, watching…

[1:33 to 1:45]

Suddenly, a tank explodes through the rubble of a nearby building and onto the street. The rebels fire, and there’s a deafening blast and a cloud of smoke… from which the tank emerges unharmed, the badge on its turret the same one as on the banner in the previous scene, and starts firing, cutting the team to ribbons.

Callie: There was a war. A rebellion, really. Her whole world crumbled around her.

[1:45 to 2:00]

Our rebel from before manages to take the RPG from one of their dead comrades, loads it, and fires- just as the tank rolls over their former position. There’s a moment of relief as it comes to a halt- but only a moment.

[2:00 to 2:12]

The rebel hears someone wordlessly yell a warning, the action drowned out by the music, but as the music swells with tension, we see what the rebel’s eyes are drawn to- other comrades in an anti-aircraft gun, who frantically start to swivel the weapon towards a new target… high above. We follow their gaze upwards and see… contrails. Dozens of them. Bombers.

[2:13 to 2:30]

We cut to two scenes, intercut. The same ballroom from before, shot from above. Nobles in finery dance to a waltz, all paired up. Rose is paired up with the male wolf, dancing the waltz elegantly, but expressionless. Contrasting this, the other scene is of the bombers, their bays opening silently, one by one by one… as a pilot thumbs the release on his control stick.

[2:31 to 2:50]

Devastation. The bombers drop their payload, and the city below, which we only now realize is the one from before, is bathed in fire and death, indiscriminate destruction.

[2:51 to 3:04]

Callie: Her whole life was in the nobility, the monarchy. The rebellion threatened it all. But you know what the funny thing was?

The bombers turn off target one by one. There’s no hope at all for the rebels below, it would seem. Our rebel, bloodied, dirty, covered in dust, tries in vain to pull their wounded- or dead- friend from the rubble, looking up to the skies as the bombers set up for another pass…

[3:05 to 3:22]

A sudden lull. We cut back to the lead bomber, to the pilot from before, who reaches for a switch… but hesitates. He looks up, and we see it’s the wolf Rose was dancing with. His eyes are transfixed on his aircraft’s heads up display… which has begun to flicker with electronic interference. He looks up, eyes widening. We see the bombers ahead of him in the formation, seemingly motionless in the air, unperturbed.

[3:22 to 3:30]

We cut to Rose in the dressing room, beautiful, noble… sad. She looks to the side… her expression changes, growing intense, furrowed, fiery… and then.Callie: ….She threw it all away anyways.

[3:31 to 3:43]

We cut back to the previous scene, and suddenly the bombers ahead of the male wolf EXPLODE violently. A figure cuts through the formation at incredible speed, a blur of metal and fury, throwing his bomber into a shuddering panic, like a startled buffalo.

[3:43 to 3:53 ]A wide shot of the formation of bombers as something cuts through them effortlessly- fighter aircraft. Their own escorts break off to chase these new interlopers, before more harm can be done. We see them pursue the apparent leader of the formation from the back, which we can’t quite make out… until it suddenly noses up, showing the whole cruciform of the aircraft, its wings… and the rose emblem on its roundels.

[3:53 to 4:14 ]This mystery pilot easily reverses the pursuit, gunning down the fighters on their tail, then cuts back towards the formation of bombers, heroically scattering them before more harm can be done to the rebels below. We cut back to them briefly, and they’re cheering, as we cut to the inside of this mystery fighter’s cockpit… and see Rose at the controls.

[4:14 to 4:27]

Callie: Rose follows her heart- no matter the odds. No amount of plush and luxury could take that out of her.

Rose sets her sights on the lead bomber as the rest of her wingmen fall into formation. We briefly cut to the ballroom, Rose miserable, the male wolf smiling. But when we cut back to the dogfight, now it’s Rose, fiery, confident, proud… and the male staring down the god of death herself.

Callie: She threw her lot into what she believed. She always has.

Rose fires her aircraft’s cannons, annihilating the bomber, then dives for the deck.

[4:27 to 4:38]

The rebels below cheer and hug one another, grateful to be alive as their saviors race overhead. We cut back to a wide shot as the formation of fighters pull up, clearing the grey, devastated city below to climb into the clear blue sky.

[4:39 to 4:53]

Callie: And no matter where that lead?

Once more we return to Rose in the dressing room. She pulls something from her dress, and places it gently on the table before her. As she rises to leave and the music swells one last time, we see her family crest- the same rose emblem on her aircraft’s wings.

Callie: I’ll always love her for it. [FIN]

#c:callaghan #c:rose #fey's writing #oc drabbles #feylore #oc lore #COOL ACTION SCRIPTS #etc etc

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pixie-dust-campaign · 9 months

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Subject W42

CW: Guns, PTSD, Lost love, blood, bullet wounds

It was early for me by the time I got off the plane, still not used to the time change. I was given a badge that read “ALL ACCESS” before I was escorted by a security guard down a narrow, white painted hallway. The door had a military insignia emblazoned on the glass, but I didn’t recognize which division it was. The automatic door opened to a dark room that had fluorescent blue lights hanging from the tall ceilings, and the temperature set at 69 degrees Fahrenheit. The air was thick with the scent of metal and axe body spray. Doing field research in the great barrier islands, it had been a while since I had been in an actual lab, but I was pretty sure this wasn’t the smell of greatness that I had heard so much about.

Before formally entering the lab, a few young scientists showed me to a set of changing rooms to get into proper attire. This room had bright white lights hanging from the ceiling, causing me to squint as my eyes adjusted. The dim white lights made my tanned skin look darker than it was. My wavey, golden bronze hair looked redder against the stark white lab coat they insisted I wear. I was permitted to stay in my decorative black yoga pants, light blue top, and gray high-top sneakers. Looking in the full-length mirror of the dressing room, I noticed I had lost some weight, and now had a faint hourglass figure. Living like a pirate for the past three years looks good on me, I thought with a smirk.

As I walked into the lab, I didn’t mean to stand on ceremony, but I honestly had no idea who I was supposed to be meeting with. That was, until an older woman in a lab coat and stubby heels walked up to me with open arms.

“Doctor O’Dame we are so glad you’re here! Well don’t stand in the doorway, come in!” she said with a slight British accent. Even with her slender frame, her hug was strong enough to make a bear think twice. She wore thick rimmed glasses, and her mousey brown hair with slim silver streaks was tied messily in a tight bun. Her ID badge said Doctor M. Braver. Even in heels she wasn’t too much taller than I was. Her face was a bit weathered, but her green eyes were still young. She sounded like she had drunk about ten cups of espresso that morning.

“Yes, it must have cost the company a fortune to fly me back in from Australia,” I said.

“Oh yes! The land down under,” she cooed in a fake Australian accent of her own “How is it down there, mate?”

“Quite horrid this time of year actually. Tourists come in and mess with my studies and what not,” I said with a small laugh and a smile.

I was astonished by the machinery that surrounded me. The blinking lights, the constant clicking of keyboards, the stark brightness of computer screens. Not to mention the array of color-coded wires all leading to different ports. Catching my reflection in one of the monitors, I noticed the lights highlighted the blue flecks in my typically hazel eyes.

A siren wailed from another room, causing me to gasp quietly and start to shake slightly. I haven’t been able to go near an alarm of any kind in the past few years, especially not a fire alarm. They always hurt my ears, but after the accident, the mere mention of one made my heart race.

“Doctor O’Dame?” Doctor Braver asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” I replied, slowly centering myself back to reality. “The boat doesn’t have nearly this many-um- lights. It’s just a bit…distracting.”

“Yes, well, you get used to it after a few years. That, and the fact that no one in this damn lab knows how to make a proper cup of tea. Anyway, I have much to show you!”

She formally introduced herself and guided me around the lab, quickly catching me up on all of the work they had been doing over the years. “Our idea was that we could enhance both animal and human DNA, creating a whole new form of- “

“Super soldier?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“In a word, yes. We thought we could take each of the best elements of some of the strongest animals in the world, and transfer them to a human. Maybe not all at once but definitely over time, or one animal skill per test group.”

She continued explaining as we entered another room, decorated in the same fashion as the first, with five more rows of fancy computers and their adjoining scientists. Do these guys ever blink? I thought.

At the front of the room, there was a large sofa, a wooden table, and some clipboards and pens, on top of a platform. About six feet in front of the platform was a sheet of clear thick plexi-glass, that I’m assuming was only one way. On the other side of the glass looked like a padded prison cell. A slab of concrete for the floor, three walls made of pillows and at the very back was a steel door with a single small window near the middle.

“This Doctor O’Dame, is where you come in,” she said pleasantly as she led me up to the couch. Another scientist then handed me a clipboard with my name at the back in glittering calligraphy:

Doctor Siena O’Dame

“We flew you in for two very important reasons.” She continued, “The first being your expertise in large mammal and human psychology. And while some argue that humans are large mammals, I can assure you that it is a very important distinction.”

As I took a seat, the sofa slowly began to move, and I saw the first product of their experiment as we glided past the cell. A man with tattoos covering his arms, wearing a black tank top, khaki cargo pants, and tan sneakers. The sofa stopped abruptly, and bright blue lettering appeared on the glass.

Jonathan Frome

Age: 26

Division: U.S. Marine

Position: Test subject B45

Status: Stable

“B45? What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means, Doctor O'Dame, that Mr. Frome was our 45th subject to be genetically manipulated with Oryctolagus Cuniculus DNA.”

“You gave him bunny DNA?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“You know your geno-types. Yes, Doctor O’Dame, he now has the keen hearing ability, similar to that of a rabbit. Combined with his human DNA, Mr. Frome can now hear in a wider range of tones and from a further distance than any human can ever dream of.”

“Remarkable,” I said, rising from my seat.

“Yes, the company spared no expense.”

“Clearly.”

Then the platform shifted again, causing me to trip back into my original place on the sofa. I wrote down some notes from each subject we passed. Each one was dressed in a similar fashion, each one looked human, and each one we passed was considered “stable.” A few even waved “hello” as we passed.

G15: Gorilla DNA, now the strongest mammal known to man; T22: Sea Turtle DNA, can hold her breath for up to eight hours; O34: Ostrich DNA, can run up to speeds of 50 miles an hour.

Before we got to the next room, near the end of the alphabet of test subjects, I asked, “Not that I’m not grateful, but you seem to have this under control. Why do you need me?”

“Because, while the transfer of DNA went well physically, some of our patients have been having a bit of a hard time adjusting psychologically. Most of the cases we were able to handle, except for one. Which brings us to the second reason why you’re here.”

The sofa moved to the next room and stopped once more.

In the dark padded room, in the very corner, sat a beast like none other I had seen. This one didn’t look human. He was covered in dark brown fur and had giant paws for hands and feet. It had ripped through its shirt, and only the top half of his pants remained. Its bowl was overflowing with cereal, and its water created a ring of rust on the metal bowl.

“You created a werewolf? An actual werewolf?” I breathed, curious as ever.

“Well…yes.” Dr. Braver responded. “And…no.”

Then the projector cast the creature’s information on the glass, and I read a name I never thought I would see again.

JUSTIN HERSHEY

AGE: 33

Division: Coast Guard, Engineer

Position: Test Subject W42

Status: Unstable, Dangerous

Tears welled in my eyes, and my breath caught in my lungs. “Justin?”

“You know this subject. What was he to you?” Doctor Braver asked.

“He…” I stroked my fingers for a ring that wasn’t there, “He was my fiancé.”

“Doctor O’Dame, I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know.”

“It’s ok. Calling off the engagement was a mutual agreement when he shipped out on his first mission. Though, when he said he was going into the service, I never thought this was what he meant.” I went to place my hand on the cold plexi-glass. “How? How is he here? I…I went to his funeral. We… we buried a casket, I- “

“I know you must have a lot of questions- “

“Why did you bring me here?” I shouted at Doctor Braver, my blood boiling.

“Doctor, let me explain.” She said calmly, “You were listed as Mr. Hershey’s emergency contact when he first started the study. Before he underwent transformation, he never got a chance to change it. At first, we didn’t think anything would go wrong. If only we had known.”

I was at a loss for words. What was I supposed to say when I had just found out my ex- fiancé, whom I thought was dead, had been turned into a werewolf?

“I…I want to see him,” I said as I hopped off the platform.

“No, Doctor O’Dame! Wait- “

Before I could hear her warning, I headed for the door that read restricted access, and to my surprise, opened it with ease. I turned left down a narrow hallway, then left again to find myself in a much larger hallway lined with steel doors. Each door was labeled with the test subject’s ID. A55, B45, C67. It felt like a dizzying game of Bingo.

Finally, I found Justin’s door.

W42. DO NOT ENTER.

But I couldn’t resist. I had to see him for myself.

I unlocked the door with my key card, and gently pushed it open. I walked in slowly, giving my eyes time to adjust to the poorly lit space. The beast they claimed was Justin had moved from the corner I last saw him in. I slowly shuffled my way to the center of the room where the light was brightest, and stood frozen. From the darkness, I heard a deep growl rumble from behind me. My heart skipped a beat, as I slowly turned around and saw it. Two glowing teal eyes surrounded by dark fur and accented with a wicked smile of sharp white teeth. He had the body and face of a wolf, but the kindness in his eyes was still human.

I backed away slowly with my arms extended.

“Justin? It’s me. Please.”

The beast's face softened, but only for a moment. It shook its massive head, and resumed snarling at me.

“Justin. Please I-“ Like any good predator, he had backed me against a wall. “Please.”

Then the beast pounced toward me, and I fainted.

In my subconscious, I remembered how Justin looked the last time I saw him alive. Justin was never extremely muscular, but he was strong enough for my liking. When he was human, he had messy blond hair, and pale blue eyes that drew you in.

When I finally came too, I was greeted by a bright white light, which was a bit concerning to say the least. Shortly after however, Doctor Braver came into focus.

“WHAT were you thinking? Going in there all alone? Are you mad?” She screamed at me, throwing her hands in the air.

“Completely bonkers. But that’s what makes me a great scientist,” I said, sitting up on the gurney. I noticed my right forearm was wrapped in gauze, and they had three distinct lines of blood casting a shadow on them.

“It’s what’s going to get you killed in this lab!” She scolded me, with her face scrunched as tightly as her bun. “Subject W42 is the reason you were brought here in the first place, and if you had let me finish before running off like that, I would have told you why! Subject W42-”

“Justin! His name is Justin!” I corrected through gritted teeth.

“Not anymore,” Doctor Braver said solemnly. It sent shivers down my spine thinking about what she meant.

“We attempted this experiment with other subjects. He was the only one who survived. You were almost right when you first saw him, Doctor O’Dame.” She said sitting spread eagle on a chair, “He is a werewolf. But not in the sense that he changes with the full moon, or has a feud with a sparkly vampire. No, our werewolf is something that science has never seen before. And we need you to crack him.”

“Me?”

“Yes! You see Doctor O’Dame there were moments in the experiment where, even in wolf form, he would tap your name in morse code on the door. Well, that and Harley, but we couldn’t find a ‘Harley’ with any relation to him. So, we assumed he meant like a motorcycle or boat he had.”

“Harley? He tapped Harley?”

“Yes! Does that mean something?”

“It used to. We used to joke that we were like Harley Quinn and Deadpool, because of our jobs. Him being a soldier and I being a psychologist. Not to mention the color schemes matched. So, we came up with a catchphrase of sorts. ‘Deadpool and Harley, forever and always.”

Then I remembered something I hadn’t in a very long time. The way he looked at me, the way he smiled, the way it felt when his arms were wrapped around me. Justin was only about a foot taller than I was when he was human, now he towered over me. Once again, tears welled in my eyes, but I kept them back. Then I looked down at my bandaged arm.

“I need to go back in.”

“We thought you might. So, this time, safety measures are going to be put in place. We’re going to put you both in a bigger room, and we’re going to turn on the sensors for your protection. This time, he won’t be able to hurt you.”

They had me change into my own set of black tank top and cargo shorts before they escorted me to the new room where Justin and I were to meet. The path we took to get there resembled a maze, but I guessed it was just another one of their precautions. I no longer felt like another doctor in the lab. Now, I was another test dummy for them to run experiments on.

When we reached the room, the steel door was labeled in the same fashion as the rest of them.

Caution! Experimentation in progress!

Authorized personnel only.

After the stunt I pulled with the first trial of this experiment, I was no longer “authorized personnel.”

They left me alone in front of the door, and told me to wait for further instruction.

“Whenever you’re ready Doctor O’Dame,” a voice finally said from an overhead speaker.

I grasped the handle of the metal door and took a deep breath. I opened the door slowly, and shuffled my way in. The door shut behind me and I heard it automatically lock once more. No way out.

Once again, the beast was nowhere in sight.

“Justin?” I called out. “Justin, it’s me. Siena.” I heard a small growl, and I froze once more. “Jay, I won’t let them hurt you. Just…just come on out, and we can talk. Okay?”

From the end of the room, he emerged into the light on his hind legs. His claws were almost as sharp as his teeth. He stood ten feet tall, and at least six feet wide. He had his paws crossed and his tail between his legs.

He dropped down to all fours, almost cowering before me.

“H-h-Harley?” the beast moaned in a low, gruff voice. The beast looked me up and down. When he saw my bandages, he stepped back and whimpered. “Harley… hurt?”

“You can talk?” I said in astonishment.

The beast grunted in agreement. “I…hurt…Harley.”

“No, no! I’m ok. I know Justin would never hurt me.”

The beast recoiled at the sound of the name.

“No. Not…Justin.” The beast grunted. Every time he said Justin’s name, it seemed to pain him.

“Not Justin? Where is he?” I asked the beast inching forward.

“Justin…here.”

I inched forward even closer, “What do you mean- “

Suddenly, the wolf lunged for me once again, pushing me into the far wall of the cell, setting off the sirens and initiating the safety protocol. The sirens wailed, and my vision began to blur. Tears streamed down my face, my body began to shake, and my heart was about to beat out of my chest. I curled into a fetal position and just wanted it to stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw what used to be Justin convulse as well, until he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

When the sirens finally turned off, and I was able to stand and see straight again, I marched over to the door and banged my fists on it until it opened.

“Take me to see Doctor Braver, NOW!” I demanded the young scientist who opened the door for me. He led me to the office where Doctor Braver, as well as a few other scientists were working.

“Turn them off.” I said through gritted teeth.

“What?” Doctor Braver looked at me, puzzled.

“I said turn the sensors off!”

“Are you mad? If we turn the sensors off, that THING could kill you!”

“But he won’t!” I said sternly.

Doctor Braver and I stared at each other, unyielding, for what seemed like hours. Neither of us wanted to back down.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt me, doctor, he was trying to protect me! He didn’t want me to trigger the sensor myself! He was trying to push me out of the way!”

“And why was he trying to keep you out of the sensor?”

“Because Justin knows I have P.T.S.D, and alarms are my trigger! Whether you know it or not, my Justin is still in there!”

Everyone in the room was taken aback by my statement. They all looked to Doctor Braver for what to say next.

“If you die,” she finally rasped, “We have no other option. We’ll have to kill him. He’s too dangerous to release.”

“Doctor, he will not hurt me,” I said firmly.

After a long pause, the doctor released the tension in her shoulders and gave the command. “Turn off the sensors.”

Once again, I was escorted to the room where Justin was, only this time, Doctor Braver came with us. “Doctor O’Dame,” She started hesitantly, “it didn’t say anything in your file about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, if I had known- “

“It’s not something I readily talk about.”

“Right.” She looked slightly embarrassed. “I am quite curious though. Why do alarms affect you so? For the sake of your own safety.”

I looked down at the floor as we walked. It wasn’t something I enjoyed reliving. “When I was in high school,” I began, “a shooter came to my school. They pulled the fire alarm to try and flush us all out into the parking lot. The teachers didn’t let us leave. Instead, they told us to stack desks against the door, and sit in the corner as quietly as possible. An hour. That’s how long it took them to turn off the alarm. Most of us came out untouched. Most of us.” I pulled up my shirt to reveal a small scar from where a bullet pierced my stomach. “The shooter broke through the glass window in the door and aimed the gun at one of my friends. Doctors said it would have killed her if I didn’t shield her. It’s a small price to pay to be a ‘hero’.”

All of us were silent for the rest of the walk.

When we reached the door, I was again left alone until I was ready to go in.

Once inside, I walked calmly to the center of the room and sat Indian style on the cold concrete floor. Then, I waited for him to come out.

After a minute or two, he too came into the light and sat down in front of me, looking even larger and more intimidating than the last time.

“Hi again,” I said with a smile.

No response.

“I promise I won’t let them hurt you this time. Not again.”

The wolf shifted its weight a bit, but didn’t respond.

“Where is Justin?” I asked the wolf, standing.

“Justin…here.”

“Where? Inside of you? Did you…eat him?”

“No,” he said, shaking his massive head. “Justin…here.” The giant wolf said as he bowed, touching his nose to his heart.

“Justin… is in your heart?”

The giant creature shook its head once more. Then, he laid as flat on his stomach as he could and shifted until he was inches away from me. “Justin…here.” The beast repeated.

“I’m sorry, but I… I don’t understand.” I said, dropping to my knees.

Then the creature searched around the room for something. When he came to a chair, he slowly moved it across the room to where he had been sitting before.

“Justin…” Then he ran behind the chair, making himself as small as possible.

“Justin…is hiding?” I asked.

The beast excitedly wagged its tail.

“Justin’s hiding! From who?” I asked, just as excited.

The beast looked disappointed in me. Then he repeated the same motion as before. “Justin…here.” Then he hid behind the chair.

Several times he repeated this motion.

Think Siena. What is Justin trying to tell you? Justin. Here. Hide. Justin, is here, but he’s not hiding? Then I remembered something I hadn’t before. When Justin was packing to leave, he took one book with him, Jekyll and Hyde.

I remembered the way our dimly lit apartment smelled of burnt garlic bread and lasagna. Justin attempted to make me dinner before he left. We drank a white wine we had been saving for a special occasion, and then I helped him pack. We kept getting distracted, and slow dancing to the music we turned on. Our hands fit together like Tarzan and Jane’s, and our bodies seemed to move as one.

“Justin, my Deadpool,” I whispered as we danced, “Even though our engagement’s been called off until you get back, I can’t wait to marry you,” I said, kissing him gently.

“As you wish, my Harley,” he whispered back.

When the song ended, we turned off the music and finished packing his remaining few items.

Then, we crawled into bed, and he grabbed Jekyll and Hyde off the nightstand. Gently wrapping his arms around me, he read aloud from the book. I mindlessly traced the veins on his hand with my thumb, memorizing every divot of his skin as he read. “I learned to recognize the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both.”

He wasn’t hiding from me; he was telling me his name!

“Justin!” I shouted excitedly. The beast stopped. “Chapter ten. Page one hundred and four. That was the last thing you read to me before you left. Before Justin left. That next morning, I found a note on your coffee cup, ‘Forever and Always my Harley. Love Deadpool.”

The beast jumped up and down excitedly, shaking the entire room and knocking me over. When he saw me on the ground, the monster froze, calmed down, and walked over to me. He helped me to my feet, but he remained on all fours.

“Can…Can Justin hear me?” I asked.

Again, the creature nodded.

“You’re not Justin?”

The creature shook its head.

“What should we call you?”

The beast didn’t answer.

“Grog? Steve? Fluffy?”

The beast shook its head in disapproval.

“How about Hyke? It’s like Hulk, but…cooler.” I suggested.

“H-h-Hyke. Me…Hyke. Justin…here.”

“Okay, different question. Can Justin ever come back?”

This time the creature nodded, and gently smiled.

“How?”

Before I got an answer the room filled with a sweet-smelling white smoke. My vision went blurry, and my limbs felt as if they weighed 100 pounds each. I felt my entire body wobble, and my legs gave out. And once again, the room went dark.

When I woke up, I was back in my hotel room, as if it was all a bad dream. But, if it was a bad dream, I would still be in Australia, on my boat, studying the wildlife of the deep. No. This experiment was all too real. On my bedside table, on the base of the lamp I saw a sticky note.

“Javier will pick you up at 8:30 am. Sorry about the possible hangover.

- Doctor Braver”

I looked at the digital clock next to the lamp, 6:13am. Not knowing what else to do, I looked through the pay-per-view movies on the hotel tv, and thankfully found an old version of Jekyll and Hyde. The quality was gritty, and the voices were a bit distorted, but it gave me what I needed.

The movie ended at 8:15, leaving me just enough time to get coffee from a nearby Starbucks, and meet Javier outside of the hotel.

The car he picked me up in had black out windows, and a screen dividing the front and back seats. I wasn’t sure whether to be scared or honored.

When we finally reached the facility, two of the scientists asked me to change into my tan attire, and a lab coat.

“I need to speak to Doctor Braver immediately,” I said once I finished getting changed.

“No need to file a formal invitation Doctor, I’m right here,” she assured me, coming from behind a changing curtain herself.

“Doctor Braver, I think I know how we can bring Justin back- “

“Bring him back?” Braver laughed. “We don’t want him back.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

“Good heavens no! We want you to train him! Make him like the other patients. You know…obedient.”

“Obedient? But he’s clearly not like the other subjects! He’s- “

“Different? He’s…stronger? Kinder? Oh no I’ve got it, he loves you more than anything in the world, and you know in your heart that he wants to come back to you!” she mocked. “Trust me, Doctor. I’ve heard it all before.”

“You…you knew? You knew he was trying to get to me?”

“Well, not at first. But after your first encounter with him, it became very clear that he still had some of his conscious mind left. He did put up one hell of a fight though.”

“He never scratched me, did he? You did. When I was unconscious.”

“Yes. But we had no choice.”

“No choice? You’re scientists, there’s always another choice- “

“Not this time!”

My head was spinning. How could she have done this? How could I have been so stupid as to let it happen?

“An antidote. Do you have an antidote?” I sneered.

“Of course we do, don’t be stupid. We have an antidote for all our subjects. It’s called a gun.”

She pointed a small handgun at me, and whatever scientists were still in the room had fled.

“This isn’t right Doctor Braver. You know it as well as I do. Plus, what’s a simple bullet to a beast like that?” My voice shook. I raised both of my hands, but didn’t move otherwise.

“The government isn’t paying me to do things right, Doctor O’Dame. They’re paying me and my boss for results! And if you won’t do it, then there are plenty of others just like you who will. And as for the bullet, you’re absolutely right. You see this particular bullet is lined with a poison of my own creation. When our first bullets didn’t work, we had to get a bit more... creative. Like you said, there’s always another way. Now, you have two choices, either get in the cage and make that MONSTER do as we tell it to, or suffer the same fate it does.”

“Fine! I’ll help you.” I said after a minute or two. “But I want in. I won’t put my life on the line without getting something in return.”

“That can be arranged.” She said lowering the weapon.

“I want a gun of my own. For protection.”

She looked me up and down, then called back to the room without breaking eye contact. “Emily! Get Doctor O’Dame a gun.”

I was given a small handgun, loaded without poison bullets. Then we walked back to the steel doored room where Justin was being kept. I tried to memorize every turn we took. Left, right, second hallway, door code 3-3-6-4, right. After a while, the directions got jumbled in my head, and the various codes seemed to morph together. Damn security measures.

This time, Doctor Braver went in with me. We both made our way to the center of the room, and waited for Hyke to make an appearance.

A growl came from the darkness, this time accompanied by the sound of chains. He came through the darkness snarling at Doctor Braver, choke collar secured around his neck. Blood dripped from where the collar was screwed into his skin.

“You chained him up?”

“You might be willing to greet him without precaution, but I’m not. When you had the sensors shut off, I had to resort to different means.”

Hyke let out a deafening bark that reverberated around the room.

“Down doggie. Don’t make this worse than it has to be,” was all Doctor Braver said.

I walked over to Hyke, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry they’re doing this to you,” I whispered. “We’ll figure a way out. I promise.” I looked at Doctor Braver, “He won’t hurt you while I’m here. The chains aren’t needed.”

“My dear, do you think I was born yesterday?” she said with a chuckle. “He’s in shackles because he only listens to you. Take those off, and I lose all the power.”

This was the final straw. I unholstered my gun and aimed it at her, and she did the same with me.

“I don’t want to shoot you Ms. O’Dame. Don’t be- “

“It’s Doctor O’Dame!”

“Either way, don’t be stupid. Put the gun away, and we can forget you ever took it out in the first place.”

Hyke growled at her once again, and shielded me partially with his right paw. Even in this state, all he wanted to do was protect me.

“It’s two against one Doctor Braver. I wouldn’t take my chances.” I threatened from behind him.

“I would.” She let a bullet fly, and so did I.

As if in slow motion, Hyke moved in front of me, pulling against his shackles making the spikes of the collar rip into his throat. Before the poisoned bullet reached me, it entered his ribs instead. He yelped, and blood flowed from his neck, and his side. At this rate, even without the poison, he was losing too much blood to survive. He collapsed onto me, knocking me to the ground and rendering me unable to move.

My bullet on the other hand just grazed the doctor’s shoulder. She turned and winced in pain, clutching her arm. She manically laughed as she turned back to face the two of us.

“We could have been so good together, Doctor O’Dame! Could you imagine what this thing could do? No more war! No more guns or hidden bombs! This creature could have created world peace!” She broadly gestured, as if making an award-winning speech.

“Or started a dog fight where everyone loses.” I grimaced, slowly being crushed by Hyke.

“There will always be winners and losers!” She began walking toward us, “It’s up to us to decide which side of history we’re going to be on.” She crouched down low, so that she and I were face to face. “Too bad neither of you will be there to see it.”

She placed the barrel of the gun to my forehead.

In that instant, Hyke used his last bit of strength to grab Doctor Braver in his jaw and snap her in two. She didn’t even have time to scream, but the sound of her broken bones and shredded muscles rang in our ears.

Hyke tossed her to the side, and laid back down on top of me.

“Justin, I'm so sorry. I thought I could get us out of this. I thought I could save you.” I said through tears. “Maybe I still can.”

I rifled through his fur to find where the bullet pierced his skin. I followed the trail of blood to find the hole, and as carefully as I could, tried to find the lodged bullet. Compared to Hyke’s massive size, my fingers were like tweezers.

When I finally managed to pull the bullet out, I tossed it to the side, but not before it left a lime green residue on my fingers.

“I can reverse engineer a cure. Just…just hold on please!” I screamed to the empty room for help. “I need a doctor! Please! Somebody help him!” But no one came.

Hyke stirred slightly, wincing in pain.

“Harley,” he moaned. “Justin…l-l-love…Harley. Hyke…love…Harley.”

“No. Please. I just got you back. Don’t go.” I said tears streaming down my face.

In my arms, Hyke began to shift and shake. His paws turned back into feet and hands, his fur began to fall off, and his facial features began to look more human. As Hyke convulsed, his massive collar and chains fell to the ground next to him, causing a loud crash of metal on the concrete.

“Hyke? What’s happening?” I said backing away.

Hyke continued to convulse, and he grew smaller and smaller, until he was fully human and a bloody mess on the floor.

I crawled back over to him, and lifted his body onto my lap. I brushed some hair away from his closed eyes, but recognized him still.

“Hyke?...Justin?”

Whoever this was, I was now crying into his chest.

“Hey beautiful,” came a voice that I finally recognized.

“Justin?”

“Yeah,” he assured me in a raspy, pained voice. “It’s me.”

I pulled him close and let out a sigh of relief. He groaned from the pain.

I frantically apologized, then asked “So, you’re going to be okay right? You can come home?”

He looked at me with the kindest eyes, and I knew then that I wouldn’t like the answer to my question.

“Siena,” he wiped a tear from my eye, “you are my home.”

“No. No, it can’t end like this. We can’t end like this! I can’t lose you again! I can help you. I can fix this!”

“Stop. Siena, please…stop.” He kissed me gently, “Siena, you could never truly lose me.” Then, with his dying breath said, “I love you, my beautiful Siena. Forever and always.”

#Romance #science fiction #females in stem #Female lead #female writer #plot twist #science #Lab AU #werewolf #super soldier #short romance

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heaven-in-a-wild-flower · 3 years

Text

Crows Headcanon: Celebrating Pride Month

If you'd rather read this and more Crows headcanons on ao3 here's the link.

I have headcanoned Kaz as heteroromantic asexual (ace), Inej as biromantic demisexual (bi demi-ace), Wylan as homosexual (gay), Jesper as bisexual (bi), Nina as pansexual (pan) and Matthias as straight. (This is just what I see them as, not the only possiblity). Also I know that Pride month is long over, I wrote this in June, this is just the polished version.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 (the chapters aren't related and do not continue the story, each can be read separately)

Today's the day. Jesper and Nina wake up first. They both get up in nearly identical ways, springing up out of bed, bursting with excitement. Jesper gently shakes Wylan awake, who doesn't need much encouragement to wake up because he's excited too (not as much as Jesper of course, no one could be that excited). Nina bustles about the room, getting ready, unintentionally waking Matthias up, who is a light sleeper (Soldiers have to be. While he knows he's not a soldier anymore, his body has yet to forget it). Inej is on the roof doing her morning yoga while Kaz is making breakfast (he's surprisingly domestic when it comes to it. He's not fantastic at cooking but he can make basic dishes perfectly).

Matthias, Kaz, Inej and Wylan have settled in at the table to eat breakfast when Nina and Jesper saunter in. Jesper looks dashing in his multicoloured suit. The blazer is blue, the trousers are purple, the shirt inside is pink, and his tie is covered in pink, purple and blue sequins. Nina looks gorgeous in her sparkly gown. It has pink glitter for the bodice, which morphs into yellow glitter at the middle and concludes with blue glitter at the end, making a perfect ombre. They pose at the doorway, to loud applause from Wylan, cheering from Inej, a gasp from Matthias and a deadpan from Kaz.

"We're going to the Pride Parade today, obviously," Nina says, gesturing to their outfits. "Who's coming?"

"I'm in," Wylan says. He's never been allowed to go to a Pride Parade before so he's so excited to see what it'll be like. Part of him is afraid, too. That he somehow won't fit in even there.

"I'll go," Matthias adds, smiling softly at Nina, possibly not even sure what he's agreeing to except that Nina will be there, looking like this.

"I'll come too," Inej replies, smiling at the two Grisha, beyond proud of how comfortable they are in their own skin and identity.

Kaz nods at them which is a fairly enthusiastic yes for him (Someone has added rainbow sprinkles to all the food and it could only be one person, the person who made it but Kaz will never admit to that).

Later, in the afternoon, Wylan is making Pride-themed smoke bombs (his own idea, he's so proud of it), Nina is helping Inej decide what she wants to wear, Matthias is researching Pride related words because he wants to understand what this community is about, and Jesper and Kaz are talking (talking is a bit of a stretch, but basically Jesper is talking at Kaz, ranting actually, and Kaz is nodding here and there).

In the evening, they all go to the Pride Parade. Wylan has a rainbow shirt on, Inej has a demisexual flag badge and a biromantic flag one attached to her top, and Matthias and Kaz are dressed as they normally would. They decide to split up (although the decision is mostly made by the fact that Wylan drags Jesper with him as he sets off in one direction, Nina walks off in another dircetion and Matthias follows, and Inej and Kaz decide to go slowly at their own pace).

Wylan is absolutely fascinated by all the colourful things they're selling. He's racing from one stall to another, and Jesper is keeping pace with him happily. Nina is enthralled by the food. They have pride coloured (and flavoured) waffles! After Nina and Matthias eat till they're full though, Nina quickly switches to buying all sorts of knick-knacks (Matthias is automatically given the task of bag carrier when Nina turned to him with suspiciously wide eyes and said, "Who else should I ask for help but my big strong Fierdan boyfriend?" Matthias knew he was being baited but agreed anyway because he loves her). Inej and Kaz are walking slowly, taking everything in, while Inej sneaks glances at Kaz to make sure the crowd isn't bothering him and Kaz does the same.

Kaz seems blank-faced the whole time until a little girl smiles at him and tries to wrap rainbow coloured ribbons around his cane. He shakes his head and points at the black, grey, white and purple set. She smiles and acquiesces. Inej watches this interaction with a small smile hidden behind her hand.

When they finally return home, Matthias is somehow (we know how, or rather who) covered in stickers and badges and scarves and face paint and so so much more. Nina is full and happy with all the purchases she made. Wylan and Jesper are admiring the few things Wylan bought when suddenly Wylan pulls out a gun from behind his back and points it at Jesper. "Boom!" he says, and Jesper realises that the gun is actually a holster painted blue, purple and pink. Wylan grins and hands it to him, and Jesper mock seriously promises to protect it with his life. Inej is laughing softly as Kaz tries to remove the ribbons from his cane and only succeeds in trapping himself in it too.

Wylan realises that he does fit in there, Jesper feels euphoric that he can be this open with his identity, Nina's heart feels full from all the love, Matthias's head feels full from all the Queer related terms he learned today, Inej feels a serene kind of happiness at seeing others like her, and Kaz, well Kaz doesn't have feelings, what are you talking about? (Kaz is happy, nothing else, just happy).

Next Chapter (Chapter 3)

Let me know if anyone wants to be added to the tag list.

#six of crows #soc #grishaverse #soc hc #crows headcanon #crows hc #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kanej #kanej headcanon #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #wesper #wesper headcanon #nina zenik #matthias helvar #helnik headcanon #helnik #shadow and bone

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howdywrites · 4 years

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Hey, yo. Any advice on writing a sort of traditional spaghetti western type story that doesn’t accidentally glorify the problematic elements of the police as a system or the racism of early American western colonists? I ask since western heroes are usually law enforcement personnel like sheriffs or whatever. Thanks.

Howdy!

Putting in a disclaimer here that I am not a historian nor am I well knowledgeable about the history of what is now our modern day police force in the US. So these are simply my two cents :)

Law Enforcement

So first off, it’s completely possible to write a western that doesn’t have a law enforcement officer as a protagonist! It’s popular in some western media, especially the sheriff or the Texas Ranger, but it’s not necessary.

In fact, to my knowledge, law enforcement in the old west was chaotic at times. Perhaps there’s no sheriff at all in your setting because he got killed off or the town simply doesn’t have one. Perhaps the ‘sheriff’ is just a dude with a badge who only got the job because he knows how to use a gun. Perhaps the law enforcement is the antagonist of your story! There ought to have been plenty of crooked rangers and selfish marshals back then.

If you were wanting to write a protagonist who has the same respect of an officer but not the title of law enforcement, consider a bounty hunter or a Pinkerton detective (this is an official title but they weren’t like the sheriffs/marshals), or even a former decorated Union soldier who’s there to protect the town.

TL;DR: you don’t have to have a lawman as a protag! They can be anything from a farmer to a preacher to an outlaw or a bounty hunter.

Racism in the old west

Honestly? Racism and violent colonization are nearly impossible to erase from the history of the old west. With the expansion westward, the US forced indigenous tribes off of their homeland and historically have committed unspeakable atrocities towards native folks. The land the pioneers and settlers moved to wasn’t unoccupied or ‘untouched’.

In a similar vein, I think it’s just about impossible to ignore slavery and the pain african americans endured if you set your story on a plantation in the deep south during the Civil War. To use the setting but ignore the issues that were happening at the time feels... wrong to me. It’s like using a historic plantation as the backdrop to a “rustic chic” wedding.

The rules I use for myself is this:

- If you’re going to include BIPOC in your story, PLEASE do your research! Find out what tribes were on the land your story is set in if it’s a key factor in your story/setting.

- Don’t play into stereotypes when it comes to race. If you’re unsure about something, look it up or talk to someone in that group of people.

- Perhaps don’t write about what it’s like experiencing racism/homophobia if you’re not in the group that experiences that. Example: I, as a woman who comes from a white and latinx background, have no clue what it’s like to experience the racism black women face in the US, so I don’t feel comfortable writing about what it’s like because it’s not my story to tell.

- If you DO have your character(s) experience racism/homophobia, please talk to folks in those groups. Perhaps find someone who can offer you advice and PLEASE get yourself a sensitivity reader or two!

There are stories that are able to exist outside of racism the violence against POC. Your characters of color are also allowed to exist outside of this kind of pain and suffering. The good thing about westerns is that often times they have a bit more whimsy than a historically accurate historical fiction. Use this to your advantage.

The issue with most westerns (both books and tv/movies) is that there are stories that have yet to be told. They’re almost all white washed, lead by cishet men, and play into awful stereotypes. Women existed in the west. POC existed in the old west. LGBTQ+ folks existed in the old west.

If it means we have to bend the ‘rules’ to make our marginalized protagonist the hero of their story, then by all means: break the rules! Shoot the racists in your story, punch the homophobe in the throat, and just let your protagonist BE. Example: In my own western, I’m simply not letting my main cast be homophobic towards my lesbian protagonist, though I still have them engaging in a somewhat secretive relationship as lgbtq+ couples would have done back in the day.

Above all, uplift BIPOC voices! Either in your story or in the writing community. Listen to BIPOC when they speak.

Sources -

Lawmen and Badmen: The Tin Star of the Old West

Law Enforcement in the Old West

America’s Forgotten Cowboys

The United States Government’s Relationship with Native Americans

Check out the blog @writingwithcolor !

#writing tips #westerns #wild west #old west #Anonymous

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rpgadverts · 5 years

Text

Coven Desserter Bloodline Witch wanted for family drama and messy Coven politics in the face of impending disaster.

TRITTEN: SPECIAL OPS SOLDIER, HOT-HEAD

Tritten has a chip on her shoulder. Or rather, a God damn boulder. She’s got a nasty attitude and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t have many friends. But her brothers and sisters in uniform she’d happily take a bullet for.

She knows what is right, erring forever on the side of “lawful good” and so help anyone she catches dabbling in the many gray areas of Tzarah. She’s the buzzkill, for lack of a better term. And it’s a badge she happily wears. So long as it keeps everyone on the straight and narrow.

Her species and face claim are able to be altered.

VAMPIRE • CHIP ON THE SHOULDER • TEYANNA TAYLOR

SOLDAT: LEADER OF SUPERNATURAL SPECIAL OPS TEAM

Soldat is the leader of the pack. She’s tough, but she’s fair. She’s protective of the other members of the SRT team, having adopted them as her own. She’d lay down her life for them, but won’t hesitate to put a bullet between the eyes of a betrayer, either. Nothing is more important than their mission.

Some believe she’s a bit robotic, often repeating protocol and mission statements like it is her own personal bible. Little else exists outside of work, and that’s the way she likes it. She lives for duty, and fortunately enough for her, there’s plenty of work still yet to be done in bringing the Blood-Ring to justice.

Her species and face claim are able to be altered.

DEMON • NATURAL BORN LEADER • MARTHA HIGAREDA

WITCH WANTED FOR RELUCTANT BOND WITH HEADSTRONG FAMILIAR

Age: Open || Occupation: Open || Race: Witch || FC: Stevo Tran (Open)

Retha is a woman who despises witches, Hates the bond that is expected between witches and familiars. She is a free spirit, wanting to do what she wants and to go wherever the hell she pleases without being tied down to any one person or thing. She has a very dark and morbid sense of humour, finding joy in others misfortune the only stipulation there is she hates seeing innocent being hurt or manipulated by evil forces.

I’m looking for a few thing with this want, the most important factor is that eventually, I would like for this to slow burn into a friendship or preferably a romance of some kind. The first step, however, is her becoming his familiar.

She is going to hate it, she is going to fight it, fight him to the point where she may or may not try to kill him. The goal is for her to accept it, deal with her fate as a familiar and eventually accept him and learn to like him which hopefully turns to a form of love.

He needs to be strong, cunning and unwilling to back down because a witch is stronger with his familiar and he wants the power of hers that only he can tap into.

I am pretty open with his want. The face shown above is simply a suggestion. Though I reeeeallly would love you forever if you picked Stevo <3

FINDLAY: SUPERNATURAL SPECIAL OPS AGENT, OFFICE ROMANTIC

All’s fair in love and war and Findlay is more prone to the former than the latter. Findlay is a relatively new TSDF officer, who joined the ranks for all the right reasons. That being, because he looks great in a uniform.

This white knight is happy to lend a hand and be chivalrous, but his breaking point comes up pretty quickly. He is one of the worse for downplaying the severity of the Blood Ring, and would rather focus on helping the individuals involved rather than addressing the heart of the matter. The question is how many more people can he see hurt before he begins to change his tune.

His species and face claim are suggestions and able to be altered.

WITCH • OFFICE ROMANTIC • JUSTIN BALDONI

LOOKING FOR A SUPERNATURAL HUNTER AND BROTHER FOR A SUPERNATURAL HORROR RP

All muscle and very little brains, Leo is everything one would expect in a soldier. He’s dedicated, blindly loyal and stops at nothing to see his mission through. This has made him a valuable asset to the ASP–an organization for Supernatural Hunters. He’s Asher’s right-hand. His most trusted companion and closest confidante. The two are a perfect pair together. Their connection borders on telepathic. Both being men of few words, they seldom communicate anything, yet somehow they still know what the other is thinking and feeling.

Leo is obsessed with weapons, boasting a particularly impressive array of guns, knives and medieval devices. He’s a blacksmith by trade, having apprenticed under some of the most skilled smiths in New England. It’s unclear when his interest was born or why. Asher theorizes it’s because he’s always fostered a deep-seated adoration of Norse Mythology and Vikings.

Their life since coming to Fortune has been a rollercoaster. Every day is a fight for their lives. And he’s hellbent on ensuring human victory over the abominations that flood the sleepy town’s streets.

Mid-Twenties || Human || Open-Face (Heavy preference toward Stephen James, or another heavily tattooed model)

TENDER-HEARTED SUPERNATURAL HUNTER FOR A SUPERNATURAL HORROR RP

HUMAN • HUNTER • THE DISAPPOINTMENT • SKYLER SAMUELS

The only biological child to Reiter, she shoulders the weight of expectations she could never possibly meet. Hunting had never appealed to her. Shedding blood seemed too cruel for her gentle nature. Her father tried to toughen her up. To no avail. Compassion rules her, making her a liability in the ASP’s eyes. But she cannot leave. She’s too afraid to.

Her morality has been weighing heavily on her. It keeps her up late at night, until she has no choice but to drown her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle. Which only makes her feel worse.

#jcink #mature rp #wanted ad #horror rp #magic rp #modern fantasy rp #submission

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yminie · 6 years

Text

bts | the spotter | park jimin

I FUCKING LOVE THIS LOOK ON HIM IM SCREAMINF

characters: Jimin, OC, mentions of Yoongi and Taehyung. genre/warnings: mentions of weaponry, oc is up close a personal with a gun, mentions of killing(mild), gang au, mafia au, one shot only. words: 1976 summary: as a young detective, you’re committed to tracking and investigating one of the most lethal gangs in the country, but little do you know they have their most trained eyes on you.

a/n: this is a one shot, using Jimin as his character from this masterpost here. stay tuned for the next instalment tomorrow night(AEST)!

You’re staring at the door to the private club hard enough for your eyes to sting and water, but you refuse to look away, determined to catch any and all moments possible, because you never know when you’re gonna find the right clue to solve the case.

Sitting in your undercover car, you squirm in the hard leather seat, your backside having gone numb over time and the uncomfortable itch starting to set in through the denim of your jeans. Of course your preference for this evening would have been to stay home, break out some pizza and a nice bottle of wine, but instead you were posted and alert, the last dregs of coffee from your thermal disappearing on your tongue as you lifted the binoculars to your eyes once more. The magnification made it so much easier to differentiate BTS members from bystanders, but that really only worked when they were, you know, where you could see them.

BTS was short for Bangtan Songyeondan, one of the leading top gangs in this sector, and you’d been on their case for four months. Dead end after dead end had left you desperate in this investigation, because you knew they were guilty, and you knew they were the ones behind the string of bombings on the north side of the city, not to mention the huge drug ring they were feeding into, but you just couldn’t get the proof to stick.

So here you were, just past 2am on a work night and your stomach grumbling in protest of your lack of eating, but you could feel it, that if you left for even thirty seconds to grab something to eat, they’d be gone, and you couldn’t afford to risk it when you were this close.

The boss wasn’t here, you knew that much; if he was you knew the entourage would be much larger, but you had good reason to believe that the next best thing was – second in commands come in just as handy.

A slight movement in the doorway had you clicking record on the digital recorder sitting in your lap, reading for you to list off any details worth remembering for later, and you jerked the binoculars back to your face, eyes unblinking.

A black cap came into view, the wearers face turned away from you to begin with, and you could faintly see white blonde strands peeking from beneath the rim, but when he turned his head, you instantly identified him.

“Time is approximately 2:36am Tuesday the 16th, Min Yoongi alone spotted on the outside of the establishment, please note for description a change in hair colour, hard to differentiate from colored light interference, but believed to be a light bleached blonde.” You pause in your rattling, arching your neck as you followed his walking frame with the binoculars firmly against your face. “He has left the establishment, walking towards a large black car, interference from other cars and objects, unable to clearly see model or number plate, please note to check surveillance in this area for cross checking.”

You continued to list as you watched him make his departure, the large black vehicle disappearing down the end of the street. He’d gone in with two more members but left alone, and that had you curious.

Having just clicked the recorder off, lowering the binoculars as you blinked your stinging eyes, you jumped slightly in shock at a light tapping noise at the rear of your car. Eyes flicking between the clubs’ doorway down the street and the rear vision mirror, you squinted in an attempt to catch sight of anything that could have caused the noise, but you found none and quickly eased back into the seat, eyes aching once more as you focused your stare.

“Oh!” You gasped this time, flinching as the sound is repeated on the rear window, slightly harder, and you’re instantly on edge, momentarily abandoning your observation for the sake of your own safety, and you use every means of view to check your surroundings, mirrors, windows and nearby reflective surfaces the like. But still you find nothing, the night stagnant around you in the depths of the morning, and you take a deep breath to calm your slightly racing heart.

Not a minute later, and you’ve reached your limit, the tap on your back window not entirely unexpected but enough to have you ready to engage. Whatever it was, it was distracting you, and you needed to sort it out immediately to get back on track.

Your radio is clipped to the back of your jeans, badge shoved into your left back pocket and handgun tucked close to your thigh as you quietly and quickly climb from your vehicle, glancing back towards the club and ensuring you’re not exposing yourself in the process.

You carefully but speedily study your surroundings once more, focusing your gaze the hardest in the dark shadowy areas, but you come up short, back straightening and body relaxing as you look around once more, preparing to climb back into your car and resume, and then you hear it once last time, the ting of metal on metal as it lands just short of the window and bounces off the boot of your car to tinkle against the ground, and you rush forward to see what it was.

You register the colour first, a coppery gold that stands out against the dark black asphalt, and when you finally realize the shape, your hand is flying back to grab your radio. But your wrist is gripped and pinned far faster than you can tug it away, and you’re driven forward roughly until your cheek meets the glass window inside a doorway alcove and your arm is pinned back behind you.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” An airy voice warns you, fingers tightening around your wrist before abruptly releasing you, and you roll your shoulder to ease the sharp pain he’d left behind. Your attacker was still pressed close, the heat of his chest radiating warming your back, but he takes a small step back wards, quickly letting you realize your gun was no longer in your hand, and you turn slowly with your hands up.

The young man in front of you was, while his face was swallowed in shadows, effortlessly handsome and you recognized the dark head of hair in seconds. “Park Jimin.” one of his brows rose, the hand not holding your gun lifting to brush the dark strands back from his eyes. He studies you for a moment before stepping closer once more, forcing you to press yourself back against the cold glass’ bite in order to keep your skin from touching yours.

“You know my name?” he smirks, eyes curving like crescent moons, and the relaxed vibe his casual lean against the building gives you has you on edge. This man has delivered more headshots than some of the best soldiers in your country’s army, and you know he’s not to be taken lightly, no matter how sweet his smile appears.

“I know a bit more than just your name.” His smirk spreads into a fully fledged grin and he chuckles, head tilting back as his arms come uncrossed, and that’s when you spot the glint off metal on his back, the distinctive barrel of a Barrett M82 Sniper Rifle shining in the dim light from the street. You’re almost what you would call impressed by the relaxed way he stands so calmly out in the open with the huge gun strapped to his back, but then again, it takes just as much balls to so freely wear the logo patch on his leather jacket.

“Hmm, interesting…” His head tilts curiously to the side, and he reaches toward you, the hand holding your gun moving forward confidently and pushing against the side of your hip and you flinch away from him, eyes wide with shock, but he just laughs again as he shuffles closer, free hand sliding behind you and over the curve of your ass.

“Excuse me!” Your hands press against his chest to push him back before you can filter through your brain whether or it’s a good idea, but he ignores you with a smile, your badge wallet now grasped between his fingers. Flicking it open he smile wistfully at the shiny badge inside, eyes dropping to read over your ID card.

“_____ _____…. A detective? Impressive.” The wallet falls closed in his hand and he surprisingly hands it back to you, dropping it in your open palm when you manage to hesitantly hold it out. “You seem a bit young to be a detective, _____.”

Gritting your teeth you push the leather square back into your pocket, shoulder stiff as you maintain eye contact with the man. “Can’t say it’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“I can imagine.” He continues to grin at you. “Nice to finally know your name though.” Your eyes bulge slightly as you stare at him, mouth opening and closing as you search for a reply.

“What do you mean by ‘finally’?” You blurt, blood running cold, and he leans closer to you with another chuckle.

“You can’t really follow us around for four months and think we aren’t going to catch on? Can you?” He questions you with another raised brow. “We knew you were here before we even pulled up, sweetheart. I think you’re in a little over your head here.”

“Is that so?” Your blood is boiling beneath your skin for multiple reasons. You’d like to say that adrenaline and the gun pressing against your thigh were the only things to blame, but you couldn’t ignore the way his proximity was making your face flush.

“Drop the case.” He warns with a sweet smile, hand coming up to pinch your chin between thumb and forefinger. “Drop it, and I wont have to come after you.” You lift your chin from his grip, chin tilting almost arrogantly and it pulls a breathy laugh from his throat, hand dropping back to his side.

“I’ll drop the case when you and your team are locked up for the destruction you’ve caused.” You bite back, the heat in your tone making his jaw clench.

“Sweetheart, when my boss makes the decision that your time is up, your time will be up.” The gun is lifted from where it rests pressed against your leg and he uses it to push back a lock of your hair, holding it against your temple for a mere second. “And I don’t miss.” The metal clinks slightly when he taps it against your skull, and for a short tense moment, part of you thinks he’s just going to shoot you now.

Instead, he leans in closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear and making your eyes squeeze closed. “Be a good girl and do as you’re told. Don’t get yourself killed just for your pride.”

And then he’s gone, your eyes opening to watch him as he strolls towards your car, and you almost jump again when you notice the second man now in your vicinity, leant against your car as he stares up at you. “Ready to go?”

“Yep.” Jimin nods before reaching over to put your handgun down on the boot of your car, and both of the men cross towards the motorbike you now notice parked two spaces down, climbing on and revving the engine to life.

You’re still stood frozen as the two of them disappear down the street, and you finally sink to the ground once you can no longer see them, hands shaking and breathing labored as you reached down to click on the recorder, stating the details of his number plate.

You were going to catch them, and you were going to catch Park Jimin first.

#mafia jimin can pin me to the wall with a gun all he likes #amirtie lads #jimin #bts #jimin scenarios #jimin one shot #jimin imagine #bts mafia au #bts gang au #bts scenario #bts one shot #bts imagine

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eddsworld-red-army · 6 years

Photo

Full name: Eris Jackson

Badge name: usually just Eris or sometimes “Ri”

Soldier ID #: 989

Occupation(s): Aviation Operations Specialist (basically I prepare flight information for air and ground crews) Air defense, and Special Operations Soldier

Blood type: O-

Active/ Inactive?: Active

Interested in joining discord server?: sure but… how??

Link you want credited: @thatedgycosplayer

Date of birth: 07/27/98

Sex/Gender: Female

Weight: 166

Height: 5’3

Race: White

Nationality: Latina

Country of origin: Cuba

Language(s): English & Spanish

Reason why she joined: to do something exciting for once (not to mention behind her sisters back)

Date she joined: 06/14/17

Likes:

Guns Space Music Drawing

Dislikes:

Jerks Egotistical jerks/people Her sister (at times)

Personality: Respectful, caring, listens to others Short-tempered, rude, quick to question

Appearance: with a uniform she has a grey shirt, dark red jeans, and a blue over coat with her name tag on it, unless she forgets it. Without a uniform/undercover she has a dark grey hoodie around her waist with a light grey shirt with a pastel pink planet. Her pajamas are just a white talk top and grey shorts. Her eyes are a blue with brown hair. She wears a mask just to be careful that if she’s undercover or at war, her sister doesn’t recognize her.

Her childhood was normal. she has a younger sister, named Eirene. Her parents paid more attention to Eirene, but Eris didn’t care and Eirene and Eris grew close together. When Eris became a teen, Eris couldn’t wait to get out of the house. She quickly moved into her friend, Tori, house. She went to collage and had a major in astronomy. As an adult, she wanted something more. One day Eirene and Eris went on vacation. That’s how Eris found out about the red army.

#Red Leader #989 #ref #welcome!!#submission

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writerleo86 · 3 years

Text

Terravenger Season 5 - Part One: Episode 323 (Do Not Copy Please)

Near a lake at the middle of Green Top City, a rejuvenated Tai Ravenstone stood in front of his father Beau who stared at him in complete shock.

Tai wore a purple shirt with short black sleeves, a large picture of a winged red creature at the center, and his MAF badge was on the left side of his chest. He had on long blue jeans, a thick brown belt, and white shoes with red at the center.

Beau wore a long white top with a thick white belt, red pants, and black boots. He also had on a blue coat with golden pads on his shoulders. And his MAF badge was placed on the left side of his coat.

And the pair stood before another. It was the Azure God -- Zoa. He appeared as a young man that was well-built. He had pale skin, long brown hair, and glowing white eyes. He wore a sleeveless blue top with a white metallic pad on each shoulder and a large silver symbol on the middle of his shirt. He had on dark-blue pants with a thin silver belt, a long white pad covering each thigh, and black boots. He also had on a long blue warmer covering each arm. And he had a thick silver brace around each wrist.

"By the gods!" cried Beau.

A calm Tai told Beau "Lemme take care of him Dad."

The emotionless Zoa placed his right hand forward which blew a medium ball of purple fire to the soldiers. A clone of Tai appeared before him and struck Zoa's face with his right fist. Meanwhile, the other Tai destroyed the deadly ball of fire using a quick punch with his left fist.

After that clone vanished, the other Tai grabbed the right hand of his opponent and flipped Zoa onto the other side.

Next, Tai vanished as another clone fell from the sky. He threw his right fist that shined a red light. And Zoa rolled to the left side quickly to dodge the attack.

Another clone soon formed behind the current one and flew directly to the enemy. He gave out a barrage of quick punches and Zoa blocked every hit using the back of his wrists.

The two bodies of Tai continued the assault until one of them pounced into the air. Red light quickly covered his right fist as he looked down at his opponent.

"Fist of Argos!" He called. "Twin Ravens Wrath!"

The other clone held both arms of Zoa using both hands. And the diving Tai in the air struck the head of his enemy using his shining right fist.

As Zoa became unbalanced, the body of Tai from the air puffed into smoke as the other yelled "I'm gonna end this quick!"

Then he lifted his right fist which was now covered by a large red flame. Tai raced toward the god and struck his chest with his fiery fist. And Zoa rolled away until he fell into the large lake.

Moments later, an angered Zoa flew above from the lake. He lifted his right palm which summoned a large ball of red energy above him.

"I SHALL EMPTY THE UNIVERSE OF THIS PLANET!" Zoa yelled. "YOU ALL WILL NOW MEET WITH HADES HIMSELF!"

That was when Tai lifted his head and his hands formed into fists.

First, the youth pushed his palms forward. A small ball of white light began to form in front of his palms as Tai stared at his opponent.

The voice of his mother Miranda cried "Ya have da tools now Tai! Da rest's up to ya. Good luck my son."

The ball of light grew as large as the Sun as Miranda's voice called "My beautiful young dove of Fire!"

And Tai launched the cannon of white light to the crazed Zoa.

"Fist of Argos!" Tai yelled. "Light of the High Silicons!"

The projectile reached the destructive sphere that was held by the enemy. Then the giant ball of red energy exploded. And the projectile from Tai had changed into a bright white light that slowly burned the entire body of the deity Zoa.

"HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?" Zoa screamed. "I AM THE GOD OF ABSOLUTE CHAOS! HOW CAN THIS BE?"

And his body had turned into ashes. Zoa the Azure God was indeed annihilated by a young mortal with the will of fire.

Terravenger Season 5 -- Episode 323: Rebirth; The Aftermath

During the next morning, Tai laid on the top of a flat machine as the school's doctor -- Rose Avery -- used it to analyze his body.

Tai wore nothing but a pair of short black leggings which were tight.

Rose had on a sleeveless pale-blue blouse, tight blue jeans that lowered to her ankles, and short black boots. Her MAF badge was placed on the left side of her long white lab-coat. She also had her long black hair tied into a low pony-tail. And she wore her black glasses with clear lens.

Tai stared at the ceiling of the room as a white light shined around him.

Later, Tai began his training at the middle of the farmlands. He threw a barrage of punches as he gave out a determined smile.

Tai wore a sleeveless blue shirt, white sweatpants, white socks, and white shoes.

He soon felt a calm ki and asked "Came to check on me Counselor?"

And the young knight Mercury appeared behind the youth as he had his arms folded. He wore a red suit with red metallic armor surrounding his waist. He had on a thick silver belt that had a small silver gun holstered at the left side. His golden MAF badge was placed on the left side of his chest. And his short blond hair was combed back.

"Did ya come to stop me?" Tai asked. "Are ya gonna tell me it's too early to train or somethin'?"

"Not at all," Mercury answered. "I should know by now not to get in your way Tai. I shall leave you in peace."

"Far out!" Tai replied. "Ya not stoppin' me? What got into you today?"

Mercury gave out a soft smile and told his student "I have no intention in interrupting you from your training. In fact, I would rather assist."

"What?" Tai cried. "Ya came to help? Ya wanna train me Counselor?"

The knight walked toward Tai as he answered "I wish to help you learn how to control the tremendous power flowing within you."

And Mercury thought "I would like to learn of how he was able to form many clones at a quick rate."

Mercury began to watch Tai train as he thought "Not many can create clones using the holy element Light. But Tai... He was able to bring out one at a time. Perhaps I should teach him how to summon more than one at a time."

After that, Mercury gave out another smile.

"I expect wonders from him in the future," He thought more. "I am certain Tai Ravenstone will become a warrior with strength greater than my own someday."

And far from their location stood a stranger. It was a tall man with blue eyes that were clear as glass. He had light skin, short blue hair, a thin beard, and a well-built body. He wore a collared black shirt with long sleeves, a pair of black pants, and a brown belt that had a small white skull on the center of a black buckle. He also had on a pair of black boots. And he had on a long dark-blue coat with a thick collar.

"So..." He implied calmly. "The boy... He is the eldest of the Warden -- Tai Ravenstone."

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gerasc0ph0bic · 7 years

Text

So Here It Is...

This is actually my third draft of the first chapter of my book, “38″. You may see that I have taken current events and exaggerated them, blending them into a fictional future where xenophobia, racism, and sexism has taken control of the United States. I wrote this before Trump was elected or was even running for office. But when I heard what he was saying and saw the effects of it, I edited the book to reflect what was happening. I am still tweaking it, but I would love if people commented and shared.

Chapter 1 - Memorial Day 2067

Three taps on the door.

Disoriented, I turn to look at the clock, the numbers slowly coming into focus. 6:40. It could only be one person. Tired and sore, I fumble around for the remote and turn on the audio feed. My mouth is dry and my voice cracks as I speak, which only adds to my peeved mood, “It is too early for this 35. Not today.”

“Nice try, 38. You are not getting out of this one. It’ll just be a couple minutes and then you can continue to roll around in bed and wallow in self-pity.” Even though I can’t see him, his face appears easily in my mind complete with his smiling brown eyes and condescending smirk.

“Fine. Give me a minute to get a robe on.”

“Tick tock, 38.” I grab my robe from my closet and braced myself for the horror of the day. So many mixed emotions race through my mind. How can a day that should be joyful bring so much sadness?

I unlock the door and 35 walks through the door. Suddenly I am in his arms, his hand rubbing my back. “Happy birthday, Faye.” I pull him inside and slam the door.

“Shut up, Jake, before someone hears you. You are not supposed to know my name, let alone my birthday.”

“It’s 6:45 in the morning. No one is awake, and we have a few moments together before the ceremony. So can we please take advantage of this instead of fighting?” He kisses me gently on the lips.

“Ok, fine.” I give in, and let my body mold with his, as if it is in its natural state, and I finally allow myself to relax.

That’s when the memories hit me like a landmine, unexpected and unavoidable. No matter how much I try to push them back, they rush to my mind. The lights, the sound of guns firing endlessly, the Canadian soldiers beckoning us to come forward, unable to do anything but wave. The feeling of being helpless, the pain, the loss, force themselves forward in my head.

Shocked and overwhelmed by my own mind, I push Jake away and collapse onto my bed. No matter how much I try, the tears don’t stop and I start shaking as pictures of my past flood my thoughts. Ten years have passed since I lost my parents, but the pain never numbed. We are taught to use our pain. It gives us strength to fight. I learned to push the pain away, deep into my mind, only letting it release when I needed the adrenaline. However, on days like this, the memories fight back, and if I let my guard down, they win.

“You can get through this, Faye. I’ve seen you fight this before, and today shouldn’t be any different.” Even when he tries to be strong, I can hear the worry in his voice. We've been together too long for him to hide it. I look up at him, still standing by the door. He didn't even bother getting ready for the day. He is wearing the same white t-shirt and gray sweat pants as the night before. I try to smile, but the feeling of being happy makes me cry even more. How could I be happy when there has been so much loss?

“It’s memorial day, Jake. How could you forget something like that?”

***

The Corruption began when President Shepherd was elected in 2032. He had dreams of a new and glorious country where the traditional values of what he called the Golden Age of America could return. He dreamed of a country where education and jobs abounded, where the people could be protected from the evils of the rest of the world. He wanted to build a wall, far more superior than even the Great Wall of China, that would encircle not only the US Mexico border, but the entire country. He wanted a country where education was no longer inferior to its neighbors. He wanted to make America great again.

His arousing speeches seemed to spark a renewed patriotism in the American people. They rallied together in support of Shepherd. Although charismatic, Shepherd was not as intelligent as other presidential candidates. In some ways, one could even say that he was not suited for the position at all. Now and then he would make remarks that would sound racially insensitive, or cruel towards certain groups of people. Some of his plans even seemed unrealistic. However, these did not turn his followers against him. Instead, they absorbed everything like it was a new gospel and only grew in numbers.

For his first term, he was true to his word. He began to make the USA more self-sufficient. The United States no longer relied on foreign products. More jobs were created in the forms of increased military security and led to less crime. Reformed education allowed the general population to be more successful in the fields of science and engineering. To some, this was truly a new Golden Age, to others, it was a nightmare they could not wake up from. The fear of terrorists had created its own form of terrorism. Innocent people of different religions and races began to be questioned at every turn.

"Are you here legally?"

"Are you carrying any weapons?"

"Do you have any connection to the extremists in the Middle East?"

The fear only grew deeper, leading some to simply drive questionable people from their communities, and others to even kill. Though the murders were tried and punished, one could claim Shepherd might have approved of the violence.

Shepherd’s popularity and shocking continued success led him to be reelected in 2036.

It was during this second term that Shepherd's ideals became as violent as his followers.

The president initially based his second campaign on making America beautiful and united. This amazing country needs to reflect the success that we have made together. We are one people and we should fight the ugliness that we have regretted for so long. His inauguration speech brought tears to the eyes of the people and cheers could be heard wherever you went.

Shepherd started with the cities.

President Shepherd believed that the growing turmoil of Camden, New Jersey needed to be taken care of. However, unlike presidents in the past, he believed the problem could be fixed by erasing Camden off the map with a newly developed bomb. The impact of the bomb was specific and could be calculated so that the damage was contained within a certain perimeter. Before the bomb arrived, Shepherd made an announcement. Anyone living in the United States illegally must present themselves to the nearest police station where they will be processed and contained until arrangements can be made to take them back where they came from. It is time for America to be free from these people taking away our jobs, raping our women, and selling our children drugs. We must take a stand. If they will not leave voluntarily, we will take them by force. No one knew about the bomb save the developers and select government officials. No one knows how Shepherd was able to get approval from Congress, or if he consulted them at all.

The bomb came without warning. Thousands of people were killed and hundreds were forcefully taken from their homes for questioning. Men, women, and children were ruthlessly questioned not only about their citizenship, but the citizenship of their parents and relatives. Staying in the country illegally became impossible.

 After Camden, there was Detroit and any other city with a low income or high immigrant population. Shepherd created a specific military operation whose only job was to weed out anyone living in America illegally. They targeted Hispanics and Arabs initially. As time went on, African Americans and Asians were also questioned. Although there were some who had families in America legally for generations, they were deported by the corrupt organization. Some tried to start an uprising, but Shepherd had eyes everywhere. The uprising fizzled out before the planning was done, and those who were involved in the planning were either deported or taken in for questioning.

Shortly afterwards, President Shepherd issued Decree 39 for the Wellbeing of America, “Any person not registered as a citizen of the United States of America will be immediately deported. “Birth Right Citizenship will no longer be applicable to those born to illegal immigrants. Their children will be deported, and any citizen found to have illegal immigrants as immediate family will be questioned as to their location."

It became clear that the president was molding a new government behind closed doors. The democracy that had built the very country he wanted to save, and the traditional values he so desperately fought vanished before the people's eyes. The president surrounded himself with officials who were just as xenophobic as he. No one held him back some out of respect of his supposed greatness, others out of fear.  

The president decided that specific identification was required for citizens and those of different religions, specifically Islam, and those who were being deported. Citizens were given chips in the back of their necks. They resembled the kind put in dogs by a vet. However, they were extremely difficult to change without the proper equipment. The chips also held more information. They kept track not only of personal identification such as a name and birthdate, but also race, religion, social security number, education, family history, and medical records. Those who were Muslim were usually deported, but those that remained in the country were forced to where a brightly colored badge on their clothes. It resembled the badges forced on the Jewish peoples during the Holocaust. Every American citizen's information was held in a database run by specialists in the CIA trained to pick out anyone suspected to be a criminal.

Then he attacked the homeless. They are not true citizens. They have made no effort to change their ways and are drunkards and addicts. They do not deserve to live in this beautiful country. His goal was to deport the homeless. When they and others tried to protect them or tried to organize protests, shots were fired and they kept firing until the protesting stopped or when the homeless were dead.

As 2039 neared, the people held their breath. Who would be the one to fix this travesty? Would someone clean this mess, or continue to create more? Few men and women dared to enter the race, unsure of what promises to make, or what Shepherd would do next.

Then the unthinkable happened.

Shepherd decided to run for a third term. This law keeping me from running is outdated. Why do we need so many old laws. I wanted to make this country great and a great country needs new great laws. With enough support from congress and the senate, the law was redacted, freeing Shepherd to do as he pleased.

Shepherd was reelected for a third term in 2040. Enough of the citizens approved of what was going on in Washington DC and very few people questioned it. Those who disapproved and were caught speaking out were deported or thrown in jail.

The founder of The Cell, 01, saw that the USA was losing its freedom and that it was only getting worse. He had dreams of the pre-Shepherd America, where the Constitution was upheld, and the people were safe. He had only himself and his pregnant wife, but he was determined to make a difference. He began to gather a wide range of followers. Lawyers, doctors, scientists, politicians, farmers, construction workers and stay at home mothers all began to follow his new philosophy.

Underneath the new America, a network of tunnels, shacks and houses appeared, unknown to the President or his followers. It was a new Underground Railroad befitting the new Civil War that was occurring. Each man, woman, and child was given a job. Slowly, they started gaining control of small towns and local government, gaining enough ground but staying quiet. Their firsts missions were small, gaining power in local government and moving towards Washington. They paved the way for some to escape into Canada or Mexico. Those who wanted to stay were put to work. They moved further underground and built tunnels that connected the different Cell posts all around the country. 01 knew it would take years to really make a difference, but his plans were precise. By 2043, 01 had members in the military and federal government. Every move he made was done legally, so it would not be questioned by Shepherd. There were no riots, no murders. Not yet. He needed time to gain enough power.

My mother joined The Cell in 2043. She was trained as a professional housewife. Her assignment was to marry a lawyer in New York City, who was paid off my federal officials to forge paperwork. That man was my father. Every part of their meeting was planned. She seduced him and married him, just as she was trained to do. She used his connections to gather information about the government in New York City, which helped the Cell gain more ground during the elections. Then she got pregnant. Everything changed. She became obsessed with wanting to leave the country. One night, my father found her packing. Overwhelmed and exhausted, she told him everything. She knew he loved her and part of her loved him as well. He had suspected her involvement with an anti-government group from the way she asked questions at a party, and who she associated herself with. He loved her enough to let her, and he approved of it. He confided in her that he was being threatened by the government who said he and his family would be killed if he did not cooperate. He told her that most people who were deported were killed. The president feared being attacked by his neighbors, and wanted to kill those who could know his secrets. He wanted her to stay, and raise the baby in New York. He would not stop her from running, but he wanted to help her in her mission. So she stayed and raised me in New York.

When I was 13, their cover was blown. A government spy had found evidence of my parents’ terrorist involvement. Before I even knew what was going on, we were on the run to Canada.

***

Now here I am. Ten years later, a trained professional nurse, ready for assignment. The love of my life tracing pictures on my back with his fingers, as I slowly begin to calm down.

“I didn’t forget about Memorial Day. I just thought that maybe this year would be different. I thought that maybe we could get through it together instead of you pushing me away again.” I can see the hurt in his eyes. “Today is important for us. Did you forget that?” He was getting assigned too. For years he was being trained as a monitor, but he recently requested a change in assignment. He wanted to be with me. I was to go to the surface permanently, to gain information from a hospital as a nurse away from him, for as long as the Cell ordered me to.

“I’m sorry. Jake, I know how much this means to you, what it means for us. I want this, but if I focus too much on being assigned to you, I will be even more disappointed if it doesn’t work out. We have to be prepared for anything.”

“I know. I just want to be there for you. No one knows you like I do.” He squeezes my hand. “I have a present for you.” He pulls out a small piece of paper from his pocket.

It’s a picture of my parents. My mother's strikingly red hair that clashed brilliantly against the blue sky behind her. My father's deep blue eyes turned towards her and his strong arms wrapped around her waist. They smiled at each other, alive and well. I feel my hand begin to trace the outlines of their faces which I never forgot, but have not seen in ten years. I wipe my tears away before they have a chances to fall onto the fragile paper.

“Where did you get this?”

“I did a computer search when you told me your name. The Cell did a good job in erasing all trace of you but they also trained me in finding information no one else can find. It was on a photographer’s website from over 20 years ago. You look just like them.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I just stare at their smiling faces, careful not to get any tears on the fragile piece of paper. “I love you, Jake.”

“I love you too, Faye.” I put the photograph on the bedside table, and lay down for a couple more minutes of rest before the day begins. Jake curls up against me, holding me together.

7:30 am. My alarm is the one to break the perfect peace, and Jake leaves to return to his room quickly and without another word. I don my gray uniform, a button up shirt with my number embroidered on the sleeve and a knee length pencil skirt, and force my frizzy ginger hair into a tight ballet bun. It’s Memorial Day. Assignment day.

A few minutes later, the intercom buzzer rings.

“38, time for breakfast.” Jake sounds more official. As a walk for the door, my stomach churns. In a few minutes, we will learn of our futures. I stick my new picture carefully in my shoe and open the door. Faces neutral, Jake and I head to the cafeteria.

Gray.

After ten years of only seeing gray, the color sickens me. In the tunnels, we are one. No one stands out, and everyone has the same purpose. Take down Shepherd. Dark and dreary, the members of my class fill the hall. Every face is solemn. Today we remember those we lost. Soft conversations can be heard, whispers mixed with tears. I can almost feel mine coming back, but Jake quickly squeezes my hand under the table. He does know me better than anyone else. As hard as I try to keep my emotions to myself, I feel them building. My face is flushed and I squeeze my eyes tightly together.

“38? Are you alright?” A voice from behind startles me and I turn to see 23. His golden hair looks strange in the cafeteria lighting, almost white. I feel Jake tense up next to me.

“She’s fine, 23,” Jake blurted out before I could open my mouth. The tension from years of stupid arguments builds slowly between them and I, once again, must be the bigger person.

“I am fine, 23, thank you for asking. 35 is fine as well. How are you?”

“Well enough, given the circumstances at the present. Are you ready for placement?”

“I think so, but like many, I’m nervous. I don’t know what to expect. Has your father told you of your placement yet?”

“No. He believed that I should be notified with the rest of our class.” He looks down at his feet, his face slightly red as if embarrassed. “I hope you don’t think that I receive special treatment because of my father.”

"That's what we all believe actually," mumbled Jake, just loud enough to be heard. I dig the heel of my shoe into his foot.

“Of course not. I’m sorry, 23,” I said through my teeth. “I never should have asked.”

“Well, if you can excuse me, I must go finish breakfast. 38, 35.” He walks briskly away, and I can see Jake’s shoulders relax in the corner of my eye.

“What the hell, 35. Why do you have to be such an idiot.”

“He just pisses me off. Him and his freaking entitled attitude.” Then in a whisper, “You know why I’m angry. You should be the one defending yourself. The fact that you can just talk to him so casually, frankly, pisses me off.”

"Not all of us can afford to remain pissed off at another Cell member. I have to keep reminding myself that, after everything we've been through, he's my ally. He's yours too, so get over yourself."

He begins to mumble incoherently under his breath and ignoring him I get up and head toward the ceremony.

***

I walk into the one room in this underground maze that I have never seen. Only those being assigned and full members are allowed in. The hall has no seating. On the far side of the room is a stage with a single black podium. The walls are covered with murals painted in shades of grey depicting the Corruption. Seeing the paintings forces me back into the reality of the world I live in. Sometimes on days where I fail at certain tasks, when I find myself lost in the tunnels, when the world around me seems like it might fall apart at any moment, I forget my purpose. When I see the devastation in the pictures, the horror that the country has gone through, I remember.

My peers filter in and remain standing as the high council makes their way to the front of the room. The silence follows them.

01 stands in the middle.

Trembling, I stand waiting to hear my fate. No introduction is given, no heartwarming speech. 01 begins to read the names of the assigned couples to enter the surface. When the incident with my parents almost revealed the existence of the Cell, rules were drastically changed. The members of the Cell were no longer allowed to marry outside of the Cell. Instead, each member was assigned a husband or wife based on strict compatibility markers, placement and mission.

“45 and 78.”

“84 and 62.”

“83 and 94.”

A hand grasps mine as each couple makes their way to the front to receive the time and place of their assignment. “We’ll be ok, Faye. No matter what. I love you," Jake whispers.

“I love you too.”

For what seems like hours, we stand there, hand in hand, watching others we barely knew step forward to get their assignments. Every couple receives an envelope containing the date and time of their meeting with 01. There, they will get the details of their missions. Some will go to small towns and live generally normal lives, making subtle but important differences. Others will be sent to large cities, New York, Chicago, even Washington DC, to gather intel to advance our cause.

The group dwindles down as the couples leave to get to know each other, or head off to their meetings. “38,” My posture straightens when my number is called. Jake’s grip tightens and we prepare for the next number.

“and 23.”

#38 #dystopia #make america great again #trump #antitrump #fictional future #personal #personal blog #ya fiction #writing #booklr #young adult

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emmamaree-blog1 · 7 years

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Fiction 001, Hazel Eyes and Scarlet Berries

This is a story I submitted for a writing competition, which follows the life of my Great Grandmother. It’s a little jarring and not completely correct, but this is because I was attempting to keep the word count below 3000.

A siena skyline filled the air with a hushed hope, a soundtrack of birds breathing life into the land. The evergreen path carried scents of berries and corn, the chitter of peasant women gave Maria a warm stomach and full heart. Wheat growing taller than herself goaded the girl into getting lost in their yellow gardens, and she went happily, knowing she was safe and full of food and dance.

Her siblings shared bright hazelnut eyes, ones that flashed and sang as they waltzed through the field, their loose clothing held together with mud and laughter. At 6, Maria’s life was one of food and dancing, singing and getting dirty, cartwheeling and arguing. Her life was a soundtrack of birds, rivers and wind, her mother’s warm arms and father’s amused eyes.

The four children hopped and skipped toward their grandparent’s house, satisfied in a way that could only be seen with their toothy grins. Helga and Maria held hands, swinging their arms and humming. Helga’s hair glowed gold, matching the corn, adding to the list of the ways her siblings doubled the landscape.

“First one to Bubba and Dedu’s house wins!” Danya yelled, racing off. “Not fair!” yelled Viktor as she escaped sight.

Maria and her eldest sister smiled as they watched Viktor desperately trying to catch Danya, whose skirts were pulled up to her knee in the most un-ladylike manner. Bubba would be scandalised, if she knew, Maria thought, as she laughed. Danya howled with such laughter that had it known been for the siblings’ extensive memory of the land, Maria might have been worried she’d fall over.

Viktor’s foot caught, and he skidded across the ground, falling in shock. Maria pulled her brother to his feet as he tried to relieve his bruised pride and red knees. He smiled awkwardly at his sister, who returned it with a gap-toothed grin. The boy scratched his head and sighed.

“Danya’s not gonna let that go,” he mumbled. “Ever,” Helga agreed. “Ever!” Maria repeated.

The three grinned, faces almost hurting. It was a movement so constant, that their mouths naturally remained upturned, like a woodland path so travelled it remained clear. Should their skin melt away, leaving their dried bones in the sun like rocks, their skeletons would be smirking.

Together, the hazel eyed children talked and laughed, their voices ringing out of the valley. Maria paused, looking over the saffron corn, her eyes scanning the enchanted horizon. The usual mellifluous rifts and texture of the land suddenly hummed a somber tune, one that hinted darkness and pain. She sniffed the air, as if she could smell evil polluting the wind.

She frowned. All looked right, but the birds had fallen quiet in their trees. She turned to Helga, who had the same furrowed brows as their father. Viktor’s lung expelled anxiety, his face white. Maria half expected the corn and berries to turn the same colour.

Only when she saw the hooded silhouette of her grandparents Maria stirred, her mouth closed. She walked forward to greet them, only to be yanked back, Helga’s hands clasped firmly on Maria’s wrist.

“Ow!” Maria complained. “Maria,” Helga whispered, “Don’t move.” “What do we do?” Viktor whispered frantically, “They’re going to die!”

Maria gaped, and turned back to her grandparents. They were kneeling now, their fragile bodies lined against the barn. Helga gasped as their parents and Danya were lead there by soldiers, long rifles stuck to the back of their heads.

Helga, only 13 herself, looked to Viktor and Maria, and a sudden sense of responsibility dawned on her. If her parents died, who would care for their children? Every intention of hiding was thwarted when she turned and met a gun to her nose. More alarmingly was the Russian soldier attached to it.

Without a word, Helga turned, taking the hands of her hazel eyed comrades, and marched them silently to the barn. She raised her chin and straightened her back, refusing to let her tears disrupt what could possibly be the last time she saw the berries and corn in the fields of Ukraine.

“Bohdan and Anastasiya Shevchenko, you have been sentenced to death under the laws of Stalin. By refusing to give up your land and produce to Russia, you are traitors.”

Maria’s Grandparents hardly had time to give one last glance at their family before the bullets begun to sing, hitting their bodies in a flash of light. They fell, almost soundlessly, a horrific contrast to the shrieks of the guns.

It was red.

Maria had been around red all her life, and now it pooled at her feet. She had seen the scarlet colour since she was born, the striking embroidery of Ukrainian clothes, the red flowers resting in her mother’s hair, the berries that swarmed her life like wind. Red was constant, and now it soaked her socks and puddled between her toes.

It was almost musical, the sound of bullets. The way they rang out, destroying all noise around it. When the gun went off, the birds silenced their beaks, and the children quietened their hope.

1932

It had been two winters since her grandparent’s deaths, and two nights since her mother’s. For all her fighting, the snaking nature of starvation hallowed her cheeks and turned her toes blue, her eyes closing, where they remained.

The land was full of noise, yet songs that once carried Maria to sleep now attacked her, the wind that once was the reason to dance tangled her hair and her hope. She cursed these violations. She cursed the birds that dare sing, the people who plowed weakly outside, she cursed the starving homeless, for they still had air in their lungs. She damned the sun and moon for appearing on schedule, and for the flowers that continued to grow.

Her mother lay dead, yet life continued.

It was a cold night, and there was an unspoken knowledge that there would be more bodies on the ground tomorrow. The pavement skinned her feet, leaving them bloodied and blistered. Viktor and Danya walked ahead, like matching angels in rags, protecting heaven with weak fists and strong intents. Maria’s father stood behind her and Helga, his knitted eyebrows a gift to all four of his children.

His laughing eyes had left, and like bread crumbs, his smiles were few and far between. Where happiness once was, determination replaced it. When he watched the skinny frames of his children, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed. Their bellies should be full, their skin smooth. The only pride he felt in their appearance were their bright, hazel eyes, ones that once belonged to their mother.

“Here, children,” he mused, “We’ll sleep under this bridge tonight, huddle up.”

He smiled as they curled into each other, reminding him of the piglets he used to raise. “Look to the stars,” he whispered as their eyes shut, “Your mother is shining upon your faces.”

“Excuse me, sir,” expelled a voice from behind the bridge, his face hooded. “Are you Fedir Tereshchenko?” “Yes-”

A loud whack echoed the night. Maria’s father was dragged away, his bleeding body painting the cobblestone in crimson red.

Maria only had time to recognise the badge that identified the man as a Soviet Police Officer, before her father was murdered. Before she became an orphan.

Containing the screams that would give away her siblings’ hiding spot, Maria’s tear filled eyes focused on the sky. The stars blurred with her vision, and she bit her lip, refusing to accept another death. Her eyes opened, and when she looked to the sky and felt some comfort at their sparkling dance.

Another star had joined the night’s ranks.

1943

The early morning dew sparkled in the sun, it’s peaceful calm a juxtaposition to the world. The summer flowers were beginning to fade, their bright colours falling asleep in autumn’s arms. Like a napping child, the wind swayed, calmly encouraging the leaves to dance.

Maria sat on a hill, her frock muddied and brow hardened. Her feet ached against the dirt, feverish with desire to move. Her toes were travellers, they were dreamers and dancers. But the girl was chained to a flag of yellow and blue, stuck in the ground like the stalks of corn she grew.

Sometimes, she longed to return to the orphanage, she wanted to sleep in Helga’s arms and fall for Danya’s tricks. She wanted the quiet protection of her brother, the way he breathed at night, as though he was living a life away from the institute. But then she remembered the bodies, the bloated children and the sickly homeless. She remembered the feeling in her stomach, as though she would never be full again.

Reminiscing was a maze of dead ends and nightmares. A mess of faces gone to the grave and ones out of reach.

She lifted her face, eyes burning hazel in the light, and stared across the valley. If she thought hard enough, and winced her eyes, she could almost make out the silhouette of four waltzing children, squabbling in hysterics and hullabaloos.

She smiled, remembering the days of child-like bliss. “If only I could go--”

A gloved hand yanked her backwards and silenced her words, shock waves swam down her body, her toes painted with anxiety and ears pierced with fear. She tilted her head to find a man staring down at her, gritting his teeth as he covered her mouth and nose. As her vision darkened and she collapsed in her captor’s arms, she focused on the emblem of red, white and black. A swastika.

When she awoke again, she immediately knew she wasn’t in Ukraine.

The rattling train carriage was covered in streaks of brown, the chairs torn from the floor, the windows so dirty Maria had to stop to wonder if she was in a hellish dimension. The

sleeping, sickly bodies of young girls littered the area, crowding them like caged chickens at a market.

A few girls sniffed quietly, some were sobbing. Maria simply blinked, her body frozen. Only when the train came to an uneasy stop a few hours later could Maria act, driven mad by the whimpers of others. The chorus of growling stomachs in the train was so consuming that Maria almost fell sick from listening to them.

The door slid open, and men dressed in plain slacks greeted them, looking broken and uncaring. The girls fell out the train like spilt milk, desperate to find food or home. Maria lingered by the door, unsure what exiting would mean for her future. Soon, she stood alone, an armed guard watching her intently, a swastika on his arm.

“Welcome to Austria.”

Maria jumped, and turned to face a boy, offering his hand up to her. He owned the same greyed frock as every other prisoner, though his musical grin outshone them.

“C’mon,” said the boy, who owned a french accent, “Only trying to help you down.” His smile was a little too wide, his nose a little too big for his face. Maria was struck by the blue of his eyes, almost derived from Neptune. In fact, she stared for a little too long, and the boy raised his eyebrows at her amusingly.

“I’m fine,” Maria replied, turning her nose up, “Thank you, very much.” “You don’t seem very hysterical,” he said, sending a sideways glance at the sobbing girls, “Don’t you know why you’re here?”

Maria didn’t reply, she kept her head forward and followed the other girls, who were making ant trail journeys, lead and surrounded by soldiers. Staring at their guns, she knew to keep her mouth shut. If only the boy did, too.

“I’m am,” the boy said proudly, “Ivan Roberto Brunet.” “Maria,” said Maria. “I think we’re going to be good friends, Maria.” “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see!” he flashed her a smile, reminding her strangely of her youth.

He was new to her, simple and real, a golden breeze. While nightmares and work camps swarmed her life, he was tangible. He was real. She could touch him, hold him, feel his skin against hers.

He gave her a chance at reality, a chance for a future without starvation and death. The Austrian skyline was replaced with a Parisian one, the ache in their toes from dancing, not

14 hour work days and her bloodied fingers only paint, not the result of punishment and labour.

There was no music, the only tunes came from crows and floggings, but at night they would sneak out, dancing under the moon. Their relationship was frustrated by the stars, questioned by the clouds. In so much pain, how can two love each other so much? In a labour camp, where kidnapped teenagers were sent to work and die, how could there be any time to fall in love?

The months passed like droughts, slow and painful. While everyone fell over each other with thirst and hunger, Maria and Ivan were drunk in light and love. Sickness, too, filled the crevices of the forced labourers’ frowns, but even with corrupted lungs, the two still breathed each others names. Days went a little quicker when you had a hand to hold, and stomachs were less empty when full of laughter.

Maria often wondered if the desperation of their love was only accountable to their situation. If the threat of death wasn’t so close that filled their noses and made them sneeze, would she have loved him any less? If war wasn’t so invasive and haunting, would she have waited, taken things slowly? She decided no. Even the grass agreed they were soulmates.

“Brunet,” huffed a voice from above He looked to Ivan and Maria, both half asleep on a hay bale. Ivan looked up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Mathis,” he nodded to his friend. “It’s Colette,” the other boy replied, curtly.

Maria frowned slightly, yawning. “Who’s Colette?”

“What about her?” Ivan demanded. Mathis raised his hand apologetically. “Calm down, mon amie. I spoke to a worker from the next farm over. He mentioned a Colette Brunet. I asked what she looked like, and he said: “Elle a les yeux bleus. Elle a été kidnappée du même endroit que Ivan.””

Ivan’s breath grew short, his eyes batted and hands raised to his head. “Non, non, non,” he muttered. “Ivan,” said Maria, who grabbed his hand and thrusted him towards her. Still, he cried, “Non, non, non.”

“Ivan!” Maria cried. She turned to Mathis, anger in her eyes. “What did you say!?”

Mathis’ eyes rested on Ivan as he spoke. “His little sister. He took her place to come here, but she’s been captured. She’s at the next farm over,” his head shook sadly. “She’s very ill.”

Maria looked to Ivan, eyes wide. She turned to Mathis, her mouth in a taught line. “That will be all, Mathis. Thank you.”

He nodded, and walked away, hands in his pockets. “Ivy,” she whispered. “Look at me.” When he didn’t, she repeated herself. “Look at me.” He raised his head, eyes flashing azure.

“Colette... She won’t last a fortnight.” “Well, that could only mean one thing,” Maria replied, staring across the fields. “And that is?” “We are going to save your sister.” “They’d kill us.” “We’re probably going to die here, anyway.” “Okay...” Ivan sighed anxiously. “Operation; Save Colette.”

...

The night was musky, clouds covered the moon, as though to dim the stars so Maria and Ivan would not be seen sneaking from the camp. They shared uneasy glances, unsure of what was to become of them.

They shifted through the field, and weaved through corn like snakes, feverish and blind. Maria only had time to catch the silhouette of the labour camp, before she held Ivan’s hands and marched to their destiny. She almost smiled, and thought of the world that was going to become their world.

“Okay,” said Ivan nervously. “Let’s go over the plan.” “Find Colette. Run until we find the American camp across the border.” He frowned. “It’s not the best plan. In fact, I’m pretty sure the American camp is a rumour.” Maria drew a breath. “We have no choice.” Ivan nodded. “For Colette. For us.”

“Ivan,” Maria whispered. “I know... We’ll figure it out.” Maria paused, resting her hands on her belly. “I’m pregnant.”

Gunfire mowed through the corn, suddenly blazing orange and red. Ivan stood still, mouth agape, and held hard onto Maria’s hands. It took him a few moments to drag her to cover, his eyes never leaving her stomach.

“Maria,” he yelled over the bullets, “You need to leave!” “Together!” she yelled back. “It’s too risky! Go to the American camp! They’ll care for you! I- I’ll meet you there!”

The boy rushed to his feet, pulling his soulmate with him. He leaned in, forehead brushing softly against hers, the tune of bullets and hounds doing nothing to stop their symphony of love.

“Maria,” Ivan whispered closely, “I... I love you.”

Maria stood, dumbfounded, as the bullets that whizzed through the air and pushed at her hair like dandelion seeds. She watched Ivan fade away, running the opposite direction from safety. Her jaw set, she held back tears and bolted, and left Austria behind her.

1952

The fifties were quiet. There was no gunfire and stomachs were always full. Australia was freeing, it wasn’t Paris, but it certainty wasn’t Ukraine. The days passed slowly, but the years quickly, running through Maria’s fingers like rain.

Hala was nine now, a sparkling grin and bright, blue eyes, the twins only three.

“Maria,” huffed her husband. “A letter.” Not looking up from her sewing, Maria replied “Who from?”

A silence filled the room, and Maria looked up, slightly concerned. “John?” she asked. “It from an Ivan Brunet.”

When she opened her mouth, a gasp filled the room. She whispered, “He’s alive!?” John’s face hardened. “That’s Hala’s father, yes? The boy... You said he died.” “Well, apparently not! Pass the letter, John!”

Without a word, John, her new husband, threw the letter into the fireplace, it’s contents of daydreams and maybes smoking with it.

After that, there were no letters. Ivan drained away, like the rain in her fingers. But, she still saw his blue eyes, his nose and big smile. She saw it in Hala, she saw it in her future grandchildren, and they would continue to see it for generations to come.

Based on the true story of my great grandmother: Maria Haiduchnyk, 1925 - 2007, a survivor of Holodomir and World War Two.

#writing #original #emmamaree #holodomor #world war two

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