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thran-duils · 3 years

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Lost In Your Current (P.1)

Title: Lost In Your Current (Part One) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Tony Stark. After the snap, the team realizes that certain males were given Alpha status and certain females were assigned as Omegas, all across the galaxy, as a way to control procreation. Only Omega can give birth now. Both are marked and their DNA is tied through their marks. Tony lost Pepper and fell into depression after being rescued by Carol. Even the information that he could have happiness again could not pull him out. Until the loneliness and his new Alpha gene got to be too much. When Steve contacts him that his Omega had been found, Tony cannot resist to collect her. Words: 2,033 Warnings (for the whole fic): Dub-con, a/b/o elements, smut, forced mating

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

After he had been brought back from space and found Pepper gone, Tony had been devastated. He isolated himself despite the remaining Avengers efforts. He only let them know he was alive and was reviving himself from being starved and dehydrated in space. When he had received the intel that in the snap, males were given mates, an Alpha and Omega pairing, he had rejected the idea at first, ignoring the small A that had engrained itself on the web of his hand between his forefinger and thumb. But as time waned on, he found himself empty and even admitting that to Rhodes opened up the conversation again about finding his Omega. Rhodes was convinced Tony would find healing in that connection. Thanos had done it to set couples, control procreation. No out of wedlock. There would not be another overpopulation problem. Only Omega were able to breed now. In any corner of the galaxy, it seemed.

Somehow despite his isolation, Tony had gotten word an Omega had been captured and her imprinting mark, an outline on her gland yet to be penetrated, matched his DNA. It was not a surprise to Natasha considering his incessant need for information and adept ability to hack practically any system.

Or maybe it was because Steve had told him. That’s what Tony divulged to her upon his arrival.

“I did not tell you yet for a reason,” Natasha told him.

They were standing in the observation room. Like many Omega after the snap, she had gone into hiding as soon as the information was out, and she had noticed the mark on her neck. People were not keen on being forced into submission and this situation was no different. Quickly, a drug had been developed and distributed. Still, the Omega had stayed in hiding, still fearful they could be detected despite the suppressants.

“Yeah, I’m used to you not telling people things,” Tony told her coldly. “You learned that from Fury well enough.”

Natasha swallowed his insult, knowing he was getting himself riled up just at the sight of her. She needed to be delicate about this. She had planned on telling him and inviting him to the compound but she had wanted to give Y/N time, get her as calm as possible to meet her Alpha. Steve had ruined that. So, she had to just go ahead now that Tony was here, ready to pounce. He had held off for so long, but the loneliness and loss had gotten to him. Or the drive to find himself buried in his Omega had sunk in; hormones were a bitch.

“She’s been on the suppressants. It may take a while for her to feel her heat,” Natasha told him.

“’A while’? How long has she been off them?”

“We’ve had her in here a few days. But a week at least.”

Tony growled and turned away from her. His eyes found Y/N again on the other side of the glass, watching her meander in the room serving as her cell to keep her safe. “She’s so close! A few days at best!”

Tony could already see it, smell it. It did not matter there was a wall separating, she was coming in through the circulation. And she already smelled deserving of his veneration.

Natasha inhaled sharply and took a step towards him. Firmly, she asked, “Do you need to leave, Tony?”

“No!” he spat, shooting her a threatening glare. He was just daring her to try to force him to leave.

As if he would let his prize out of his sight. He had been lost the moment he had laid eyes on her, smelled her sweet scent of sea breeze and jasmine.

Natasha would threaten him in return. She was not afraid of him, unlike most people. She was firm when she told him, “I won’t allow you to mate an Omega without their consent. She won’t realize she’s in heat yet. You need to wait until next cycle. Even if it is your soulmate and you think it’s for the best. And by think, I use it lightly cause I can see your fingers are white with how hard you are trying to hold onto that ledge to keep a grip on control.”

Tony snorted impatiently. Next cycle? Fuck that. He had been stuck in space and been screwed over by Thanos. He lost Pepper. He deserved this. He deserved her, he deserved this new start. He had gotten himself healthy again. And why not for this?

His Alpha was rearing its head; he had his soulmate so close, and he was so convinced he could trip her into heat early.

His eyes were fixated on his mate on the other side of the glass. She was moving around unbeknownst that he could see her, that he was watching her. His cock was tight against his jeans, and he adjusted, shooting a glance at Natasha who did not miss the movement.

He paced more, keeping his eyes set on her. She licked her lips, her hands wringing together as she sat down on the bench at the window she was allowed. She would have so much to look at when she was at his house. He had moved north, bought a large house settled in the mountains. So much space for her to wander, under his direction of course. He could not risk losing her either. But he wanted her happy. Only if happy meant she was with him though. He would not settle for anything less. He would force that mating bond on her if that is what it took to ensure she would warm his bed.

Out of Tony’s sight, Natasha cocked her head towards the door and Carol followed her. They thought Tony did not even notice them leave. Not that that was unexpected considering how zoned in he was.

Outside the room, door closed behind them, Natasha told her, “I’m gonna kill Steve. She needed a week—”

“Steve is just as meat headed as Tony. As little of time I’ve known him, I’ve realized that I’m not shocked he gave him the tip. He has been pretty happy with his mate that he found. I thought someone as virtuous as Captain America would have at least given the situation a second though, but…”

“Hormones are not a joke,” Natasha murmured. She swore and said exasperated, “Tony is not going to leave that fucking room without an armed guard dragging him out.”

Carol shrugged. “Then leave him in there! Let him watch her and keep the eye out he thinks he needs to. As long as he doesn’t break the glass—"

“He’s on edge already, Carol. If he sees anyone enter that room — even IF they’re beta, which is the only people I will send in there now regardless — he could lose it. Send himself into a rut. But she needs testing still and food. She has to interact with our doctors.”

<><><>

Tony had certainly noticed them leave though. And he smirked as soon as the door closed. Idiots.

Waiting for the door to close after Carol and Natasha stepped outside the room, Tony hit his watch.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y…. Hit the ventilation. Knock them out outside the room I am in and hers.”

<><><>

Tony stepped over Natasha and Carol slumped on the ground and then over the guards in the hallway. He held up his watch to the keypad and F.R.I.D.A.Y unlocked the door, giving him access. He shivered physically smelling Y/N full on, her wafting out to him as he pushed the door open. The room was penetrated with her and it was intoxication. The alcohol had done nothing for him since he had returned, no amount of money spent, no amount of women he had taken to his bed. But he actually felt something when he stepped into the room.

She turned away from the window, eyes wide and curious. He made sure to close the door behind him, a barrier to her escaping. He had read in the information he had been given all those months ago that Omega were unruly when they were not claimed yet and the thought made him growl internally. If she tried to run from him… his Alpha was furious at the thought, ready to pin her.

The two of them stared at each other and he could hear her heart beating faster, reacting to him. Natasha was right; she was not ready quite yet but just being in his presence was having an impact. Yes, he could trip her if he got her home, immersed her in his environment. If he was all she could see.

His eyes raked over her and he said, “Well, they certainly don’t know how to dress you all here.”

She looked down at her loose gown and then flicked her gaze back up to his, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry…”

She was delectable. Submissive. She already wanted to please him, and she had not been properly introduced to him yet. Tony felt his cock hardening. If only he could take her here and now. But he needed to drive her home. He tried to fight the hormones trying to hijack his psyche.

“No, sweet one, don’t apologize. You still look lovely. You’re so fertile….. look at you. Dripping.”

<><><>

You perked up at the compliment. The multiple compliments. You were doing good. Weren’t you? On many levels. Fertile. And wet.

Wait, wait?

He came closer. Still looking entirely in the brink of losing it but he smelled good. He smelled like home.

And that instantly set you on edge, a clear thought cutting through your arousal.

No.

It was him. The Alpha you had been assigned to. And Jesus. It was Tony fucking Stark. Why else would he have this effect on you? Natasha had promised to speak to you and let you decide as you weaned off the suppressants. She had lied and now you were being thrown to the wolves. And no wonder. Tony was her friend. Why would she deny him anything?

You stood quickly and your back hit the wall. You were closing in on yourself, trying to be small. He bristled at your squirrely movement and cocked his head. He immediately placed himself between you and the door to prevent you leaving, holding up his hand. Your heart was hammering.

He was here. He was here to take you away, lock you away.

“You don’t have to be afraid…” Tony said, his voice rolling over you like a high. It was sugary, sweet. “You are safe with me, sweet one.”

Safe. Yes. He would protect you.

You shook your head, closing your eyes tight, trying to shake his influence. Safe meant under his thumb.

Tony was closing the space quickly and you cowered. He was stronger than you and would undoubtedly win a fight.

“Omega…” he said, the title falling from his lips like a song. You froze and he took a few more steps. He shivered, seeing your response. “Be good. You don’t have to be trapped in here anymore. This room is so small, confining. You can come with me… up to our cabin.” Our, the word usage was not lost on you. “There’s a lake. Space to wander. You will have freedom there. With me.”

Half of you was screaming to listen to him, go to him, obey. The other half was screaming at you to try to duck around him and find an escape to make sure you would not fully come off the suppressants and be his puppet, his breeding machine.

Tony was there, inches between you and your chest pulled towards him, wanting him to touch you. He noticed the movement, hunger swimming in his eyes, pupils blown wide.

“That’s it, Omega. Be good.”

A soft whine left your lips, embarrassingly, at the command to be good.

Yet, another thought flashed. This was not right. And your eyes hardened. His jaw clenched at the sight, and you knew you were in trouble. Before you could react, he brought his hand up, and all you felt was cold metal against your neck before you saw black.

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl

#tony stark x reader #dark!tony stark #dark tony stark #alpha tony stark #alpha!tony stark #dark marvel #my shit

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aiorevelations · 3 years

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A Number, Not a Name: Part 15!!

Present-day:

Beads of sweat trickled down Jason’s forehead as he frantically worked to decrypt the file. He had been working on it for nearly an hour and so far he’d had no luck. Every time he’d get close to cracking the code, there'd be some phrase of letters left that didn’t make any sense. He knew he was running out of time and had to hurry. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and kept going. Another minute passed, then five minutes, fifteen minutes. Jason intensely scrutinized and analyzed every letter, trying to come up with another possible code pattern that would decrypt the file.

Okay…looks like it’s a Caesar Cipher. Shifted down by twelve….please dear God let this work.

Jason quickly typed another command on the laptop and anxiously waited. His heart began to race as all the incoherent phrases began to transform into actual words and sentences.

There in front of him was Dalmar’s plan, outlined step by step. His plan for running for higher offices. Building his network and support bases. Acquiring more weapons. And ultimately seizing power. Even more importantly, the location of the weapons was laid out in the document.

Jason felt an overwhelming sense of relief that he’d deciphered the pattern yet kicked himself that hadn’t cracked such a simple code sooner. He figured his nerves had got the best of him but he couldn’t help but be angry at himself. He’d lost a great deal of time, time he couldn’t afford to lose. Jason suspected Dalmar or one of his men had encrypted the file manually as it was amateur work. A skilled professional or person with a knowledge of computers would have used encryption software such as AES which would have converted the plaintext contained in the file into ciphertext. Rendering it impossible for Jason to decrypt the file without entering in a specific password. He picked up his pen, pressed the top metal bottom on the side, and snapped several pictures of the file.

From the looks of this the weapons should be located…in a bunker a few miles north of here. He quickly encrypted the file again, excited the file, and closed the laptop. He picked it up and inserted it back into the drawer just as he'd found it. He placed the pen back in his pocket. Jason closed the office door and headed back down the tunnel shaft. Now that he had the intel they needed all they had to do was make it through the rest of the gala. He already had been gone a great deal of time and knew that the longer he was gone the greater chance he’d be caught or that Dalmar would be suspicious of him and Tasha. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

…..

The black limousine made its way down the winding road that encircled Dalmar’s estate. As they drove Dalmar pointed out to Tasha the various structures and amenities that graced his home. The guest house, its exterior resembling that of the main house with an assortment of glass, wood, and chrome. The tennis courts and lavish swimming pool. And the rose garden, all the flowers coming together in a rainbow of color and releasing a sweet scent into the air.

Inside the confines of the limo, Dalmar placed his arm around Tasha and pointed in the direction of the greenhouse. “And over there is the greenhouse.”

“My goodness, I’ve never seen such a large one before.”

“My mother, loved plants, especially flowers. I suppose I inherited that love from her.”

“I never would have guessed that you would have such a fondness for flowers.” Tasha teased.

“Their strength yet delicateness is something to behold. And of course their beauty.”

Tasha forced a smile. “I’ve never met someone who has spoken to me… or makes me feel the way you do.”

“Beauty is meant to be appreciated and treasured. You, my dear, are a shining jewel.”

Tasha stood there frozen, speechless, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or-“

“No, no. It’s just I’m used to guarding...my feelings. Taking things slower…but being here with you…it feels different.”

“I’m glad.” Dalmar smiled and took Tasha’s hand. “This has been one of the happiest nights of my life.” The car suddenly came to a stop, causing him to release Tasha’s hand, for which she was relieved.

“We’re here.” The chauffeur announced.

Tasha peered out the tinted windows of the car yet didn’t see any structure or buildings in the distance. She turned back to Dalmar. “Here?” she asked, a quizzical expression on her face.

“You’ll see.” He grinned. Tasha and Dalmar exited the limo and walked to the front of the car.

“Right this way.” Dalmar motioned in front of him. The two of them began making their way forward through the woods. Tasha found it somewhat difficult to walk as her heels kept getting bogged down in the ground. She did her best to conceal it from Dalmar. The last thing she needed was for him to offer her his hand, holding it once had been more than enough for her.

Soon they arrived at what appeared to be an electrical substation. They reached a metal fence, all over which were signs posted that read “Danger. High voltage.” Dalmar entered a passcode into a security keypad and a metal gate rolled to the side.

“After you.”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

They went through the entrance, the gate closing behind them. After walking to the control house, Dalmar typed in another code on the keypad located on the door handle. “I believe inside you’ll find something that you’ve had your eyes on.” Tasha felt her heart begin to race as the door unlocked and Dalmar turned the handle.

Tasha stepped inside the room, followed by Dalmar. The lights flashed on showing a stairwell a few feet in front of them. At the end of the stairs, there was a hallway, with a metal door located at its end. Dalmar punched in another password on the keypad. Tasha heard a metallic click and the door slowly slid to the side.

Tasha let out a small gasp as they entered the concrete bunker. From the floor to the rafters, the room was filled with an assortment of weapons. Machine guns, automatic rifles, ammunition, surface-to-air missiles, and even a few tanks. “Wow,” she said softly in awe. “This is incredible.”

“Even better than you imagined?”

“Yes.” She slowly spun around to get a complete view of the room. “Other girls like flowers or chocolate. A trip to Tahiti,” she laughed, “but me…this is my life, right here. My happy place.”

“I can see that.”

“From the moment I met you I could immediately tell you were a man with great ambition. And in my line of work I’ve met many people with the same fire in their eyes…but somehow, it’s hard to explain, I knew you were different.”

“Different, how so?”

“Others may have had the same ambition as you but I felt in my soul that you were destined to become something. To do great things. To leave your mark on humanity. Many aspire to such things but few accomplish them. I believe, with my whole heart, that you are among the few.”

“I’m glad to hear you believe so. I for my part have always held that I would be among the great men of history. These past years I’ve dedicated all my time and resources to this goal and now I’m on the eve of achieving it.”

“The eve? You’ve said many times now that you’re on the eve of your dream becoming reality. That your goal is about to happen soon.”

“Yes. I have.”

“The question is when exactly is ‘soon?’ It’s such a relative term. For some it’s a few years, others a couple of months, or perhaps even a few minutes. When is it for you?” Tasha pressed him for more details. “If you decided to tell me…” she took a breath, “not only about when you intend to enforce your plan but its entirety, it would mean the world to me. To know that out of all the billions of people in this world I was enough…for you to completely confide in.”

“You can be very persistent. When you want to be.”

“I try my best.”

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard of my political party the KLF and my run for parliament.”

“Yes. I am aware.”

“Initially when I announced my run to be a member of parliament I did plan to win power by legitimate means. Start at the bottom and work my way up so to speak.”

“I assume eventually becoming prime minister.”

“Exactly, but as time has passed I realize that I can’t wait. I have to act now. This country is at the brink of collapse, of being internally ripped apart until it fails to exist. It is hard to believe now but centuries ago this country used to be one of the shining jewels of the world. Trade and the economy flourished. Money poured into the nation. The military was one of the most formidable forces on earth. Most importantly power was centralized in the hands of the Sargis family. But over time the country was stripped of its former glory at the hands of upcoming nations, as they attacked Krudia again and again. The Sargis dynasty crumbled and the economy is nowhere near as prosperous as it once had been. Recently, due to famine and political instability, the country has fallen into economic ruin. Looking at a map today, compared to other countries, Krudia is merely a speck of land. But hundreds of years ago it was nearly ten times the size it is today. My goal is to restore Krudia to its former glory and in the process be immortalized in history. The only way for that to happen is by force as many unfortunately are against radical change.”

Tasha crossed her arms. “I can’t imagine why. Unless they enjoy starving to death.”

“In my eyes, they’re merely a nuisance.” He scoffed. “One that won’t exist for much longer. Next week, once your weapons have arrived, I plan to establish myself as the new president of Krudia.”

“I knew you were ambitious…but this. I never dreamed I’d do business with a future president.”

“Thanks to your weapons. All my goals for this nation will become reality. The nations surrounding our borders will be forced to comply with my wishes. To surrender the land that originally was part of Krudia. Nations will be forced to their knees and to fulfill my demands. Otherwise, they’ll be obliterated. With me as its leader, Krudia, not only will be restored to the height of its power but become the greatest nation on earth. Imagine me as its leader and…you be my side.”

Tasha found herself taken aback by his words. The way Dalmar mentioned threatening nuclear destruction without even a second thought sent chills up and down her spine. In some ways when dancing and dining the evening away it was easy to forget who the man was who stood in front of her. A deranged and disgusting psychopath. She swallowed, trying to find the words. “I-I can’t imagine it.”

“The thought, it’s a lot to take in isn’t it?”

“It certainly is…but as I said before you are destined for remarkable things.”

“Now is there anything else…you want? Anything at all you can think of, just name it.”

I really have this guy wrapped around my finger. At least I was able to use it to my advantage. “Just one thing. Another dance…with you.”

“There’s no music.” He stretched his arms out.

She shook her head. “Not here. Back at the main house.”

“As you wish, mi corazón.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Which part? Mi corazón or as you wish?”

“Both. But especially as you wish.”

Dalmar and Tasha each laughed as they headed back towards the stairwell. As she climbed into the car, Tasha felt a sense of relief wash over. She’d gotten the information they needed. All she had to do was keep up her cover, despite how difficult it was increasingly becoming. She hoped Jason would be back at the house by the time she and Dalmar returned. That is if he had not run into any trouble. Tasha quickly silenced those thoughts for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. She knew thinking about Jason being caught, without knowing if that was actually true, would do neither of them any good. As they settled back in the car Dalmar once again wrapped his arm around Tasha. Tasha inwardly rolled her eyes, her annoyance with Dalmar’s enchantment with her growing every second. It’s good. You can do this. She told herself. Just so long as he doesn’t propose.

…..

Jason quietly made his way through the tunnel into the lab report room. In front, he could see the door that led to the hall, off of which was the stairwell. That stairwell led to the first corridor, beyond which lay the door to the outside. The last thing he needed was to get caught especially after all he’d done to get this far.

As Jason began to exit the room a piercing shriek filled the room, followed by a succession of agonizing screams. It had come from the door on the left side of the aisle, the room he had seen the two security guards enter earlier. Jason then heard words come from a man, who sounded as though he was in excruciating pain. “Please stop. I won’t speak out against Dalmar again. I swear.”

“I’m afraid once is one time too many” came another man’s voice, that sounded like Tarek.

He could only imagine the horrifying scenes unfolding in that room. Jason knew that in becoming an agent he would see and hear horrific and tragic things, see the worst sides of people. Every day in training new agents were debriefed on this issue and how to respond. How not to let it affect them or their actions, but to continue to carry on with their mission. Their instructors would ask them what was more important. Saving one person at the expense of the entire operation or choosing to save more lives by keeping their cover intact? For Jason that was a question he didn’t want to answer. Losing one life was one too many. However, in this world, you had to put aside your own beliefs and values for the sake of national security. At least that was what he’d been told by his superiors. He couldn’t do what Jason Allen Whittaker would do. He had to do what 1131 would do. Jason knew that right now he had to push his thoughts aside and press on. No matter what, Dalmar could not carry out his plan. He had to succeed on this mission, failure wasn’t an option. Even still it took every ounce of his willpower to not intervene.

Jason suddenly froze, in the doorway, as he heard the sound of a gunshot. He then saw the door across from him begin to open. Frantically he ducked back into the lab report room, praying he hadn’t been spotted. He pressed as close as he could against a wall and stood as still as possible. From across the hall, he saw Tarek and three other men, two of them the same guards he had followed, exit through the door. Two of the men helped to drag a man's bloody and mutilated body out of the room. As they dragged him through the hall on the ground his blood smeared all across on the concrete floor. A brutal testament to the pain and unspeakable suffering he had endured.

His Grandpa Harold would tell him that there are moments in a person’s life that would come back to haunt them. Fill them with what-ifs and doubts. Make them wonder if they should have done more or made a different choice. As he exited the warehouse Jason knew this was such a time. He was no longer a little boy with an innocent view of the world. This moment had reminded him once again how cruel and heartless people could be. How much evil there was in the world. All Jason knew was he had to bring Dalmar to justice. No matter what it took.

#AIO #AIO Fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Adventures in odyssey #jason whittaker #tasha forbes #jason and tasha #adventuresinodyssey

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lonelyheartsclubhaze · 3 years

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Chilly mornings away from home

January 2019 // Chapter 4

Soft piano notes waded their way into my mind, rousing me from sleep. Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 1” complemented streaks of sunlight that seeped in from cracks between the window shutters.

I rolled onto my stomach, patting along the bedsheets, searching for the alarm’s source. Locating my iPhone under a fluffy body pillow, I quickly tapped the snooze button, earning myself nine more minutes of repose.

Mornings were always so disorienting. I still had yet to remember where and when I was. Such things could wait. Clinging onto that snoozy state of nonexistence, I didn’t want to wake up. I was eager for unmindfulness.

Inevitably coming to, dizziness hit like a military grade tank as I realized that my bed was facing the wrong way. My morning senses spun westward from their southern-facing expectations. Cracking my eyes open a few nanometers more, baby blue walls, rather than white, met my gaze. I faced a medium size flatscreen TV set atop a brown cabinet bordered by cream, cushioned seats and a black mini-refrigerator.

It was so easy to be surprised by mornings. Here I was, expecting one thing and receiving another. It wasn’t a huge deal, and they were natural mistakes, but jeez, was I caught off guard. My bed typically faced a window on the southern side of my room in Berkeley, confined by white walls under high ceilings. Unlike my room in Berkeley, however, the ceilings in this place were much lower with windows much wider. My forgetfulness fading, I remembered why I was in this barely decent Denver hotel room, namely, for a job interview.

Grimacing, I also remembered that the aforementioned job interview had taken place yesterday—giving me a sense for why I might have preferred snoozy states of nonexistence to waking life. It was for some technician role at a Pharma-lab. And while they didn’t pay anything close to what Ajay would be receiving at Facebook (while still remaining just as controversial), money was money. Plus, it seemed like a good way to boost my med school app during the summer. Worst case scenario: I’d just spend the upcoming summer studying for the MCAT, which had to happen sooner or later. At this rate, however, it was looking like the worst case scenario would be my only scenario.

Oh well. With a redeye flight the next morning and the interview out of the way, I had a day to kill in Denver. Classes were still on hold for another week-and-a-half and since everyone was home for the holidays, Grace had offered to put me up at her place for the day. She was supposed to come by around nine AM to pick me up.

I rubbed my eyes and pulled up the blanket. The AC units at hotels were always freezing cold—particularly on especially inconvenient occasions, like now, right smack in the middle of a January morning. I flipped over my phone and turned off the alarm. The clock read seven-twenty-one AM. Just enough time to get ready and grab a quick bite before Grace was to arrive.

My hands smacked against the headboard of the bed mid-stretch, my wrists rolling as I struggled to fully wake up. Sitting up, I checked my phone for missed messages, sending out short, succinct text messages where they were needed. I cracked my neck and thrust my legs off the tall bed, my feet grazing the hotel carpet. I stood up, stretching my arms toward the spinning fan that hung from the low ceiling, and started toward the bathroom, tossing my iPhone onto the bathroom counter.

The shower roared to life with the turn of a knob. I grabbed a hotel-provided toothbrush and some paste on my way to the shower, along with a travel-size bottle of CeraVe foaming face wash. Inside, water rushed over my short, black hair, splashing onto medium broad shoulders and size ten-and-a-half feet as I washed my face. After mopping my chest, toes, and everything in-between with an ivory bar of soap, I squirted some toothpaste onto the brush and got to work, counting out one-hundred-twenty seconds in my head. Finally, I turned off the water and reached around the shower curtain for a towel. Drying myself off, I stepped out of the shower and packed up my bath supplies into a compact travel bag.

I shook the towel over my head to dry my hair and tapped on my iPhone screen to find one new notification. Hovering my face over the phone to unlock it, a blue message from Maddie read:

To which I replied:

She followed with:

Heart racing, I replied:

Two minutes passed. I held my breath.

Four minutes—then, a small blurb of text underneath my last message read:

Read 7:46 AM

I sighed and put down my phone. My face contorted as a profusion of expletives rushed my thoughts. Shouldn’t have double-texted her.

I supposed that it didn’t matter too much. She was with someone, anyway. When I’d seen her in December, before we’d left for winter holidays, she’d been at Bear’s Ramen House in the Asian Ghetto—the food hub a block from Sproul Hall—eating with some guy I’d seen around, probably on campus. He was a moderately wealthy, white kid from Marin studying one of the various biology sub-majors offered by Cal. He was also a junior, like Maddie, so a year ahead of me, as if his towering six-foot-three-inch figure wasn’t enough to give him a leg up on me with regards to Maddie. I didn’t know him all that well, despite having had a discussion section or two with him, though we greeted each other with a polite nod of the head when passing by one another in the Valley Life Sciences Building (VLSB) or in the library. To be honest, I didn’t even remember his name, just his face. His outfits often consisted of athleisure wear from Nike and/or Champion, giving off the impression that he played sports. I wasn’t quite sure whether or not this impression was accurate, but I did sometimes see him on the Glade or other grassy campus sites playing Spikeball, accompanied by peers with faces I vaguely recognized.

We’d often talk, Maddie and I. Sometimes I’d run into her on the spiral staircase at VLSB—the stairs that’d curl around the large, plaster T-Rex model to face broad windows on the east, granting access to the morning sun. She’d be on her way to a bio lab downstairs; me, on my way to the private, grad student bathroom that I’d secretly gained access to on the second floor. The restroom upstairs was protected by a keypad, but the code was too obvious: 362 362, or DNA DNA.

“Wonder where you could be going,” she’d say.

“Just need to make sure my hair is okay. I’ll do whatever it takes to get a few extra points from Professor Meighan,” I’d joke back.

“Do you poop here everyday?” she’d ask with wide eyes. “Or maybe you just like seeing me, huh? Is that it?”

I’d freeze up.

She’d laugh, saying, “Maybe a little bit of both, right, J?”

“Nothing gets past you,” I’d mumble.

“You’re funny,” she’d say. “You should have your own TV show. Maybe once you’re done with your residency you can join Grey’s Anatomy, or Scrubs. Or maybe you can have a talk show! Like Dr. Phil, but more funny and less depressing.”

“What about me gives off the impression that I’d ever want to have a TV show, at all, in any way whatsoever?” I’d say, shaking my head.

“See? Just like that! Always asking the right questions! Like Ellen DeGeneres but all doctor-like.”

She tended to tease me a lot. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was probably part of her appeal—definitely was, on second thought.

Like a good portion of the many pre-med students out there, Maddie was a biology major. Berkeley offered a few different options for bio students, and I’m pretty sure she was studying molecular and cellular biology, though it’s hard for me to say. If I wanted to remember something about her, I’d write it down in my iPhone notes. Otherwise, my hippocampus tended to toss it out, preferring to form memories of her nose, her lips, and those low cut shirts that left me off balance.

We’d text back-and-forth about classes, sometimes. A lot less after I saw her eating with what’s-his-face. I didn’t blame her.

My phone read eight AM. I tossed on a waffle knit shirt and long johns, then a Columbia fleece and Levi jeans, topping it off with an aged ski jacket that I’d ‘borrowed’ from Adam, who was up in Tahoe at least twice a month in the winter. I slung the beaten, black JanSport backpack containing my belongings over my shoulders and headed out the hotel door, making for the elevator.

The room door shut quietly behind as I banked right into a narrow corridor housing four elevators, two on each side. I pressed a button to summon one and within a minute, the light above the furthest elevator on my right blinked on. The door opened and I entered, clicking the button indicating the main lobby of the hotel. The door shut and the elevator fell five floors before slowing to let in an older, Black woman wearing a fitted, bell-shaped hat.

“Ground floor?” I asked.

She smiled sweetly. “Yes, honey. Thank you.”

We descended the final four floors in silence. Arriving at the ground floor, the elderly woman smiled and nodded at me before exiting first. I followed her out, glanced down at my iPhone, then diverged from her path as I headed toward the central lobby to check out. After snapping my room key card in half, I left the hotel, walking toward a Caribou Coffee a few blocks north.

Under the warm skies of Seal Beach, California, where I was born and raised, people tended to take their coffee with ice more often than here in Denver, Colorado. Every Friday, my mother would pick up an americano for herself—black, with no cream or sugar—on her way to work. I’d tag along as a kid, but sooner than later elementary school drop-offs morphed into middle school bike rides, then high school walks with pretty girls I swore I had a chance with, and then the here-and-now, flying Economy for interviews that wouldn’t yield job offers.

It’s funny—when I was a kid I practically hated being seen with my parents. At back-to-school events—the evenings when parents conglomerated to celebrate the annual accomplishments of their children—I wouldn’t be caught dead near my family. Somehow, I thought it made me look childish, or immature. After graduating from high school, however, I started seeing them less and less, and I began to find myself missing mom’s morning espresso runs more and more.

It seemed as though I must have picked up my mother’s coffee drinking habits, because when I arrived at the Caribou Coffee on sixteenth street at approximately eight-twenty-five AM, I too ordered an americano with no cream or sugar.

“That comes out to three-thirty-nine,” said the female barista. She wore a black apron over red and black striped under-layers, with a white wool beanie on her head, and deep black mascara on her eyelashes.

I thanked her and handed over three dollar bills along with some loose change from my jacket pocket.

“On second thought,” I said, retracting my hand. “Can I also get one of those?” I gestured to a blueberry scone behind the glass counter.

“Sure. Just three extra dollars.” she said.

I counted out three extra dollar bills, handing the money to the barista. Then I walked over to a small rounded table situated near the entrance and sat down. Scanning my iPhone, I saw that Grace had texted me, so I responded, asking her to pick me up at the Denver sixteenth street Caribou Coffee. Then I put my phone away and tapped silently along the underside of the table, slightly impatient for my pastry and drink.

I wondered what Grace had in mind for the day. I hadn’t seen her since—well, I suppose it wasn’t that long ago—final exams last semester. Personally, Grace and I had yet to have a class together, but Adam always took one or two bullshit classes with her, so she was often around my house anyway—especially during the week of final exams, when they’d study together all day long. As an English major, she had it pretty easy schedule-wise. She hardly stressed, at least outwardly, and was rarely overburdened with work, so she never missed a chance to chat it up with my housemates or me when Adam brought her over. She was really likable too. Even Albert got along with her, making small talk about Proust or the latest Pulitzer Prize winning novel from Jennifer Egan, and that’s saying a lot.

She always made it a point to stop by my room upstairs, at 2231 Dwight, waving ‘hello’ to me before vanishing for hours into the recesses of Adam’s single downstairs. I really liked that about her.

A small vibration from my left pant pocket convinced me to reach in. I pulled out my iPhone and saw that Grace had texted me. She was to arrive a bit early, in fifteen or so, around eight-fifty-five AM. She was driving in a black Honda Civic, she’d said. I texted her back to let her know that I’d be ready.

“I’ve got a medium americano and a blueberry scone!” called the barista.

I stood up, pulling my jacket over the chair to mark my temporary territory, then hurried over to the counter to grab my order. “Thanks,” I said before hurrying back to my table, balancing the warm, paper cup in one hand with the scone in the other.

Sitting back down at the table, I huffed down the scone. Then I took off the lid of the cup, wisps of steam condensing on the furl of my lip. I blew gently, cooling the drink.

I sipped slowly, then decided to put on my jacket and wait outside. Grace would be here any minute and I didn’t want her to miss me. I was getting sick of waiting by myself anyway. Walking outside, an icy burst of air cut right through me. I shivered, then zipped up Adam’s ski jacket. It was a good thing that it wasn’t snowing, because it was cold enough as it was.

I paced around for a bit, rubbing my hands to keep warm, until finally, a black Honda Civic with a freckled girl at its helm slowed to a stop slightly ahead of the sixteenth street coffee shop.

Grace rolled down the passenger window. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said back. My pace quickened as my feet approached her car.

“I missed you, dude,” she said. “Come on, let’s go. It’s freezing outside.” A crimson hoodie hid most of her delicate contours, though the graceful arcs that formed over her breasts hinted at something more. The left side of her chest housed a star-shaped sports logo with the words ‘Broomfield Soccer Club’ below in a decorative typeface.

I opened the car door and hopped into the passenger seat. Gusts of warm air ruffled my hair.

She reached over the center console and squeezed me in a close hug. “How was break?”

“Pretty good. I mean, I was finally able to—”

“Bruh,” she groaned. “Did you read Science?”

“What?”

“The magazine,” she said, squinting her eyes.

I cocked my head to the side. “Was I supposed to?”

Grace rolled her eyes and sighed. “Can you?”

“Is there something I should be looking for?”

“Oh my god. Take out your phone.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Jesus-fucking-Christ, J.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling the iPhone from my jean pocket.

“Okay.” She cracked her finger knuckles. “Google ‘butterflies’.”

“Grace—” I started.

“Come on. Look it up.”

“Okay. Just because you’re asking.” I opened Chrome’s mobile browser on my phone, typed in ‘butterflies’, and pressed ‘search’.

She cleared her throat.

“Butterfly,” I read. “An insect from the ma-cro-lep-id-opt-er-an clade Rho-pal-o-cer-a, from the order Lep-id-op-tera—”

“No!” She snatched my phone and scrolled down. “Here. California’s monarch butterfly count drops by eighty-six percent, just last year!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is butterfly watching a hobby you picked up over break or something?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

I coughed to cover a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t know you took butterflies so seriously.”

“God, and I’m supposed to go to a guy like you for my yearly checkups?” she gasped.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Grace—”

“I don’t want to hear it, insect-killer.” She blew aside a tuft of hair from her forehead. “So, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“How was break?”

“Oh. Right,” I said. “Well, I finally got around to watching that show you and Adam were talking about last semester.”

“Peaky Blinders?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, it’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I really like Tommy’s brother, Arthur. I think he’s funny. I’m not too sure how I feel about Polly yet, though, but then again I’m only on season three.”

“Adam fucks with Arthur too. Personally, I’m more of a John-kinda-person. I think he’s less murderous than Arthur. Kills too much. How’s Adam doing, though?”

“Honestly, you probably know better than me. Haven’t seen him since we left for home.”

“I feel it.”

Grace made a sharp right onto the I-25 freeway, accelerating until our speed plateaued around ninety miles per hour. I gripped the sides of my seat—ninety was a little too fast for my tastes. I considered myself a defensive driver. Dull buildings bordered the freeway shoulders, and I tried to focus on them to distract myself from Grace’s driving.

“What do you say we stop by a park or something, J? Not really tryna see my parents right now.” Grace glanced at me, her hands still on the wheel.

I felt a bit queasy watching her take her eyes off the road. “Yeah, works for me. Something going on?”

“Eh, the usual. Just get sick of ‘em being home for so long,” she said. “But anyhow, I have a ball in the trunk. We can kick it around or some shit.”

The road grew bumpier as we drove over a waterway on the way to Grace’s neighborhood. Spoiled by scenic coastal sights on the drive up to Berkeley, the glum scenes around me felt sobering. I tapped my foot, eager to get out of the car.

Eventually, Grace took exit 225 on the right, keeping left to merge onto East One-hundred-thirty-sixth Avenue. We passed a stucco structure with a sign that read ‘Broomfield’.

“Almost there,” said Grace. “I know just the spot.”

Finally, Grace made a left into a small parking lot bordered by bright green, grassy fields on one end and unkempt trails on the other. “Quail park. I grew up playing soccer here.”

I looked around. I was glad to be there—it certainly yielded better views than the drive had. “It’s pretty.”

Grace popped open the trunk and pulled out a soccer ball and pump. She filled it with air quickly, then gestured for me to carry the ball. We walked over to the open fields, brushing permafrost aside as we squished the grass beneath our feet. Back and forth, we kicked the ball to one another, Grace showing off every now and then by booting the ball over her head and onto her knees, juggling it for ten, maybe twenty bounces before passing it back to me.

“So?” she said. “Did you kill the interview?”

I winced. “Not exactly.”

Grace toed the ball inward, using its momentum to whip the ball onto the flat of her foot. With a touch of force, she tapped the ball into the air and into her hands. “Come on, J. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

I smiled a bit. “It really was though.”

She laughed and dropped the ball to her feet. Passing it back to me, she said, “Ah, whatever. You don’t want to work in Denver anyway. You’re not cut out for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at you. You’ve been shivering your ass off since I picked you up, dummy. And I have heated seats!” she said.

“Hey,” I started. “You’re not wrong.”

“Rarely am. Anyhow, how are things with, uh, you know . . .”

“Maddie?” I finished.

“Yes, right, Maddie.”

“She texted me this morning.”

“Oooooh,” said Grace. “How’s Brandon gonna feel about that?”

Ah, right, Brandon. How could I forget?

“Brandon . . . Right. Well, I doubt that it’s a major concern of his at the moment. She left me on read anyway.”

“Oh. Well, it’s her loss anyhow. She’s missing out on a star athlete!” said Grace as she punted the ball, knocking me square in the chest.

“Fucking shit!” I howled.

“You sound like Adam more and more everyday,” she said.

“So dreams do come true.”

“Isn’t it funny,” said Grace, juggling the ball on her quads. “Don’t you feel like certain words belong to certain people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, don’t you associate certain words with certain people? Like every swear word with Adam, for example, and or maybe, I’m sure there are some you have in mind for Maddie or whoever.”

“You sure you’re not projecting, Grace?” I asked.

This time she threw the ball at me, and it proceeded to hit me right on the head. We kicked around for another hour or so, talking about this or that—how final exams went; our plans for the semester; and Pac-12 Women’s soccer, despite an utter lack of knowledge regarding the sport’s conference on my part. Around five-thirty in the late afternoon, we decided to get something to eat, so Grace drove us to a Vietnamese spot called Golden Bowl Noodle House which she heralded as the greatest phở restaurant on the west coast.

We sat down in blue booth seats across from one another, red and gold walls bordering us on my left. A large, square, green painting depicting an ocean scene lined the wall between us. I ordered the same thing as Grace, the Combo Number One, which consisted of a small rare steak phở, 2 spring rolls, and an iced tea. Grace asked to change hers to a warm tea, which was probably the better move in hindsight. Our drinks arrived first, and we sipped on them slowly. I was hungry—blueberry scones could only provide so much sustenance.

A robed Asian woman, with a slight hunch in her back as she hobbled over, arrived with a tray carrying two bowls of soupy noodles; four translucent wrapped appetizers; and a small dish with bean sprouts, Thai basil, and other add-ons. She bowed slightly and left us to our meals, so I looked over at Grace who had already taken her first bite from a spring roll. I followed her lead, feeling the cool cloak of rice wrappers over fresh shrimp, cilantro, and basil. Taking a bite, my teeth met shrimp with just the right amount of snap, the unexpected tang of hoisin sauce gifting a pleasant surprise.

Grace smacked my hand. “Use the peanut sauce! You gotta appreciate it properly, cuz some people can’t. Did you know that the rate of food allergies is increasing rapid as fuck—especially in developed nations like the US?”

I did as she said, dipping the spring roll into the gloppy, brown sauce. She wasn’t wrong—it was better that way. After swallowing my last bite of the spring rolls, Grace tossed some bean sprouts into my soup and squeezed lime juice over my bowl.

“You know this isn’t my first time eating phở, right?” I said.

Grace hushed me and continued eating. I watched her twirl a handful of noodles into her chopsticks, lifting them to her mouth over a soup spoon. Noisy slurps concluded with sapid bites followed by quick sips of tea. Rinse and repeat.

I opted for a fork, twisting firm noodles around its prongs as best I could, gulping down spoonfuls of savory soup in between steak and noodle bites. I watched the red meat cook to a brownish hue, the hot broth’s steam parting like sea waves under my chin.

“I’ll give it to you,” I said. “It’s good.”

Grace glanced at me, nodded, and continued eating. Finishing promptly, she leaned back into her chair and exhaled heavily.

I rushed to keep up with her, but it took me significantly longer to finish. Sooner or later, the robed woman limped over with the bill. I rose to my feet and met her halfway. I pulled out a Mastercard and slipped it into the folded check before handing it back to her and sitting back down with Grace.

“Real gentleman, aren’t you?”

“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me today. Besides, you’ve just introduced me to the ‘best phở on the west coast’, right?”

“Suppose that’s true. Okay, you’re right, dinner on you.”

The restaurant owner signaled that I could take back my card, so I walked over, tipped four-and-a-half dollars, tucked away my card, and we left for the car.

Grace’s eyelids were a bit heavy, so I asked her if she wanted me to drive. She handed me her keys and jumped into the passenger seat. After I buckled into the driver seat and turned the key in the ignition, she directed me to make a right out of the parking lot. I drove slowly back to her house, which was only ten or so minutes away, then pulled into her garage. The garage led into a two-story, vinyl sided, upper-middle class home with a comely, green lawn out front.

“Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

I followed her over hardwood floors into the living room, where a tall, white man with square sunglasses over his eyes and a black beanie atop his head shuffled through TV channels with a remote. The lights were off in the room even though the sun had set a little less than an hour prior.

“How are you doing, sir?” I asked.

“Wassup?” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “How are you today, sir?”

“All good.” He took a long draw from an IPA resting on the coffee table in front of him. “Catch y’all. Gracey—you got trash, yea?”

Before Grace could reply, a voice called from the kitchen around the corner, “I got today, hun!”

We nodded in acknowledgment to the man and turned to leave. “Must be your dad?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said. And that was the end of it.

I followed Grace into the kitchen. A woman—her mother, presumably—with a polka dot apron around her neck and a noticeable accent in her voice greeted us warmly. I was surprised by the speed of the woman as she rushed me with a sturdy hug, a tactic she then repeated on her daughter.

“Are you Filipino?” she asked, placing a motherly hand on my shoulder.

“No, ma’am.”

“Ayo,” she said. “No problem. Sleep good, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for letting me stay—”

“Sorry about him, mom,” said Grace. She hit me on the back playfully and the two women burst into laughter in unison. “You’re always welcome, J.”

I smiled, said goodbye, and trailed Grace as she led me up a winding staircase to a small bedroom encapsulated by canary yellow walls laden with rooster prints. The room housed a twin bed and two lamps with cube-ish shades. The bedsheets matched the walls, realistic rooster designs corresponding with the overarching theme of the bedroom.

“Don’t ask,” said Grace. “Night, J. Sleep up.”

I hugged Grace and thanked her. “Night.”

It was still early, only six-thirty or so, so I plopped onto the bed and pulled out my iPhone, intent on watching YouTube videos to pass some time. I chuckled to myself as I admired the chicken print theme of the room.

Clicking my phone to life, I was surprised to find text messages from Maddie that read:

I sighed and put the iPhone down as my heart rate spiked into the mid eighties.

#fiction #newadult #new adult #contemporaryfiction #na #youngadult #ya fiction #yafiction #young adult books #ya books

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary -Chapter 41

WARNINGS: Dark Tyler. Angsty Tyler, I suppose.

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @thorsbathroomchicken, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

The storage facility lies on the outskirts of town; in the middle of a derelict portion of an industrial complex. Abandoned warehouses flanking it to both the east and west, long abandoned train tracks to the north and a sewage treatment plant to the south. Weeds manage to thrive within the chips and cracks of old concrete, litter caught up in the rusted metal of a chain link fence. There hasn't been true signs of life in these parts for years; the factories that were still thriving were more than a kilometre, and no one aside from those wanting to take belongings out of their lockers ever visited the area. The sense and appearance of abandonment and neglect adding something dark and dreary to an already sinister plan

He's the last to arrive; parking the SUV among the small group of vehicles already gathered by the front gate. The security system for the facility had long ago been vandalized; someone had broken into the security system and stolen all the intricate parts, rendering the keypad useless. All that exists now are loose wires and scattered bits of metal, the gate permanently left open for anyone...whether it be thief or transient...to gain access. He kills the ignition and checks his phone; reading through unopened text messages, the engine softly ticking as is it cools. Letting his wife know that he'd arrived safe and sound at his first destination, but not giving any details.

The less she knows the better; some things are better left unspoken, some plans better left just between the people actually getting their hands dirty. All his resolve is gone. All his patience shredded. Any and all mercy has ceased to exist. He's at peace with his decision; resolved, determined, calm. With not even the slightest bit of hesitation or an inkling of remorse haunting him. And he tells himself that this could have been avoided had McMann not crossed that line. If he'd simply had the balls to go right to the source of his issues instead of taking a coward's way out. This is on him now. Whatever happens...whatever plan begins to unravel...the moment Tyler steps up of the car, it is a fate that the other man has brought onto himself. No one will find him out here. No one will be able to hear the suffering, the begging, the pleading. No one will be able to come to his aid. And in the end, when he finally thinks it's over and he's about to be shown mercy, he'll be handed over to begin another nightmare all in itself.

He sends her a second message. Telling her that he loves her. Reassuring her that everything is going to be okay. That he'll message her once the second part of that day's mission is done and McMann has been taken care up; holed up somewhere under lock and key, where he'll be kept until the IRA has made up their mind. And he adds : 'I'll see you when I see you', the exact words he's used for the past four years every time he abandons her and their children to go and solve someone else's problems.

“What do you think?” Yaz asks, when Tyler joins him at the front gate.

He'd been there for an hour now, arranging things exactly as had been requested. Their own surveillance feed that they can view from their cell phones or their laptops; cameras placed at the front gate, the doorway of the unit Tyler had rented using a fake name and stolen credit card, and three within the actual storage locker itself. There'd be eyes and ears on McMann twenty four hours a day; no one aside from those who knew of the storage locker and the plans for it would be going in or out. The situation would be controlled. Monitored. Right down to the very second. And if he somehow managed to get away and make a run for it, he wouldn't get far; Yaz would be installing an ankle monitor the moment McMann arrived on site.

“I think it's perfect,” he replies, as they fall in step alongside of each other and pass through the gate. Dirt and gravel crackling under the soles of his combat boots; kicking away any wayward rubbish that lies in his path. The storm the night before had brought the humidity; sweat glistens on his brow and trickles down his temples; the back of his t-shirt already damp.

“Esme's okay?”

“She's sick. Can't keep anything down. Not even water.”

“The baby or...?”

“Could be the baby. Could be stress. Could be nerves. She's been sick before; with all the others. But nothing this bad.”

“A sign maybe? That something is wrong? With the baby?”

Tyler frowns. “Why the fuck would you even say that?”

“I'm not saying that there is something wrong. And I'm not wishing or hoping there is. I'm just saying that...fuck...I don't even know what I'm saying.” He's nervous. Despite all the jobs that he's assisted with, all the perilous and high stakes situations he's been in, the nerves have been rubbed raw. This is a first for him. When they'll actually be inflicting the damage instead of trying to end it.

“she's fine,” Tyler says, more an attempt to reassure himself than Yaz. “The baby's fine. She's just freaking out. She's thousands of miles away from home. From her kids. She's worried about them, worried about Ovi and Chloe, worried about me. This fucking sucks, mate. That she has to go through all of this. Especially now. This should be a happy time. We just found out we're having a baby. We should be ecstatic. And instead we're dealing with this bullshit. She deserves better than this. So does that baby.”

“Well at least we can kind of see the finish line now,” Yaz reasons. “We're a hell of a lot closer than we were two days ago, that's for sure. Heard anything from the IRA yet?”

“Flynn said it would be two days at the earliest, four at the latest. I don't expect to hear anything from them for a while.”

The air inside the storage building is stifling; humidity hanging heavily. The air conditioning unit is ancient and had long ago stopped working, and the owners of the facility seemed to be in no hurry to fix it. A foul stench lingers in the air; a mixture of rotting garbage in the bins outside, pollution from the factories and the mills only a kilometre away, and the tell tale odour of mould and mildew. Not the most pleasant, but after wading through that sewer in Dhaka and having to wait there for more than hour for Gaspar to pick them up, smells rarely bother Tyler anymore. But he notices the way Yaz scrunches up his nose; a scowl appearing on his face before he begins to cough and gag.

“What if they don't agree to this?” Yaz asks. “What if this is all for nothing?”

“Even if they do say no, it won't be for nothing. Trust me.”

“How long will you keep him here? If they don't want him. How long does he have before...you know...”

“I'll kill him when I'm good and ready. And I will. Kill him. If they don't.”

He's calm as he says it. Matter of fact. There's no hesitation. He'd made the decision on the drive over. If the IRA didn't want McMann, then he'd take care of the problem himself. But not before the other man was taught a very valuable lesson. It's the first time he hasn't experienced even the slightest bit of remorse or guilt over the thought of taking another life. Killing had never been about satisfaction or pleasure. He's killed because he's had to. Because his own survival came down to it. He's never been proud of the reputation. Or the body count. But this is different.

This is personal.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Yaz asks, as motions towards the last door on the left. Garage style; black aluminum that rolls up into the ceiling. He'd rented the largest one possible; so whoever was in charge of watching McMann during set shifts would have a place to eat and rest. There'd be a team of four, switching out every six hours. And always a set off eyes on either laptop or cell phone.

“It's what I need to do,” Tyler replies. “For my wife. For my kids.”

“Do you think she'd really want this, Tyler? If she knew exactly what you were up to? You think she'd want to know what you're capable of?”

“She already knows that, mate. She saw what I was capable of five and a half years ago in Dhaka. She knows who I am. She knows what I do.”

“But this? This goes above and beyond what she saw. What she knows. Do you really think she'd want to know about this? About what kind of man you can be?”

“No,” he admits. “Probably not. She'd probably hate me. Or be scared of me She'd probably never trust me again. Maybe she'd even leave me and take my kids.”

It's the bitter and hard truth of the situation; in the middle of trying to protect and avenge his family, he could in fact end up losing them. But she'd understand. If she'd listen to him long enough. If she gave him a chance to explain, she would realize that he'd done it for her. For their kids. To protect the only things that truly mattered in his life. She'd saved him. Given him a second chance. And McMann had threatened that. To take away the one person that he had held on for.

And he deserved to pay for it.

“Then why do it?” Yaz asks. “Why risk it? Why risk losing everything over one person?”

“Because,” he replies, and steps over the threshold of the storage unit. “He fucked with the wrong man's family.”

***

“Things are coming together,” Mark says, his hands on his hips as he watches two of his Marines -Nathan and Zak- secure the last two cameras; one above the door, the other in the middle of the room to the left, three inches from the ceiling. The remaining member of his team has been assigned to stay behind at the hotel, ordered to stay glued to Esme's hip at all times until Tyler's returned from the his meeting with McMann. “Not too shabby for a couple of jar heads, huh? They're determined to get shit done, that's for sure.”

“It all gonna be ready for when he gets here?” Tyler asks. He doesn't want to leave any stone unturned. Not even the simplest of details can be overlooked. There is no room for error. And even the smallest mistake could spell disaster.

“Should be. Come check this out...”

There's a crude metal chair in the middle of the room; a sack made from heavy black fabric that will be used to cover McMann's head and a package of zip ties sitting on the seat. But it's meal table pushed against the far wall that Mark leads him too. A wide selection of knives and handguns nearly arranged on top of it, along with the lesser used tools of the trade.

“We've got the usual,” Mark says, as he nods down at the objects on display. “Standard run of the mill shit. But these...” he takes two steps sideways. “...this is where the real nasty stuff is. The ones that can really pack a punch. We've got a couple of tasers, a few box cutters, a ball-peen hammer, crowbar. Even a couple pairs of pliers. You know, for the little jobs and small spaces you need to get into.”

Tyler picks up a handsaw; inspecting the edges, the handle, the sharpness of the blade.

“That was my personal addition,” Mark says. “Right from my own collection. She's seen some dirty jobs, if you know what I mean. Hasn't let me down yet.”

Tyler smirks. “You do this kind of shit often?”

“Things used to get a little wild in Iraq. We used to have to resort to some pretty extreme things when dealing with the terrorists. Especially the ones we caught that were guilty of doing unspeakable shit to women and kids. You know, the kind that needs to meet the karma bus head on. I'm sure you saw some things in the Middle East.”

Tyler nods. His final three tours with the Australian army had been spent in Kandahar. He'd seen first hand what the Taliban had been capable of doing to women and children. He'd been on night patrol when his platoon had managed to capture a man known to be a serial rapist and pedophile. It's where he'd seen and learned the most savage of tricks in his playbook. Committing every act of depravity his commanding officer had inflicted upon that Iraqi to his memory. He had hoped that he'd never have to use any of those things; that a gun, knife, or fist would be the only weapons he'd have to rely on while on the job. But now the inevitable is right there in front of him. And instead of horror and disgust, he feels nothing.

He has nothing left to give. The job has taken it all. Every ounce of compassion and humanity that he'd ever possessed.

“You don't have to do this,” Mark says. “I know why you're doing it. And I get why you feel like it has to be done. But you don't need to do it, Tyler.”

“Yeah...” he picks up one of the box cutters and clicks open the blade. “...I do.”

“Once you cross that line, you can't come back. You realize that, don't you? Once you go from killing out of necessity to killing for sport...for revenge...you'll never be the same. Once we become that monster that's been living inside of us for years...for decades...that monster never goes away. That monster is going to live with you for the rest of your life.”

“If that's the way it has to be...” he shrugs as his voice trails off.

“Kid, listen to me. I've been in this type of situation before. I've had to resort to some pretty sick and twisted shit to get things I needed. To teach someone a lesson. And it fucks with you. It does something to you. Up here...” he taps the tip of his index fingers against his temple. “...it changes you. To the point you won't even recognize yourself. You're going wake up one morning and you're going to look in the mirror and not even know who the fuck you are anymore. Is that really what you want? To become some former version of yourself? And I'm not just talking about what it's going to do to you. I'm talking about what it's going to do to Esme. To see you like that. To not even know who you are anymore. Is that really want you want?”

“I'm not the same man I was when we first met. That man died that day on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Five and half years ago that man died and this is who was left behind. Do you think that was fair to her? That she had to see that? That she had to sit there while I was dying in her arms? That she stayed behind just to save my life? She gave up everything that day. She was never the same. Neither of us were.”

“She stayed because she wanted to be with you. Because she was in love with you. When Esme loves, she loves hard. With everything she's got. Do you really think she sees you the way you see yourself? You think you died that day. She thinks she saved you. She thinks she's the one that kept you hanging on.”

“She was,” he admits. “She's the only reason I did hang on.”

“She doesn't see you any differently now than she did back then. You're the same Tyler in her eyes. She doesn't look at you and see someone damaged and broken. She just sees you. That's it But this? What you're going to do here? That will change you. You will become a different person. And not a better one. Is that what you really want for her? Do you want her to look at you one day and not know who the fuck you are anymore? Because this is going to haunt you. This is going to eat at you. And she's going to be the one that pays the ultimate price.”

Tyler nods, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It's a nervous habit. Or one he resorts to when emotion is beginning to overwhelm him. He won't be able to keep it a secret forever. He knows that. But if he can hold it together just long enough to be victorious over his own monsters and his own demons, he can spare her the knowledge of just who he is and what he's capable of. If he can keep the secret just long enough...to the point where it doesn't eat him alive from the inside out...everything will be okay.

They'd be okay.

“You've got this amazing thing going on,” Mark continues. “You've got a wife, four kids, one on the way. Why would you want to fuck that up?”

“I don't,” he clears his throat noisily. “That's the last thing I want.”

“Think about those kids, Tyler. Your kids. You won't be the person they know right now. You won't be the same dad you are this very second. Is that really what you want? They're just babies still. The oldest is only five. Five! And you're going to go back to those kids and slowly you're going to become a different person. Right in front of them. Think about what that's going to do to them. When daddy suddenly isn't daddy anymore. For fuck sakes. Tyler. You do not have to do this.”

“Yes. I do,” he insists. “They deserve this.”

“The fuck they do. Look, I get it. You're pissed. McMann fucked with the wrong guy. He never should have went after your family. But they're safe. You took care of things. You found out before it got any further. You got your kids out. You got Ovi and the girl out. You protected them. Now they're safe and that's all that matters. What is this going to do? You doing this? Other than fuck you up?”

“He needs to be taught a lesson. I warned him. Before I even got on that plane to come here. I told him that if I found out he was fucking with me and going after my family, I'd make him sorry. And that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to make him sorry. He's going to pay. I'm going to teach him a very valuable lesson. For as long and as painfully as I can.”

“But why? Why the fuck do you need to do that? Jesus Christ, Tyler. Do you realize what you sound like? Do you realize who you sound like? You sound just like those crazy fucks that you have to rescue people from. This is the kind of shit those people do. What guys like Mahajan and Asif did to people. When did you cross that line? When did you stop being the hero and start being one of them?”

“Let's get one thing straight...” Tyler's voice is low, menacing, as he turns to face Mark. “...I've never been a hero. I've never claimed to be one. I never wanted to be one. I help people because it's my job. I go in there, I get shit done, I get paid. That's it. I don't do it to be a fucking hero.”

“But you're still one of the good guys. You still go in and help people. This? This is not helping people. This is far from it. You don't kill because you like it. You kill because you have to. To save yourself. To save your mark. But this is intentional, Tyler. You have this all planned and all thought out and you're acting like it's no big deal. That it's just a normal day for you. This is not normal!”

“He needs to pay,” Tyler growls. “He needs to pay for going anywhere near my kids. For taking me away from them. For bringing my wife into this fucking mess. And I'm going to make him pay. And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

“I could tell Nik.”

Tyler gives a dry laugh. “What the fuck is she going to do? She has nothing to with this. This all me. I'm in charge here. So go. Run off to her and tell her. I don't give a shit. She can't stop me either.”

“I'll tell Esme, then.”

Tyler's eyes narrowed. “Don't do that. Don't bring her into this. That's fucking low and you know it. Using her against me? Using my own wife as a weapon?”

“She's the only one that can stop you from fucking your whole life up. She saved you once. Let her save you again.”

“I don't need saving. I need revenge. I want him to pay. For what he did to my family. For what he's put them through. What he's put her through. She deserves that. She deserves revenge.”

“She doesn't want revenge, Tyler. She want her husband. She wants the father of her kids. As he is now. Now what he's going to become if he goes through with this. She wants a normal life. With you. And that won't happen if you do this. This has gone far enough. You're going to hand McMann over and he can be the IRA's problem.”

“And if they don't want him? What then?”

“Then you kill him. Nice and clean. None of this shit.”

“No,” Tyler shakes his head. “That's not enough. That's not nearly enough.”

“This is fucking insane and you know it. You're unhinged. You need to get your shit together. You need to get your fucking head on straight. Forget about this. You don't need to do this. Because I will tell her. I'm not bullshitting. I will call her right now. Is that what you want? You want me to call her right now and let her know where you are and what you're up to?”

Tyler's eyes narrow, his nostrils flare. “Don't do this.”

“Fuck this,” Mark removes his cell phone from pocket of his hoodie. “If you're not going to back down and get your shit together, I'll let her handle this. She's pretty good at reining you, right? She's gotten used to having to keep you under control.”

“Don't do this,” Tyler repeats. “Don't fucking do this.”

“You did this. You did this, Rake. And if you're not going to save yourself, maybe she can.”

He only manages to get the screen turned on and the first number pushed, Tyler's elbow slamming into his face and sending him sprawling backwards into the floor. And there's a clamour as chaos erupts within the storage unit; the two Marines quickly bolting to their boss' side; ladders toppling over with a crash.

“Rake... you fucking asshole!” Mark bellows, as he struggles to his feet, a hand clutching his broken and bloody nose. “...what the hell is wrong with you? Are you fucking crazy?!”

“You should have just stayed the fuck away!” Tyler roars. “You should have stayed away from her. You never should have showed up at my house. You have no right. You have no fucking right being anywhere near her!”

“Is that really what this is about? Is that what you just did what you did? Because you're jealous.”

“I'm jealous?! What the fuck do I have to be jealous of. She left you, remember? She got tired of your shit and she left. Do you buddies know what you did? Do they know how you treated her? Huh? Did you tell them any of that? Or did you just make her out to be the bad person?”

“You're going to resort to that? You're going to resort to bringing that shit up? Are you that fucking desperate?”

“Did he tell you?” Tyler asks the Marines. “Did he? Did he tell you that my wife is his ex wife? Did he tell you why she left him? Did he tell you about how he got a blow job from a stewardess coming back from his honeymoon? I bet he didn't tell you that.”

“You're really going to do this?” Mark rages. “You're really going to bring this up? It's none of your fucking business!”

“She's my fucking business! She's my wife. That makes her my business. I bet you didn't tell them that you liked to beat on her. That at first you started hitting her where she could hid the bruises with clothes. But then after awhile you just didn't give a fuck anymore and you'd give her black eyes, split lips, bloody noses. How about the two times you put her in the hospital? Do you blokes now about that? Well if you didn't, you sure as fuck do now.”

“Whoa...whoa...” Yaz finally appears from the corridor, having been caught up organizing and setting up any remaining technology. “What the hell is going on here?”

“He's fucking crazy,” Mark nods in Tyler's direction. “That's what's going on here.”

“I'm just letting these guy know what an upstanding citizen their boss is,” Tyler explains. “You know, the kind that likes to beat on women. The kind that likes to cheat on them. The kind that's a narcissistic dick bag that gas lighted her into thinking she was the problem, That she wasn't good enough. That she'd never be good enough. Or how about how he blamed her for losing a baby the doctor said never would have been viable in the first place.”

Mark's eyes narrow. “How'd you...”

“You fucking dumb ass. Did you really think I wouldn't ask her when you told me about the baby she lost? Did you honestly think I wouldn't want to know? Because I knew it couldn't be a problem with her because we have four kids. I've never had a problem getting her pregnant. And all those kids arrived safe and sound. No issues whatsoever. She showed me the pathology report. It was a severe abnormality passed down through the y gene. Meaning you, asshole. It came from you. And you still fucking blamed her. You still made her think it was her goddamn fault. How fucking sick do you have to be to do that your own wife? When she's already upset that she lost a baby in the first place?!”

“Okay...okay...” Yaz claps a hand down on Tyler's shoulder. “...this is private stuff, man. This doesn't need to be brought up. No one needs to hear this.”

“He needs to hear it,” Tyler nods in Mark's direction. “Because he's been playing these fucking games for ten years now. Ten years she's held all that shit inside of her. Thinking she isn't good enough. Being told no one would ever love her because of how messed up she was. Do you remembering telling her that? Don't deny it. Don't stand here and lie to my face. Be a man. For once. Be a man and admit it. Own it. That you fucked with her head. That you made her think she'd never find anyone better than you. That's what you told her, right?”

“I admit it. I said some...things...”

“Yeah, you did. You sure fucking did, mate. You fucking broke her. And you know what, I came along and I helped put her back together. All those things you told her? About how no one would ever love her? I proved you wrong. I came along and I loved her. With everything I fucking have. Everything I am. I made her forget about you and you can't fucking stand it.”

“She's way too good for you.” Mark gives a dry laugh. “And one day she's going to wake up and wonder why the hell she wasted so many years of her life with you.”

“You keep telling yourself that, mate. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Because guess what? While you're sleeping alone? I'm sleeping next to her. With her. And you can't fucking stand the thought of it.”

“Enough!” Yaz snaps. “Both of you! Enough is enough. Now I get there's some issues. Between the two of you. I get shit is messy. Mark, you crossed a fucking line by ever showing up at Tyler's house looking for Esme. You went there to try and cause shit between them and it blew up in your face and you can't handle that. Tyler and Esme are tight. Their bond? You can't break that shit. No one can. Now, we need to all work together here. We need to get this asshole and make him pay. Can't we all agree on that? That McMann needs to go down for all the shit he's pulled? Right?” he stares pointedly at Tyler. “Right?”

Tyler nods.

“Right?” he turns his gaze to Mark and the two marines, all three nodding in confirmation. “For fuck sakes, this is not the time for shit to be falling apart. We're all working towards a common goal here. You three have your reasons for wanting McMann to suffer, and Tyler has his reasons. And it doesn't matter if I agree with how Tyler is going about things. What he does when he's left here with McMann is his business. Just like I won't give a shit what you guys to do him. But this is my boy...” he claps Tyler on the back of his neck. “...this is my brother. This stupid fuck...this ugly face...has been through more shit than the three of you together. And you know what? His stubborn ass just keeps getting back up. I saw this guy near death. Like right on its fucking doorstep. And he made death his bitch. So if you've got a problem with him, you've got a problem with me. And my sister. And our entire team.”

“We have no issues with him,” Nathan speaks up. “With either of you.”

Zak shrugs. “I've got no problems.”

“So it just you,” Yaz smirks at Mark. “Time to let shit go, man. She's not yours anymore. She's his. And he's not letting her go. Deal with.”

Mark gives a snort, then turns on his heel to stomp from the room, purposefully bumping Tyler's shoulder with his on the way out.

“What a drama queen,” Yaz shakes his head. “Why didn't you tell me you were going to knock him the fuck out? You know I wanted to see that. You know I wanted ringside seats! The fuck is wrong with you? Doing me like that?”

“Next time I'll let you know. So we can watch. Hey about what you said...”

“I said what I said. Don't go getting all little wuss bitch baby on me.”

Tyler grins. “Actually, I was going to ask if you really think my face is ugly.”

Yaz smirks. “You know you're my boy crush. Now quit riding my jock and get the fuck out of here. Go and see your wife. Spend some time with her before you go and meet McMann. You both need it. That time.”

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “We do.”

“And I'd say wrap it before you tap it but you've proven time and time again you don't know what that means, so...”

“You're a real fucking dick, Yaz,” he laughs as he heads for the door.

“Maybe. But you love me. And you'd miss me if I was gone. Admit it, Tyler! You'd miss me!” He frowns when he receives a smirk and the middle finger in response. “Why you do me like that? Why you do your boy like that?”

He receives no answer. Just the sound of the soles of combat boots as they disappear down the hall.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #chris hemsworth character #sanctuary #extraction

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monster-or-man · 5 years

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Monster or Man (working title) -Chapter 1

Hi all. So I’ve decided to post the first chapter of the first draft of my book that I’ve been working on for a long time. This is the first draft so it’s mostly just to get my ideas down, but I am looking for some feedback. If you enjoy it, please let me know. If you think there are improvements that need to be done, also let me know. Thanks!

She kept looking over her shoulder out of fear of being caught. What she was about to do would be considered treason, not only to the facility she was currently studying in but to the whole country. Dr Myrah Liang, in this place, her name wasn’t important, she was just one of many genetic scientists that were forced to work within these walls, however, soon she will be known all around the world. Thankfully, her outfit allowed her to blend in, the white long buttoned lab coat with the brown pants. It was the standard uniform for the genetic scientists, no one really batted an eye when they witnessed her standing at one of the various metal doors in the long hall. Reaching into her front pocket, an ID card was presented and pressed against the security keypad, little whispers slipped through her bright red lips. “Please, please, please.” Genetic scientists only had level one access, which only really opened up most of the labs and research quarters. To her surprise, the little red light on the keypad turned green and a small click notified her that the door unlocked. The lights flickered to life as she entered the room, revealing cabinets as tall as the walls themselves. Jackpot. Closing the door slowly behind her, Dr Liang’s eyes stared in amazement before rushing over to one of the shelves. Her fingers flipped through the folders, she had to find something, something that could expose this whole operation. Each file was labelled; December 17th 2001 – Afghanistan December 18th 2011 – Iraq March 16th 2004 - Pakistan April 27th 2018 – North Korea

Grabbing each file folder, Dr Liang thought that this might be enough evidence to get the media to pounce onto the people running this hellhole. However, she grabbed one more file as as a precaution. It had no date and the folder itself was completely blank. The scientist was so engrossed in looking at the files, she failed to realize that a security camera had been recording the whole time. Her head poked up from the stacks of papers and she began shuffling out. The plan to look as normal as possible was completely chucked out of the window, she just wanted to get out of there quickly before anyone noticed what she was doing.

Alarms echoed through the pearly white halls as the scientist bolted towards one of the many doors surrounding her. In her grasp were a stack grey coloured file folders, some of which had fallen out of her hands and onto the ground below. She didn’t bother stop and pick them up as the sound of heavy boots grew ever closer. With panicked breaths, the scientist slammed her body against the two large metal doors that separated her from her freedom. Her fist punched the enlarged elevator buttons but a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“And what exactly do yae plan on doing with those?”

That familiar Scottish accented, cold toned voice. She couldn’t help but swallow the lump of fear that built up in the back of her throat realising just exactly who was standing behind her. Much akin to a scared puppy, the woman’s head slowly turned, eyes widened and her body quaking. It was her boss, Dr Achim Lankanotvitch, dressed in a long black lab coat that was buttoned on his chest. His black short hair held was held together with enough wax that it looked like it could stab ones fingers if they were to touch it. The most eye catching feature which separated him from the rest of the scientists in the facility was the large metal arm that had completely replaced his normal limb. Large round glasses with reflective lenses covered his eyes, which made it difficult to read what emotion his face was portraying. However, judging by his straight posture and authoritative stance, he was not happy that this situation was occurring. “Your operation has to end. Too many innocent people are dying!” She shouted with the files hugged to her chest. “A shame really, I had such high hopes for yae.” Achim brushed off her statement, it meant nothing to him. “Leak those files and the whole world will spiral into a panic, wars will be started and a lot more lives will be lost.” He held out his blue gloved hand while his fingers twitched, demanding that she hand over the stack of papers. A ding from the elevator rang through both of their ears causing both of their heads to twitch. The rouge scientist moved to the opening doors, hunched over the files so no more would fall. “I’m going to put a stop to this, it’s time the world discovers your crime against humanity.” As soon as she said that, Achim almost leapt forward, attempting to grab her arm as she shuffled through the doors. He barely missed, but that didn’t stop the woman from hyperventilating in panic. She knew what would have happened if she got caught, a punishment so severe that she wouldn’t want to wish it upon anyone. Thankfully, getting to the elevator was the hardest part. Achim remained in his spot as the elevator went up. His left eye was twitching from the sudden stress that washed over him. Behind, several heavily armed security came to a halt. “Sir… someone is escaping with some sensitive material.” The scientist’s head turned slowly to face the soldier who spoke, his glare only darkened. “I KNOW!” That sudden outburst caused the entire facility around them to fall silent even the chatter from down the hall stopped. “Yae there… put him in the feeder… I need a drink.” “No! No!” The other soldiers were quick to listen to their boss’s demand, wrapping their arms around him as they dragged him away. Achim on the other hand made his way back down the hall. Luckily his private office wasn’t too far away.

As the boss walked down the hallway, his hands were linked behind his back. The Test Centre of Classified Somatology, usually known as the TCCS amongst the employees. Thirty years of blood, sweat and tears went into this place, sadly, for it’s creator, it had to remain hidden to the rest of the world. He approached his office slowly, nodding to the two soldiers who always stood guard at the door. They saluted back in a sign of respect as Achim entered. The room itself was large, but the office only took up a quarter of the space while the rest was used as living quarters for himself. In the right hand corner laid a messy double bed with the covers thrown over the side. Making his way to a large wooden cabinet, his metal fingers brushed against glass bottles, most of which were unopened bottles of whisky and wine, while others appeared to be almost empty.

“Hitting the drink already? It’s not even five o’clock.” A woman spoke from the door, Achim didn’t even hear her come in. She was dressed similar to him, a black long lab coat, but unlike her boss, she kept hers unbuttoned.. Her striking white long hair bounced as she walked before she slapped another batch of files on his desk. Being a much much older woman, she had been apart of the facility for many years, almost the same amount of time as Achim. There was no surprise that she would soon find herself second in command. “Leave me alone, I’ve had a rough day.” Achim snarked back at her comment while he poured himself a nice tall glass of Malt Scotch Whisky, the events from earlier today called for one of the more expensive drinks in his collection. “What’s this?” “Paperwork for that soldier you sentenced to death. Come on, you know the drill.” Her nail pressed against the file folder, tapping it. “Do you really need this right this second Karolinne?” “Yes, and don’t call me that while we’re on the job… I don’t want the rest of the employees to start…” She retorted with a small huff, still standing her ground in front of his desk. “I heard about the rouge scientist… What are you going to do about her?” Upon that question being asked, Achim stood up, whisky cup in hand as he made his way to the large window that was one of his walls. Behind the glass were fake trees, which rustled slightly as if something was moving. “It depends on how she plays her cards, if she goes to the media, we can shut it down before anybody gets a chance to see them. Head into parliament, she’d get shot on the spot. I’ll put out a nation wide warrant for her arrest.” Karolinne followed him, her eyes peering down to the area below. “I think you are being way to relaxed about this.” She looked at him before returning her gaze. “You under estimate her, don’t you?”

“I’m surprised, you more than anybody should know how many people have tried to put a stop to my operation, what is it now? Five? Six?” Achim took another sip of his expensive whisky, not giving her the time of day. She had nothing but respect for him, so when he gave her the cold shoulder, she went silent on the subject. “The president is going to get wind of this sooner or later.” Only then did the scientist react, shuffling in his spot ever so slightly but it was noticeable to her. On that note, Karolinne made her way to the door. “Get that paperwork done as soon as possible.” No response. Achim had become lost in his own thoughts. The TCCS had so much potential, however layers of red tape had constricted his ideas and expanding his operation was not possible anymore. Trees rustled below him once more, snapping him out of his thoughts. He slowly walked back to his desk and basically flopped into his chair, starting his paperwork.

Days had passed since the files were stolen, nothing had really come from it which was rather surprising to Achim. He half expected half of the world to be furious with him but it was all radio silence. The scientist was in his office, observing some of the security footage from that day, when his desk lit up. On the screen below his files, the face of the President himself showed up on the incoming call button. Great. He tapped the green answer square as if he was using a normal cell phone. Shortly after a holographic screen appeared in front of him with live feed from the Oval Office. “So nice to see yae mister President.” Achim attempted to clean his desk by just shoving papers back into the file folder, he’ll sort it later. The President of the United States, a man that held tremendous power over many countries around the globe. Personally, Achim felt like he was wasting it. There were so many missed opportunities that would have benefited the country greatly. “Achim! Why are you killing your own men again!?” He didn’t flinch despite the fact that his boss was yelling at the top of his lungs, clearly furious at him. “First of all, don’t yell at me like that… secondly, that man was incompetent, if you would assign me some people that could in fact do their job, then I’d be more than happy not to send them to the pit.” That didn’t stop the president from still screaming his head off. “That’s no excuse! We have people asking questions!” Achim held his tongue. As much as he wanted to scream back at the top of his lungs about how that soldier decided to make the smart ass remark, he knew that it would only lead to more arguing. The president continued. “We have an investor interested in helping you fund your operations, she will be arriving in the next forty-eight hours, get your act together and make sure you’re ready to show her your best work.” That new piece of information really put Achim on edge. His stance shifted while his arms were suddenly crossed at the chest, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “An investor? I told yae… we were getting more orders coming in, people have been paying.” “We’re running out of money, even with their contributions. You and I both know that we cannot turn down any interested parties at this point.”

The scientist rubbed his chin, disapproving by this sudden turn of events. “Fine, we will show her around.” “Good, now don’t mess this up.” On that note, the screen shut off with a faint clicking sound. Achim moved from rubbing his chin to rubbing his temple. Karolinne stood on the side of his desk, she looked rather amused with her wide grin. “On days like this I’m kind of glad you’re the one that has to deal with him and not me.” “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter.” He sighed deeply, expelling the pent up rage that had been slowly boiling up to the surface. “Either way, I want this place in pristine condition, a little extra funding would go a long way.” “Yes sir.”

#oc story #book draft #chapter 1 #monster or man #Any feedback would be great!#writing #written draft #writer

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borglocksblog · 2 years

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rohirric-hunter · 5 years

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Insight World -- Chapter 3

AO3 FF.net

Chapter 1 ● Chapter 2 ● Chapter 3 ● Chapter 4 ● Chapter 7

July 27th, 2010

Steve Rogers had always been good at applicable geometry. As a child he had beaten all of his playmates so soundly at marbles that they eventually banned him from games. As a teen he had paid for medicine and sometimes even rent by showing up at pool halls and intentionally playing badly, then driving the betting pool up and taking all the other players to school. And in his twenties he had become Captain America, and he had learned how to hone and weaponize skills he already had in order to bring down enemies on the battlefield.

Aiming his shield was easy. Steve ran his mental calculations three times, just to be sure, as there was no room for error, but he was right the first time. His shield cleared the heads of the people in front of him, bounced off the nearest pillar on the Lincoln Memorial, and then sharply turned downwards and shattered the guard’s hand, clattering to the ground between the guard and Stark, surrounded by pieces of the gun.

The people split in front of him like the Red Sea. Men in riot gear decorated with Hydra patches started toward him. Steve pulled a pistol from his pocket and fired it into the row of men before they could fully prepare themselves. The first three dropped dead immediately, but the fourth managed to raise a bulletproof riot shield. Steve lowered his gun without wasting the shot and ran forward instead, leaping into the air at the last minute and landing his entire weight on the top of the shield. The man behind it was crushed into the pavement. A fifth guard pointed a pistol of his own around the edge of his shield. Steve shot the hand holding the pistol and then spun around, running toward Iron Man and the guards standing around him.

There had been six guards, each with a weapon of some sort trained on the prisoner, but now there were only three, and even as Steve ran forward one of them raised a gun and fired twice in quick succession. The other two guards crumpled and the last one turned on Pierce, who had already raised a gun of his own and pointed it at the man. Steve reached the top of the steps and scooped up his shield, sliding it onto his arm. He turned back to the crowd as bullets rat-tat-tatted against the surface of his shield. One of the riot guards holstered his handgun and hoisted up an eerily familiar weapon. Steve dodged the energy bolt from the Tesseract-enhanced weapon and shot the man holding it. A gunshot sounded behind him and he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the guard take a shot at Pierce, who dove out of the way, too late to dodge the bullet entirely. Clutching his arm, he ducked inside the Memorial. Steve toyed with the idea of throwing his shield after him, but the sight of Tony Stark bending over to get a gun from one of the dead guards reminded him that he had not come here to stop Alexander Pierce.

“Cover me!” he shouted to the guard, whose features were still hidden by the mask of a high-ranking Hydra agent. “Put your hands on the ground and spread them out,” he said to Stark.

“You weren’t part of the plan,” the guard observed as he fired at approaching enemies.

Steve slammed the edge of his shield into the ground between Stark’s hands, shattering the link that held the cuffs together.

“Yeah, ‘cause you clearly had everything under control,” Stark said. He picked up a gun and added to the defensive fire. “I like the plan where I don’t get shot. Speaking of plans, did you have an exit plan? Either of you?”

“Head out the north side,” the guard said.

Steve turned and glanced between the colossal pillars and the wall, putting the gun back in his pocket in preparation to use his shield with both hands. The escape route was already full of police with riot shields. A quick look confirmed that the south side was as well. “Not an option,” he said. “They’re trying to block us in.” Both groups were coming closer, and a line was assembling at the foot of the steps.

“Change of plans, Natasha,” the guard said. “Bring the car around front. Watch out for civilians. There are still a few stragglers.” Most of the so-called stragglers were huddled together with phones out, pointed at the three men at the top of the steps. “Get down the steps!” he shouted.

Steve threw his shield, taking out a Hydra agent who had lowered his shield just a little too much. It bounced off a pillar and he caught it as it came back. As the three of them started down the steps, their enemies closed in faster. The guard and Stark went on ahead, while Steve followed up the rear, covering himself with his shield and taking out following guards. His gun ran out of bullets after five shots, and he dropped the magazine. Before he could reload with the spare magazine in his back pocket, he spotted another agent raise an energy weapon. The gun clattered to the ground as he grabbed Stark with his free hand and jerked him to the side. The energy bolt shot over the heads of the civilians, who scattered, babbling as they did so.

A black Prius circled around the monument from the north and pulled to a halt near the prison truck. The passenger side window rolled down and a woman leaned out, a gun in each hand, and started shooting the riot guards at the bottom of the steps, most of whom were facing away from her. “Always changing plans at the last minute, Clint,” she shouted.

“Oh, you know me,” the guard said. “Just can’t make up my mind on these things.” He ran down the last few stairs, shooting two guards in his path, threw open the passenger side door, and jumped into the car. Stark followed, and Steve slammed the door shut just in time for a few bullets to bounce off of it.

“Who the hell is this?” the woman asked as she hit the gas, twisting around the south side of the Memorial.

The guard, Clint, pulled his mask off and ran his hand through short brown hair. “Who the hell are you?” he asked Steve.

“I’m Captain America,” Steve said, distracted by a pain in his left arm. He slid his shield off his arm and discovered that one of the straps had cut through the fabric of his shirt and sliced into the skin just above the inside of his elbow. It was red and swollen, but not deep, so he ignored it and snapped his attention up to the other people in the car. The woman was driving, but the two men were staring at him, two pairs of eyebrows climbing skyward. “It’s a long story,” he said.

The car shook as it drove over a low median. “We weren’t planning on shooting our way out of this one,” the woman said. “Stark, I need you to try to calibrate the license plate camouflage.”

Stark started to climb over the console. “You haven’t gotten that up and running yet?” he asked.

“Johnson and Tortels were caught a couple of months back because their blue Ford F-150 matched to a hot pink Thunderbird’s plate,” Clint offered.

“What year?” Stark asked as he slid into the seat, popped open the glovebox, and pried open a panel inside. “Some Thunderbird models have similar unused fuel levels. That might be confusing the emissions sensor.” Inside the panel was a small screen with a keypad. Stark started tapping away. “I don’t suppose we have time to make a pit stop at the hardware store? I need some palladium.”

“Dare I ask what for?” Clint asked.

“They’ve got a read on my arc reactor’s energy signature. I can make it some better shielding when I get tools, but until then I’m a walking tracking device. If I replace the core with palladium the signature will be different enough that they should lose it.” Stark grabbed a small screwdriver from the glovebox and pried the screen off of the panel, revealing a motherboard beneath it.

“Get rid of it,” said the woman. “We came prepared.” She reached into the console and pulled out a round glowing blue object. “Your last model. The energy signatures should be different enough.”

“Exactly how often do you go rooting through my trash, Romanoff?” Stark asked. He leaned back to pull up his shirt and twist something in his chest. A few seconds later, he lifted a similar glowing blue circle away from himself, trailing coiled wires. Once he had it out, Romanoff rolled down the passenger side window. Stark chucked the arc reactor out of it without a second glance.

“Wow,” said Barton. “I thought you were gonna make a bigger deal out of that.”

“I have to make some changes to the design,” Stark said. “Nothing significant, just enough to confuse them if they get their hands on it again. Power feedback loops, Trojan horse protocols. They studied the hell out of that. Couldn’t reproduce it, of course.” He slid the new reactor into the hole the old one had left and pulled his shirt down again. “Still don’t want to walk around with a powerhouse they have the blueprints to in my chest.”

Bullets bounced off the back of the car. Steve glanced over his shoulder to see the prison van in pursuit. As the woman slammed on the brakes and turned them onto another street, a military vehicle with a gun mounted on top came from the other direction. “We’ve got almost a mile to go before we can get on the interstate,” Romanoff said. “Clint, get them off our trail, will you?”

Clint nodded and leaned forward. He opened a case under the driver’s seat and retrieved a quiver of arrows from it, slinging it across his back. Then he leaned down and got a bow. A press of a button opened a sunroof over the back seat, and he put his head through it and then immediately pulled it back down as a hail of bullets hit the top of the car. “Cap,” he said. “Want to give me some cover?”

Steve nodded and climbed, shield first, out of the sunroof, then slid down the back window until his feet hit the spoiler. He braced himself there. Bullets bounced off his shield, and Clint popped up behind him and notched an arrow. The shield covered both of them until Clint straightened up to look over it, inhaling quickly and smoothly as he did. For a split second he stood upright, bow drawn fully back, and then he released the string. The arrow hit the prison truck in the tire and exploded and the vehicle swerved off the road, across a stretch of grass and a walking path, and crashed into the Potomac. Steve peered over his shield to see that now there were two military vehicles behind them. Even as he watched, the archer behind him took another one out. This one went across the median into the other lane of traffic, which was fortunately mostly empty. One car slammed on its brakes in time to prevent the airbags from going off, but not in time to prevent its front bumper from being crushed. The man standing in the back of the military vehicle took a few shots at them as they drove away, but soon it was left far behind.

The last car tried to weave back and forth, but to no avail. Its driver steered them to the median and managed to stop almost entirely on it, just as Romanoff started to merge onto the highway. Clint ducked down into the car and Steve followed, dropping onto the back console and then shifting into the right seat. Clint was putting his bow away.

“There will be more waiting for us on the other side of the river,” he said, just as the entrance ramp ended and they merged into traffic.

Stark replaced the panel in the glovebox. “And by then, there will be at least six other cars they’ll need to check out. The emissions sensors weren’t calibrated closely enough, but now this should only match with other Priuses. Color’s gonna have to wait until I can get under the car. Hey Romanoff, don’t drive next to any hot pink Priuses.” He closed the glove box and leaned back. “Don’t all thank me at once.”

Chapter 1 ● Chapter 2 ● Chapter 3 ● Chapter 4 ● Chapter 7

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