#but when youre finally done fighting to survive and the recovery stage reaches a point where life is no longer just getting through the day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sirowsky · 3 years

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, mentions of torture, psychological distress. Angst.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: We’ve had a few cute and funny chapters now, so we were bound for some trouble. Old ghosts mixes with more recent, and the resulting damage will have lasting consequences.

Chapter 13

“Hey, kid, scram. Your dad and I need to have a grown-up talk.”

“Got it. I’ll finish watching this in my room with my headphones on.”

Missy and Marcus were in the living room watching a movie, when you walked in after having taken a long hot shower after work and dinner. She got up and bounced off towards her room, and Marcus did his best to play it off, but he was suddenly very nervous.

“Kid? What happened to sweetie?”

“There’s a time for sweetie, and a time for kid.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Nope. Just something we can’t really put off any longer.”

“Okay.”

You sat down on the table in front of the sofa, facing him.

“So, you know how I was a little off at lunch the other day?”

“Yeah.”

“Well… I was late.”

“Oh. That kind of late.”

“Yep. It was a false alarm, I got my period today, but considering the fact that we haven’t been careful – at all, we can’t really ignore it. I mean, I know it’s a big conversation to have after just two weeks, but if we put it off, it might end up being too late.”

“Right. Well… If you’re asking what my attitude is to having more children, the answer is that I’d love that. And if you’re asking me if I’d freak out if we got pregnant already after just two weeks, my answer would be – no. I don’t think I would. I’m sure about you, about us, and this family has plenty of room to grow.”

“Oh.”

It was all you could push out of your mouth after hearing him declare his thoughts on the matter so clearly. You were so ambivalent, yourself, that it was almost jarring to hear his simplicity.

“What about you?”

This was the part you’d been dreading. You had so much baggage where family was concerned, and you honestly weren’t sure if you were ready to talk to him about it. But you owed it to him to at least try to explain where you stood on children.

“Hey, preciosa, what is it?”

You hadn’t even noticed that your eyes were watering.

“Um… It’s just… my own family… it wasn’t a good place. I don’t have a lot of fond memories of growing up and I’m just… completely fucking terrified that I’m somehow gonna taint this beautiful little family with that… darkness.”

He listened silently, but he looked worried, and reached out to take your hands when the tears started to fall.

“I have never realistically thought about having a family. Not because I didn’t want one, but because I just never thought that it was in the cards for me. I had more or less convinced myself that I’d never deserve something like that. And then I met you, and… damned it! Now I want all of it, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

He kept searching your eyes, but you had no idea what he was looking for. His voice was as soft as he could make it when he finally spoke.

“Why wasn’t it a good place? What happened with your family, hermosa?”

“I… I can’t.”

“Please, just tell me. Whatever it is, you won’t lose me. I’m right here. Please.”

The memories surged up behind your eyes, and you closed them as hard as you could, trying to keep it all out, trying to make the truth disappear. But it never would. So, you just cried. Painfully, forcefully. Marcus held you as you doubled over, feeling as though your insides were turning to acid, trying to destroy everything that you were. You didn’t see or feel him cry with you. You didn’t see how much your pain made him suffer, or how helpless he felt as you curled into a foetal position when he moved you over to his lap, and wrapped his arms around you and just rocked you. You didn’t hear him continuously repeat how sorry he was, as though he had been the reason for all this pain.

At some point, you fell asleep, and when you woke again, it was to the sound of voices close by.

��…can’t ask her to do that! No. Absolutely not, it’s not happening.”

“That’s not your decision to make, hijo.”

“And it shouldn’t be hers either. She shouldn’t have to even think about it.”

“It might be good for her. Confronting it. Has she ever even talked to you about it?”

“No. Not directly.”

“And you know that that’s never healthy.”

“And meeting the man that tortured you, is?!”

“What?”

You’d made your way from the sofa to the kitchen, where Marcus was arguing with his mother. But you stopped cold when you heard that last part.

“Sweetheart, you should get to bed, you’re exhausted.”

“No. Tell me.”

Marcus couldn’t bring himself to say it, so you turned to Anita.

“Dr. Prince wants to meet you. He’s saying that if he can talk to you for one hour, he will give the authorities the names of the three unidentified bodies they found at his facility, and disclose a secondary location, where he’s claiming to have hidden an additional ten.”

You suddenly felt completely numb. You had never once asked to see a picture of the man, and while you were authorised to watch the videos of his interrogations, you never had. You’d made a choice at some stage of your recovery to leave all of that behind, and focus on moving forward. Without Marcus, you couldn’t have done that, because he had been the light that you had constantly been running towards. That you were still running towards.

Fuck… you were still running. Which meant that you still felt like there was something you needed to run from.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Marcus lost every shade of colour in his face, and he stared at you with complete disbelief. Anita nodded and turned to leave.

“I’ll let them know. It’ll probably be set up for the day after tomorrow.”

As she left the house, you turned and walked to the bedroom, still not feeling anything, even your own feet as they moved over the floor. You sat down on your side of the bed, your back to the door, and tried not to think at all. You didn’t have to speak to him, you could just sit there and let him talk, it wouldn’t matter what he said. But, of course it would. Every fucking word would matter. How could it not?

“You don’t have to. They’ll get that information out of him some other way. It doesn’t have to be you.”

He came in, rounded the bed and crouched down in front of you while he spoke.

“Yeah, it does. Because it was always me. It was me in that hospital, it was me on that bed for weeks, it was me…”

“Por favor, no hagas esto.”

You just looked at him, trying to mould your face into the expression that you always gave him when you didn’t know what he was saying. You couldn’t really feel what your face was doing, but it seemed to work anyway.

“Please… mi amor, don’t do this.”

***

You had forbidden Marcus from accompanying you to the prison. You were nervous enough yourself; you didn’t need the added tension of his nerves on top of yours. You’d never seen him that angry before, and suddenly Amaire’s comments about him turning into Cujo had made sense. There really was something wild about him when he was that furious, especially since he didn’t act it out, but got unnaturally still instead.

There were forms to fill out and long corridors to cross before you got to the room. It was a specialised visitation room, parted in two with a thick reinforced piece of plexiglass. There were no holes in it, so the sound was carried over electronically, from small microphones to speakers in both sections of the room. It was all managed from an adjoining control room, where you waited the last few minutes before your hour would begin. There was no possibility what so ever, that he could physically harm you during your visit. But that wasn’t what you were concerned about. He was already there when you stepped through the door from the control room, walked in and sat down on the offered chair in the middle of your section. He looked… ordinary. He was quiet for a few minutes, while he seemed to study you, but then he spoke, and your blood turned to ice.

“I knew it was possible. I always knew, despite the data, despite the numerous failures, that it would be possible, if I could just find the perfect specimen. And I did. Wow, you turned out so perfect.”

You’d heard that voice before. You had never been able to remember anything of what actually happened in Egypt, and you still didn’t. But your body knew that voice. Your body remembered the pain that had accompanied that voice. You didn’t want to answer him, but you needed to.

“You’re delusional. Even now, you can’t admit that you failed. I don’t have any powers.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it. You might not have discovered them yet, but you have them.”

“You’re wrong. You’re grasping…”

“You were different from the start, you know. The way you responded to the enhanced cells. The first round was so intriguing, seeing how you dealt with the pain, oh, you were so strong. You never stopped fighting me, even when you could no longer move. And then, as you regained your strength, you tried so hard to escape. The second round was more delicate, trying to figure out how much I dared to give you, to keep pushing your system, without breaking it, but you were amazing. No matter how much I gave you, you kept bouncing back as soon as you got the chance. So, I knew you’d survive the final round, the one that would actually send your body over the threshold.”

“I’d be flattered by your confidence in my abilities, if not for the fact that you fucking tortured me for two days.”

“Oh, no, my dear, I had you at my mercy for three weeks.”

The ice in your veins seemed to double. Rationally, you wanted to believe what your mind was telling you, which was that it wasn’t true, how could it be? But your body’s reaction to him told you that there was more to this than you had realised.

“…no, that’s… not possible.”

“I changed your digital footprint, and rearranged your mind a little, with the help of a certain skilled friend. You went through ten rounds of my treatment, each one slightly more potent than the last. The final one, was mesmerising. It overwhelmed your system, letting the enhanced cells take control for a while, and in mere seconds you were healed. You were perfect. You are perfect. You’re a testament, living proof, you’re my salvation and redemption!”

You were on your feet and by the door in two seconds, and they opened it for you the moment you reached it. You collapsed on the floor and vomited into a trashcan as soon as you passed through the door. Your hands were shaking as you tried to steady yourself enough to sit up. But, when you lifted your arm up to grab the edge of the desk, you suddenly stopped shaking. From one second to the next. And a familiar strength eased its way through your nerves. Marcus’ current. You looked around, confused, since you were convinced that he wasn’t there, but he was. He was right there in front of you, kneeling down with the most pained expression you’d ever seen on his face, and his eyes were so dark you didn’t even recognise them. He was afraid to touch you, to get too close. But you couldn’t tell if it was because of his own anger or if he was actually afraid of you.

“Marcus…”

He didn’t move.

“Please.”

He stood up and backed away, and you felt as though you might break in half.

“Don’t. Please, no hagas esto…”

His current left you as he moved too far away for it to reach you. And you’d never felt emptiness like that before.

Twenty minutes later you walked out of the prison, feeling like you were on autopilot. Nothing inside you was working right, and you had no idea how to even begin fixing it. You just knew that everything hurt.

But as you stepped out into the bright sunlight, you were met with complete destruction. The cars in the parking lot, the lamp-posts, even the pavement was broken where pipes and wires had been wrung out of it. Every piece of metal in sight was crumpled or distorted. Marcus had been afraid of hurting you. And even if you knew that he never would, as long as he didn’t trust himself, you knew he would never touch you.

Some hours later, after doing what damage control you could for Marcus at the prison, a cab dropped you off at your house. It looked so cold and empty after the weeks spent at Casa Moreno, that you didn’t even wanna go inside. But, you had nowhere else to go.

Or, maybe, you did…

It took you an hour to get there, and it was a difficult place to find, even though you had the correct address. You knocked on the door and waited. You honestly had no idea if you’d be welcome here, but if you weren’t… you didn’t have a plan B. You’d just sleep out there on the grass. The door opened after a while, and Anita looked you over, head to toe, before settling on your eyes.

“Ah, niña. I’m gonna wring his neck the next time I see him, you mark my words.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight @farfromjustordinary @allmyspideys @hrk-fic-recs @strawberryperegrine

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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chibinekochan · 7 years

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Since u only take just 5 I will choose(Zen+Saeran+Jumin+V) MC save them from accident and she/he can't see or walk or BOTH anymore -sorry for my bad english-

Your English is fine. *mine is not the best either*

This request is very sad, so if that is too much for anyone I can understand if you not want to read it.

Stay safe everybody !

Warning Angst, dark themes, mentions of injuries.

Zen

It just happened so fast.

Zen had seen the event over and over in his head.

He had a picture of your injured body imprinted in his head.

It was his constant nightmare.

Zen had only practiced, like countless times before.

And like always you were right there on the side of the stage, cheering for him.

This was ever Zen’s greatest happiness.

This day was different though, later you didn’t even remember why you even knew the stage light was about to hit Zen.

All you knew was that you jumped and pushing Zen out of the way.

Zen’s confused look was the last thing you seen before the light hit you.

They later told you that you had a concussion and that there was a chance that you would never be able to see again.

They talked a lot of how somehow the light had blinded you.

It was all a lot to take in, still the first thing you wanted to know was, how is Zen.

Did he get injured ? No he was completely fine.

Not one scratch, the only reason why he wasn’t here was because of his severe shook.

You really wanted to speak with Zen.

He was brought in, but he was barely even able to speak.

It not really had sunk in yet that you are maybe forever blind.

Your other injuries were also really bad.

The medications they gave you were really strong.

You were unconscious for days, but none of this really reached you yet.

When they let Zen to you, he tries to be strong, he holds your hand the entire time.

But he feels truly miserable.

You got injured just because you saved him.

Zen just can’t get over that, still you assure him that you would do it again.

Just because you love him.

It’s really hard on Zen and a part of him will never get over the fact that you got hurt for his sake.

Your wounds heal but your sight is forever lost.

It is hard for both of you, but almost more for Zen.

He just feels so guilty it eats him up.

He has more than one break down when he is alone.

In front of you he always acts strong and tries to give you strength, but as soon as he is alone his mask falls.

It is hard for both of you but you stick together.

You still can see through his act and you tell Zen that he can be weak in front of you too, but he just can’t.

It actually is Jumin that make Zen let all his bottled up feelings out.

Despite of what Zen sometimes thought about Jumin, he managed to make Zen come out of his shell and let all his anger out in his private gym.

Sometimes he still feels terrible about what happened to you, and somewhere deep inside he feels guilty, but he does everything in his powers to support you.

He learns Braille, and he reads his scripts to you with the actions he does.

You get slowly used to your blindness, it is very hard but you are really strong and you never blame Zen, or regret that you saved him.

You know that Zen would have done the same for you.

Jumin

You were on the way to the Limousine.

You were going hand in hand with Jumin, just across the street.

The traffic light was green, it was normal.

Till suddenly a car came racing towards you two.

Before you even realized what happened you had pushed Jumin out of the way and fell to the ground.

It was luck that you survived.

It was simply devastating to Jumin.

At first, he was surprised from your sudden push and then the car rushed between you two.

Jumin turning to you and saw your injury.

He was in such shock Jumin had no memory of calling an ambulance, or that he fired his whole security team.

He also called the police.

Everyone told Jumin later that he was way too calm.

Jaehee even said he was back to being a robot at that point.

Jumin only remembers that he was in the waiting area while the doctors saved your life.

He had Jaehee come and bring your clothes.

He not even noticed that she was there.

Jaehee never held that against him, she was just as worried about you.

Jumin was glad that the doctors could save your life.

But they also said that they were unsure if you could ever walk again.

This news was making Jumin really unhappy but for now he just wanted to be by your side.

Jumin not left the side of your bed, getting you the best doctors.

He couldn’t care less about his job.

Jumin just had to be by your side.

When you opened your eyes it was like life returned to Jumin.

He was so glad that you are alive, he was crying.

Jumin felt extremely guilty that you got injured, just to save him of all people.

Why would you do such a stupid thing ? Jumin is mad at himself for letting this happen to you.

He swears to himself to fix this, to never let anything hurt you again.

And to bring that driver to justice.

Jumin puts all his efforts into catching the driver and sue them for all they have.

Jumin comes rarely to the hospital anymore, being fully involved in the manhunt and your recovery.

Whenever he gets any bad news regarding your recovery he fired the doctors.

Especially when he hears that you will be unable to ever walk again.

Jumin just wants to fix everything but you not really want that, you want him to be by your side.

You understand that it’s Jumin’s way to cope with the situation.

Still, it makes you sad that you see Jaehee but never Jumin.

In the end she is the one that more or less drags Jumin to the hospital.

It is hard for Jumin to face you, he is only blaming himself for all of this.

How can you even still look at him, Jumin still not fixed this after all.

You are really happy to see him though you smile warmly, that is when Jumin realizes that his behavior so far wasn’t what you needed.

So he gets you a private nurse and gets you back home to him.

He still spends a lot of time to get your legs working again, and he is extremely overprotective.

It is hard for both of you, you get in fights about it a lot.

Still, you really love Jumin, and he loves you, and he not wants to lose you.

You both need a lot of time and therapy to heal, but in the end Jumin accepts your paralysis, and he tries to forgive himself, but it’s still hard for him and for you.

*extra trigger for a suicide attempt*

It happened on the way back home from an eye surgeon, after a long time with thinking about getting his surgery V decided its time for him to truly move on.

You were glad that V finally did this step, you wanted him to leave his sad past behind him, and he wanted to do the thing he loved again.

It was only natural that you would come along with him.

V was glad that he took this step, he was glad that there was still hope for his vision.

You couldn’t wait to see his photographs either.

It was really nice to see V making plans like that.

In a very cruel twist of fate you happen to run into a stray member of mint eye.

Most of them were treated but a few managed to escape and this one was still under the belief that Rika was right and that V destroyed her dream.

The insane mint eye member wanted to attack V with acid.

You pushed V out of the way, saving his life.

You were lucky that just a small amount of acid hit you but still it hit you right in the eyes.

V had no real idea was what going on, he only heard you screaming.

He somehow managed to call an ambulance, and the mint eye member was arrested right away thanks to a bystander.

You got treated right away, but they could not restore your vision.

You were not even able to cry over this fact.

V was devastated, he knew this was only his fault.

Why did you save him ?

V should had protected you, not let you get involved with him, the RFA any of this.

He felt like the darkness swallowed him whole.

It was only thanks to Saeyoung that V not ended his life that night.

Saeyoung was yelling at V after that event, and they put him under 24/7 surveillance.

Saeyoung could not even tell you what V did, it was just too hard on him.

You still wanted to have V at your side, you wanted to make sure he was okay.

You knew this was not V´s fault, you just wanted to tell him that.

But V´s state was just too bad, the RFA was afraid seeing you would make V even worse.

Desperate you were demanding from Jumin to tell you what was going on.

You just had to know, since you just had a terrible feeling.

Jumin knew how bad V´s state was, but he also knew that you are really important to V.

So he told you everything, after Jumin was done you wanted to be brought to V, and you were not accepting no for an answer.

With mixed feelings Jumin brought you to V.

You could not see him, but Jumin told you that V looks like a lifeless puppet.

It hurt you so badly, it was almost worse than your own injury.

They had sedated V, to make sure he would not do anything stupid.

You found his bed and sat down next to him and took his hand.

You could not see it but V had tried to take his own eyes out and was still bandaged.

You had no idea if V even knew you were here, but you told him you wouldn’t go anywhere.

V weakly said your name, and you told him it’s not his fault, but you knew that V wouldn’t just believe you.

You told him that you wouldn’t go anywhere and that this terrible event not changed anything between you two, that you would need V by your side.

You had no idea if V understood you, or your true feelings towards him, but you felt that he held your hand back.

This gave you hope.

It was not easy V had to deal with his guilt and you had to get used to the fact that you could never see again.

V refused the surgery now, there was nothing that could change his mind on this.

It was just impossible for him to see, now where you are blind.

V tried to help you to get used to being blind.

And you tried to convey him to still do the surgery but it was impossible, in the end you had to accept his decision but you had one condition and that was for V to never try to kill himself again.

He agreed, even when he still dealt with a lot of issues and you both ended up needing a lot of therapy.

It made you both only stronger as a result, even when V insisted of having bodyguards with you wherever you went out.

He just could not bear the thought of you getting hurt again.

Saeran

After everything that had happened in his life, he just wanted to life a calm and peaceful life.

At best with you at his side, and even with Saeyoung.

Getting better and better thanks to a lot of work and help from everyone.

Finding friends in the RFA even a family, having you with him.

Everything was just good, at least till the day when you did a trip with Saeran and his brother.

Saeyoung was driving careful, that was the one condition Saeran had.

Everything went rather well till you took a break to refill gas and to get a snack.

Saeran was kinda hungry, and they had ice cream.

He was casually walking back to the car when you saw something flying towards Saeran.

Out of an instinct you jumped, and pushed Saeran out of the way.

Then something hit you and something spilled on you, more hit you from the back, rendering you unconscious.

They later told you that it were containers with chemicals and that you were lucky that only one spilled on you.

You were also lucky that the heavy load landed not higher on you.

You were paralyzed and blind, but alive.

You could not remember Saeran´s expression when all this happened.

He was the one that pulled the heavy load of containers of you.

Saeran was the one that read the situation right and tried his best to get the chemicals right away of you.

Sadly it was no use.

Saeyoung came just a bit later, and he was just as hit as Saeran was, you were one of his closest friends after all.

He called an ambulance and Jumin for help.

Saeran wasn’t able to even speak till they told him that your life was out of danger.

He could still not believe what happened till he could actually see you.

It was hard since they not wanted to let Saeran to you, since he was not a family member.

Only thanks to Jumin he was allowed inside.

In a normal situation he would have been angry at the staff but Saeran was oddly quiet.

Just nodding at questions leaving Saeyoung to deal with most of the questions to answer.

He was only barely able to keep himself together as well, only keeping a clear head for his brothers sake.

Your state was bad, you were alive but barely, Saeran stayed in a chair right next to your bed, unable to move.

He has later barely any memories of the countless days it took till you finally stabilized and woke up.

The first thing you wanted to know was if Saeran was okay, Saeran spoke the first time in days telling you a simple yes.

Later the same day he broke down from all the feelings that he had buried inside.

He was cursing everything for your injury, but mainly himself.

Saeran was angry at you for saving him, he was so worthless compared to you.

He never said this to your face, but he hated the fact that you got hurt again and again just because of him.

Saeran was really close to end himself for good, but he not wanted to waste your sacrifice.

He did all to figure out if there was a way to safe you, while never leaving your side.

Sometimes he got angry at the staff when they hurt you, he almost got kicked out of the hospital more than once, but thanks to his brother and Jumin he could stay.

You tried to calm him down, still it was hard bot both of you.

The guild ate Saeran, his anger just got worse, till he even hit Saeyoung, who only told him to come home again.

He was almost as angry as back when he still was Unknown in Mint eye.

It was hard for Saeran to control himself, and you were worried that he would get into trouble.

It only got worse when it was clear that you could never walk or see again.

Saeyoung tried his best to keep his brother calm but Saeran destroyed the whole hospital room.

At least he could vent some of his anger with that, but they forbid Saeran to ever enter the hospital again.

Saeran knew it could not go on like that, he had to calm down for you, he wanted to be strong for you.

You helped him countless time he owed you everything, Saeran wanted to pay you back somehow.

Saeran went into an anger-management class.

He and Saeyoung invented a lot of things to make your life at the bunker easier and when you get finally released from the hospital the RFA throws you a party.

Saeran shows you he changed, and he really does his best to support you as much as he can.

Of course, it’s not easy and sometimes he still gets really angry, sometimes he has nightmares.

Still, he tries to make the best out of it, you are still alive and Saeran wants you to be as happy as possible.

Take a look at my Masterlistmy requests are open so drop by !

#mystic messenger #mysme #mm #mm headcanons #rfa #jumin #zen #saeran #v #Kim Jihyun #request anon #triggers #angst

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renaroo · 7 years

Text

Recovery None (53/61)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typically violence, Psychological torture & manipulation, Mentions of gore, Character death, Minor Sexual content Pairings: Chex, Yorkalina Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence AU] When the Mother of Invention crashed, Project Freelancer was in shambles, its surviving agents scattered, its equipment stolen, and an impending investigation into the crash from the UNSC was on the horizon. To regain control of the deeply corrupted program, the Director established a new unit from his remaining supplies – the Recovery Unit.

Three former Freelancers were chosen for particular tasks: Zero is to hunt down and destroy the Meta, One is to investigate and recover stolen or missing equipment, and Two is to take down AWOL former agents.

Of course, no one’s motivations are what they seem…

A/N: This is a long one but only because I had WAAAAAAYYYYYYYY too much fun with the banter throughout this one like omg. It was great. I hope it’s half as enjoyable for you guys as it was for me to write haha

Special thanks to @icefrozenover, @washingtonstub, @xhauntedangel, @secretlystephaniebrown, @analiarvb, @notatroll7, Yin, @freshzombiewriter, @thatgothamgurl, Bluebird202, Linni, and monaman1 for the feedback!

Recovery One XVI: Fulfilling Destiny

Nothing was ever going to convince Washington that this was not a truly, truly terrible idea.

But, as with every other important matter he had concerned himself with since ending up among the simulation troopers of Blood Gulch, he found his complaints patently ignored.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure how these people would survive without him, even if they didn’t seem nearly as worried.

When he approached the encampment that Tucker and -- Wash could only sigh every time he remembered Caboose’s name for the damaged but dangerous Sangheilli warrior -- Crunchbite were settled in. The perimeter had proved itself secure an hour before, but Wash was anal retentive about safety.

Or paranoid, as Tucker constantly kept reminding him.

When he got closer, Crunchbite’s unique grunts, honks, and blarghs became apparent in a low, steady stream. Then he moved away from Tucker who, despite all logic when left alone with a crazed and easily angered alien, had only about half of his armor on.

The simulation trooper at least had the decency to look utterly baffled.

“Back off,” Wash said in warning to Crunchbite as the alien’s jaws quivered threateningly at him. “I said back off.”

After a moment, Crunchbite complied and Wash rounded on Tucker.

“Would you stop letting him push you around?” Wash demanded.

“Yeah, sure, Wash, I’ll get right on that,” Tucker replied sarcastically. “Would you stop going off on ultra manly perimeter checks and actually keep me company while we’re with the alien with the huge dong?”

“Stop looking at it if it bothers you so much,” Wash snarked back before dropping to sit beside Tucker, though he didn’t dare remove his armor. All his bones and muscles ached with injuries and overuse.

He must have made some sort of wounded noise in doing so because Tucker was looking at him with even more concern.

“Wash, are you going to drop dead on this journey?” he asked seriously.

“Well, considering I’ve made it this far in my life -- and that’s not nearly as easy as it sounds -- I’m going to say... no. Probably not,” he answered somewhat cheekily. “Sorry to disappoint.”

"God, I’m so sick of your self-depreciating,” Tucker groaned. “It’s like being around Church.”

Wash raised a brow and looked Tucker’s way. “Aren’t you friends?”

“Not according to the jackass,” Tucker replied. He paused for a moment, considering something and then sighed. “Yeah, we’re friends. Fuck. That’s so lame.”

“It’s not like you have many options in that canyon,” Wash admitted. “Though, now that you all know there’s no war against... Blues and Reds, maybe you can make friends with some of them? They seem...” Wash waited for a word to come to mind. It didn’t. “Nevermind.”

“Nah, you have a point,” Tucker shrugged. “And I guess they’re okay. Now that I don’t have to irrationally hate them or anything anymore. Grif’s cool. And who doesn’t like Donut?”

Awkwardly, Wash shifted in his seat.

It didn’t go unnoticed and Tucker turned and looked at him. “You don’t like Donut? Seriously? Who the fuck doesn’t like Donut--”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him! I didn’t say anything!” Wash pointed out.

“Dude, you don’t have to with that expression,” Tucker scoffed.

“I’m wearing a helmet! You can’t see what I look like!”

“Dude, if you don’t think I’ve become a goddamn expert at reading body language through metal suits, you have vastly underestimated my need to check out asses,”

“I don’t hate Donut!” Wash yelled before catching himself. He shook his head and, more calmly, explained, “I don’t hate Donut. At all. But he doesn’t like me.”

“That doesn’t seem physically possible for Donut,” Tucker argued.

“Well, he’s not without reason,” Wash explained.

“What’d you do? Call his armor pink?” Tucker interrogated.

“No,” Wash admitted lowly. “I... shot a Red in front of him.”

“Holy shit, how’d I miss this? Which one?” Tucker asked.

“None of the ones we know,” Wash explained. “It was the Red who shot me -- before I met you all in Blood Gulch. He was working with Wyoming back at Sidewinder and I killed him.”

Tucker blinked widely at him for a moment before snorting, taking Wash completely aback.

“What you killed one dude we don’t know? What the fuck does he care? He blew up Tex, and the Reds had no idea she was a robot!” Tucker laughed.

Wash stared at Tucker for a moment before feeling a frown tug at his face. “It’s... You all thought you were at war. He was protecting people. I know better -- I’m not like you all. I don’t have that excuse of plausible deniability. I...” Wash looked away, thinking about the Red that shot him in the back. “I enabled a system that’s using all of you. That’s demeaning your lives. And I didn’t care about anyone else abused by that system but me. I couldn’t see past my own hindrance by Freelancer, past wanting revenge on someone who was being ground down by it, too.”

Silence fell between them for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“Well,” Tucker said. “Shit. I kinda hate you now, too.”

“You’re hilarious,” Wash sighed. “But, seriously, your first reaction to finding out all of this was fake was to question everyone, to not want to kill the Reds anymore, to reach out. I’ve... God, who knows how many simulation troopers I used as disposable before now.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t kidding, you keep going and I might use my fucking fantastic sword of specialness on you,” Tucker said, his dark eyes piercing through Wash. “That’s fucked up, Wash. But... At least you know it? And look, you’re with me and Crunchbite on some stupid Journey of Destiny or some shit. That’s like... I don’t know. The least self serving thing you’ve done since you arrived at Blood Gulch. Congrats!”

Taking a breath, Wash rested back against the rocks. “Yeah. It’s definitely not a pleasure cruise. I can’t even imagine what my drill sergeant would be saying at me not shooting an Elite on sight.”

“You’re telling me,” Tucker groaned. “It smells so fucking bad and every time I wake up with it hovering over me I want to kick it in its alien john thomas.”

Confused, Wash glanced sideways toward Tucker. “Why is it hovering over you? And why are you just now telling me this?”

“Because you’d come over and try to rescue me or some shit,” Tucker defended.

“Of course I would! That’s the whole point of me coming with you!” Wash yelled back.

"God, you’re so hysterical all the time, I swear,” Tucker said dismissively, beginning to put his armor back on bit by bit.

“You’re... You’re too chill,” Wash responded, as if he had a real zinger. When nothing else came to him, he got to his feet and reloaded his gun. “Shut up.”

Tucker raised an eyebrow at him before pulling on his helmet.

It was just in time as Crunchbite came back from wherever he had gone and let out a long series of unintelligible grunts and honks that Wash was sure Caboose would try to make sense of but left him and Tucker simply staring.

“Psst, Wash,” Tucker stage whispered. “What’s he want?”

“I don’t know, Tucker,” Wash sighed in aggravation, watching as Crunchbite turned and started marching toward the deserts again. “I’m sure it’s just following him. Like we’ve always been following him. This is leading us straight into some kind of trap, I swear to god.”

“Maybe I’m god now that I have this sword and he’s leading me to my worshippers,” Tucker said, brazenly dashing out the sword again.

Wash eyed him. “I’d hope not.”

“What? Why?” Tucker asked. “That is the least pessimistic outcome for this trip that either of us have come up with since this thing started. In fact, it sounds fucking amazing to me. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“You need a boost to your ego about as much as I need another bullet in me,” Wash said flatly.

“Wow, that was almost funny. You adding that to your routine for Hi I’m Wash and My Schtick is that I’m too Serious tour?” Tucker asked just as flatly in return.

“Must you fight me on every goddamn sentence between us?” Wash sighed.

“Oh, absolutely. Or else we’d just be silently walking through the desert behind some half-sentient alien that smells like day old elephant spunk,” Tucker replied quickly. He then let out a loud gasp. “That’s what that smell is! I finally placed it!”

Once more, Washington found himself curling his nose at Tucker.

“How in the world do you know what elephant semen smells like?” Wash asked, immediately regretting the course of action.

“Dude, obviously you need to get out more,” Tucker replied with a wave of his hand.

“That answers nothing. Honestly, it begs more questions,” Washington replied just before there was a mighty roar from their guide. Instinctively, he drew up his gun and stepped between the alien and Tucker, Crunchbite in his sights.

“Dude, what’s he pissed off about!?” Tucker asked, a note of genuine worry in his voice for once.

Squinting, Wash kept his aim up. “I’m starting to realize that you’ve been asking me for translations this entire journey like you actually expect me to have them for you. So just in case I have somehow managed to not be clear enough for you yet, Tucker, let me put on the record now that I have absolutely no idea how to speak outrageous honking alien dialect.”

“Oh, my god, your inability to read sarcasm is only matched by your inability to take rhetorical questions!” Tucker snapped.

In the midst of their yelling, Crunchbite lowered himself, let out another dangerous sounding snarl, and then immediately began bolting toward the desert, honking and blarghing all the way.

Wash dropped his gun some. “What the...”

“I think he thinks there’s danger ahead,” Tucker stage whispered.

“No duh,” Wash fired back before lowering down to a crouch. “Follow my lead. We’re going to follow, in stealth. We don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t feel like getting shot alongside your elephant splooge smelling alien if there’s a platoon of soldiers up ahead or something.”

Tucker began cackling, though he did crouch and stick to the shadows with Wash. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just heard Agent Washington say splooge.”

“Focus!” Wash warned before leading the advance forward.

Honestly, considering Niner’s outrage, Tex tried to think of the positives. Like how at least she hadn’t been shot the moment the pilot saw her carrying in a limp Carolina.

“What did you do?” Niner demanded. “What the fuck was that out there?”

“Don’t know,” Tex half lied, putting Carolina on the cot available just outside of the cockpit. “How fast can you fly this thing if I send you the coordinates?”

“Don’t you change the subject!” Niner snapped, reaching their sides and looking over Carolina. “Where’s she bleeding?”

“Nowhere. She’s not physically hurt,” Tex answered, taking note of the dried blood around the cot. They had had their fair share of close calls already, it seemed.

“Then what the fuck happened--”

“Epsilon.”

Both women turned to look down at Carolina. The word had come out like a gasp for air and she bolted up, still rasping for air, her fingers coming up and scratching at the collar of her underarmor.

Tex began to reach to help but Niner elbowed her out of the way and immediately began pulling off the latches for Carolina’s helmet. “Hold on, hold on, I’m gonna help you breathe,” she promised before pulling the helmet off entirely.

Carolina’s green eyes were as wide as dinner plates, darting around. “I can’t hear Epsilon, he was... That screaming, the Alpha--”

Even the bare mention of Church was enough for Tex to want to overlook everything else going on. She sent the coordinates directly to the cockpit’s computer and caused the ship to turn on remotely.

Niner looked back and then to Tex angrily. “Are you fucking with my ship?”

“We need to get going,” Tex said plainly.

"We need to have a conversation about whatever the fuck is going on!” Niner fired back immediately.

“Epsilon,” Carolina continued, her focus was still on Niner, but her hand reached back toward her neck. “He’s not-- What happened to him--”

“I have him,” Tex answered, drawing Carolina’s gaze to her and producing the chip in her hands that held the AI. She then looked to Niner who was still about as angry as Tex had seen her. “Here’s your answer as to what the fuck happened -- it was Epsilon. Just like we were worried about before. Now can you get us to the coordinates I sent your ship as fast as possible? We need to beat an ATV there.”

Niner still glared at Tex suspiciously before beginning to roll toward the cockpit. “An ATV? I could beat an ATV to any coordinates even if we took an hour here.”

Still, the pilot did as told and got into her seat.

Leaving Tex with the elephant in the room.

Carolina was staring at her with a completely unreadable mesh of emotions. Her hand was still pressed to the back of her neck and she stared at the chip in Tex’s hand.

“You pulled him?” Carolina asked, voice almost shaking.

“No,” Tex answered stiffly. “He ejected himself.”

As they stared at each other, lapsing into silence, the ship began to take off. Tex didn’t so much as budge even as the momentum of the ship changed. Neither did Carolina.

“Why would he do that?” Carolina asked almost angrily.

“Don’t know, but it was by far the smartest thing he’s done since you two got a hold of one another,” Tex answered. “He’s not a regular AI. He’s... not even a regular fragment. They’re not supposed to be broken like that--”

"Yes, they are,” Carolina snapped darkly. There was water welling in her eyes, but she quickly rubbed them clear. “They’re all broken. That’s what he does to things -- leaves them broken when they’re not of use anymore. Sometimes he breaks them to use them...”

She was talking so fast that the words probably should have been taken as barely conscious gibberish. But Tex didn’t take them that way at all.

Instead, she listened to the truth of every syllable, and let it burn into her own coding.

“Yes,” she finally agreed. “Epsilon’s broken.”

“That’s why I need him,” Carolina said, sniffing and rubbing at her face still. “I... Thank you. For gabbing him. But when I... When I have more confidence he’s going back where he belongs. With me.”

“No he’s not,” Tex responded. “You’re going to kill each other--”

“No, he needs me,” Carolina argued, her green eyes darted to Tex’s face. They buried into her. “And I need him back. He’s. You don’t understand. He’s on my side. And I can’t let go of him. I won’t.”

Tex stared back, rubbing her thumb over the chip as she tried to think things through.

“I can be on your side,” Tex offered.

“No. You can’t,” Carolina nearly hissed.

“I can,” Tex said firmly. “You know I can. You... You know what happened back there--”

“I made a mistake while I was confused,” Carolina snapped angrily. “Don’t you dare use that to manipulate me--”

“So that’s it. We’re just not going to talk about it?” Tex asked. She wasn’t angry, disappointed some. But not angry. Or surprised for that matter.

"What is there to talk about?” Carolina asked icily. She then looked at Tex with the shell shocked expression fading. “What is there, huh? You’re six inches taller than her. Your voice is different. You’re a computer program. I made a mistake under stress. I need to talk to Epsilon, so give him to me.”

Tex made no motion to offer the chip over.

The tension grew at an exponential rate, Carolina’s shoulders began trembling. “You’re not her! Alright? You’re not! And I am not going to discuss this any further with you--”

“I know I’m no one else,” Tex snapped back. “I’m myself. I’ve always been myself. I’m not what anyone else tries to make me. Never have been. That’s why I betrayed him--”

“STOP talking about him!” Carolina snarled.

“It’s why we’re heading back to Blood Gulch right now and helping Wash protect the Alpha. Because that’s my choice and those are my people down there. Including the Alpha. Including Wash. Including my gaggle of losers,” Tex continued.

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about anymore,” Carolina hissed. “I don’t care who your people are.”

“That’s fine,” Tex responded. “I’m making the point, though, that I know exactly who I am. I fought my way, tooth and nail, clawed myself out of the hell of his making in order to find out just who I was. And I’m goddamn proud and goddamn protective of that.” She tilted her head. “So the only factor I have to worry about is whether or not you know I’m not her.”

“Of course I do--”

“Because he never got it,” Tex said flatly.

Carolina’s eyes were like cool fire. Explosive, painful.

“You’re not my mother,” Carolina said angrily. “She’s dead.”

“I know,” Tex said softly. “And I’m sorry for that.”

“Why are we doing this?” Carolina asked.

“Because I need to make sure -- make for sure for real -- that you know that we’re different,” Tex said simply. “You have a one track mind, Carolina. You want revenge. And you won’t be getting it on my... on Church. My Church. He’s not him. And I’m not her.”

"Good,” Carolina said shortly.

Tex let there continue to be a tight silence again before she moved toward Carolina and held out the Epsilon chip. “Fine. Just make sure he knows the difference now, too. Him being Epsilon does not make him the Alpha or him. And as long as he struggles with figuring that out, this little hiccup won’t be a one off issue for you.”

Carolina quickly grabbed the chip and looked to it before glancing toward Tex again. “Did you know? Did you ever know?”

Staring back at Carolina, Tex squared herself. “Not really. No. Maybe a little. Toward the end, once I... Once Connecticut left me the message to inform me who I was.”

Lip curling, Carolina’s hands tightened into fists. “You killed her. She was doing the right thing. The only one of us doing the right thing.”

“I know,” Tex said lowly. “Now I’m trying to do the right thing.”

They lost sight of Crunchbite fairly early on. That would make sense considering the alien was charging headlong into the desert while Washington forced himself and Tucker to keep to the shadows, moving barely at a crawl.

“This is so stupid,” Tucker whined again.

“Well, I agree. But one of us had to think he was some chosen one and follow a barely sentient monster halfway across the planet,” Wash hissed over his shoulder.

“God, I can’t stand you when you get so uptight,” Tucker said with a giant full body shrug. “I’m just glad that Church isn’t here or else I’d be getting shit from both of you at the same time you two would be strangling each other.”

Wash let out a huff. “He couldn’t take me.”

“Oh my god, did Freelancer require everyone to be full of themselves or is it just something besides banging that you and Tex share?” Tucker snapped.

“We never--”

“Alright fuckers!”

The new voice called out from across the dunes ahead of them, shocking them both. Wash held out his arm as if to stop Tucker which only got an annoyed groan from him. Washington didn’t care. He was staring straight ahead at the source of the intercom.

“I know you’re there, assholes! This is highly classified terrain and you do not have clearance to come any closer to the dig site!”

“Yeah, well, I’m the fucking chosen one, so I think that’s my clearance!” Tucker yelled back.

“Tucker, shut up! You’re giving out position!” Wash snapped.

“Dude, aren’t you listening? They already have our position. If we’re fucked we’re fucked,” Tucker replied sharply. “Like when you fucked Tex behind Church’s back.”

“I didn’t!” Wash yelled, voice cracking.

“What the hell -- chosen one?” the person said, more muddled, probably away from his intercom. “Okay whatever. I don’t give a fuck. Come out with your hands up. Weapons holstered! I’m not even remotely in the area of fucking around!”

“Is that why they gave you the intercom?” Tucker yelled back.

"Tucker,” Wash all but groaned.

“Look, dude, we’re fucked one way or the other, at least allow me to have my sense of humor,” Tucker shrugged before standing up and putting his hands up.

Wash blinked before looking at Tucker mortified. “What are you doing?”

Tucker tilted his head toward Wash. “Uh... Not getting shot? Have you ever tried giving that a chance? Oh, wait. Forgot who I was talking to. Of course you’ve never taken the not getting fucking shot option.”

“I...” Wash began to argue but he found it difficult to parse even in his own mind. With a long sigh, he holstered his rifle over his shoulder and stood up beside Tucker, hands up.

“See? Was that so hard?” Tucker asked.

“I’m a wanted man on this planet,” Wash reminded him. “We may have just surrendered ourselves to being shot regardless. Just in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t, I just remembered that you’re the wanted one. Not me,” Tucker half shrugged. “Besides, do you know how many people there are in the world with armor? I think every goddamn person on this planet is in this armor. You really think you’re the only one with gray armor and a yellow stripe?”

There was an audible sneer from the intercom. “A Freelancer.”

“Yes,” Washington said flatly.

“Oh, well, you’re fucked. I’m just another dumb Blue,” Tucker joked.

“You’re hilarious,” Wash said dryly. He then looked toward the sound. “I’m from Command. I have been hired to transport this Blue from his station to your Command center. We’re merely passing through. There’s no need for alarm.”

Tucker tilted his head even more. “Man, you’re way too good at lying.”

“Tucker, shut up, for both our sakes,” Wash hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

“No. No you haven’t,” the voice on the intercom said, coming forward from the sand dunes and revealing a very familiar brown armor.

Wash visibly flinched at the sight of it -- that armor. Connie’s armor. But it wasn’t his friend wearing it -- too tall and broad. The fit was wrong. And any PFL insignias were scratched off of it.

Apparently sensing the intensity radiating from Wash, Tucker turned more toward the former Recovery agent and said in a highly concerned tone, “Uh... Wash? You alright--”

“Where did you get that armor!?” Wash growled at the man.

“From a friend,” the man snapped back. “And I know exactly why you two are here. You’re here to take what we’ve uncovered from the alien ruins for yourselves. For Freelancer.”

“No we aren’t!” Tucker yelled back. “Wait... Actually I don’t know. Are we? That kinda sounds like a part of the Chosen One journey, doesn’t it?”

Wash was far beyond paying attention to Tucker and the nonsense of their journey anymore. The current threat, and the immediate outrage he was feeling toward this unexpected reminder of the past, was eclipsing everything else.

“You need to remove that armor right now,” Wash said, dropping his hands. “That isn’t yours.”

Tucker’s shoulders raised defensively. “Wash... dude... What’re we doing?”

“You Freelancers are so full of shit,” the man in Connie’s armor snapped. “I’m the one in charge here, and even if I wasn’t, I’d shoot you right between the eyes for what your program did to my friends, did to Connie, and how every second I spend on this soul sucking planet, digging in dirt and securing ridiculous artifacts for these fuckers in charge, I can feel myself go a little more crazy.”

“You should try living here without any supply drops for a few months,” Tucker attempted to alleviate the tension. “If anyone here has a right to be pissed off or crazy, it’s probably me and the others in Blood G--”

“Don’t give him location names,” Wash stopped him short.

“Shut the fuck up, Sim Trooper, I’ve got no orders to keep any of you alive or to salvage your equipment. So when I kill you I’m just going to fuck you over however I want!”

“Bow Chicka Bow Wow--”

“Don’t you dare threaten him!” Wash yelled. “You won’t even have a chance when I’m done with you--”

The mysterious man raised a gun and pointed it right at Wash. “Come on, Freelancer. Make my fucking day!”

Then, Tucker did something outrageously stupid.

“Okay, well, let’s go a single day without Wash getting shot,” Tucker said before pulling out his sword and igniting it.

“Tucker!” Wash snapped, alarmed as the man’s attention fell on Tucker.

“You... You have it!?” the man growled.

“Yeah!” Tucker yelled. “Whatever... it is!”

“The key!” the man cried out. “The one in all the hieroglyphs! The one we need to open the temple!”

“Then you’re going to need Tucker,” Wash said, thinking fast. “Because it only works for him.”

The man in Connie’s armor laughed near hysterically. “You honestly have no idea how any of this works, do you? I don’t need him. I need him dead. That way the key will work for the next person to activate it--”

“No!” Wash roared at the same time as Tucker cried out, “IT’S A FUCKING KEY!?”

Before things could further unravel, there was a familiar honk just as Crunchbite erupted from the sands behind the raving madman in Connie’s armor. Once tackled, the man started shooting and Crunchbite began tearing and snarling and biting the man all over with the very strength and ferocity that Wash had warned Tucker about seeing in the field of the War.

“Holy fucking shit, what is going on?” Tucker cried out, looking to his sword. “It’s a key!?”

Wash lowered to one knee, quickly pulled his gun out from its holster and took aim. “Yes, Tucker, it seems your amazing journey is to unlock something with the key.”

He then took an active shot and drilled the man right through the helmet. He watched as he went from struggling against Crunchbite to going completely limp.

“Oh, man, I’m so pissed about this, I think I’m getting physically sick over it,” Tucker announced, grabbing his sides and sheathing the sword.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Wash replied, getting to his feet and walking toward Crunchbite and their former hostage. “Uh... thank you... Crunchbite--”

The alien held back its head and released a long, single roar, revealing the multiple gunshot wounds across his torso before dropping to his knees and then fully into the sand.

Surprised, Washington dropped down beside Crunchbite and gave him a look over just as Tucker ran over to his side.

“Is he...?” Tucker asked, arching over Wash’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Tucker,” Wash said, looking back to him. “Your alien expired.”

“And my sword’s a fucking key,” Tucker bemoaned. He then glanced toward the man in Connie’s armor. “And just who the fuck is this guy? What was his beef with you and alien shit?”

“I... have absolutely no idea,” Wash replied, getting to his feet and glaring at the man. “I want to say he’s not a Freelancer given what happened the last time I saw that armor it was on a... friend. A friend who betrayed the program. But...”

“But?” Tucker pressed.

“I don’t know,” Wash sighed. “Tucker, have you ever had that feeling that, I don’t know, that there’s something much bigger than yourself going on? That you barely scratch the surface of it?”

Tucker stood beside him, just staring at Wash.

Catching on, Wash nodded. “Oh, right.”

“Yeah, I mean. At this point big conspiracies are the leas surprising thing that happens around me these days,” Tucker grunted before doubling over his stomach. “Fuck. That and intense fucking pain.”

Wash squinted at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m legitimately sick, dude, I’m about to throw up in my helmet,” he moaned. “Maybe I’m more upset about Crunchbite sacrificing himself than I thought. Or I’m upset about the key thing. Definitely the key thing HRRK! Good thing our helmets are made for vomiting in.”

“They’re not,” Wash said flatly. “Trust me. Here-- I’ll help you get that helmet off and then we’re going ho-- We’re going back to Blood Gulch. I’m declaring this bullshit over. We gathered nothing from your Chosen One journey.”

As he helped Tucker take off his helmet, the man gave a low laugh. “Well, you know what they say, Wash. It’s not the journey but the friends you make on the way. And the aliens who never spoke the same language as you but smelled like elephant bunk.”

“It’s something like that,” Wash agreed, unable to stop the smile on his face, hidden beneath his helmet. “Hurry up and barf so we can leave the desert. You’re probably dehydrated.”

“God I hope so,” Tucker moaned. “Does dehydration kick you from the inside?”

Wash shrugged. “I don’t know-- Wait what?”

"Tex!” Niner shouted from the cockpit. “Is this the right place? It’s the coordinates you gave me, but it’s just a box canyon.”

Not even bothering to get up from her seat, Tex answered. “Yes.”

Carolina looked up, still sitting upright with her elbows on her knees, head hung so that her mess of hair was strung across her face. When she peered at Tex, it was not exactly a look of appreciation.

“Are you going to stare at me the whole time I’m having this private conversation with Epsilon?” she asked snappishly.

“You forget easily for someone so known for grudges,” Tex said back flatly. “He scrambled your brains and left them with a side of toast a few hours ago. My expectations for how well this is going are not high.”

“He knows what he did and he’s sorry,” Carolina answered.

“Then why doesn’t he say that himself?” Tex asked, tilting her head.

“Because he remembers things and he doesn’t want to see you,” Carolina bit out. “I agree that it’s not the best idea.”

“That’s fair,” Tex said “Not healthy. Not good long term. But it’s fair.”

Neither of them said a word as the ship shifted into landing momentum. When Carolina made it obvious that she wasn’t going to be the one to break the stare, Tex let out a long sigh and got to her feet, reaching for her gun and heading toward the door to wait for it to open.

“I thought these were your people,” Carolina said, grabbing her helmet. “Why do you need a gun?”

“Because I know my people well enough to not trust them,” Tex replied dryly “They’ve killed me twice already.”

“Really?” Carolina asked, grabbing her own weapons. “I might have underestimated how much enjoyment I’ll be getting out of this.”

Tex looked over her shoulder at Carolina. “Your teamwork skills suck. Why were you getting onto me about my ability to work with teams?”

The door opened without Tex getting her answer, and instead she just led the way over to Blue Base. It felt strange in her chest -- like coming home. Tex didn’t exactly have much experience with that feeling, but she suspected that this was what it felt like.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Carolina said, interrupting the moment and drawing Tex’s attention back to her. “Are my scanners correct? Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha? Are they that on the nose?”

"Basic incompetence is the name of the game,” Tex assured her just before there was a familiar rumbling of the ground. “Well, never thought I’d take comfort in that feeling?”

Carolina raised her gun. “That feeling being what exactly?” she asked nervously.

“That is the feeling of an approaching three ton Scorpion Tank,” Tex said.

“And you’re not alarmed because...?”

“We’ve been friends since she killed me the first time,” Tex said.

It was difficult to ignore the look of scrutiny that Carolina was giving Tex as Sheila continued the approach, gun aimed, and stopped short of her.

“Oh! Agent Texas! Is that you?” Sheila asked excitedly. “I have been watching Blue Base as instructed for so long! It is good to have someone back.”

Carolina dropped her gun then and tilted her head in curiosity. “FILSS?”

Sheila’s gun moved from Tex to Carolina then back. “I am confused. That is the second time since my systems update that someone has addressed me as FILSS. But Church assured me while he was here that I go by the designation Sheila now. How odd. I will document these anomalies.”

Tex looked at Sheila curiously. “What-- Wait, first, what do you mean ‘while he was here’? Are you saying that Church isn’t here now? Where the hell is he -- where the hell is everyone?”

"Processing,” Sheila said in a gentle hum before there was an audible ding. “Oh!” Her gun turned toward the caves. “There is Agent Washington and Private Tucker approaching now! How nice to see everyone coming back together at the same time! It is most convenient!”

“Wash...” Carolina said lowly.

“What the fuck?” Tex yelled, storming toward the two of them and ignoring Carolina’s bafflement for the moment, There were bigger fish to fry. “Wash! What the actual fuck is going on?”

“Oh shit,” Tucker moaned, arm over Wash’s shoulder. “Tex made it back before us.”

“Of course she did,” Wash said flatly. “She didn’t have to stop every ten minutes to let someone throw up.”

“Dude, I’m telling you, I don’t know what I ate to give me this!”

"Where the hell have the two of you been!?” Tex demanded.

“It’s a long story, don’t ask,” Wash recommended. He then froze, staring just over Tex’s shoulder. He straightened up immediately, dropping Tucker to the ground with a thud and a long whine. “Boss?”

Tex glanced back toward Carolina. She stepped out to the side more to see Wash more directly and give him a half nod. “Hello, Washington.”

“But... what... I don’t understand,” Wash said, looking more and more confused. “You’re here... but how? Why-- I mean. Hi, I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Same to you,” Carolina said tightly.

Getting angrier by the second, Tex slammed her hands together for a thundering clap and drew everyone’s attention back to her. “Wash! Where the fuck is Church and Caboose? Sheila said they left. Are they in the caves with you?”

“No?” Wash said, equally confused. “They were coming back here with the Reds. They should’ve gotten here... I don’t know, ages ago. I can’t keep track with this sun never setting.”

“You don’t know,” Tex repeated, her temper rising. “You don’t know!? What the fuck, Wash, I left you in charge!”

“You left me in charge while I was dying in a pool of my own blood, as I remember correctly,” Wash snapped back. “I made the best of the situation. We had... distractions thanks to Tucker’s stupid sword.”

“What kind of distractions?” Tex all but hissed.

“Turns out the sword’s not a sword but some kind of key to unlock something we never found because our tour guide was filled with lead before we got there,” Wash answered. “By some asshole wearing Connecticut’s armor.”

“What?” Carolina and Tex spat out at once.

“I ran into that bastard before -- York and I did at least,” Carolina informed them. “He’s one of the Insurrectionists and he was working with North and South.”

“What?” Tex and Wash took their turn saying in unison.

“Is... Is everyone alive?” Wash demanded. “Where the fuck are they all? Why didn’t anyone tell me--”

“Okay we’re getting distracted from what’s important,” Tex growled at both of them.

"The fact that I’m dying?” Tucker complained from the ground where he was now curled up around himself.

“No,” Tex said. She then did a double take and looked at Washington. “What’s wrong with him anyway?”

“If I knew, I’d help him more than dragging him around the desert,” Wash said. “As far as I can tell it has something to do with the alien that smelled like elephant semen.”

“What?” Carolina and Tex asked at the same time.

“I mean... It smelled bad,” Wash said, shaking his head and holding up his hands. “I didn’t think it smelled like elephant semen. I mean, I don’t know what elephant semen smells like. Tucker does. Apparently. It was his comparison, not mine.”

“What the fuck, did this team go completely to shit when I left?” Tex asked almost hysterically.

“Yeah, about you leaving,” Wash said, turning a critical eye toward Tex. “You going to explain yourself or apologize or anything for that? We really needed you. Church really--”

“That’s what I’m trying to keep us on point with!” Tex shouted. “Where the fuck is Church!?”

“I don’t know!” Wash yelled back. “Right now, I’m just trying to get Tucker to the base so he stops complaining. That is my ultimate goal for the moment.”

“I’m not complaining, I’m dying,” Tucker moaned.

“Shut up, Tucker,” both Tex and Wash said at once.

The ground shook once more and everyone turned to look toward Sheila as she approached them. “I believe I can be of some service. Privates Church and Caboose did come here only to leave after I mentioned my conversation with Church during my upgrade. Only Church did not seem to remember what Church told me. He concluded there was another Church and took off with Private Caboose toward where I told him the transmissions of Church and my backup saved files were stored.”

Tex felt her heart -- code or not -- sink.

“The Director? You told him about the Director?” Tex asked, voice tight and full of anger. “Where is he!? How are we supposed to deal with this--”

“I think I can help,” Epsilon said, finally emitting a sprite over Carolina’s shoulder, somewhat putting her between himself and Washington. “I... I remember.”

Carolina looked meaningfully to Tex. “We need to go.”

“I... You’re right,” Tex agreed. She then turned and looked at Wash. “Can you handle things here?”

“I don’t even know what I’ll be handling,” Wash replied truthfully.

“That’s okay, new Blue Teammates! I can give you the rundown!”

Everyone who was not Tucker rolled up in a ball on the ground turned on their heels and raised weapons to face at the new voice in the conversation. The source of said voice cried out and raised his hands, shaking head to boot, nearly knocking off the cheap chips of blue paint on the maroon armor.

“Who the fuck is this?” Carolina demanded.

“I don’t... Simmons?” Tex asked, dropping her gun.

“Yes! I mean... No. Not that Red Team guy. Fuck him,” Simmons answered, hands still high in the air.

“What are you doing here? What’d you do to your armor?” Wash demanded.

“Red Team’s all obsessed with the new people. Not like they took me -- I mean him -- seriously even when he was on that team. So. Y’know. Blue Team, whoo,” Simmons responded.

Tex couldn’t even begin to bring herself to care about the situation any further. She looked at Wash. “If I go get Church and Caboose, kill a fucker, and get back here, will this all be cleared up?”

“Not even remotely,” Wash answered.

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Sheila’s in charge,” Tex announced, walking back toward the ship.

“New Red Team guys?” Carolina asked before looking to Tex. “I thought you said we were only worried about Blue.”

“We’re not even worried about Blue, there’s too many Blue Team Problems to deserve worrying about,” Tex responded. “C’mon, let’s not waste anymore time. Looks like you and I both are going to get what we want at the same place.”

#writing #rvb fic #RvB: Recovery None #Agent Washington #Lavernius Tucker #Crunchbite #Agent Texas #Agent Carolina #Four Seven Niner #AI: Sheila #Epsilon Church #Dick Simmons

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cyclinginaskirt-uk · 5 years

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Acrophobia; the irrational fear of heights or Basophobia; the fear of falling; both both genuine phobias and both the current personal experience between which I’m shuffling frantically.

It’s a mental shuffle of course as I’m actually frozen to the spot, extreme terror rendering me immobile, plastered against the back of the cable car with my eyes shut, whimpering and clinging on for dear life.

I should probably point out that this is no life-threatening situation, the lift bubble, in fully functioning order, is just swaying languidly up its final ascent of the mountain summit. I on the other hand am a complete wreck and this is only day one. Not liking the idea of extreme heights, or falling from them, I have to fight long and hard with my natural reaction to run screaming from any of the very flimsy looking ski lifts that flow up and down the mountain area of Tignes.

The trade-off however for enduring the humiliation of having to be scraped out of the cable car like a lump of jelly is that my bike and I get a gloriously quick ride to the summit, after which, I can scare myself nearly as much by riding the trails back down the mountain.

Welcome to fear 101 and the joy of mountain biking in the Alps.

Following on from a baptism of fire last year in the bike parks of Les Gets and Morzine, I’ve chosen (yep, it was an actual choice) to return to the Alps this summer, this time to the French resort of Tignes (pronounced ‘Teen‘), a purpose built ski resort/Olympic venue in winter and mountain bike paradise in summer. This year it was also meant to be the finishing point for one of the final Tour De France stages until freak hail storms and mudslides dramatically stopped the race.

Comprising of 5 villages (I know this from the hotel quiz) Tignes sprawls up the mountainside between an elevation of 1,440 and 2100 metres. I’m staying near the upper end in Tignes Le Lac and the day after arriving I’m really feeling the altitude.

As I puff and gasp my way up the road to the bike hire shop I can only hope that this altitude training will have spectacular gains when I return to sea level as right now even carrying a cup of coffee is making me gasp for breath. I’d expected the trails to cause my heart rate rise of course I just hadn’t foreseen it to be quite so elevated before getting on the bike!

Day one and I’ve discovered that in Tignes, bikes and suspension forks are big….and hire prices are even bigger.

As there’s a definite difference in the ratio of male to female riders (a quick straw poll would say 75-80% male), frames are also geared to the larger biker, presumably why the hire shop offer me a child’s bike at first! Having declined my only remaining option is a Kona Stinky which, with 200mm of fork travel both front and back, is ridiculously over-sprung for what I need. Add to this the set of body armour and full face helmet I’ve been strapped in to and I feel I should be taking on Red Bull rampage, not the lowly green trails on which we’re starting.

M, whom I’m with, has of course lucked out and managed to hire a reasonably priced, perfectly sized Kona Process 153 for the week. Grrr.

Decked out like robocop, the first stop is the Palafour lift, dead centre of town. Unlike Les Gets this lift is free and has lovely assistants who lift your bike on and off, so all terrified first timers like me need to concentrate on is getting themselves in situ – easier said than done.

It’s a chilly 10 minute ride up to the frigid heights of the mountain to 2564 metres. The view of snow drifts and gambolling marmots offers some distraction at least from both the altitude and the distance from which one would crash to earth.

As in the UK, French MTB trails are generally graded green (easiest), blue, red and black although as I learned last year, a French green trail and a UK one bear little in common indeed French green is UK green on steroids.

Being early in the season (the lifts only opening the previous week) there’s still snow on some of the trails and as we start off down the green trail we are immediately skidding everywhere on icy drifts, it’s an exhilarating start. The trails are in good condition though, free mostly from the annoying washboard effect of braking bumps and immediately enjoyable!

They’re still surprisingly technical but after our initiation in Morzine last year maybe we’ve revised our expectations, or just got a little better. Whichever, the swoopy descents and hairpins make a technical but satisfying first run.

The runs may be better than expected but the bike certainly isn’t, the big front end making it heavy and hard to steer. The saddle is also set at its lowest point meaning you can’t sit and pedal unless you have your knees up by your elbows like a toddler. This kind of arrangement is fine if you’re shredding down the black runs but exhausting if you have to pedal the flatter sections and my leg muscles are already on fire.

That morning we give the Palafour lift a work out covering all the green and blue runs. The blues, surprisingly, differ little from the greens, a bit steeper, looser, rockier but great to ride albeit with shakier and shakier legs.

A quick coffee stop and we tackle Le Lac’s opposing mountain via the next scary ski lift.

The Toviere bubble (enclosed car) takes you up to 2704 meters to intersect with the chair lift from Val Claret. From here there’s the option of a multitude of green, blue and red runs either back down to Le Lac or to Val D’Isere on the other side of the mountain.

The day’s adrenaline is catching up both from biking and from surviving the lifts but for some reason we opt to return to Le Lac down Gunpowder, 4.5km of fast blue trail and a full on 600 metre rapid descent of steeply sloping berms (banked corners) which just keep on coming. Already fatigued, legs wobbling we hit the downward trail after which there’s little stopping. By the time we reach the bottom my fingers are like claws, frozen to the brakes and my legs are shaking so much I can hardly pedal, but we’re down, in one piece and you might say it was nearly fun. Nearly.

The next day the stinky and I have gone our separate ways and I’ve managed to find a brand new Mondraker Stealth, 170mm of travel both ends and mercifully, a dropper seat post, in Tignes this is classed as an enduro (cross country) bike but it’s more than sufficient for my needs and skills.

Happier already we have a quick warm up via the Palafour trails before heading up Toviere as today we’re intent on exploring the trails down to Val d’Isere.

At around 13km in length from the furthest lifts station these are some of the longest trails in the Alps and oh so worthwhile. The creatively named Borsattack, Val Bleue and Popeye are beautifully built and are a joy to ride. Twisty, flowy tracks that wind sinuously ever downwards they are packed with table top jumps which you can dispatch or avoid as required, rock gardens and boarded bridges as you descend down the stark upper slopes into lush green alpine meadows and pine forests on blue grade (or green if preferred) trail until you’re finally spat out, breathless, exhausted in the pretty (and ruinously expensive) resort of Val D’Isere for a much needed rest and recovery stop.

After lunch we headed back up via the Olympique/Bellevarde bubble lift, a staggeringly steep 1000 metre ascent that seems to go on forever before disgorging into a large, chilly station 2827 metres above sea level.

Again more descending on the fantastic bermy Val Bleue (blue) trail, winding past lakes and snow, through the middle of the mountain before reaching the final Borsat lift. Here there’s the option to return directly to Val d’Isere on the same Val Bleue trail or to ride it from its highest mountain source (Blue Lagoon) via the lift.

It had to be done! The chairlift takes nearly 15 minutes to ponderously dangle you over a range of frightening drops and ice fields before looking like it’s going to smash you directly into the bleak grey mountain, only cresting a ridge at the final moment before impact. When you reach the top station at 2800 metres, unlike the other lifts, this chair doesn’t really lose speed, meaning a hasty leap off at the top and a mad scramble to clear the cornering chair and grab your bike before the lift kneecaps you on the way round.

The top of the Blue Lagoon trail is stark but worth it just for the completeness of going as high as you can. Heading down quickly (as it’s freezing at this height) steep, loose shale tracks descend for a km or two before giving you a final choice, carry on down back to Val D’Isere or return to the Val Claret resort. As it’s begun to rain we opt to head back via Val Claret.

Gone are the pleasant trails which cut across the mountain, you’re now riding down the side again, steep, zig zaggy loose paths with a long, long drop on either side are amazing for focusing the mind.

Trusting the bike probably as much or more than my skills we plummet downwards, the ground getting slippery with the falling rain. After the initial plunge the trail does level out for the next km or so for some smoother, enjoyable cross country riding before finally linking up with the Val Claret descents from yesterday, Gun Powder and Kangooride. We took the latter of these not having experienced it and in the falling drizzle continued the final 3.5km of downhill on a roller-coaster of a trail carved into the steep face of the mountain.

It was certainly a relief to be spat out, intact, shaky, and happy at the foot of the Val Claret lift leaving only the last, calming pedal around the lake to complete the day’s riding before a well-earned cup of tea and cake back at the hotel.

A day off for some road biking and an ascent of the col De L’Iseran before the final day on the bikes. By now I’m adding in some bits of the red trails although I’m cautious. Most of them give a chicken run around larger obstacles and jumps but occasionally no such opt out is offered which leaves an embarrassing and difficult heaving of bikes down the trail to bypass these features.

The last thing that we want to tackle is some of the All-Mountain trails, these having a more cross-country focus i.e. you have to pedal up as well as down, but we’ve been warned, this being Tignes, they tend towards the extreme and the technical. Because of this we’ve chosen WonderBoisses, graded as ‘Improver’, the only other options being advanced and expert!

We should have been forewarned when even the start was gruelling. Heading directly up under the Palafour lift, the innocuous gravel trail doesn’t look much but it’s a lung buster given the altitude and not helped by the fact we’re still wearing all our robo-cop body armour and full face helmets. With sweat dripping copiously the trail veers across a field of disinterested cows, necessitating climbing under various electric fences, before heading up the side of the mountain.

We wind steadily upwards for the next km or so along ledges that are barely wider than the bike, a precipitous drop on or right hand side. In places the trail rounds a bend and seems to disappear in to nowhere. Not nowhere, just plunging downwards, keeping you on your toes. I’m walking bits of it too where landslips have covered the trail leaving you to haul the bike over slippery humps of rubble. It’s actually good to be pedalling again too, even if it is upwards. Eventually the climb tops out and the descent begins, still on the narrow-ledged trails before heading inland fractionally and beginning a highly technical downhill on dusty forest trails covered in boulders and drop offs down which the bike slithers and bounces, throw in the odd hairpin and it’s blood-pumping stuff.

The trail emerges briefly on the grassy roof of one of the road tunnels, carved into the mountain which you pass under on the drive up to Le Lac, before rising and falling in a delightful series of forest trails, not quite so demanding but still requiring focus before disgorging you in the lower village of Tignes Le Boisses. Here a handy and much appreciated free Navette bus service drags you and the bike back up the mountain where, if you like, you can do it all again!

Having learned to quit on a high we do just that and, after saying goodbye to the lovely Mondraker and not so lovely body armour, we head gratefully for the nearest bar and a well-earned beer.

Tignes is certainly a full on experience which I’d heartily recommend to those with a little mountain biking knowledge. I’m no Rachel Atherton but with a few years of riding, quite a few lessons and countless falls under my belt this was technical, demanding riding, for which I had just enough skill/luck to be able to enjoy it.

I chose not to fly my bike out as I was concerned it wouldn’t stand up to the trails and, despite the hire cost – 70-85 euro per day – I think that was a wise decision. In addition all hire bikes tend to come with full face helmets, body armour, pads and optional insurance, with the added benefit of wearing out someone else’s bike parts.

It was without doubt a spectacular place to ride and despite the week of full-on adrenaline I leave with a definite sense of that peace and contentment which comes from spending time in the mountains doing what you love and the happy knowledge that I won’t have to brave another ski lift for at least the foreseeable future.

If it scares you, it might be a good thing to try.... Acrophobia; the irrational fear of heights or Basophobia; the fear of falling; both both genuine phobias and both the current personal experience between which I’m shuffling frantically.

#Berms #blue trails #facing fear #fear of heights #mondraker #Mountain biking #mountains #Palafour #ski lifts #Tignes #travel

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slingsendarrows · 6 years

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My First Drake Album

Nicholas Rodney Drake was born June 19, 1948, and died 26 years later after ingesting approximately 30 amitriptyline pills. It was ruled a suicide. Nick Drake was an English singer-songwriter whose acoustic guitar songs navigated the tumultuous and oft-misunderstood travails of living with depression. His music was not popular while he lived but has since garnered worldwide recognition and critical acclaim in the years since.

I discovered Nick Drake and his music after a traumatic experience. Those around me, charged with my care, my built-in support system (or so I thought), did not see it that way, so I was forced to seek other ways to trek along this new, unfamiliar, and terrifying path.

Music allows me to understand complicated things, and in turn, I recognize myself. It has been that way for as long as I can remember. It was the same the instant I discovered Nick Drake, Cat Power, and the Elliot Smith types of the world, delving into and exploring the deep well of my sorrow. There is something incredibly self-indulgent about pain and suffering. It is fundamentally personal, subjective, and selfish, but surrounded by an entitled sense of affecting a world larger than ourselves; it embodies all our pain, even if that particular experience is uniquely our own. And so it is with Nick. He gave my experience words I could not articulate to myself, let alone others.

I was recently having coffee with a friend and at one point explained how living with depression has required I disengage with some people in my life. His first question, "What are you depressed about?" I hate this question. I hate it because it requires a definite answer as if I can carefully and comprehensively explain what it means to live with depression in a few short sentences encompassing the reality of it, all while holding my breath hoping what I say is clearly understood. I hate it because it is all too common. I know why it is common--because depression is difficult to explain; it is personal and universal. Personal because it happens to the individual; universal in that it happens to many individuals, more than 300 million of us according to the World Health Organization. So, is it naive to desire a succinct, identifiable, and generalizable reason? Maybe not. But I don't have one.

All I can do is borrow the words of a poet whose art helps me understand my depression, at least in part.

Nick Drake was signed to a record deal at 20 and released three albums, Five Leaves Left (1969), Byter Layter and Pink Moon (1972), and the posthumous box-set Fruit Tree (1979). While living, Nick did not promote his music and was reluctant to give interviews. Neither of his albums sold more than 5,000 copies upon initial release, and all we have of the artist are his music and still photographs. These sparse facts make me both sad and content. Part of me feels he never wanted to give us more than his music, and for me, it's enough. It has to be enough. It is more than enough.

So much can be said about the artist and his art. Five Leaves Later is a deeply personal and raw poetic exercise of a man wrestling with his creation and what it means to hold oneself sacred when the world requires you expose more than you're willing for global recognition of said art.

Beginning with "Time Has Told Me," he laments, Time has told me/ You're a rare, rare find/ A troubled cure/ For a troubled mind/ And time has told me/ Not to ask for more/ Someday our ocean will find its shore. Drake is deeply self-aware of the struggles within his mind. He succumbs to the reality that while his troubled mind is a gift, it is a "troubled cure." It allows him to see clearly with no indication as to how it can be any different. Depression feels much the same. In the darkest moments, you achieve hopeless clarity. You know what is happening to you. You're viscerally aware of how your mind is attacking the rest of your being and understand the physiological effects manifesting, but you don't stop it, you can't, your mind won't let you. A "troubled cure" indeed!

Without a definitive answer to proffer, Drake merely suggests we learn to cope in this new reality instead: So leave the ways that are making you be/ What you don't want to be/ Leave the ways that are making you love/ What you really don't want to love. It is unfair to ask more of yourself than that, especially in the midst of a depressive episode (a singular beast unto itself). Talking it out with someone helps, but therapy is a privilege not all of us can afford. The best you can do is decipher how depression ails you in real tangible ways and work towards subverting actions that turn the picnic into a never-ending feast of abundance.

My depression revels and thrives in isolation and despair. I have lived with it long enough to identify the stages of my Dementor infestation. First I had to give it an identity that is not me. I had to separate Nyasha from what J.K. Rowling describes as "the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places. They glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope and happiness out of the air around them[...]Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself--soul-less and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

My descent begins with isolation. I cut myself off from everyone and anything capable of giving me hope. My perfectionist-in-recovery leanings make it challenging to let people close to me know I am struggling so I deflect, I lie, or just disappear. I genuflect to my tormentors, and with that surrender, they infiltrate with the intensity of quelling a resistance that simply doesn't exist. They are here for everything; they will take everything, whether you give in willingly or put up a fight. Before naming my tormentor, throwing in the towel was just part of the deal. Why bother, right Eeyore?

Next comes, avoidance. I call in sick to work more often than I should and with no strength to do anything about it, I let things fall apart. My apartment looks like a hoarders fantasy, dishes stacked in the sink become science experiments and I grow comfortable with the increasingly pungent reek of my body odour. I take Netflix bingeing to Olympic levels. I eat and eat and eat, to suppress the pain of my trauma, burying myself in pizza boxes, cinnamon rolls, potato chips and pot until all I can feel is my bloated and overly extended stomach. I berate myself for not having self-control, smoke more weed to induce indifference, wake up in regret, promise to do better, rinse and repeat.

Over time I realized this was a roommate I would have to drag along to all the parties in spite of her feelings. So I made a plan to help me "leave the ways that are making me be who I really don't want to be": a miserable, fat, unhappy, sad person trying and failing to reverse-engineer their past. I cut certain people out of my life, read several self-help and psychology books (with care), started treating my body as if I gave a shit, even when I didn't, stopped chain-smoking pot, and most importantly, discovered CrossFit and the power of endorphins. CrossFit saved my life. At first, it was to quell the hunger to be loved and accepted by a man who did not see past my fatness, but now it is to survive and live to fight another day, hoping "someday our ocean will find its shore." Expecto Patronum!!

Two songs from Five Leaves Later have been constant companions on this journey, "Saturday Sun" and "Fruit Tree.” The oddity of living with my Dementor is how surprised we both are when confronted with a genuinely beautiful day. I mean a gorgeous, sun's bright, trees rustling to the soft breeze, blue skies kind of day. Depending on how long we've been companioning in our misery, we are more likely to close the curtains even harder and shut out the realness of life outside our wretchedness. How dare it shine so unabashedly and affront us with its glory? Doesn't our pain matter? Of course not, you self-indulgent sad person. It's the sun. It rises and sets. Sometimes the days are cloudy, bitter cold with rain and snow, but the sun still rises, as it as done since the dawn of time. It doesn't consider my individual circumstances. For it will be what the sun has always been: burning and shining, bright and perpetual.

That is the sentiment of "Saturday Sun." Suddenly you're not feeling so bad. There is momentary reprieve; momentary because you've learned it is only a matter of time. You're confused when the Saturday sun [comes] early one morning/ In a sky so clear and blue/ Saturday sun came without warning/ So no-one knew what to do. After living in the depths of despair for so long, you forget what it feels like to feel good. You are anxious when suddenly your ever-present roommate takes a day, or week, or a month off. She didn't leave a note, but you know she'll be back. Maybe it's when the meds finally kick in and/or your lifestyle changes are starting to take effect, and you can cope with some semblance of normalcy.

In the light of day you remember the things you have neglected: the two Chopin concerts you paid for but didn't attend although you were dying to see Lang Lang, the numerous friend engagements you bailed on at the last minute, the phone calls that went unanswered, the dreams and goals deferred, and the countless failures to rally yourself. This sun has brought people and faces/ That didn't seem much in their day/ But when I remember those people and places/ They were really too good in their way/ In their way/ In their way/ Saturday won't come to see me today. You despair at all the time lost and wonder if you are meant to feel bad always, even on the seemingly good days when the rays of clarity reach your soul to remind you things are not all bad.

I often gaze at reality through a veneer of misery. Realizing how things weren't as bad as I thought makes me feel sorry for having considered them that bad, to begin with. Am I making up my depression? Am I decadent in my despair? Is this just an act? What is wrong with me? That is the consuming aspect of depression. Reprieve is more work. Trying to hold on to it, knowing its a losing battle, and wondering if your defeatist attitude is the reason it is a losing battle. Maybe you're not trying hard enough. You think about stories with reason and rhyme/ Circling through your brain/ And think about people in their season and time/ Returning again and again/ And again/ And again/ but Saturday sun has turned to Sunday's rain. It is fucking relentless.

"Fruit Tree" reads like a self-fulfilling prophecy. It is an artist's individual understanding of fame and legacy. It is incredibly forward-thinking because Nick Drake died, I believe, understanding the value of his art yet somewhat resigned to the world not catching on until long after he was gone. Fame is but a fruit tree/ So very unsound/ It can never flourish/ 'Till its stock is in the ground/ So men of fame/ Can never find a way/ 'Til time has flown far from their dying day/ Forgotten while you're here/ Remembered for a while/ A much-updated ruin/ From a much-outdated style. Whether we yearn for conventional fame or to simply make our mark upon this world, legacy is a unique desire of the mortal. It is our final stand against death and lets the world know we were here, we mattered, we connected. I once read that immortality is achieved in the memories of those who remember us after we're gone. We are not truly dead until the last person who carries our memory dies with it. There is something both comforting and terrifying about that. We are remembered by our loved ones and the lives we've affected, knowingly and otherwise. But memory is fragile, subjective, and prone to manipulation. So how well is our legacy maintained? Does the remembrance bear a resemblance to who we really were? How we lived, loved, failed, triumphed, survived, endured, or were defeated? How can we ask so much when we begin to understand that to “err is human,” and we are all selective in what we remember, let alone how we remember it.

"Fruit Tree" is a remarkably well-penned bookend to "Time Has Told Me." We shouldn't ask for more but live in gratitude of what has been given to us, and maybe that will lead us where all our struggling and fighting against the tide has been guiding us--to a place were" our ocean finds its shore." But still, we can't help but wonder what we leave behind, the parts of us that remain beyond the veil and our ability to curate and frame ourselves. When all that is left is what is remembered, how can we not worry about that too?

Drake's response exposes the futility of these obsessive musings: Life is but a memory/ Happened long ago/ Theatre full of sadness/ For a long forgotten show/ Seems so easy/ Just to let it go on by/ 'Till you stop and wonder/ Why you never wondered why. Will the rooms of despair carry the memory of your trauma the way your body has? Probably not. Another soul will take residence there to tell their own story, cement their own legacy. I'm reminded of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "The Charge of the Light Brigade," Not though the soldier knew/ Someone had blundered/ Theirs not to make reply/ Theirs not to reason why/ Theirs but to do and die/ Into the valley of Death/ Rode the six hundred. Theirs but to do and die.

Worrying about legacy after death seems futile when all we can do is live out our days, and hopefully, past the reeds of selfish thoughts, needs, and desires, we do some good that is not "interred with our bones." Maybe in death, we find an understanding of ourselves, our place, and our experiences. But there is no knowing until we go through it: Safe in the womb of an everlasting night/ You find the darkness can give the brightest light/ Safe in your place deep in the earth/ That's when they'll know what you were really worth. Or not, but what does it matter? You've done your part. You lived. You experienced things that made you, and for better or worse, you were here.

Fruit tree, fruit tree/ No one knows you but the rain and the air/ Don't you worry/ They'll stand and stare when you're gone

Fruit tree, fruit tree/ Open your eyes to another year/ They'll all know/ That you were here when you're gone

I know you were here Nicholas Rodney Drake. Long before I was born, your ocean was making its way to my shore. I understand my depression better through your music and the intense vulnerability you bared. You bore fruit within my soul and allowed me to realize that while my struggles with mental health aren't unique, it does not make them irrelevant. I remember you. I see you, Fruit Tree. Keep blossoming!

#nick drake #music #mental health #legacy #depression

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microchin-blog · 6 years

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METAL SLUG ATTACK 3.9.0 APk Download

metal slug attack 3.9.0 is a Metal Slug Collection 20th Anniversary Official Title” for Android and iOS, courtesy of SNK Playmore for cell devices. In every stage, you either face different enemies like your self or huge bosses that may make devastating assaults in your base. Join this community and the world of metallic slug protection and Assault. Presently, the best unit remains to be arguably the Jupiter King, a excessive-value, long-vary support unit that offers a huge chunk of injury to all enemies in a wide space in one burst.

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METAL SLUG ATTACK 3.9.0

It is extra of the identical within the old arenas with leveled-up enemies, however some missions can surprise the player with an out-of-place boss reminiscent of Allen. After reaching degree three, payer will get other sport modes. metal slug attack for Android has some sport modes.

Attack's Extra Ops missions are inclined to have their very own mini-plots, though typically (that's most of version 2.0's) it is nothing more than: Here's the boss, here's the pre-acquisition unit, boss is defeated, Mission Full. The unique title screen in Metallic Slug Attack has changed with the character illustrations of Yoshino, Dragunov, a Martian, Marco, Common Morden, Abigail, and the Professor to mark the anniversary of the collection.

As you understand, this sport provides more variations for players to consolidate attack, building, and defending. The Reload Assist in Assault robotically reduces all models' cooldown to zero, allowing them to perform their particular attacks immediately. The Recovery Help refills all models HP and their manufacturing reload robotically goes to zero.

METAL SLUG ATTACK Action Review

In Attack, certain air models will apply a suicide attack as soon as they have been destroyed. Good luck and be sure to have higher items as a result of this man has chunks of HP and his attacks are already lethal as it's. This is good for dealing damage to necessary targets which can be protected by heavier units, or for clearing away hordes of cannon-fodder units.

Metallic Slug Defense is a cellular recreation launched fairly all of a sudden by SNK in 2014. Particular attack helps to destroy more enemy to gain Motion Factors. Some missions require you to make use of their defense on the proper times to win. Knockback : Most models endure from this upon being hit by powerful assaults but surviving.

Within the recreation 'pre acquisition' models are provided each month for a hefty price of some times fifty dollars other times a hundred dollars! At all times Accurate Attack : Tetsuyuki generally fires a laser that hits all the discipline, player base included.

Cheap and with four hundred HP at degree 20. He attacks at shut vary with a knife and might throw grenades. Claw models are deceptively gradual, but at long range they cost into the fray to maul any enemy in its manner. There are Assault, Special Ops, battle, Fight Faculty, and Guild Raid.

Gatling Good : Units resembling Marco, some Slugs and Allen wield this weapon either normally or as their particular attack. Online (unlocked at Level 10) is the equivalent of MSD's Wi-Fi VS and is the only real-time PVP mode obtainable. Rescuing POWs in Assault has been made easier resulting from them always showing in the identical spot in a degree.

The new unit from the Destroy The Tower further ops in Attack is the Amadeus Corporal who offers thousands of harm in addition to having about 10,000 HP. Morden's special in Attack previously can injury enemy's base with the invincible summoned Hi-Do's. In case you can spend the time and browse the wikis to get your head around how all of the meta stuff works, metal slug attack might change into completely engrossing and properly worth moving into.

The many different human, machine and monster units have a basic assault, in addition to distinctive charged strikes which sometimes require good timing for use accurately. You also get models to attack. Team Battle (unlocked at Stage 20) is a aggressive asynchronous multiplayer mode, much like Battle but having to battle three completely different decks and requiring beating 2 out of 3 battles to win.

As it's a free-to-play sport, there are components reminiscent of layers of stage grinding, missions costing credit that recharge over time and a lot of the unlockable characters solely being out there by way of a secondary foreign money more accessible for those prepared to spend cash on it.

Pre-acquisition items can be this, however as an alternative of paying for it with medals, a player should pay $a hundred for a hundred and ten elements for that specific unit (which means a total of $300 to platinum rating of said unit) as well as an exclusive gold bordered android games avatar that come with it. Fortunately, these pre-acquisition items will finally turn into obtainable via medal crank, so if you want a strong pre-acquisition by spending medals as a substitute of cash, you just have to wait.

In particular, additional set 1 gets you the Massive Snail and the Large Caterpillar, two of one of the best defensive models in the sport, whereas beating extra set 2 unlocks the Samurai Tank, an inexpensive, long-range unit with a disproportionately excessive amount of HP.

Glass Cannon : The HP of the player's base is not such an necessary stat to upgrade first as a result of if a decent group of models reaches a base in any respect, it should almost certainly be done for as a result of defending items will not have time to charge their special strikes to do helpful harm and may't even cover their base's hitbox.

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From Steel Slug three first appears in space 10, stage four. The Mars Mecha is also current within the final set of bonus levels. A number of players be a part of into single guild then take the enemy whereas one other is defending. In case your gadget has had no games put in for a long period, please test if QooApp is properly put in and logged in with the identical account.

All the things's Deader with Zombies : The zombie enemies from Steel Slug three are present. A sequel by the name of Metallic Slug Attack has since been launched on Feb. Anti Air : Sure units have attacks that both shoot projectiles in an arc or at a high angle, permitting them to wreck aerial units.

Morden may have an awesome particular attack, however his commonplace assault just isn't as effective as his 950 (1500 in Assault) AP price would lead you to believe and he tends to get knocked again typically, leaving the remainder of your units uncovered as he tries to make his method again to the entrance.

The gatcha techniques aren't why people play freemium video games like this one, although. It is a subreddit for Steel Slug Attack, the sequel to Metallic Slug Protection. A development by the tip of the first year of Attack's launch, items of the Further-Ops are new recolors of either earlier bosses or items.

Battles are all about defending your drop-pod and attacking the enemies' as an alternative. Whereas not a lot of the Amadeus Syndicate is seen in the recreation, an growth later added a bunch of items and some levels from the Ptolemaic Army, and later some models from the Venusians too.

You might have permission to destroy enemy base utilizing any assault or weapons. Allegedly Free Game : The existence of premium foreign money (Medals) and an energy system (Sortie Points) mean that those who are keen to cough up enough money will always have a bonus over free players.

The game got around three million downloads at the first few month because it's release (word: metal slug attack defense has 27 million downloads.) nonetheless when they have determined to indroduce the 'pre acquisition' models many month glided by and it still stayed at three million or so downloads.

You gather them by having units attack the spot where they're hiding. In Steel Slug Assault, this can get somewhat excessive when you 1) Acquire the abilities that permit the principle characters to maintain their weapons after using them and a couple of) Field lots of the predominant characters at once.

When the Parachute Truck was first launched, it dropped a hail of projectiles at a superb range that did penetrating injury so long as they touched an opponent, decimating even the largest items in seconds. Unused animations current in the primary sequence grow to be used in Defense and Assault, resembling Abul Abbas' assaults.

Models can be upgraded in various methods - from flat stat improve to studying special assaults and effects. It spawns highly effective high-value models from out of nowhere when you get close or hit its base. This is sequel model of previous Steel Slug, so participant should know the essential approach to play this recreation.

Screw This, I am Outta Right here : Most "Supply" characters (Sisilia, Fast, the Aikawa sisters) will run away when their HP is depleted as an alternative of dying. "I think this game is dangerous" and transfer on. Go play Steel Slug X. Or, since SNK solely releases good video games, go play Mercenary Kings.

Steel Slug Assault is an excellent tower protection game that takes benefit of the Metallic Slug license, offering a wonderful gameplay and spectacular graphics. The Bikers cost ninety AP but have 1000 HP at level 20 and transfer sooner, whereas otherwise performing just like the riflemen and complementing them properly.

The degrees in Steel Slug Assault are designed to be beaten as fast as possible. Art Shift : Ralf, Clark, and Leona use their sprites from the Metallic Slug games (which are re-edits of Marco, Tarma, and Eri respectively), whereas the remainder of the King of Fighters cast have a redrawn rendition of their preventing sprites.

: The intro to Steel Slug Assault showcases an animated recreation of the promotional artwork, having various characters and units operating on a desert discipline with explosions everywhere till an in depth-up of Morden seems, though he's not the ultimate boss of the principle game.

Promoted To Playable : Almost every thing, from the common mook to these badass bosses although some items like the Huge Shiee will stay as a boss and won't be playable until several updates later. The game mode has more variation with simple graphic.

Announcer Chatter : The announcer does his factor when the principle characters use their particular attack, corresponding to Marco using the HEAVY MACHINE GUN or Fio utilizing the ROCKET LAUNCHER, for instance. More notable in Assault, the Ptolemaic Army and Amadeus Syndicate are given extra attention than what that they had of their residence video games.

At the finish of the day metal slug attack 3.9.0 it does not really matter if you're willing to help or not, I simply thought there'd be some individuals who hate pay to win video games who know the sensation of playing one. His potential to summon Hover Models (and reset that cooldown) appears very superior, until you discover out that stated Hover Units give the opponent a pretty good quantity of AP if destroyed, making the Commander extra of a legal responsibility than an asset.

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