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plus-size-reader · 3 years

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The Only Saviors Left Alive

Negan x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2124 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Negan goes back to the sanctuary and finds a whole lot more than he expects to

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“It’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve seen you”

Negan stopped, of course, unsure of where your voice was coming from but the most confusing part was that he recognized it.

He would have known your voice anywhere but he certainly never thought he'd hear it again.

After all this time, Negan thought for sure that you were dead.

As best he could tell, there was nothing left of any of his life before. The sanctuary was in ruins, all your people were gone. He’d had to learn just how different it was the hard way today.

“What happened here?” he called, still unsure where you were. Negan hoped you would come out but whether you did or not, none of this made any sense.

This whole thing was a mess.

No one knew that better than you did.

Negan didn’t, not really, bit after how everything had gone down but you couldn’t exactly blame him for that. It wasn’t particularly his fault, of course, it was mostly his fault but not all his fault.

“Rick wanted to bring the groups together, but that never really included us” you started, thinking back to those first few months after his capture.

He wanted a better world, but no one could get over what had happened. They couldn’t get over the hate and resentment they had for the saviors. You were sure that some of them made it work but to your knowledge, most of them were dead.

Without Negan, they didn’t have anywhere to go or anyone looking after them.

They had been stupid, thinking the world would work in their favor, you didn’t believe it for a second.

That was why you were still here.

These walls were your home and as shitty as it was right now, it was always going to be your home. It was where you belonged, and the fact that you were alone wasn’t going to change that.

“Yeah, I figured that might happen” he shrugged, trying to figure out where you were by the way your voice bounced off the walls.

He desperately wanted to see you, after all this time, but you weren’t coming out. Obviously, you didn't want to and really, he wasn’t sure that he could blame you.

Negan wasn’t blind, clearly a lot of his actions had gotten you both here.

“Most of them are dead, I guess. Sometimes Jed and the others come by but it's been a long time since I’ve seen them” you explained, thinking over each word carefully.

So much had happened since he’d been gone, it was hard to sum it all up now. You weren’t in the mood to rehash the collapsing of this place.

Negan was relieved, in part, to know that at least some of those sorry assholes wouldn’t leave you alone in all this. He should have known none of the others would

...And you sure as hell wouldn’t leave.

You had always been as stubborn as a mule.

“I bet you didn’t expect a visit from me then, huh sugar?” he teased, flipping over one of the stools to sit on. You were still nowhere to be found but he hoped at some point that you would come down.

It wasn’t like he was just going to leave now that he knew you were here. There was a better chance of hell freezing over.

“No, really I figured you went out and got yourself killed” your voice sounded different this time when it reached his ears. Your footsteps reached his ears later than your voice as you walked down the steel steps.

In all honesty, you weren’t really prepared for what you were doing, or what would happen when you saw him again after all this time, but you knew it had to be done. You couldn’t hide from Negan, not anymore.

There was a time when you were inseparable, the only two people at the top of the world, but now you were together again at the bottom of the barrel. It was far from ideal, but that was just how it was.

You couldn’t do anything about it.

The saviors were long gone, dead you assumed, and everything you had once held dear was gone too. There was nothing else for you, and yet, you didn’t dare leave this place.

It was the only place in the world you felt safe. You knew how stupid that was and how out of your depth you were but the sanctuary was where you had lived for so long, it was all you had.

Negan must have felt that way too, because he wouldn’t have come if he didn’t.

“I missed you, ya know that don’t you?” he sighed, gingerly wiping the sweat from his brow bone. Your movements and his were deafening, the only thing that could be heard throughout the stark and desolate compound.

If you strained your ears, you may have caught a bit of groaning outside the walls from the dead, but nothing more than that. The sound of your breath leaving your lungs was all you could focus on as you walked, and that was more than enough.

You were nervous.

It was stupid, perhaps more stupid than your being here at all, but when you really stopped to think about it, you had missed Negan.

For some time, you even thought that Rick killed him, until you got news that wasn’t the case. Some of the saviors moved to help him build his bridge, doing all they could to survive, but you didn’t bother to leave.

You rarely dealt with anyone other than the saviors at all, even after that day in the field. The saviors were your people, they were yours to look after, and even if there were no survivors left, you were still going to be here.

It just didn’t seem like a good idea to go anywhere else.

You had never been anywhere other than the sanctuary, you had never been anything more than a savior, than one of Negan’s wives. On the rare occasion that any saviors managed to make it in any of the other communities, you weren’t going to be one of them.

They would sooner kill you.

“I’m sure. You’ve had more than enough time to think, locked up in a cage like an animal” you scoffed, finally rounding the corner to the floor, making eye contact with the man you loved for the first time.

It was strange.

There was a time where you wouldn’t have been anywhere other than his side, when you would have died for him, but for whatever reason, you felt different now. Perhaps it was all that had changed, or all the time between now and then.

One thing was for sure, whatever it was, you weren’t a fan.

Negan had provided you with support, stability, and love in all the years that you had been together but lately, you had done that for yourself. It forced you to wonder what you had been so confident in for so long, and why you had been so ready to die for him?

For so long, he was practically a God for you and saviors, but that man was long gone.

“You look like shit”

You didn’t even hesitate to comment, though admittedly the words slipped from your lips before you thought them over. It was true, all those years he’d been locked up had clearly taken their toll, and he had changed quite a bit.

Not that he wasn’t as attractive as he always was, he was just different.

“Damn baby, that’s a hell of a welcome home” Negan scoffed, not even batting an eye at your crude nature. It was something that he had always admired about you and something that was more okay now.

He’d missed your smart mouth and attitude, if he was being honest with himself.

“Does this look like our home?” you questioned, sitting down across from him just hidden from view by a shadow cast from the broken window. It left a smattering of light between you on the concrete floor but you ignored it.

Right now, you had much more pressing matters to worry about.

As far as you understood, Negan was never supposed to get out of that little box they put him in. After all, Michonne made it clear to you that you were lucky they didn’t send Negan’s head to you in a box, like they were doing you a favor in even keeping him alive.

It had been another source of contention between you and the Alexandrians from the start, but you couldn’t change the fact that they had the upper hand. Those first few months, you had to worry much more about feeding your people than getting Negan out of there.

Besides, part of you was angry with him, resentful that he had done this in the first place.

The sanctuary was at the top before getting involved with Rick and the Alexandrians. You had everything you had ever wanted and the entire compound was working just as it was designed and then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone.

It was all gone because of his ego.

He took every exchange between him and Rick as a game, as a chance to flaunt his power and influence instead of just going about business as you always had. If he had only listened to you, your lover would have never been locked away in the first place.

Naturally, you were a little bitter about it now.

Look at where you were.

“I’ll give you that, this place really went to hell huh?” he shrugged, surveying all that was left of the palace the two of you had built. Now it was little more than the ruins of what it was, a reminder of those who had lived there

...Just like every other bar, house, and building for hundreds of miles.

“Yeah, sorry about that honey, I didn’t have time to clean up before you got here” Negan could hardly make out the details of your face in the dim shadows but he knew you well enough to know that an eye roll came with that.

That attitude clearly hadn’t gone anywhere in all these months.

“Are you upset with me, sweetheart? Trouble in paradise?” he allowed, shooting back at you with just as much attitude as you were bringing to the table. All this time between you had caused quite a bit of turmoil between you, things that needed to be addressed, but there was no use in that.

It wouldn’t change anything.

“I didn’t want to leave you there, you know? I tried to get you back but we were outnumbered. We didn’t have guns or men or food to feed those men, we didn’t have anything” you sighed, doing your very best to keep from getting emotional.

It had been so hard for so long, and in the end, you lost, more than anyone else. Nothing you tried to do was enough, you couldn’t get Negan back, and all your people were dead. Obviously, you weren’t as good a leader as he was.

Maybe if you had been, you wouldn’t be sitting here on a concrete brick, turned over in a few inches of water.

“Turns out, a kingdom tends to fall without the king who built it. Nobody told me that” you grumbled, folding your arms across your chest. You weren’t mad, not anymore, but it was proving more difficult than you assumed to see him again.

This morning, you assumed that you would never see him again in your life, just like you did every other morning for the past few years. That was the only thing you had anymore, and now you had nothing at all.

It sucked.

“Hey, this isn’t your fault. You could have never known how it would go down” he tried, but you had already heard enough. Negan may have been gone, but his schtick was the same as it ever was.

This was just the way he was, trying to make you feel better even when you clearly had no hope at all, and finding a way to blame anything else even when you were fully at fault. He thought he could protect you from the world, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

That hadn’t been the case in a long time.

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t change the fact that you and I are the only Saviors left alive” you hummed, looking around the large compound as you spoke, your words echoing around you with a finality that caught you off guard.

There was no going back now.

#negan #negan x reader #negan x ps reader #negan x plus size reader #negan imagine #twd #twd x reader #twd x ps reader #twd x plus size reader #twd imagine #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead x ps reader #the walking dead x plus size reader #the walking dead imagine

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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

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Do We Have A Future?: April

Part 1 | Part 2: November | Part 3: January

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.1k Warning: Adult themes, mental health triggers, themes of depression, pregnancy complications and termination Summary: Rebecca told Ethan and now they have to live with the aftermath of their decision.

Author’s Note: Sensitive subject matter means I really suggest only reading if you are 18+ years old.

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamwrites @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @imactuallytheceoofthecompany @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations

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They seemingly had put this event behind them. The couple moved through the motions of daily life as shadows of who they used to be. They kept a routine and followed it to a T - Ethan profoundly thankful for the false sense of normalcy for which it gave. He could rest easier knowing they were almost in sync again. But unbeknownst to him, Rebecca thought about their unborn child and the life they could have had every single day.

Becca’s pride still kept her from seeking help. She didn’t want to bother Ethan anymore with the what-ifs and could-have-beens. She believed he truly had moved on and forgotten - he didn’t seem weighed down by their decision anymore, his eyes weren’t as heavy as hers anymore.

She had gotten very good at pretending she wasn’t being swallowed alive. Every morning she dressed herself in her best clothes, would put her makeup on carefully over her weaknesses, and paint a smile on her face all the while thinking of the little imaginary bundle sleeping in their pristine second bedroom. In her mind she and Ethan turned the spare bedroom into a pink and white haven of a nursery after days of arguing over textures and color schemes wanting everything to be perfect for her. The thought of her baby’s peaceful, scrunchy face gave Becca the courage to continue on.

At work Becca tried very hard to avoid the overgrown concern of her friends and the other members of the diagnostics team but there was no escape. She had been back at work for nearly four months and they’ve all seen her destructive and desolate actions - from not sleeping to overworking and constant avoidance of any sort of personal actions. One day at lunch Sienna and Kyra tried to get her to open up but Becca put on her curated mask and distanced herself further.

“Hey,” Sienna said with all the courage she could muster. “How's life at Ramsey’s?” she asked as she sat down across from her best friend whom she spotted alone at a corner table and staring at the wall.

Becca’s eyes were void of emotion, just hollow spheres staring back at two of her dearest allies. Her chicken and avocado salad remained closed and untouched with not even a fork in sight. Between Sienna’s uncertainty and Becca’s disinterest the air around them was cumbrous.

“Are you gettin’ it all the time?” Kyra tried to lighten the mood with an eyebrow wiggle as she took her seat next to Sienna.

Becca took a second to contort her features before answering, needing to muster up enough strength so her voice didn’t sound as weak as the two pairs of concerned chocolate eyes boring down on her made her feel.

“It’s good,” she forced through a weak smile hoping her friends bought it for joy. “Weird...but also in a good way?”

It was weird in the sense that Becca still knew Ethan didn’t believe in marriage or children, and yet he made the leap. He pushed himself and solidified her as his partner - his life partner with a set of keys, name on the bills and all. On paper as far as litigation was concerned Ethan and Rebecca were on their way to a civil partnership. Although she doubted they would make it that far. It’s only been a few months. We could still break up…

On edge, Sienna took a big gulp of air in hope that she worded her next question just right, “Are you happy?”

Her eyes searched her broken friend’s features for any indication of the truth.

“Yes,” Becca replied meekly.

“I’m worried about you,” Sienna whispered back.

Kyra broke the trance between the two hurting girls and added just as softly, “We’re all worried about you.”

Becca shifted her weight towards Kyra.

“I’m fine,” with great effort she etched a small convincing smile into her features.

Her eyes met Kyra’s and for a second she felt guilty for keeping this a secret - for worrying her one friend that should be enjoying her new lease on life. Kyra has been in remission for the last six months after undergoing a risky and experimental surgery last year. On top of her shallowness, Becca now regretted not being able to let Kyra lead the carefree life she battled so ruthlessly to get.

“Just busy with everything going on. Ethan’s been having me shadow tough cases,” Becca lied. Ethan didn’t want her anywhere near the most disastrous of cases for fear something would set her off and she’d crumble back into that dark hole once and for all. But Becca didn’t listen. She would tag along with June and Baz, Ethan unable to stop her without letting the cat out of the bag.

Kyra didn’t waver in calling her out, “Becca, we’ve barely seen you since you moved out.”

Looking down at the table, the insecure friend with a weight permanently lodged in her chest said, “We have a lot going on.”

“Can we talk about it?” Sienna all but begged, “I’m sure it’ll make you feel better.”

Becca brushed off the notion with a shake of her head, “It’s nothing.”

Kyra’s hand reached across the table for Becca’s, “You know you can tell us anything, right? We’ll still love you.”

They may still love me but they’ll never look at me the same way. They’ll never see just Becca, they’ll see me as the failed mother that I am.

Becca folded her hands in her lap and sat taller. Looking between the two before her, she responded, “I love you too.”

The only person not throwing a pity party at Becca’s expense in the slightest was Dr. June Hirata. For that she was actually grateful for the arrogant and manipulative doctor on her team. Although psychological behavior is her trade, June did her best to keep her questions and analysis of Becca to herself. No point in igniting that fire again, June thought as she reminded herself of the time Becca scolded her for reading her employee file behind her back way back when.

June knew ever since that encounter that Rebecca regarded her with extreme contempt, however one day she just couldn’t stop the gnawing desire to know why Dr. Rebecca Lao so adamantly avoided working on cases with her boyfriend after watching the two not-so-subtly stare each other down at daily briefing.

“What’s going on with you lately?” June so casually asked as they walked in stride through the illuminated walls of Edenbrook to their next patient’s room - a four year old boy who hadn't had a bowel movement in weeks and the warning signs of vertigo.

“Nothing,” Becca muttered firmly before dismissing, “Don’t worry about it, June.”

“Whatever you say, Dr. Lao.” Although Becca wasn’t looking at her she could feel Dr. Hirata’s harsh eye roll. “Trouble in paradise?” the British doctor added, shooting her shot.

Not only did June make notes of Becca’s recent behavior, she noticed how Ethan had changed over the last few months as well. At one point the hair on his chin was longer and more unkempt than she’d ever seen. His facial features were older as if he carried a burden - one much bigger than his previous hardship of holding onto Naveen’s secret years ago. Dr. Hirata never thought she’d seen this statuesque man crumble any lower than when he thought his dear friend was on death row.

June observed how Ethan was on edge and snapped easily during those early weeks of the incident. Then he seemed to tiptoe around Rebecca at work, secretly reassigning some of her cases or running the tests himself behind her back. Now more recently she noted that the pair avoided working one-on-one. He was protecting something and the thought of not knowing irked Dr. Hirata to no end.

I know I’d want to work closely with my boyfriend every chance I got.

It wasn’t a secret Ethan and Becca were dating, Elijah let it slip to a few of the nurse’s by accident once long before. Even if he didn't, anyone who spent enough time with the two doctor’s could feel the undeniable chemistry that radiated off of them - the pure unadulterated adoration they shared even in the darkest of times.

“It’s none of your business,” Becca snapped as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from letting her emotions take over.

Rebecca knew her relationship with Ethan was far from what it once was. They didn’t have the same banter anymore or playfully debate to get in the last word. They found it increasingly complicated to challenge one another now; neither wanting to push the other too far. They were fragile. They were a window - the thick glass of their relationship looking ahead but also peeking back into the other side, constantly and simultaneously staring back at what once was and what’s to come. One small stone could break them - only having to find the spot with the most tension and they’d shatter.

Ethan and Becca continuously strived to bring back the passion they once shared. She would take him out to dinner or to his sacred box at the opera, things she knew were convivial and released his stress. Ethan would plan dates to Naveen’s cabin where they could spend some time enjoying the outdoors, or he would spend countless evenings looking for new and trendy food trucks to drag her too, just like her friends used to do back before. All they wanted was for the other to be happier.

Sometimes a little gleam would pass through their features, though not long enough for either one to relish in it.

***

They laid in their king-sized bed wrapped in each other's arms after a grueling day at the hospital. Becca’s head nuzzled in the soft nook where Ethan’s bare chest met the crook of his neck - her favorite spot. The rain poured down sideways outside rapping on the large window with monotonous ticks. Ethan’s eyes stared blankly at the bare ceiling cherishing their comfortable silence while absentmindedly tracing circles over his ratty t-shirt on her back. Both were thankful for the peaceful closeness found in the simplistic nature of snuggling, the intimacy found in the warmth of the other.

In the safety of their dark bedroom, shielded by Ethan’s embrace and cloaked by the late hour of time Becca found the courage to speak from her heart,

“What do you think our life would be like if we had it?”

It’d be six weeks til due date this week.

“Becca…” Ethan warned.

A quick surge of unencumbered courage kept her going, “It’d be due in June… Would we be looking at houses or turning the second bedroom into a nursery?”

He let out a sigh. At least she’s finally talking about it.

Finally Ethan let themselves indulge in bringing up their future.

“I’d imagine we’d buy a townhome nearby,” he rationalized, furrowing his brows as he thought of the logistics of making room for baby. He moved his hand up from her back to run his fingers through Becca’s messy hair, still looking at the blank canvas ceiling as he painted the picture. “I like this area; it’s quiet and close to work. We would need a couple more rooms definitely and a backyard for Jenner and…” His hand ceased all motion. “it to play in.” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge a child - their child. That’s not what the universe had planned for them.

Letting his words give her security she smiled into his chest and continued the fantasy, “My mom would definitely want to come stay with us the first few months.” Her hand on his chest searched for his free hand in the dark.

“My dad as well,” he told her matter-of-factly as he laced their fingers together. Ethan let out a preemptive chuckle, “Hell, Naveen would probably move himself in,” he joked and she could hear the happy smirk adorning his lips. She felt his chest rise and fall a little quicker as he laughed to himself at the thought of his mentor being consistently present throughout their children’s lives. In this moment - wrapped up in the dream - everything made sense.

None of this would be possible without her, he thought with a small shake of his head, thinking of their beginning and how she made all his days all the more bearable. How, through her weaseling, she was able to give Naveen more years than he could have imagined and a family Ethan never thought possible.

Although the springtime storm raged outdoors the atmosphere around the couple was light and airy. A curated happiness circled around them, begging them to fall into the future.

“The more the merrier!” she noted happily. Cuddling further into Ethan, needing him to be so much closer. “It takes a village after all.”

Without thinking Ethan responded with a grin and a kiss to her head, “Our kids won’t be lonely, that’s for sure.”

Her heart leaped.

Is he coming around?

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A/N: Whelp. We only have one more part left... i’m not ready for it to be over 😥

like/comment/reblog i need the validation

#open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart #choices fanfic #choices oph2 #oph #oph ff #ff #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #tw: abortion #tw: mental health

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linipikk · 4 years

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Animal Crossing New Horizons meets The Magnus Archives (mixing my favourite things together bc why not)

Things in ACNH that shows with what TMA entity you are aligned:

Eye: Basically your entire screenshots are villager doing stuff from afar, you have that ZL+top corner ready to go at any time, and how can you not if the villagers are so cute and you gotta be ready for the moment they interact with the random shit you have lying around, right? and also you have really big knowledge of all the customizable items in the game because you need to know if that item comes in pastel, or in white.

Dark: Fishbait is your ally and that shadow on the water your passion, Fishing is Your Thing and you already know what fishy is gonna be by the sound and time it takes to bite. You mostly use the dramatic or b&w filter on the camera and go and your favourite excuse to close the game at night is when sunrise starts... so you go to sleep at some point.

Stranger: Villager hunting sounds fun! you never know who is it gonna be and you’ll never see them again (probably) and the magic wand is essential part of your outfit because every situation claims for a new makeover, right? and for some reason you are okay with Pietro roaming in your island. you try your new reactions on the villagers around you just to check how they react, the first thing you did with terraforming was to strip your island down so you can rebuild it from scratch

Hunt: you cant wait to the new month or new season, right? what new critter and new fish is gonna be ? sharks, sturgeon fish? scorpions? all change is welcome because completing the museum is al that matters. And consider doing on of those monthly trophy areas on your island. Deciding what model ask fro to CJ or Flick, THAT is a good question. You may also be a very specific collector even better if it’s one of those rare diys or obscure event item, you are collecting them all

Corruption: Shake every tree, go for tarantula island, HECK make your own tarantula island and become a bellionare!, You directly go to the butterfly room in the museum because it feel safe, also, let’s face it, asking blathers to tell you about the new critter and watch him EEEk every time is so much fun. have you ever tried to get wasps and run to your villagers? also you have the need to pluck all the weed out you island the second you set foot on it

Desolation: No Villager is Safe. if they want to go, they go, if hey stay... you find ways to have fun with them, give them weird clothes, trap them in mazes . (cottage-core/ abandoned aesthetics may also be your cup of tea) Your basic equipment for nook miles island are iron axes and consider leaving all you dont need laying there, you don’t need anything siting and filling space in your inventory. You are here for that giveaway spirit and use the selling box at Nooks Cranny very often

End: you have a graveyard on your island and have tried to push wisp there because that’s where he should be, you are slowly collecting your top ten villagers and you are not planning to let any of them go , and you have fantasied about giving that heaven-paradise/purgatory vibe to your island. Thinking about changing every aspect of your island is a true pain and you really prefer to avoid it all together, so you planned it from the beginning and are now filling it with lots of details

Buried: you love or hate Blathers, no inbetween. you honestly enjoy terraforming and don’t get why people are so annoyed whit it, the fun sound it makes and those narrow entrances in your island are charming! You have totally read the message saying you cant enclosure a tree too many times for your own sanity. you are working directly to get that 5 star island rating from Isabelle.

Slaughter: Considered or actually did of your island a giant board game, or several...it is fun to have friends over and even more if you have prepared an entire afternoon of fun with obstacle race or just spin that wheel and buried presents. You celebrate by hitting each other with a net! ...or just hit that darn annoying villager with a net anyway, see them go mad and then break their spirit, that is also a bit fun when they dont get the hint you want them out of the island, right?

Spiral: fences are your best friend, and probably have more than one account on the same island because all those possibilities for thematic rooms and houses are really tempting, and the limit of custom designs proven to run out very quickly. You have somehow managed to put those soft swirl lamps in your island. Aesthetically or for the sheer fun of it, you have a giant maze and enjoy that no one knows how to get to Redd when you invite them over, heck, not even you know how to best get to most parts. You have asked for the rescue service more than once.

Web: you are dedicated to flowers and it has consumed you every moment at some point, with giant flower fields but all that is worth it to collect every single one of them. Time travel is also second nature for you at this point and somehow managed to capture wasps and scorpions without much instruction ..or discovered the arch or hole tricks by yourself (and it scares me a lot tbh). You gift your villagers all the good clothes because you know what you want them to wear.

Lonely: you house is in the top of the furthest mountain and no villager have virtual access to it, you don’t interact with them and you rather none of them call you highway or any other nickname. so basically 4 am is your ideal playtime. you r entire island has constant wip zones no one can enter until finished, and you sit and vibe in those small cosy zones you create, and you pier has a nice view of the lighthouse,

Vast: you lament that you cant play with the camera tilted up to the sky because it is so beautiful, so whenever you are creating an area you look up to check the curvature of the map, you island never feels big enough for all the stuff you wanna put there , and often think the best use for the island is to have one of those endless flower fields. You are surprised to know that not everybody has a 4rth level mountain in their island, You have an specific order for the tool ring swiftly interchange among them

Flesh: avid fossil collector and probably has one or two decorating your island, you have a big kitchen in your house and those stalls selling sushi and all kinds of food look amazing. you avoid wasps with all your might, probably collects a specific type of villager.and have a designated very urban area.

Some of these overlap, but so do the entities... Like colours but if colours where the complete ACNH experience.

#tma #the magnus archives #animal crosing new horizons #crossover i guess #yes i wrote a thing

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talkingtomyselfandotheroddities · 4 years

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YELLOW MEADOW (a short story)

Have you ever thought that you could become... a sacrificial lamb? Yeah. Neither have I. But here I am...

* * *

I had this recurring dream. Always the same. Started when I was six, maybe seven. I know, because I drew it and brought it to school. I misunderstood the project. I wasn't supposed to draw that kind of dreams. I guess it was supposed to be candylands, new bikes, rainbows, unicorns, dolls. Not a yellow meadow. With red river in the middle. Well, it wasn't a river but a scarf. I was a kid and not every kid had mad drawing skills sucked with their mother's milk. The scarf was supposed to float, dancing in the wind. So I get why everyone thought is was a river. Especially that both meadow and sky were desert yellow.

So there it was: name, age and a note at the back that I had to see school's shrink. I didn't understand why. Neither did my mom. But they asked me to draw dreams again. And I aced it. Teddy bears, dolls and lollipop castle did the trick. I might have peeked at my best friend's drawing and listened my mom's whispered suggestions to show them how I loved lollipops so the would forget. And they did. Most of them.

There was this teaching assistant. He would look at me funny way (no, not like that you pervert). Like he knew something, but couldn't share. And I just thought he was weird with his greenish hair combed back and shining from some gel or whatever hair specific he used to make them this way. With his black plastic glasses, half framed. He said once they were “vintage” from 60s in Twentieth century...

Mama kept my drawing – she said it was pretty. But when I brought few more like this she told me to stop. Then she took the first one from the fridge's door. I was standing in the shade of the hallway and watched her. I wasn't sure back then but now I know I what I saw wasn't my imagination playing tricks. Tear on her cheek. It gleamed blue and purple. Then she noticed me and there was no tear. I thought it was the light that danced and reflected on her face. But there was nothing there that could do that. Now I know.

Then I dreamt another dream. That one only once. Yellow bricks shaped into ruins. On history classes teacher told us those were castles – Earth's ancient history. So I went through some books in the library, some data but I couldn't find anything similar to what I dreamt about. And none of them were yellow or this particular hue. The images of that dream haunted me for long. It was more nightmare than a dream. My scream woke me up and at first I couldn't tell where I was. Sunny ruins left lingering cold sensation that cut deep through my bones.

* * *

I was a very lonely teenager. With my scream I woke up everyone in the dormitory. In that particular boarding school it was believed that punishment was the best recipe to make upstanding citizens out of unruly kids. No one, especially teachers liked to be awoken in the middle of the night. So the sensation from the dream had been perfectly prolonged by iced cold “shower” in a form of a garden hose in the middle of the courtyard for everyone to see and then stone floor of the broom locker. Well, no more brooms there – just an empty, dark, damp and cold space. To think through wrongdoings, bad behaviour, etc.. I promised solemnly to respect others' rest shivering in soaked clothes. Promised to not to wake up others in such an awful manner (like I had any influence on that, but fine). Somehow I kept the promise. I didn't dream at all until my stay at boarding school was over.

Two years of deadbeat sleep later and grades screaming “average” I was done with the school. At least one of the subjects could, well would be better if I didn't ask too many questions. That's what the professor said. She added it was “NOW” that we were focusing on. The great present time and well tailored society. I should have shut my mouth (you would think I've learned it by that point, I guess I was rather resistant). I asked about future. And I could have walked and locked myself in that broom storage myself right after last words echoed way too loud through the classroom. Kids' buzz ceased abruptly – sound cut off like when you put those headphones on, the ones you use in super loud places: airports, heavy duty or what I know. I saw her eyes burning with hatred so great I have never seen in my life, not even in my step-father's eyes when I didn't want to let go off my mom and go willingly into the bus taking kids to that goddamn school. I didn't want to let go, 'cause somehow I knew I would never see her again. I couldn't explain it. But I told her that anyway and I saw in her eyes that she knew that as well.

So the hatred was burning with red rage in professor's eyes, so before she spoke I told her I would go to principal's office and report my inappropriate behaviour.

'Vocabulary' she corrected me and I frowned. 'Purposeful dwelling on incorrect thinking process' she said and seeing my face she wrote the note telling me that she would know if I didn't deliver it to the headmaster. If she didn't say it I wouldn't know from the note, I couldn't tell. Her writing was somewhat challenging, especially when she demanded replies or corrections according to her notes under many assignments she loved to give.

They didn't lock me in the “broomstick” locker straight away. They called some board of shrinks and serious looking people. I was sat on the chair in square, grey and empty room. It was big, cold and the chair was in front of long table where six sets of eyes were watching me. They ran some tests too. But those people were there to ask me questions. Loads of questions. And in my head I had my mother's whisper about lollipops. I aced it again. Must have answered it the way it fit in their box. Because there it was: “broomstick” locker not something worse.

But before I was sent they scribbled and scribbled for what it seemed like ages, looking from papers every now and then, then they told me to wait outside for the decision. Then their verdict (that I didn't get to know) was attached to my files and grades sheet. Like it wasn't enough my English teacher lowered my final grade. I wanted to say it was out of the blue, but... There was this library incident and books 'unsuitable for teenagers'. I thought it was just one of those things adults say, the things their adults told them when they were discovering world and testing boundaries. One of those things teenagers simply do. I was very wrong.

Anyway, I didn't expect to get high end job. Not with common background and no money for internship/course fees... Well, bribes. But that word apparently was distorting the nature of this practice. Learnt it hard way. Of course. A clerk pushing papers would be something nice and well paid. I think some accommodation were one of the perks at some point, especially for exemplary service. But my big mouth wasn't something that was falling under 'exemplary' so nothing fairy secure or comfortable was in store for me. So this plus serious people's opinion about me and I landed as a server in the diner. Could be worse. And it wasn't bad all the time. Just when people were dickheads (so almost all the time). But let's face it: ambition gives strange courage to pick up on ones who are supposedly worse than you.

But sometimes... I listened to the stories so great it was hard to believe they were true. Stories about times when it was alright to dream a dream. Sad ones about times long gone. And a war that desolated half of the planet, because “humans are good in losing control”.

And then there was 'Preacher'. He wasn't one actually. Or maybe he was? No one knew exactly who he was. Just like where he came from or where he was disappearing when he wasn't coming to the diner. Then he was emerging after days of absence with handful of stories/ sermons said in voice strong as church bell calling people for a morning service. This voice stood in awful contrast to his ragged and hunched posture, scarred face and bushy beard. Kids either were scared of him terribly or were mocking him mercilessly. But he seemed not to notice. Focused on his mission given by no one. With madness as its driving force. He was walking opposites: he could be quite incoherent at times with no sense in words repeated viciously, then he talked about times when single mind mattered, when idea was a saving grace not enemy of the system. And times to come that would restore the balance between individual and masses. People were usually treating him as free entertainment, he was never aggressive, never caused problems. Every now and then I was giving away my shift meal, couldn't really do more for this poor guy. My pay wasn't the best but I was getting by. And he seemed bit embarrassed when I brought him meals but hunger was more powerful. It wasn't really a big deal and there was something wise and kind in his eyes. And his stories fascinated me. The more I heard the more questions I had. [And he answered as well as he could].

I still remember our last conversation. Every word of it. Sometimes I wondered if I could know back then what would happen. That it was the last one.

- Dreamers... - he started lazily looking outside the window. At first I thought he was referring to the traffic, oddly fascinated by it. But then he pointed at bits of the sky between buildings. It was so... blue. Intense and vivid like precious gem. The colour looked like perfect photo's paradise blue. Almost impossible. My thoughts started to float carelessly and suddenly he continued his thought. - … dreamers were allowed to dream back then, you know. - it wasn't a question. Strange statement. Had I bitten my tongue then I wouldn't be in deep now. But I looked at him but puzzled and said.

- I've got a dream that I was told to forget, bury deep...

- Oh? - he looked at me furrowing his brows, he listened so I carried on.

- Colours as intense as today's blue skies. But it's yellow and red that are so vibrant and strong... - I stopped startled, because there was something strange in his eyes. Madness? Total clarity?

- Tell me more. - he lowered his voice for the first time ever since I met him. I told him about the meadow, the anxiety that accompanied the vision. I hesitated for a second seeing him listening so intently, but then I told him about the yellow castle.

He was silent for a long while. So long that I started to feel absolutely silly that I actually told him all this nonsense. But then, again in whispers, he asked me

- Did you tell anyone about this? The castle?

- Not really, no. At school they didn't ask for details. They wanted me quiet... - I replied warily wondering where this was going.

- Good. Good. Most of them have already forgotten about the drawings by now... - he said more to himself than to me. Then he raised his eyes and looked at me. They were so bright blue, just like the sky that day. - You need to meet someone. He'll explain everything to you. But until I can get you to him you need to be the most ordinary, bite-your-tongue, eyes-on-the-floor girl. Do you understand? Promise me!

- Eeee... sure.

- No. Promise!

- I promise? But who's this person I have to meet? Why should I meet him at all? When? What is it?

- No, no. Not now. You drew enough attention to yourself. No more. He'll find you... When I tell him all about it, he will. - he lowered his voice even more. - You might know him, his face...

Conversation was interrupted when three people entered the diner. There was something off and odd about them, though I couldn't say what. Trouble. I didn't expect the turnout though. He told me to get up and get to the kitchen, he stood up and blocked their way. Pushed me towards the bar.

- Go! Through the back door, now! - he scribbled something on the napkin and shoved it in my hand. - Don't look back, don't stop until you get there. Hurry! Go! - I was confused, but there was something in his voice, this urgency that told me to not to ask questions and do what I'm told. I was by the kitchen door when I saw them rush towards the Preacher. Two of them grabbed him, third one turned towards me. Preacher raised his voice, bit hoarse but loud saying that the spark and idea will live on, that they would not surrender. When I was racing through the parking lot I heard two dull sounds. My brain was screaming scared, cause I knew exactly what it was but I didn't want to admit it. The levels of fear coursing in my body hit the newest high and adrenaline kicked in. it was enough to lose that guy in the alleyways. I slowed down when I realized that no one was chasing me. For now. My left palm's knuckles were nearly white, I closed my fingers so tight around the note they were numb. Straightened out the note, drenched in sweat, revealed the address. Ink partially wore off but I could still read it.

Suddenly the fear was gone and strange feeling came over me, calm and clear: a sense of purpose. And with it, a place to belong, maybe. So I focused on finding the address. And it wasn't easy to find. It was safer not to ask anyone for help so that didn't help.

I wandered around, trying to calm down and analyse, well over-analyse the situation. My whole life I was told to keep quiet, fit it and stop with the questions. Suddenly someone let me ask and tell all the things tumbling in my brain and he met his end faster than I could say 'bullet'. And after that I was supposed to dive in and trust a bunch of complete strangers. Not to mention that I had to tell them what happened. And no one liked bad news. Especially this bad. And they didn't know me – another reason to not to expect a warm welcome. I only hoped that I would be able to say anything at all when I finally find whoever 'him' or 'them' were before they decided I was one of the bad guys. I was lost in that stream of possibilities when I got the feeling I was being watched. When I looked around I didn't see anyone. Either I was getting super paranoid or I wasn't alone. I stopped to take a look at the piece of paper again. A proof that I wasn't going insane and I actually met the man. But maybe he was? What if they were just asylum workers who finally found him. Maybe the noise wasn't what I thought it was? What if...? I turned towards the alley to get to the building I thought it pointed at. I folded the note and put in into my apron's pocket. Breathe in. Breathe out. I saw a movement behind me but didn't get a second to react. There was a sharp pain at the back of my head. I fell onto the wall as a gasped from pain. Then everything went black.

I opened my eyes. What a relief... Or was it? I realised I was bound to a chair. Right after that thought scared the shit out of me the light was turned on and blinded me. I struggled helplessly to shake the rope off my chest and my wrists.

- Where did you get this address?! Who are you?! Who wrote this?! WHO ARE YOU?! - someone was shooting questions in a speed of a machine gun's series. I was blinking furiously and as soon as my vision adjusted to the light I saw the goddamn note lying in front of me at the table. Someone was repeating all the questions and few more. On and on. Then just: WHO ARE YOU?!

- I'm... no one. - I finally stuttered.

A punch was too quick and too strong to take a look at the person in front of me somehow hidden in the shade. All these questions. I had a headache. I couldn't focus. I closed my eyes filled with terror and fear. I shouldn't have come, I shouldn't have listened to that old man. I should have forgotten about that fucking dream... And it hit me.

- The old man said: 'Dream your dream'. - I said louder than I wanted and expected another punch. But silence fell after my words. I opened my eyes slowly. I could feel the gaze placed at me.

- Say that again.

- I... I met this guy. He was talking about things, dreams. So I told him mine. He told me to dream the dream and that I was to meet someone and... - my voice broke. - … he told me to run. - I stopped frightened that he would recognise in my voice I didn't say the whole truth. But there was silence again. Then the door opened and closed. I was left alone, trying not to sweat under the heat of the lamp and see through the shadows of the other side of the room. I tried to free myself again, desperately thinking that I wanted out of that place but then I thought I couldn't be sure there was anything good waiting for me outside. And what was the worst – I had no idea who was after me. As for 'why'... I learnt that there didn't have to be any reason, really. It could always be 'found' one, conveniently shortly before a brief trial. Suspicion of a crime or wrongdoings, something against the ruling party was enough for questioning. And it never ended just on the questioning. And system always (yes always) showed rightfully and truthfully, with conviction and everybody's good that a shadow of a stain was indeed a stain. Suspicions were uncovering hideous crimes...

Suddenly I didn't care about anything anymore. If that was it: there was nothing I could say or do to change it. I heard two voices outside the door. Then someone came in. I looked at the person that walked in. Those funny glasses...

- I know you... - oh, that was very smart. Great job me.

- I'm sorry for this... - he pointed at the ropes. - It's a...um... precaution. - he said somewhat embarrassed and freed me from the bonds. - The old man... What happened? To him? - he asked but there was an undertone in his voice suggesting he already knew.

- He... he listened and told me things, all the stories... And when he heard about my dreams he told me I had to meet someone. But before he explained some people came and dragged him out of the diner. He told me to run... - I explained quickly wondering if I could actually trust him. Probably shouldn't, maybe they played bad cop, good cop. But it didn't matter anyway. He knew about the yellow meadow. He saw the drawing. I looked at him as he sat down at the other side of the table. Funny – there were still green shades in his hair. His eyes were very tired now, worry wrinkles were telling the story there. He was still skinny, but his shirt's sleeves were rolled up and I could see his arms were muscular. Full of bruises and scars.

- There were shots. I think that's what it was... - I added quietly. He rested his forehead on his hand with very heavy sigh.

- He knew the risks. - he said more to himself than to me. Then he raised his eyes at me. He cleared his throat. - I know that in school they teach kids to trust the system and to not to believe, abandon the faith. But... this system is broken, it's evil. And you'll probably think I'm insane, but... there's a prophecy. A promise of a better world. We've been looking for so long, checking and analysing every available bit of it. Thoroughly, carefully. We kept track of few children. It was the start. But nothing came through. You see, we needed the second dream. We're losing. Somehow they have found us and tracked so many. Many lives were lost defending the idea of free will and dream. So it's very, very important... - he grabbed my hand. His eyes were burning with strange passion as he continued, squeezing my fingers more and more. - We need a win, people are losing heart and hope. In me. In our cause. So you need to be sure what are you're dreaming about! Do you hear me?! - he nearly shouted. And in the next second he was calm again. He let go off my hand. Mumbled 'sorry'. I massaged my wrist and fingers, frowned trying to understand what he thought I was and what was going on.

- I... I dreamt about a yellow castle. - I said quietly, ashamed. - It was nothing but a scary dream.

- Scary?

- The sense of fear was tangible. - I replied after a while trying to find right words, still it didn't really do the justice. It's been ages since I have thought about it. - The sun either was setting or raising. It was blood red with this gritty veil over it, like sandstorm. It was warm, but castle's stones were ice cold...

- How do you know?

- I was inside. My skin must have touched it. - I recalled the sensation and I shivered.

- Okay. Anything else?

- I think I was in pain. I woke up screaming, the hurt felt very real. And the surroundings, the castle they were like from another world. I mean, I didn't recognise strange constructs around it. Some sort of piles of metal maybe. But I don't really know because of that sand like pollution was blurring the vision. - I finished describing the dream. He was silent for a longer while.

- No.

I didn't understand at first, but then I knew exactly what he meant. It wasn't it. My dream was just a dream. And he looked so distressed.

- We lost...

- No! No! There must be something?!

- There's no more. Our resources are empty, our net is crumbling being hit by military forces...

- But we can surely give people hope somehow? Let me help. I'm new to all this. Maybe new perspective is all you need right now. Try finding new hiding places, reshuffle and then you can continue the search for The Dream. - I cried to him. These people needed a motivation to carry on. The old man died thinking they had a breakthrough. They needed to strike back, show the strength, avenged him, keep fighting so his sacrifice wasn't for nothing. He believed in change and it's been ripped from him. Let's take it back. I told him all these things until I was breathless. Where did these come from? Where did the courage came from to say it all out loud?

- You're right. You need to tell them that. Your enthusiasm and his martyrdom might be something to tip the scale our way.

- 'Them'?

- Yes! Everyone. They need to hear this. That speech can lift spirits, give people incentive. Maybe some ideas to fight this uneven fight will be born. Maybe it's not lost. You might be right... - he smiled slightly. His face looked so youthful for a split second. Then he looked at me like he just noticed me. - But you must be starving?! And you probably quite cold too. - Oh, yeah I was still in my uniform. There was no time for me to grab my jacket nor my backpack (so I had no money, no ID, nothing) and when I thought about it I didn't eat from breakfast. Who knew what time it was and how long was I in there.

He lead me out through hallway to another room. It looked like a storage – shoes, coats, clothes, loads of stuff. In better or worse condition.

- We share, bring what we can and help each other out. It's the only base that wasn't discovered yet. - he explained when I looked around. - Take what you need. I'll be back in few minutes, find you some food. I'll gather everyone. Introduce you. What you said to me was good. It was pure. - he left noiselessly. I've found trousers, boots, a coat. Tucked my uniform into the jeans, took off my apron. How weird I didn't lose it somewhere on the way, when I at work there was not a day without it being on the floor or when it was coming undone during peak times at my shifts when I had no way of fixing it.

I figured I would wander around but I was almost knocked over by people rushing through. Then there were three more: two dragged an inert and bloodied man, yelling for help. I hurried after then not giving it a second thought. I entered something like a makeshift hospital wing. Not much medical equipment there, most of it outdated. There were three people tending the wounded. They had their hands full. The ones that ran in there put the man on the nearest cot. The doctor, I assumed, prepped quickly the station to operate. But it was all chaos around, so many people in need, in pain and not enough hands to help. Nurses were busy with others. I couldn't do anything for the old man but I could... I jumped towards cabinets and started looking for bandages, scalpels and any medical supplies that could be useful. Doctor gave asked for few things as he realised what I was doing. Frightened gasps mixed with tired sighs and angry grunts and conversations lapping into each other. But he didn't seem to notice the noise, he cut the clothes, removed two bullets and started swearing when he started to remove the third one. I guess that was what doctors called 'a complication'. Me muttered 'Press here' and stitched other wounds. His hands moved fast with experienced precision. Suddenly the patient started to seize and shakes were getting worse and worse. I knew it was bad. 'We're going to need blood!' doctor yelled to no one particular. Few people raised their heads, either nodded or stood up. I guess they volunteered.

- Okay, on three you're going to take your hands away and I will try to get that hot damn bullet out. - he said to me and it took me good few seconds to record it was directed at me. - On my count: one, two, three...

Untamed stream of blood exploded as soon as I took my hands away. The reading on a very old machine and monitor went berserk. It was easy to see it was worse than bad. It just spiralled down. Suddenly the doctor was sitting on the guy doing CPR and trying his best to keep him alive. But I knew he was already gone – flat line and monotonous sound announced the sad truth. He started pounding on dead guy's chest on and on again. I tried talking to him to make him stop. But he was in a trance. I grabbed his arm then – he pushed me away. The despair, anger resonated within this gesture which sent me towards cabinets. It was so unexpected I couldn't catch my balance and I fell right onto them, knocked most of the surgical instruments, landed on the floor and hit my head on the cupboard's handle. The noise drew the attention: doctor's and everybody else's. I was a bit dazed but it didn't stop me from trying to get up. I heard 'Doc!' over me and green haired guy (shit, what was his name again? Did he even give me one?) picked me up off the floor like I was weightless. I stood up shakily. Pain in my skull and being a witness to senseless death brought tears to my eyes. Green Hair still held my arm in tight grip like he was afraid I would slip back on the floor. Doctor's face expressed utter horror as he realised what happened. But then it was replaced with something else.

- You... - he mumbled something else, then he raised his voice pointing at me. - YOU! - I took a step back not knowing what did I do to get this strange attention. Tears rolled through my cheek. I wiped them off not giving it a second thought. His eyes followed my gesture. I looked at my hand – there was blue-purplish trace. I frowned and reminded myself that I have seen that before. - You found... It's her... - he turned to Green Haired. People were staring, started to whisper and come closer. They seemed to be awaken from a slumber. But he was mistaken. I wasn't what he wanted me to be and this was taking way too dramatic turn.

- You're wrong. This is nothing. This... - I wiped all the traces of my tears quickly. - It must be some genetic mutation, weird condition that runs in my family, my mother... - he didn't listen to me.

His face brightened up lips that seconds before were a thin and tortured line revealed rather white and even teeth in an ecstatic smile. The finger pointed at me wasn't an accusation, it was a triumph. The grip on my arm strengthened. I looked at Green Haired. His face expressed strange urgency, he wanted me to just go with it, put on the cape and became 'The Hero'. My heart, my mind were yelling desperately 'No!', but before I denied everything with firm statement I've became the fucking 'Face of the Revolution': the room full of hungry, exhausted, decimated people with voices full of fear became a roar of relief and an illusion of hope.

* * *

I tried telling them that it wasn't me they were looking for. That I was one of them, I wasn't special – it only cemented the fact that they chose the right one to adore, so humble in her ways. I tried to convince the Green Hair it wasn't fair on people, that it was wrong but he said that I re-lit the spirit, inspired more people to fight for their rights and who knew maybe there was no hero to be found anymore.

News travelled fast. Too fast. Soon 'The Hero' was worshipped citywide, zone wide. But I was a fraud. They told me I was destined to do great things but I never wanted people to die with my name on their lips. Because the acts of rebellion became bolder, more frequent. And all I wanted was for the 'dying' part to stop. The more rebel actions the more military responses. War rooms, strategies, distribution of propaganda, codes and secrets. Great expectations became greater. People were waiting. Waiting for me. I was supposed to know, supposed to end it all. How could I? I wasn't aware there was resistance until I met the Prophet. I was working in a diner, ignorant to the big game, cog in the machine. A nobody with big mouth. I didn't know shit about leading wars, but I could fight. Yes, I needed to fight. At the front lines, arm in arm with those naïve zealots hoping for better tomorrow. But no, I wasn't allowed. Apparently I was supposed to be protected. At all costs. I didn't like it. So I started to find ways to sneak out: one battle, diversion, extra pair of hands. And it only helped 'The Cause' when people found out. Oh, my courage inspired them again. But it wasn't the courage, it was desperation. I needed it to be over. I needed the right person in the right place. So whoever it was would do what had to be done to finish this bloodshed. The real one that would take the mantle and unite people, help them live lives they deserved. I voiced my concerns so many times, but Green Haired shrugged it off, Doctor wanted to give me pills. He thought the pressure was making me say these things. And I was afraid that one day they would realise that I was just a coward, ordinary citizen, caught in the conflict I didn't fully understand.

* * *

- RUN! - I yelled on top of my lungs. Small group of people that was with me dispersed in chaos, like gazelles that spotted the lion. Or rather sheep attacked by wolves. Lesser chance of survival. Mindless flock trying to get away. So lost without its shepherd. Paralysed by fear. I heard scared screams of those hit by bullets, the ones cornered. I couldn't let the die. Couldn't leave them even though fear was taking my breath away. Makeshift weapons, Molotov cocktails were not enough. I caught their attention, they listened and ran after me as we gained the distance from the military. I've sent distress signal so someone could fight for the captured ones. I spotted an abandoned warehouse and headed there so we could hide. It seemed to be perfect – loads of rubble, metal, concrete walls, plenty of doors and levels. I thought we were safe there. But then I've heard commands barked through the radio, the building was being surrounded and people with me started to panic again. I had to think fast. The plan formed in my head so naturally it scared me for a moment. Clear and cold as a morning rose after dawn's fog. I've noticed a passage to adjacent building. But we needed a distraction in order to get people safely to the other side. The enemies were at the door. I told them to stay out of sight, wait for my signal then run like hell without looking back. They hid and I waited by the stairway, the moment first soldiers appeared I slammed the door hard yelling to no one 'save yourselves!' I turned around to a swarm armed to their teeth. I couldn't see their faces, balaclavas covered their smiles of satisfaction when they realised who they have caught. But their eyes were emitting poisonous triumph, that shot through to me like a radiation. It made me sick. But there was no going back. No other way. I stood there trying to look defiant. They searched for weapons – I had none, we were on the scavenger mission, we didn't expect company on the landfill. Their commander approached and grabbed me by my throat. Lifted me of the floor slightly so my feet barely touched it. I started to struggle for air when he slurred, his voice distorted by fabric and microphone (?).

- We knew you would screw up eventually... Bunch of amateurs. - he squeezed my throat tighter and lifted me higher. Desperate whizz came out if my throat as my feet dangles helplessly. Then he released the hold and I fell onto the floor. They brought me to my knees,cuffed my hands at my back, barked something through their comms. I understood it after a while. 'Search the floors, burn it all, let the rats flee.' Knowing there was no one upstairs I smiled. A sense of serenity came over me, it would be over soon. I think I started laughing.

- What are you laughing about? Don't you believe we burn them alive?! - he lifted me off my knees, he was filled with rage. - You lost.

- Did we though? - I knew I shouldn't antagonise him, I still did.

- They'll be lost without you, just like before. They will crumble, they're weak without you. - his eyes shone with unhealthy passion.

- Without me... But who am I? Today it's me, tomorrow someone else. It's the idea... - I didn't manage to finish the sentence. My head exploded with pain of thousands of needles. I blacked out hoping that the sheep I left behind would know that right after I was dragged out of there and soldiers ran upstairs it was their cue to run.

* * *

Through my jaded mind, in half asleep state, a dream appeared and played:

My mother took me to see full moon. Not the ordinary one, a blood moon. A rarity. A sensation. Something both terrifying and fascinating for a four-year old. I loved night sky and stories she told me about stars and beyond. It was very strange summer day. The air seemed electric and forecast had a warning about high levels of pollution. Yellow. The air was yellow when we took the road out of the city. Heavy clouds seemed to be a prelude to something ominous. Cumulonimbus gathering all around. But she said it was alright. It would clear by the end of the day. The rain tingled my skin. Temperature was unbearably high. But it was slightly easier to breathe as soon as we left the city's infrastructure behind. It was warm – the rain. It was a disappointment. I really hoped it would be cold. It made the surroundings quasi tropical. It was salty. And yellow. She said it wasn't pollution. 'It's sand. Desert's sand. Nature's trying to tell us we're not holding Earth's reigns. But we never listen.' she said.

It did clear before sunset. Still skies had this yellow hue, it was cast strangely at everything around like a shadow. Including big old house with towers on each of four corners. I wasn't sure about its colour. It looked like it was painted white, but then maybe it was a sandstone? Sunset bathed it with light and it was vivid yellow...

I opened my eyes confused. My dream wasn't a dream. It was a memory. As my confusion grew I gained enough consciousness to remind myself about my sorry situation. Held captive, waiting for death. It kind of surprised me. I was still alive. Would they torture me? What was the plan? Public execution then? Oh, they loved a good show. Making an example.

But nothing happened. I was locked, fed. No one spoke to me, no one interacted with me in any way. Nothing. Then they started to move me around. The cold steel's feeling lingered long after the cuffs were taken off my wrists. When they put a bag over my head, shoved me into the car, when city streets became outskirts roads I figured that was my last stop. That they didn't need to be careful that someone would find out where I was kept. Even though I never wanted to be 'The Hero' I wished that the idea, that hope would fuel the rebellion and lead it to win. I didn't want it to end with me. That madness, cruelty, discrimination had to stop.

They dragged me out of the car after a long and bumpy ride. The pulled the bag off my head, sudden light's saturation blinded me so much I nearly landed on the ground. When my eyesight adjusted I noticed that the air was tinged yellow.

- Fucking sandstorms. - someone muttered. That was the first thing someone said around me since I was imprisoned. I couldn't be sure who said it. The visibility was actually quite low. There was a thin layer of dust covering everything around. As they dragged me through gravel path I've noticed strange rusty construct, winding up and wired up. The antenna. Well, if they wanted to broadcast the kill the storm was an issue. They pushed me to walked faster, little stones crunched under their boots and my feet were hurting. I looked around trying to see more of the building we were heading to. I regretted it instantly and gasped as I recognised it even though it was in ruins now. West wing was completely collapsed. But east tower stood tall and showered in sunshine. Yellow. The air was hot just like on the day we went to see that blood moon. Funny, I couldn't remember if we did see it. It wasn't painted. It was a sandstone. Very worn now. Time did the deed. Looking at these yellow ruins I felt deep horror coming over me. For the first time I started to resist. In hopeless effort to delay the inevitable I strained my muscles to counter their strength. I recalled stone's cold overpowering my body. The dream was a premonition.

My struggle was cut short – few punches were enough to shift whatever power I put into fighting guards off to being able to walk at all. I had trouble breathing: bloody nose and sand in the air would do that to you. Only by the front door I realised that they were filming already. The one who was recording showed teeth in mean smile as my struggle and poor state were thoroughly documented.

- Yellow castle. - I said slowly raising my head. I looked straight at him. - It was always a yellow castle. End of me, beginning of something... - sentence interrupted, powerful as ever. Pain in my head and neck. Darkness. Piercing cold sensation to wake up to.

I would never say that stone could be so cold. I could have guessed, after all those nights spent in that broom locker. Guy with a camera. Someone else. Talking.

- … human... nothing more... bleeds like everyone else. - he pointed at me. He talked about me. What did he mean? I tried to move. But metal clanked and echoed, my arms were heavy. It wasn't only the weight of chains pulling it down. I thought they were just numb at first, then pain hit all my receptors and I moaned surprised by this sensation. My eyes surely widened as I noticed slits running down my arms. Camera was pointed at me for brief second then they cut the feed. I heard people enter the room, couldn't see much. The only source of light was a window up high letting in thin sun beams through. It must have been one of the towers then. Someone lit a candle and put it at my feet. Oh, so dramatic. They seriously could have end the theatrics and finish it. Whispers turned into blurry buzz. I heard someone's voice over my ear.

- You'll be gone before this candle's flame dies. - I knew that voice. Pull from my veins distracted me and it took me a while to put the pieces together. People stood on four corners of my stone bed. I saw the red light, it was recording again.

- I... know... you... - I stuttered and strained to focus on what I wanted to say. But it seemed that words have failed me.

- Shut her up. - I have seen that strange passion before. Someone stood over me. I saw a glimmer on hidden in the shadow face. A blue-purple tear gleamed in the sunbeam..

- Mother? - couldn't say anything else as she put a gag in my mouth. My eyes watered. Her tear fell on my cheek and soon it mixed with mine in unnaturally coloured stream. The gag muffled my scream. The discovery. The betrayal. It made me want to cling to life. To understand. To uncover the truth. To expose them. The Green Hair, man of as many names as people he came across. My mother, silent supported as I was lead to believe, by people feeding me stories, people I thought I could trust, on the right side of the barricade... They stood there watching me helplessly trying to break the chains until breathless and exhausted I stopped silently accepting my fate. I shivered. Shiver turned into convulsive shakes. The stone, the fatigue, my blood flowing in scarlet ribbons from my veins.

- You played your part well. Too well. Gave them the courage to fight the tyranny. The power will be ours soon. - she whispered to my ear before she took the gag off. Like she knew I wouldn't speak anymore. I couldn't take a deep breath, let alone say something. My body was hanging between pain and numbness. My mind was on the line between staying awake and nothingness...

I have done enough for The Cause. My need to belong, the yearning to something else was easy to prey on. Telling me I wasn't The One was the way to crush my spirit and keep me in check. In case I wanted to start my own revolution. I wasn't the special someone but I could compensate in other ways, because people needed to believe in something. Might as well in me. And I was ridden with guilt of not being 'it', easy to manipulate. The puppet of the rebellion. Poster girl when politics were taking its toll in numbers of dead, when politics were in place for ambitious hyenas to get where they wanted to.

They didn't plan to dispose of me so soon, but he's authority was gaining cracks as I questioned his methods. Thank you, good-riddance. Next.

* * *

They showed the lifeless, bloodless body of their hero on nationwide stream. But they made a mistake, abandoned the location. Didn't care about leaving it behind. It could rot there, they said. The rebels found the house and searched every inch with their green haired leader at the front. Oh how lucky he was to seize enemies communications. They looked, to bury her with all the honours... But there was no body. His surprise was taken as a sign. Good omen. His speech was beautiful, a mea culpa, that he failed to recognise the Hero, that he doubted. The thought poured over the machine and oiled it to carry on with double power: either she was alive somewhere plotting the win or she was indeed divine. The fight for freedom flared with admirable viciousness.

* * *

- Results?

- Rebellion's clashes with 'government' forces in various locations decimated the population about 5%, raids and bombings further 3%, data is still coming through...

Images appeared and moved through screens along with statistics. We were watching the footage. Rebellion. It's ignition and how it spread. Civil war decimating city after city. A construct, our creation to control the Earth's population. So our planet was preserved or rather whatever was habitable was saved and monitored. Simulations were running constantly, different extent in different locations.

Someone could question moral side of it. That was very human thing to do. We weren't them. We did what was necessary. Why the process was spread over decades then? If there were no scruples involved it could be “sorted out” quicker: emergency state after emergency state, power struggle after power struggle, constant war until number were at satisfying levels. Our extended analysis of world wars and conflicts calculated that this long lasting simulation was the optimal option. It reminded regimes and tyrants ruling countries drowned in fear, misery and... hope. The hope for a change fuelled economy, society's morale was always lifted and more compliant with whatever newly formed government proposed, illusion that the change they've seen was a good change. Then the liberties, right after right, slowly were taken away, intricate construct so people wouldn't notice that their position didn't change and it was too late to escape the scam. When the thought of rebellion is born the military forces are way too strong, they're trapped. The despair is back on the table, nations shrivel when people's will die a little with each day, stagnant hopelessness ensues. That period is essential: people do what they told – experiments are done, technologies developed at any cost. In the meantime defiance is growing in their hearts, burns red with rage, plans are being made. When it bursts free the flame takes more lives at once than small wars would even imagine to do. It cauterises the earth, cleanses it so it can survive a bit longer. The massive event gives earth time for its rebirth.

- They never realise that they don't really pull the strings. So self-righteous. - she said as we watched the results float through screens. Then she fell silent again. - I still don't understand why YOU insist on being a part of it. You know that Rebel Zero bots are sufficient. This social experiment of your is failing. You've done this time and time again... - she said after long silence. She referred to my project where I was trying to prove there's still something worth saving in human race. That one of the groups wouldn't go for a sacrificing a life, that they would chose another path. Fight for a cause without personal agendas involved. Ideally a peace treaty and we would have to find another way to keep the species growth steady. So far it was always the same – time, opportunities and scenarios varied but the outcome was unfortunately the same. But I still thought there was potential in them. They were fascinating. And sometimes I wondered if the project wasn’t too cruel, after all it was bloodshed and they surely believed in all those divine concepts, and fate... Yes, the religious zeal. I guess that’s why there was the altar and the whole fuss about the death of the Hero. It worked both ways: the faith instilled in crowds made them brave and was becoming a weapon, a tool in wrong hands. What was it this time? Did they decide to mock the prophecy? Or was it ‘a missing piece’ that was found and someone wanted to prove it wrong, so they performed the ritual and showed the death of their Hero. But it bit them in the ass, didn’t it? When the dust settled and they came looking for the body to bury it with honours it was not there. And everyone have seen it on live TV. The surprise on his face was indeed genuine. Rather constant behaviour showing through my data.

But Evolved (as we chose to call ourselves) were losing patience. They couldn't really argue with numbers in my reports though. For the time of the simulation I was locking away the knowledge and a memory of being something else than a human being, the only thing that was an indication I could have been something else was the yearning for more, but that could be easily dismissed as ambition, having high inspirations, a dreamer. The anomalies like purple-blue tears were happening to humans, this one was a kind one, there were vile abominations, remnants of nuclear wars and playing with genetics, bio and chemical weapons as one could expect from humans with pumped egos. In fact it was my android nature fighting off the virus – the human part, funny how organic it all was. So I was almost human with reactions and emotions like pain and sadness I was experiencing probably in more extreme way than most people. Apart from that I was a programme crucial for running this simulation. My results were always better than designated bots'. A paradox: it was the “human” part that was improving the numbers. It's been decades and decades of these simulations, decades spent on trying to prove the humane side of homo sapiens sapiens.

No one ever asked about the dreams. I guess the assumed it was just part of the story I was feeding humans with. I had results so they didn't question anything. Evolved didn't dream. It wasn't helping with efficiency so it has been eradicated at early stages of modifications Evolved applied on themselves. No dreams. They thought I just prepared for the role. Dreams could be so essential for humans. Premonitions. Good and bad omens. Reading dreams. The books, people explaining them, people building lies and scamming others... Evolved deemed it redundant so I didn't tell them I actually had few of those. The castle, the red scarf and moon. I wondered sometimes if it meant anything. Was it some other consciousness trying to get through to me? The human in me? Or rather an error in simulation? If so who was running it and on whom? Simulation of simulation? Was it all planned and calculated like mine? How did it end? Did it end at all? Could we influence the outcome? Get other results? Just as I hoped for changes in mine?

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