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reneeofthestars · 1 month

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REMEMBER THE FALLEN

Summary:

After a harrowing battle, Captain Mark and the other clone leaders of Chimera Company celebrate and mourn their fallen brothers.

Originally written for the unpublished fanzine, We Were Here - @cloneoczine celebrating Clone Trooper OCs

Word Count: 4,229

Mark stood on the landing platform for several minutes after the Jedi speeder disappeared into the distant Coruscanti traffic.

The airspace around the clone trooper barracks was quiet. With civilian traffic restricted and the next closest clone regiment a good distance away, the noise and light pollution was severely diluted, leaving Mark feeling strangely isolated.

His arms hung heavy at his sides, as they’d been when Commander Tiatkin had hugged him tightly. He hadn’t embraced her back; not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t find the energy to raise his arms. It felt nice, though.

The Jedi had cried. Two years ago, Mark would have been appalled at the very idea of the all-powerful Jedi showing such emotion. But he understood now that Jedi were only mortal, and General Teyla Marin and Commander Gida Tiatkin were held very dearly by the clones of Chimera Company. It meant more to Mark than he could say that the two women had spent the entire day in the barracks, mourning with the troopers.

Their last battle had devolved into a nightmare.

Mark felt no ill-will towards the Jedi; they had done everything they could to counter the Separatist army, but Chimera Company had been outnumbered and outmaneuvered. The mission had been straightforward: Chimera Company was sent to wipe out a Separatist outpost on the jungle world of Akiva, and bring the planet under Republic protection.

He passed a hand over his face, scratching at his beard. The intel had been wrong. So very, very wrong.

They’d gone in prepared to assault a base. What they found instead was a battle droid factory, deep in the catacombs beneath the planet’s surface, churning out droid after droid after droid. It wasn’t the first time their intel had been bad, but never this bad.

The entirety of Tazer Squad sacrificed themselves to sabotage the factory. Though Mark hadn’t been able to get confirmation, and wanted to believe that they’d survived, the fact remained that he had last seen them swarmed by droids, falling beneath skeletons of steel. And somehow… he just knew they were gone.

General Marin said it was his Force-sensitivity. She’d carefully broached the subject a few months ago, and she and Commander Tiatkin had been… not necessarily training him, but teaching him about this bizarre connection he had. He hadn’t believed them at first; only Jedi could use the Force. But once he stopped resisting the idea, and opened himself to the possibility…

While he was still uneasy about the whole thing, Mark was learning that he could use the Force. He felt the ebb and flow of energy when the Jedi meditated with him, and could move small objects across the table. It came through most clearly during combat, when he wasn’t trying to use it at all. He noticed it first in the uncanny accuracy of his shooting, then in his reaction time. And it finally explained the connection he felt with the other clones, on a level he couldn’t describe. He could sense their feelings, could tell when they were lying, could know their intentions. Mark had always known those things, but now he understood why.

And it was that why that forced him to face that every member of Tazer Squad was dead. He just knew.

He said their names out loud. The dark night of Coruscant might not care, but he did.

“Boots. Amari. Hatchet. Garrett. Lorn. Mouse. Targon. Mechi. Shave. Nath.”

Tazer Squad weren’t the only deaths.

General Marin called for the evacuation, but Separatist ships had lurked unseen in the shadow of nearby world Malrev IV and delayed the assistance of the Zenith of the Republic, leaving Chimera Company stranded planet-side with droids pouring from the catacombs, surrounding the Republic forces in a valley.

“Mixer. Shorty. Gangle. Anchor. Ralphie. Buzz. Kory. Sunspot.”

The droids kept coming. Brothers fell around him. Explosions rocked the world.

“Avery. Karn. Arial. Carbine. Brink. Gale. Twister.”

It was only thanks to a Republic-aligned local militia that Chimera Company wasn’t completely wiped out. Ground forces came in from behind the droids and cut a path for Mark and the others to escape through, and provided cover while they fought to get to an elevation that the transport ships could access. Meanwhile, the militia sent their limited fighters and gunships to aid the Zenith in keeping the Separatist ships at bay.

“Hazel. Mac. Croaker. Cred. Vent. Hinter. Gossip.”

Nearly everyone was injured. Blaster burns, broken bones, cuts, concussions, contusions. Mark himself suffered a blaster bolt to his chest, reaggravating an old wound. Commander Tiatkin got caught at the edge of an explosion and had been flung across the valley, landing unconscious. General Marin collapsed from exhaustion as soon as the Zenith jumped to hyperspace.

A week later, most of the clones had recovered, though a handful remained in critical care. Marin and Taitkin arrived at the barracks as soon as they were released from the Jedi Temple’s med center. And together, they all mourned. And laughed, which Mark hadn’t been expecting. But the Jedi had begun reminiscing about those who had been lost, and before long there was laughter and smiles. Sorrow still tinged it all, but it was easier to bear.

Mark drew a deep breath, trying to center himself. To feel himself here and now, boots on the landing pad, rooted to the world, to the galaxy. Constant and present like the cities of Kamino, stalwart and unyielding to the tempests around it. That had been an argument between General Marin and Mark, in the beginning of his not-training. She had described her mediations as floating in a void, tethers to all other beings keeping her in place. But Mark didn’t feel that. He couldn’t let himself feel weightless, drifting; he needed to be grounded, sure of himself before he reached out to others.

It was several minutes before Mark finally made his way back indoors. He lost track of how many times he clasped a trooper’s shoulder or hand, how many more he nodded to.

By the time he got to the officer’s quarters, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bunk. But as the door slid open, he realized that wasn’t going to be the case.

The four lieutenants of Chimera Company were gathered in the center of the room, having hauled over chairs around a supply crate; a jug full of liquid sat on the crate, surrounded by five cups. Mark made his way to the empty chair, shucking his armor as he went. He let the purple-painted armor clatter to the ground, for once not caring about packing it away properly.

He accepted a cup proffered by Bookie before collapsing into the chair. “Hal, how’s your leg?”

Hal – fresh out of the med bay– grunted and extended his right leg gingerly out in front of him. “Stiff, but the bone’s mended. I can walk on it.” He waved a hand. “And Cleese’s got his hearing back.”

“What?” Cleese asked loudly, the scar across the bridge of his nose crinkling as he failed to keep from smirking.

Tech rolled his eyes and shoved Cleese’s shoulder. “What about you, Captain?”

“Stings a bit,” Mark admitted, a hand going absently to his chest, “but that’s the last time you’ll hear me say it.” The faintly caustic smell emanating from the purple liquid in his cup signified Christophsis tals – potent, crystal-cured alcohol. There had been toasts and honorifics all day, but one more could do no harm. He raised his glass. “To those who rest, and those who live. Vode An – brothers all.”

“Brothers all,” the other for echoed. They drank deeply; Mark’s eyes watered.

After a while of listening to the shuffle of footsteps out in the hall and the hum of power through the barracks, Bookie leaned forward, a loc of purple-dyed hair falling into his apprehensive eyes. “Captain? When are we due back to the front?”

Mark drained his cup and refilled it, keeping his eyes fixed on the sloshing liquid. His tongue tingled from it, but it would be another cup or two before he really started to feel its effects. It had been a while since he’d been properly drunk.

“Mark?”

“The Republic wants us mission-ready in two days.”

Cleese uttered a low curse, but Tech talked over him. “And the Jedi?”

“Marin said the Jedi Council agreed to not assign anything for seven days. She’s going to push for longer, but I think that’s all we’re going to get.”

A muscle jumped in Hal’s neck, right under the black ink of the Republic tattoo there. “A week is fine. Any longer, we’d all go stir-crazy. Don’t know about the rest of you, but I need action – I can’t just hang out at Seventy-Nine’s indefinitely.”

“How –” Bookie faltered, then pressed on. “How long did it take you to move on before? With… with your original company?”

Hal turned a baleful look on him. “It’s not a matter of ‘moving on’. It’s about not being stuck.” He drummed his fingers on the crate. “I was in the med bay for a week after the attack. Shattered my collar bone and a few ribs. It was all volunteer medics – no clones – and they wouldn’t tell me anything. That should’ve been my first clue something was wrong. They dunked me in some bacta, then kept me cooped up til I thought I was gonna short-circuit. By the time they let me out, I was ready to kill something.”

He paused, his focus drifting. “Went to join up with the boys – but found out I was reassigned cuz everyone else was dead. I was on the field the next day. It helped, being able to focus on the missions. But if I’d just… if I’d waited just a moment during the attack, I might’ve been able to grab a few others.”

Cleese frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“The clankers hit our outpost with an orbital bombardment. I only survived because I was able to make it to a reinforced bunker. There were three clones right behind me when we started running. But when I reached the bunker and turned around to pull them in, they were two dozen feet behind me. And a blast came down right on top of them. I couldn’t have outrun them that quick; maybe they got tripped up by something. But if I’d slowed up, realized I got ahead of them – ” he broke off and glowered at his cup.

The guilt rolled off Hal in waves. It was a pain shared by all the clones of Chimera Company; they were all survivors from other companies and squads that no longer existed.

“This is a day for remembering our brothers.” Mark raised his glass. “To Zeta Company.”

Hal’s harsh expression faltered and he ducked his head to hide his tears as the others repeated the salute.

Bookie spoke up; Mark felt his embarrassment at having prodded Hal. “We were fractured at Ryloth. We weren’t expecting the Separatist interest in the planet, and they hit us with more forces than we ever expected. It was a slaughter. Two of our squads survived the initial battle, and we hid in the canyons while we waited for reinforcements. But the droids chased us down.” Bookie averted his gaze, unable to make eye contact. “I was able to duck down quick enough after taking potshots – I dodged the bolts that came my way. But most of the others couldn’t. Only six of us walked away. They reassigned us to another force on Ryloth three days later. I think I would have liked to have some more time to process everything; I feel like I had to move on too fast.” He took a swig of the tal. “The Fifty-Eighth Battalion.”

They toasted; Mark took a smaller sip, a pleasantly warm buzz already at the edges of this consciousness. He had wondered when they’d have this conversation. Chimera Company had been formed almost two and a half years ago, and though they had all strengthened their bonds over that time, they’d never discussed where they’d come from, what they had experienced. Mark knew the stories of the rest of the company, but he’d hadn’t pressed the lieutenants; the weight of living while those under your command had died was a harder burden to bear.

After a stretch of silence, Tech turned his head away. “We didn’t even fall to the Separatists.” The bitterness in his voice made Mark’s gut twist. “There was a distress beacon out in the middle of nowhere. The General and the Captain argued about it, but the Jedi finally ordered the ship to go and offer assistance.”

“And there was nothing there?” Hal asked.

“Oh, there was. A civilian cruise ship, dead in the void. We boarded to search for survivors. Once we were all split up, the pirates made their move. They’d been lying in wait onboard, and picked us off as we went through the halls, and their ships dropped out of hyperspace and took out our capital ship.”

“How’d you get out?” Bookie asked, refilling Tech’s cup.

“A small group of us were in the lower levels of the ship. I could tell when they were nearby – I think I could hear them, or whatever – so we were able to sneak around them, for the most part. We managed to steal one of their smaller ships and get away. No one else survived.” He tapped his cup thoughtfully. “I was reassigned the next day, after we were debriefed. Didn’t really have time to process what happened. I just tried to fit in with the new group.”

“To the Two-Oh-Third,” Mark intoned.

After they drank, they looked to Cleese.

He scowled. “What?”

“What about you?”

Cleese’s lip curled. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Mark set his cup down. “You’ll need to eventually,” he murmured softly.

Cleese’s head snapped toward him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’ve been carrying around the weight of it since you lost your company. I don’t think you’ve ever let yourself mourn.”

“There’s always more brothers to mourn,” Cleese snarled. “More dead, every day – it’s a miracle that Chimera Company hasn’t suffered major losses like this before. There’s always dead brothers that need remembering, but there’s no time for it – we have to keep moving, we have to keep marching on, to win this war, so they didn’t die for nothing.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the barracks’ generators. “I read the official report,” Mark said carefully. “That Haval Company responded to a distress call at Garentti’s Keep and gave the civilians enough time to evacuate the city and escape into hyperspace. You saved over two thousand people.”

“And I lost one-hundred thirty-seven men!” Cleese launched himself onto his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “One-hundred thirty-seven brothers who were depending on me to get them out alive. And they died. I only focused on the tanks and ships attacking from the north, I didn’t think to look out for anything else. A whole squad of commando droids crawled out from the cliffs to the south. Only reason I lived was ‘cause I felt one of the karking things sneak up behind me. They took us out from behind, and the clankers overran us.”

“You had no way of knowing. You did what you could with what you had.”

“And what about you, Mark?” Cleese was suddenly in Mark’s face. Anger radiated from him, washing over Mark in such a tangible way that he almost toppled off his seat. “Have you talked about losing the Eighty-Second? Only twelve of you survived, right? You lost an entire battalion. You gonna act like you’ve gotten over that? That you’re gonna get over this?”

He may have said more, but a high-pitched ringing in Mark’s ear drowned him out. Mark’s blood boiled and heart hammered, aching beneath the blaster burn scar. Brothers could fight, could say things and apologize later. A captain couldn’t.

Mark ground his teeth together as he slowly stood. Cleese filled his vision, shaking and blinking hard. Mark hadn’t gone over managing his emotions with the Jedi yet. Marin said it was because he already had control over it, that she wasn’t worried he would act out of anger. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Of course I never got over it.” Mark kept his voice low and even. “I did what I could, and it wasn’t enough. After that slaughter on Eadu’s moon, I blamed General Thalen, I blamed the Separatists, I blamed myself – I even blamed the ones who died. But the end result was the same. The men under my command were dead, and I wasn’t able to help them. It was out of my control. That doesn’t make the pain go away. Or the guilt. But when I was given command of Chimera Company, I had to pull myself out of my own misery, because others were depending on me.”

He paused and drew a shaky breath. The others were silent, waiting. Drawing on the Force, he grounded himself. And as he did, he felt his connection to them like a heartstring. He softened his voice.

“And this? No, I’m not going to move on very quickly. It’s easier, sure, because more of us survived, and I know that we’ll remain together. But what eases more of the pain for me is this.” He gestured to the assembled lieutenants. “Being together. Remembering together. The twelve of us from the Eighty-Second, we got four days. And all were hazy to me but the last one. Because the night before reassignment, we all met up in the mess and talked about the ones we’d lost. Just like we did today. For me, it doesn’t matter how many days it’s been – or how many years. The pain is still there. But it’s easier to bear when I’m with others who understand it.”

Cleese’s anger had melted into sorrow, and he didn’t say anything; he just sank back to his seat, head in his hands. Mark clapped a hand onto his shoulder, and raised his cup. “To Havel Company. And to the Eighty-Second.”

“I’m sorry, Mark,” Cleese murmured after he drained his glass.

Mark sat down heavily beside him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

The other man smiled ruefully at the rapidly-emptying pitcher. “As far as gatherings go, I much prefer happier ones. One of the Haval Company squads learned from some local children about birthdays. The kids didn’t like that none of us clones exactly have a ‘birth-day’. So they decided that all clones were born on that day, and somehow convinced their parents to throw the entire Company a birthday party.” Though it was undercut by a dry sob, Cleese laughed. “I’ve never had such sweet desserts, before or since. That cake was way too rich, and we ate way too much of it.”

“Oh, cake will get you in trouble!” Bookie jumped in, his eyes suddenly bright. “Charger almost got married because of cake once.”

“Married? But we’re not allowed to marry until retirement.” Tech cocked his head to the side, frowning. “Unless that’s changed?”

“It’s still the same. It was an accident. We were on a backwater world where Basic wasn’t well-spoken. One of the locals offered him a cake – in a real meaningful way – but Charger just thought he was being friendly. The translator saw what was going on and managed to set it straight.”

Tech shook his head with a smile. “The long-necks really should have taught us to speak more than just Basic. I think I’d like to understand Huttese – it seems useful.”

“You had any communication mix-ups?” Cleese asked. Mark was relieved to see he’d relaxed.

“All the time. The boys always had trouble in the Outer-Rim markets.” Seeming to jump from one memory to another, he went on. “I was just thinking of the time a shiny – he didn’t live long enough to get a name…” Tech faltered, then gave a weak smile. “This shiny started trash-talking me to my face. Since I’ve always been pretty regulation, he thought I was a shiny from another unit. Didn’t realize I was the squad leader.”

Mark laughed. “What did he say?”

“He was complaining about the drills I was running them through. Thought I was treating them like cadets. He didn’t expect me to be going through the paces with them.”

“Shinies always have such big heads in the beginning.” Hal settled back, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. “Sometimes those heads never deflate. I had a kid in Zeta Co that crashed everything he ever piloted. Fighters, AT-RTs, speeders – if it had a control yoke, he’d end up walking away from a flaming heap of debris with a smile on his face. We called him Crash after the second time.”

After another drink, Cleese turned his watery gaze toward Mark. “I’d asked you when we first met, Mark, but I don’t think you ever actually answered me. The strike team you led on Brentaal Four. Did you really use a B-One’s faceplate to tunnel under a Separatist compound?”

He hadn’t thought of that mission in ages. “We didn’t just use a droid’s faceplate. But some of our tools had to be left behind when we had a complication with landing, so it was the next best thing available.”

“And that worked?” Bookie said incredulously.

“Droids never considered that we’d try to dig our way through. Besides, they were preoccupied with a diversionary force in orbit. If I hadn’t been so concerned about rules at the time, I would’ve let the men keep it as a trophy. It was probably the most useful thing the droid had ever done.”

Cleese slapped his leg as he laughed, tal sloshing out of his cup as he did. “Ah, damn.” He reached for a rag on a trunk behind him, still focused on the dripping liquid. The rag was about a foot away, but before Mark could get up to grab it for him – it moved.

Mark froze, watching as the rag twitched, then slid right into Cleese’s fumbling hand.

He stared at the other man, but Cleese didn’t seem to notice; he was focused on mopping up the mess, saying that at least he hadn’t hit the pitcher.

The Force. Cleese had just used the Force. Mark knew it. But how?

“You okay, Mark?” Bookie asked. Bookie, who had been able to dodge blaster bolts, moving just before they could hit him. Mark slowly looked around the circle.

Hal, who had found himself moving with unprecedented speed. Tech, who had sensed when pirates were nearby. And Cleese, who had sensed danger behind him, who had just moved a rag without touching it.

But then other instances started coming to the forefront of his memory: a clone who always caught whatever was thrown at him, even when he wasn’t looking; a squad jumping much further than they should have been able to over a crevasse; a clone that every animal seemed to become docile around; and every time someone had muttered that they had a bad feeling just before something went wrong.

They piled up, instance after instance of clones in Chimera Company that were just a bit faster or stronger, a bit more agile or focused, a bit luckier or more aware, a bit more –

Seas. They’re all Force-sensitive.

“Mark?” Bookie repeated, concern creasing his brow. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Mark croaked, blinking rapidly. His heart thudded in his chest, his mind racing. “Yeah, I just – It’s been a day.” He stood, the alcohol rushing to his head and making him teeter for a moment. No, it wasn’t just the tal; it was the adrenaline that suddenly coursed through his veins, the energy that came with suddenly knowing something vital and not knowing what to do with it. “I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.”

The others made to rise, but Mark waved them down. “Don’t let me interrupt this. Stay up as long as you need. And remember – this doesn’t have to be limited to today. We can mourn and remember as long as we need.”

The others called out their good nights as he gathered his armor and made his way to the far end of the officers’ quarters. A door led to his private bunk, and when it slid shut behind him he stood there, arms shaking as he put his armor away.

Force-sensitive. Was that how they’d all survived? The remnants of companies and battalions that made up Chimera Company, had they all lived because of the Force? Because they subconsciously tapped into an energy that they didn’t know about, and enhanced their skills, like he had?

Did it matter?

Before General Marin had started teaching him about the Force, Mark would have said no, it didn’t matter; the troopers had their abilities and advantages, and it didn’t matter where they came from.

But a company of trained, Force-sensitive clones? They would be a force to be reckoned with.

But would the Jedi see it that way? Would the Republic?

Mark sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees as he stared at his armor. He’d need to talk to Marin about it. He trusted her. Hopefully, she’d have an idea of how to proceed.

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eridanidreams · 2 months

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Fiction Friday

This past week has been kind of crazy for me, but I do have something I can post. This one's a quiet moment in a future arc for Adam and Sloane...

Sloane came out of the bathroom, vigorously toweling her hair, as Adam came through the door. His eyes widened a little at the sight of her in her sports bra. “Hey,” she said, managing a reasonably normal tone, determined to ignore any potential awkwardness. “Give me just a minute.” Her hair was dry enough, so she pivoted to toss the towel back into the bathroom.

Behind her, Adam inhaled sharply and growled, “Who did that to you?”

“What?” She looked back at him, confused.

“Your back. Who did that?” He sounded angrier with every word, and Sloane finally realized what he was talking about. There was that one particular scar—

“Easy,” she said calmly, and turned to face him; he was flexing his hands, like he wanted to punch someone. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, really? Because I think someone put out about half a dozen cigarettes on you,” he retorted.

“Nope,” she said, trying to stay calm. “Honest. Nothing like that—though now that I think about it, it is my first ‘no shit, there I was’ story.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Sloane—” His voice was full of exasperation, although his eyes were sad. Had he only now realized what the various scars on her skin meant? Was he re-thinking what he’d said last night? She should have been relieved at the thought; instead, she was disappointed.

“They’re just scars, Adam,” she said, matter-of-factly, pulling her t-shirt over her head. “They didn’t kill me. Obviously.” He’d been staring at the line that ran from the point of her right hip to just under her left breast, the one that was still faintly pink; he jerked his eyes up to hers as she tugged the shirt down. “Chechnya,” she answered his unspoken question. “I’d rather not talk about that one. If you have coffee, though, I’ll tell you about the burn scar.”

He did not, in fact, have coffee in his room, but it was a short walk to a café that did. She wondered if it was a mistake to reveal herself to him; this was a story she’d told to a very select group, all of them fellow medics. She wasn’t sure how Adam would take it, but she’d promised.

Sloane turned the coffee cup around in her hands. As a drink, it was decidedly inferior; as something to do with her hands, it served perfectly. “I was halfway through medic training when the Vilama caldera blew in ’14.” Adam’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “The Army was part of the disaster relief mobilization. They stripped everyone that had a medical MOS and wasn’t on critical duty elsewhere—Walter Reed, BAMC, even us trainees at Bragg—and sent us down there.”

“All I know is what I saw on the news,” he said. “It looked terrible.”

“It was.” The experience was branded into her memory. “The stink—you wouldn’t believe the stink. Sulfur, mostly. Charred pork, from all the burns—it was a year before I could even think about eating bacon again. And rot—burns went septic like you wouldn’t believe. There was a lot of gangrene. We couldn’t keep sterile conditions—the ash got everywhere. If you tried to shower it off, it turned into this gritty slime. We had to change out dust masks three times a day. The color was leached out of everything; even our clothes turned grey. And quiet. Everything for a hundred square miles was dead. No birds. No insects. No trees or plants. It may not have been hell, but you could damn sure see it from there.” She sipped at her coffee; it hadn’t improved. “A few days in, the volcanologists said the magma had diverted unexpectedly and was going to vent in one of the clear zones, so they sent four of us—me, my squadmate, and a couple from Médecins Sans Frontières that knew the area—to evac the nearby village.

“Either the science guys were wrong or we were too slow, ‘cause one minute we were getting the last few stragglers, the next...” She shook her head. “The temperature jumped thirty degrees in just a few seconds. The wind kicked up hard; my skin got all dry and tight—like right before a sunburn. And the ground… you never know how much you expect the ground to be stable and reliable until it isn’t.” She put her cup down with a clink. “So there I was, a month shy of my nineteenth birthday, green as grass, in the middle of a fucking volcanic eruption.”

Adam’s hand wrapped around her wrist and gave it a brief, gently supportive squeeze. Oddly—she didn’t usually invite physical contact—it helped. “What did you do?”

“We ran.” Sloane said simply. “All the smoke and ash pouring into the air, was like the sun went out. We could barely see, barely breathe, even through the masks. And if that had been all, we’d have made it out easy. But these things started landing around us. Lava bombs. Same color as the sky; you couldn’t see them until they hit, and then it was nothing but red.” She took a deep breath. “My squadmate was helping one of the MSF doctors, she was having trouble. Lava bomb caught them both right in the head. Splashed all over her husband—arms, chest, face. I got lucky; just caught a little backsplash.” She shrugged the shoulder in question.

Adam sounded horrified. “That’s from lava?”

“About a thousand degrees Celsius,” she confirmed. “Would have burned to the bone if I hadn’t ripped my shirt off fast.” She rubbed her hand down her face. “Not much more to tell. The doc was still breathing, and we were dead if we stayed, so I grabbed him and hauled ass to where we’d left the jeep. It lasted long enough to get us out of the red zone, and I called for a medevac.” She finished off the coffee just for the welcome hit of caffeine. “He got sent off to one of the big hospitals in Buenos Aires, and I got a hydrogel patch and some spray-on sealant and went back to doing field amputations and burn treatments.” She looked up at Adam. “Lot of firsts there.”

“Like what?” He looked genuinely curious.

Sloane started listing them on her fingers. “First time I thought I was going to die. Hell, first time I really, truly understood that I could die. I’d never been that scared.” It was strange—she usually remembered only the grim determination to escape, to live—but telling Adam the story today, the remembered fear was vivid in her mind. “First decoration for valor; not that I think I deserved it, but someone did.” She sighed. “First time I had to make the choice to save myself or take the risk and save someone else.”

“If the guy’s injuries were that bad,” Adam said in a thoughtful tone, “no one would have blamed you for just getting yourself out.” She could see the warmth of a not-quite-smile in his eyes. “Probably why someone thought you deserved the medal.”

“I would have blamed me,” she said with a sigh. “I couldn’t blame myself for getting the others out, but I knew I could get the doc out as long as we didn’t get hit again.” She spread both hands open. “And that’s it. I don’t tell that story often.” She smiled, a little wryly. “Most ‘no shit there I was’ stories end in ‘and that’s how my badassery saved the day’. This is more ‘there but for the grace of God go I’.”

“So why tell me?” He tilted his head in inquiry.

“You asked.”

#adam jensen #fanfic #deus ex mankind divided #deus ex #eridani writes #sloane delacourt #odysseus gambit #fiction friday #the coemancer crew

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halopedia · 10 months

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🌸 TENRAI DATABASE

Prior to the arrival of the Covenant barbarians, those who would come to make up the 343 clans of the Imperial Court were warlords who feuded among each other.

Source: Halo on Twitter

#halo #haloinfinite #halopedia #halowiki #halo wiki #halo infinite #tenrai #halotenrai #halo tenrai #yoroi #haloyoroi #halo yoroi #fictionfriday #fiction friday #absolute record #absoluterecord #Invariant Bias #InvariantBias

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bignaz8 · 1 year

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They called him "The General" for a reason. His massive chest, his booming voice, and the squinty eyed stare were his hallmarks. When he did come to town, folks noted the 1950s Cadillac with shiny white wall tires, the neatly pressed black slacks, and the highly polished boots. When he was about to raise his voice, he'd run a well-manicured but scarred hand over his military crew cut. When he left, the folks in town would release a shaky exhale. They knew of his old family home that never echoed with the laughter of children or the sighs of a happy wife. It was him. Always just him. Alone and imposing.

#mine #fiction friday

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calltoamentor · 5 months

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Strength Without Direction

Abby Muir has two goals: To see her friend, and ask her why she chose to leave. Having stolen a Lich's Spell book, she uses the spell she made a deal for him to show her to find her friend and maybe, maybe, bring her home.

You were supposed to be here with me. That was the thought that rang over and over in my head, louder than the bell swinging over the ferry. I clutched my stolen book to my chest like a lifeline, not trusting the swaying dock beneath me to hold both of us steady. You were supposed to be here, and you ran off ahead. In the distance past the red-black of the river water, mountains seemed to rise up…

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#Comforting paranomral fiction #dailyprompt #dailyprompt-2136 #fantasy writing #Fiction #fiction friday #Fictional friday #Grief #Grief Recovery #Life change #loss #Speculative fiction #strenth tarot #Tarot #YA fantasy #YA fiction

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abalonetea · 2 years

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Fiction Friday! Hit up this post if you want to do an ask exchange about the world building for your non-fantasy setting stories!

People with fantasy stories can still take part, just make sure that your asks are ones that people writing historical, horror, or contemporary can also answer!

The main goal of this is for it to be an ASK EXCHANGE! if someone sends you an ask, send one back!

#fiction friday #writeblr #ask exchange

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goodjobjacqueline · 1 year

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A poem for Fiction Friday 🥰 I hope you enjoy 🤟🤟🤟

#poetry #Poem #Fiction Friday #handle with care

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annetilney · 2 years

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Fiction Friday: Van Helsing Prologue

FYI: Since it is a novelization, I'm going to provide information about the movie so that people who haven't seen it can follow along. Of course, there are bound to spoilers. Which means if anyone doesn't want to be spoiled, please read this novel analysis after watching the movie.

That being said, let's dive in.

Prior to the prologue, there is an epigraph:

"The world seems full of good men—even if there are monsters in it."

Dracula by Bram Stoker

This quote comes from Mina Harker in chapter 17. The context of this statement is that Dr. Seward is keeping Mina Harker company as she is listening to the phonograph recordings. So she is regards Seward as someone with good character.

This is even more noteworthy considering the fact that her previous fiance and now husband Jonathan was terrorized by Dracula. Dracula also brought about her friend Lucy's death. All of this tragedy could make anyone regard the world as evil place filled with wicked people.

However Jack's simply act of kindness reminds Mina that there are good people in the world. With this, it gives Mina the hope that good will triumph over evil.

As I could ramble on about Dracula all day, let us focus on the prologue.

Prologue

The prologue starts off with Elizabeth congratulating Victor Frankenstein. Yes, you read that correctly. Even though he briefly appears in the movie, his role is expanded upon in the novelization.

We, the reader, find out that Victor spent years in medical school and switched his area of study from surgery to research. In the next hour will determine Victor's success in getting funding for his research.

Henry is also with Victor to give encouragement. It turns out that Henry is Victor's friend from school. As it turns out, Henry was quite popular with the ladies but Elizabeth only had eyes for Victor.

Victor is nervous but is glad that he has emotional support. As Victor Frankenstein stands on the podium, he is warmly greeted by Professor Waldman. In the past, Victor assisted Professor Waldman in teaching first and second year classes. But more importantly, the professor was his mentor.

The very reason why Victor is standing on the podium is that he is applying for the Goldstadf Fellowship. The fellowship is prestigious.

Should Victor be accepted in the fellowship, it will give him a large grant and the university's resources will be at his disposal. As Professor Waldman introduces Victor to the assembly, it is revealed that Victor graduated top of his class and published articles in medical journals.

Victor sees well-known faces in the fields of medical science such as "surgery, orthopedics, internal medicine, and neurology." Victor then mentions the names of famous people who shaped medicine such as Louis Pasteur, Hippocrates, and Galen.

Afterwards, Victor mentions that his work was inspired by the research of Luigi Galvani. He proposed that a "life force can be manipulated and focused through the careful application of electrical and magnetic forces- that this life force can actually be harnessed to promote health and healing."

This declaration causes some members of the audience shocked while others indignant. Professor Waldman orders everyone to be quiet. Still, some people are still talking amongst themselves.

Victor Frankenstein is aware that what he is proposing is revolutionary but counters:

"However, is it really any more revolutionary than Pasteur's work? He introduced us to an invisible world of microscopic organisms. Is it so hard to believe that there is even more we do not know, even more that we do not see?"

This prompts someone from the audience to heckle Frankenstein asking him if there is "a magic ray that will heal a broken limb, close a wound, clear a body of disease?"

He responds by saying "No more magic than sulfur powder."

Then another person derides Frankenstein by asking "[...]if you applied enough of this 'life force' to Galvani's dead frog? Are you saying it could get up and hop away?"

Victor responds with "Theoretically, yes, but-"

Half of the room erupts with laughter while the other with scorn. One even yells "Blasphemy!"

Victor Frankenstein retorts "No, not blasphemy! Science!"

The room erupts into chaos but Professor Waldman shouted and "order was restored".

After the auditorium is quiet, Victor asks for everyone to read his research which is in a folder given to everyone in the audience. After surveying the crowd, he sees only blank faces. Even though it will take weeks to recieve a formal response for his application, Victor already knows what "that reply would be."

After Victor thanks everyone for their time, his thoughts are: "He had failed his work ... he had failed himself, and . . . and, worst of all, he had failed Elizabeth."

Victor Frankenstein hears the "disapproving voices" of his colleagues as he leaves the auditorium.

For this distinguished group, it was the equivalent of catcalls and the hurling of fruit and vegetables.

Uh "catcalls"?

There are two definitions.

1) An individual shouting, whistling, or making a sexually suggestive comment at someone publicly. (For instance, a group of guys whistling at a lady walking down the street)

2) An individual making a loud cry or noise to express disapproval at a public event (For instance, someone yelling at a sporting event or a theater)

In conclusion?

While the word choice isn't wrong, many people including myself, associate "catcalls" with the first rather than the second definition.

Professor Waldman approaches Victor Frankenstein in the hallway and asks if he is all right. Victor replies that he's feeling fine but "it would appear that my career is over."

Waldman shakes his head and then offers that they can work together as there is "a great deal we can do together."

Victor muses that Waldman's research is "good science" as it produced "new procedures, new techniques." Yet Victor can't shake the feeling that it would be "a waste of time" compared to what he "could be accomplishing."

Victor knows that in a decade, his work on life force could "advance medicine than the last two thousand years of study" and "dwarf what Waldman had done in his entire career.

Perhaps it was arrogant and prideful of him to think it. But it was also true.

Honestly? I love the idea that Victor Frankenstein being prone to arrogance. It's a great character flaw.

Victor politely declines to which Waldman "studied him for a minute."

Waldman urges Victor to "please promise me that you will at least consider my offer". He then reminds Victor that today was "merely a setback" and "do not let it consume you.

Victor only nods his head. The professor walks away as Henry and Elizabeth approach.

Four weeks later, Victor returned to his family home in Romania. After promising Elizabeth a vacation, they go on a trip. However, Victor's mind is elsewhere. Yet Elizabeth notices this.

Victor Frankenstein is unable to relax in the "beautiful rented villa on the Seine." The reason for his anxiety? Victor does not think he is being fair to Elizabeth "given his new professional circumstances."

After a few days, Victor has a serious talk with his fiancee. He tells her that "I want...I need to continue my work, on my own if I have to." Victor then says that he can set up a lap in his house and even though it won't have "the staff or advantages of the university, but it's a start."

We, the reader find out that Victor's family had some money but "their fortunes were not what they once were."

Elizabeth replies that she understands. But Victor is not sure. He informs Elizabeth that it will take "some time before my work will bring results."

The reader is told that science "depended on experiments, data, and reproducible results." Also, years will be spent working with animals and how Victor must "make do with the equipment he could afford."

Victor adds that it will be "some time before I will have achieved anything substantial and how for the time being he will be "the laughingstock."

Elizabeth assures Victor that "none of that matters to me" and that she loves him. And before Victor can interrupt, Elizabeth informs him that "If you think that I will allow this little setback to delay our life together, you are very mistaken, Dr. Victor Frankenstein. I mean to marry you and I do not mean to wait."

Victor tells her that he can't offer her much. To which Elizabeth replies that she only wants him and she won't be stopped by "money or the Goldstadf Fellowship board or anything else."

Victor responds that they "wouldn't have much to start". Yet this doesn't phase Elizabeth. She offers to assist Victor in his research and assures him that they will "have everything we need."

These words elevate Victor's spirit. It gives him hope "not only for his work, but for his life with Elizabeth."

Now content, Victor returns to his family home with Elizabeth. In the evening, Victor finally unpacked from the trip and "attended to his responsibilities as master of the house."

Victor decides to forgo responding to the large pile of correspondence. Instead, Victor is sitting at his desk and makes notes of what he will need in order to continue with his research. The thought of Elizabeth making plans for the wedding causes Victor to smile. He then thinks: Yes, together they could accomplish quite a bit.

Later on, Gerald the butler arrives. He informs Victor that someone is at the door. That person being? Count Dracula.

Gerald asked Dracula to return in the morning. But Dracula insisted that he speak with Victor. Gerald apologies since "the hour is quite indecent."

Victor Frankenstein muses that "it was unusual."

He had heard of a Count Dracula, but this could not be that Dracula.

Very interesting. This indicates that Dracula is renowned.

In the movie, it gives the impression that aside Victor Frankenstein and the Transylvanian villagers, the Knights of the Holy Order are the only other people aware of Dracula's existence.

Anyway, Gerald is distressed. Yet Victor tells him that it is okay and asks to see "our guest." They enter the foyer but no one is there. So Victor gives Gerald a look.

Gerald explains that Dracula didn't leave the premises but he would not enter the house. Victor's curiosity is piqued. He sees Dracula standing in the entryway.

Dracula is dressed in black military clothes. He also has long black hair fastened into a ponytail and has a single golden hoop earring in his left ear. Victor is aware that Count Dracula is nobility but he has never heard of "an aristocrat who wore an earring."

Throughout history, earrings were commonly worn by men and women. Depending on the time period, it has fallen out of favor or it is fashionable. Anyway, that's the end for today's random tidbit.

Anyway, Victor regards the count's physical appearance as "striking." Victor Frankenstein estimates that Count Dracula is "perhaps thirty." Which means Dracula is "a little older" than Frankenstein.

Victor Frankenstein notes that there is "something odd about his eyes" and how they were "much older" than Dracula's face. Victor finds himself "drawn to those eyes."

Dracula's eyes are described as being "electric, intense" and perhaps "warm". Yet he dismisses the Count's expression as being only "very interested."

Anyway, Victor Frankenstein suddenly realizes that he was starting at the Count. Victor shakes his head. Victor then offers his hand and says "Count Dracula, I presume."

Count Dracula nods his head and tells Victor that "It is a true pleasure to meet you."

Victor asks why Count Dracula is waiting outside. Dracula explains that he "would not presume to enter without an invitation from the master of the house. Particularly at this indecent hour." He then peers at Gerald.

Victor "had the feeling" that Dracula overheard their conversation. Yet he quickly dismisses it as being "impossible". Meanwhile, Gerald is "unnerved" by the Count's gaze.

It is revealed that Gerald was the family butler since Victor was a boy. Victor then recollects that he never seen Gerald "as uncomfortable as now."

After what must feel like an eternity, Victor breaks the silence. He invites Dracula in. As Dracula enters the threshold, Victor feels a chill. Yet he disregards it as nothing more than "a cool evening breeze."

Victor then offers the Count a brandy. Dracula agrees and then thanks him. This prompts Gerald to leave them in order to fetch the brandy.

Victor then escorts Dracula to the library filled with many books and a roaring fire. Dracula apologies for his arrival being "a surprise." Again, Count Dracula apologies for "the lateness of the hour."

Meanwhile, Victor is trying to identify the Count's accent. He deduces that although the Romanian "was fluent", it had "a trace of something else."

Unable to place the accent, Victor assures the Count Dracula that it is "Quite all right." Dracula says that sometime ago, he sent Victor a letter. The contents announced Dracula's "impeding visit".

Victor Frankenstein informs the Count that he has been traveling and he didn't get a chance to read the letter.

At that very moment, Gerald enters the room. He then fills the glasses with brandy. Once the glasses are handed out, Victor proceeds to raise his glass to his guest and say "Cheers."

Count Dracula returns the gesture but never takes a sip. He then puts the glass down. Dracula says it is not his intention to "be rude, but perhaps later."

Victor notes this as being "odd". Yet upon deliberation, he thinks the same could be said for "an aristocrat show up at one's door after ten in the evening."

Victor Frankenstein proceeds to ask what he can do for the Count. This causes Dracula to smile. Yet the gesture was "joyless" and Count Dracula's eyes are "now boring into Victor."

Victor Frankenstein finds himself frightened. However, the feeling passed. Victor chides himself for "being silly". After all, the Count has only been courteous. Why should Victor be scared of his guest?

Dracula reveals that he is intrigued by Victor Frankenstein's work. He heard about the presentation and even obtained a "copy of your Goldstadf Fellowship application materials."

This caused Victor to stare at the Count looking "for a hint of irony or mockery." The reason being? So far the only individuals who inquired about his research were journalists "who wanted to ridicule him."

As far as Victor can tell, Count Dracula is sincere. Yet a part of him remains skeptical.

Dracula assures Victor that he is "quite serious." The Count then reveals that from time to time he has been "a benefactor of scientific research". His reason for visiting Frankenstein is that he is offering him a grant.

In addition, Count Dracula tells Victor that "your work could be very important and that he has "significant means".

Dracula's gaze makes Victor both "nervous and giddy with excitement."

Count Dracula remarks that if Victor's force could "be harnessed, the results for mankind could be revolutionary."

At this very moment, Victor Frankenstein is unable to conceal his pleasure. He is also surprised. After all, he has "been alone" in his "enthusiasm."

This prompts the Count to offer Victor support and friendship. That way, Victor can take his "place among Hippocrates, Pasteur, and the giants of medicine."

Once again, Dracula's eyes are described as being "magnetic." They make Victor Frankenstein believe Dracula's offer of "brotherhood and support."

Victor proceeds to regard Dracula as "his only friend." Victor quickly reminds himself that is "not true."

After all, Henry is his best friend. And then there is Elizabeth. She is not only a friend but his fiancée.

Victor Frankenstein has to remind himself that he "only just met Dracula." Then, an image of Elizabeth's sincerity entered into Victor's. Yet for inexplicable reason, he became "uncomfortable thinking of her" in Dracula's presence.

Victor Frankenstein then briefly had an "uncanny feeling" that Dracula opened "a window into his mind."

Count Dracula offers Victor Frankenstein a laboratory filled with new equipment along with anything "require[d] to speed your research."

To which Victor is taken back by such a generous proposal. He informs the Count "that is a large order."

After all, the cost for the equipment would be "considerable" since it would need to be designed and built to exact specifications. This is why Victor approached the university.

Picking up on Victor Frankenstein's trepidation, Count Dracula assures that his "means are considerable" and whatever is needed, he shall provide.

He then tells Frankenstein to think of what they "can accomplish together!"

Before leaving, Dracula tells Victor to make a list of everything that is required in order to continue with the research. The Count also informs Victor that he will return tomorrow evening to "discuss the matter further."

Assuming that such a proposal is "acceptable."

Victor Frankenstein walked Count Dracula to the front door. Before wishing him a good night, Victor thanks Dracula for his support.

The Count merely nodded and shook Frankenstein's hand. After the handshake, Victor notices that Count Dracula's hand felt cold. Before leaving, Dracula looks at Victor Frankenstein "once more in the eye."

After the Count disappears, Victor Frankenstein feels dizzy. He can't help but to wonder if this encounter was only a dream. Victor's pondering is interrupted by Gerald.

Gerald asks if the visitor has left. Victor responds yes and him "That will be all for the night." This prompts Gerald to leave.

Victor is relieved that "it wasn't a dream" and regards the Count as being "the answer to his prayers." He then thinks "I'm lucky to have a friend like him."

Victor had to remind himself that he just met the Count. After all, they are "just acquaintances, not friends."

Victor Frankenstein is too excited to sleep. So, Victor returns to his office and resumes working. He makes a note to "cancel his plans with Elizabeth for tomorrow" in order to work through the day uninterrupted.

What's Victor's motivation? You may ask. Since Dracula is offering him "the opportunity of a lifetime", Victor feels he should "be ready for their next meeting."

Victor feels "a rush of hope" as "the whole world will know the name Frankenstein." Yet something is persistently nagging him and it is "something odd." It finally dawns on what it is.

Aside from Dracula arriving at "the dead of night", no coach or horse was seen in "the drive."

Final Thoughts

Honestly? Having Dracula be a patron of science is good decision. This explains how Dracula and Frankenstein ended up working together. In the movie, this was never explained.

In Dracula, Professor Van Helsing explains that Dracula attended Scholomance (a legendary school for black magic run by the Devil) where Count Dracula attended and there was no "branch of knowledge of his time" that he did not study. I'm not sure if this is an intentional nod to Dracula since many people have not read the novel.

It is important to note that this entire prologue is not depicted in the film. (I'm not sure if this was from a deleted scene or created for the novelization. Perhaps in the DVD commentary will shed some light on this matter). Anyway, this chapter didn't feel like filler.

We, the reader, saw why Victor Frankenstein agreed to work with Dracula. The movie can give some people the impression that Victor is naive for trusting Dracula. Yet this shows Dracula manipulating Frankenstein through hypnosis.

All in all, this was a good chapter.

#fiction friday #van helsing #van helsing by kevin ryan #van helsing novel #van helsing 2004 novel #van helsing novelization #van helsing 2004 #novel analysis #chapter analysis

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