#i say all that but undercover is making a quite high entry on my top stylings list for this year actually | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

finestfenwick · 5 years

Text

“I can’t believe they would’ve promoted some bitch over you. You seem fit, mate.”

Benjy raises his eye brows and raises his shot in thanks before he downs it. The meeting the day before with O'Donnell and Scamander had gone as well as it could. O’Donnell had sent word to Benjy via a Niffler that had ransacked his cover apartment to meet him at the White Wyvern for drinks. Benjy was in edge at first, worried about running into friends or Merlin forbid, Cassiel Avery, but the Nifflers occupied a booth in the back corner and didn’t seem keen on talking to anyone except the casual working girl.

The ‘bitch’ in question was none other than Amelia Bones. That was one of the reasons behind his cover-he was pissed off that Amelia ranked higher than him. It was laughable, really-anyone who knew anything about how the Aurory worked knew that Amelia had more than enough seniority to rank above him. It let Benjy know just how foolish the people he was dealing with were-and it was a type of foolishness that made them dangerous.

“I mean, I could’ve shagged my way to the top too but er, the boss is too beardy for my taste.”

This causes a round of laughter from O’Donnell, Stuart and the man introduced to Benjy as simply ‘Nim’. The name would’ve been laughable save for the fact that the man’s biceps where bigger than Benjy’s thighs and his skin was absolutely littered in tattoos-including a familiar one of a snake eating a skull.

Gaining their trust was proving to be easy. Maybe too easy. Benjy was still being cautious, but it was getting harder and harder with every shot he took. It was scary, in a way, how easily he fit in with men like this. A wrong turn here, a point lower on his auror entrance exam here-this false identity could very easily be Benjy’s reality.

He was suddenly very, very glad he wasn’t.

“Anyhow-” He continues, instantly gaining his party’s full attention again. “-I finally called them on their bullshit after they gave her yet another case she wasn’t nearly smart enough to solve-I sort of knew who’d done it anyhow, I’d considered getting into it with him like I am now with you lot, but he wasn’t any good-”

“Was it Avery?” Stuart cuts in. Benjy has never met someone who better personifies the word ‘Beady’ before. “-that fucker’s scary.”

Benjy nods offhandedly. “Can’t really say, but I’d er-prefer not to get mixed up with him if I could avoid it.”

O’Donnell snorts. “Lookit you, talking all proper and shit still. You might fit in better with Avery with words like that, mate. He thinks he’s too good for us. Too busy shagging that one bitch anyhow-whatshername?”

“Zazzi.” Stuart supplies. Nim nods.

“Yeah. It’s either that bitch or whoever’ll pay him more.”

Benjy snorts. “You familiar with his rates, then? Intimately so?”

The other two howl with laughter but O’Donnell glares at him.

“Watch yourself.”

Benjy holds up his hands in mock surrender, but makes a mental note. Avery and ‘Zazzi’ are not involved, not heavily at least. That doesn’t really tell him too much-though both of them had rumors of ties to the DE they’d never be as obvious as dear old Nim. All it let Benjy know is that another criminal he was aware of didn’t have ties with this organization-and that was probably better for him, given how his ties to Avery were not all strictly business related. He pushes the memory of Cleona finding the baggie in his medicine cabinet out of his mind.

“I kid, I kid. But yeah, it was a case that I knew I could solve, and they didn’t give it to me because they’re more concerned about looking good. I’d about had it then. I tried to keep it civil at first but pretty soon we were screaming at each other. The pussy they gave me for a partner held me back from hexing the stupid bitch, but fucking Crouch broke it up pretty fast after that. Put me on ‘indefinite leave.’” Benjy scoffs. They’d done it all, just as he’d said, with Amelia wishing him luck again under her breath as Crouch and Moody and Kingsley had dragged him off. They had to make as much of this real as they could.

“Which you know, is just horseshit. They can’t fire me because ‘Ex-Qudditch Hero leaves Auror Force in shame’ doesn’t sound good at the moment, but now-” Benjy raises his glass, which magically filled when he’d finished the last shot.

“They’re gonna regret everything.”

Several shots later, Benjy is fuzzy. He hadn’t been this drunk since his birthday-which really, wasn’t so long ago. Absentmindedly, he brushes his hand through his hair to touch the back of the diamond stud in his ear. Her diamond stud.

Cleona.

He ached to think of her-how angry and hurt she must be. It’d been about a week now-she had to know. The octopus in his pocket pressed up against his leg, as if one queue, warms. She knew he was thinking about her, that he was missing her, and it seemed that at least to some level, that sentiment was returned.

I love you. I’m sorry

He’s so engrossed in thinking-thinking properly if that were even a thing when it came to whatever it was that his girlfriend could do, that he doesn’t realize he was being spoken to until Nim slaps his knee. Hard.

“Sorry?”

“You like what you see?” O’Donnell leers, nodding his head towards one of the sex workers lingering nearby. She had dyed red hair that slightly resembled that of Lily, the new receptionist in the office and for one wild second, Benjy thought it might be her-as if Crouch or Moody would put a civilian undercover just to get him a message. But closer inspection reveals this woman is a little older-and harder. More than likely she’d seen some shit.

“She’s fit, yeah.” Benjy says non nonchalantly, sipping on the beer he’d barely touched all night.

“You want her? You’ve got her.”

Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Normally-well not normally, before Cleona, he wouldn’t have thought twice about something like this, anything to maintain the cover. Benjy realizes right then that he never should’ve been allowed to go undercover. He had a weakness now, and her name was tattooed on his fucking hip.

“Nah, mate, thanks. But uh-I can’t afford her.” O’Donnell just waves his hand dismissively.

“Think of it was a welcome present. Me and the lads got other business to attend to anyway. I like your style, Fenwick. You’ll be hearing from me shortly.” He winks at Benjy before shouting across the bar.

“Beatrix! Commere.”

She pulls herself away from the group and bounds over. She would’ve been his type a few years ago, even with the edge her profession had given her-but Benjy didn’t have a type so much as a person now, and the thought of betraying her-He can feel his heart beat pick up in his chest.

“Can I help you, love?” She purrs, eyeing all of them with false interest. Her green eyes sweep the four of them. O’Donnell hands her a little bag of gold.

“This is Benjy. Get to know him, on me.”

As the other three get up to leave, Beatrix grabs Benjy’s wrist and pulls him out of the booth.

“You ready to have fun, love?”

“Um-”

Her lips are on his before Benjy can stop her, and instinctively he kisses her back, following her lead out into the alley, the kisses getting sloppier and sloppier as they stumble out the door. It’s far too wet and Benjy’s pretty sure she licks his cheek at one point. Not exactly a turn on-not that he wanted one anyway.

“Well, he paid for the works so-”

Beatrix is on her knees now, and Benjy stiffens when her hands find his zipper. She looks up at him, confused, groping his barely there erection through the jeans under his robes.

“What’s the matter? Need a little help?”

“Uh, no, not quite-”

Benjy tries to smile, but now Beatrix is getting handsy. He leaps back away from her as if she had shocked him. This has to stop.

“What the hell? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m gay.”

It slips out before he can stop himself and Beatrix cocks her head to the side to look up at him.

“Really?”

“...yeah. But I-I’d apperciate it if you know, you didn’t uhm, make it known to O’Donnell-”

She brushes him off, gesturing with her hands to help her up. Benjy does, making sure she’s steady on her high heels before letting go.

“I already got paid-more than I was expecting tonight at that-I’m going home to the bath, who or what you do or don’t do is your business, love.”

She pats him once on the cheek.

“Too bad though-we could’ve had some fun.”

Beatrix gives him a smile before turning to disappear on the spot. Benjy all but collapses against the building. The familiar loathing creeps up, as it often does when he doesn’t do something the way he’s supposed to, but the relief, the knowledge that he didn’t do anything undo-able, is far greater. A quick glance around the alley reveals him to be alone and Benjy decides to risk it. He pulls the Octopus-Hugo-out of his pocket and smiles at it softly. He wants to cry but he can’t let himself get there-he can’t miss her too much, or he’d be utterly useless.

Benjy runs a finger down the back of the creature, and he’s so enraptured by the warmth he receives back a few seconds later that he fails to notice Nim, lurking near the entry to the bar, watching him carefully.

#self para #undercover #im not spell checking its too late #swill #drabble

4 notes · View notes

doodlelolly0910 · 6 years

Text

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: Thank you so so much to every single person who is reading this story for hanging in there with me up to this point :D I know this was an nontraditional approach to a Captain Swan story, but I am really so grateful to every one of you reading. Love all of your faces. And we still have plenty to go! THE BIGGEST LOVE to @kmomof4 who is a fantastic beta and overall amazing person, and to @courtorderedcake as well who is so talented I could die for the GORGEOUS art at the beginning of each chapter!!! NOW! *drops chapter and runs away* See you next week!! Muahahaha

Chapter 9

"Uh, hi?" Emma said cautiously, throwing a last look over her shoulder to make sure Zelena was gone before shutting the door. Jefferson only looked up long enough to send Emma a unsettled glance before resuming his frantic to and fro across the carpet. "So, you're not doing this. Not alone. You don't have a partner or backup and we have to figure something out so this whole undercover thing isn't blown. Shit!" Jefferson ranted, chewing viciously on his thumbnail as he paced. "What?! Jefferson we cannot jeopardize this op. This is our chance to get justice for dozens of women! To take down a huge criminal enterprise! If this is my in, then I'm taking it. Take it up with Mills if you have to, but I'm doing this," she snapped. Jefferson looked up at her, hand clasped over his mouth, and sighed deeply through his nose before dragging his hand down and over the stubble on his jaw. "Emma, this is a question of your safety. I did some digging and turned up virtually nothing on this 'Hook' guy. No one in relation to Gold or any major criminal in the Boston area has been arrested under that alias. The only time that name even pops up is a few whispers from our CI’s that he was responsible for a couple of Gold’s ops going south, and when we arrested a guy named Will Scarlett for grand theft auto and he mentioned it to someone on his one recorded phone call, just to tell the person he was talking to to ask for bail money from him. There's no information on that compound Zelena took you to, the deed is under a fake name, no police activity has been reported there, hell, if you hadn't gone out there, I'm sure we wouldn't have known it existed!" Jefferson's voice had increased in volume throughout the tirade and Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, we know he exists, then. And that compound may be locked up tight, but all of their security measures are things I know how to get past! This is where my skill set comes into play, and you'll be in my ear the whole time in case shit goes south," she replied. Emma wasn't backing down on this. Not when they were so close to closing so many cases. "And what happens when you get in this place and it's the same as Gold's, hmm? What do you do by yourself in a criminal lair during a communications blackout?" he asked. His eyebrows stayed high on his forehead, his eyes wide. He looked like he was ready to tear his hair out at any second. "Did you just say 'criminal lair'? Calm down, Batman," she said with a snort and Jefferson gave her a look of sheer exasperation. "And I thought I did pretty well in Gold's place without you. You know exactly where I'll be. I have a plan that'll get me in and out in an hour and a half. Half the compound is outside, for crying out loud. We won't go dark." "You were invited into Gold's place. This is totally different. We are going in blind here, Emma," he reasoned. "You're just going to have to trust me," she said insistently. "Trust that I know what I'm doing. Trust in my capabilities. I've got this, Jefferson." Jefferson sighed heavily and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I don't like this," he replied after a beat. "I've heard that a lot lately," she said with a slight laugh. "But I've made the right decisions this whole time. We're too close to let this slip."

He stared at her hard for several moments before his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Dammit, let's set this up.” An hour and forty five minutes later, the sun had set Emma was on her way under the cover of nightfall. She and Jefferson had reviewed the footage she'd captured on her glasses. She had a schedule, an entry point, and a plan of action. She would start in the living area, move on to the clubhouse, then finally, storage. In and out. Minimal time. She flicked her headlights off as she approached the ridge where she'd done surveillance with Zelena earlier in the day, cloaking the bright yellow bug in darkness. After parking near where she and Zelena had before, she moved a few branches to further conceal the vehicle and began her descent towards the compound. She rounded the corner of the chain link fence, wire cutters in hand, combat style boots crunching in the hard dirt around her. Every noise that came from her seemed amplified, and she tried to walk very softly, but she could only do so much. She adjusted the olive colored messenger bag from where it lay across her shoulder and crouched down, pulling up the waist of her black jeans where they had slipped down her hips. There were only twenty minutes before patrol came by again. She had one shot to get through both fences without drawing attention. This was the only section of the fence in a blind spot for both the guard towers and the cameras, due to a large bush growing into the fence itself. It was a great cover for the damage to the fence as well. The overlapping honeycomb pattern of the two fences pressed to each other made it difficult to squeeze the wire cutters through, but Emma managed. The black leather gloves she wore squeaked against the rubber handle of the tool as she made the first clip. The metal whined and rattled as the pieces began to snap apart. "Doing good, Emma," Jefferson said in her ear. Emma jumped what felt like two feet off the ground, startled so much she dropped the wire cutters. "Dammit, Jefferson, I'm trying to concentrate," she whisper-shouted as she felt around on the ground for the tool. Jefferson mumbled an apology and she looked back to the side quickly, causing her glasses to fall off her face to the dirt as well. She resisted the urge to groan in frustration and felt around for those as well. She couldn't risk turning on a flashlight and giving away her position. "You went dark, Emma, all good?" Jefferson asked. Emma felt around shifting back on her feet to give her more space in her crouched position "Yeah, glasses just fell, too. I'm trying-" CRUNCH. "Argh! What the fuck?!" Jefferson shouted and a clatter was heard through the speakers. Emma winced, not only at the volume of his voice but because she knew what her foot had just shifted on top of. She retrieved the mangled glasses from beneath her boot and her hand bumped into the snips as well. She grabbed them angrily and brought the glasses to her face to inspect them as well she could in the light of the moon. She tugged a glove off with her teeth and palpated the frames. "Emma are you there? There was a ton of frequency and then nothing, what happened?" Jefferson asked. Emma pulled the glove from her mouth and her now bare fingers slid over the exposed wires and cracked plastic, sighing deeply. "I just crunched my glasses. Can you still hear me?" Emma whispered, mouth close to the ruined device. Silence. "Shit, not again. Emma, come in. Respond if you can hear me," Jefferson said. Damn, she cursed in her head. She didn't have time for this. Patrol was coming back in ten minutes, her time now cut in half. "Emma, I'm assuming you've gone dark. Abort mission. Come back to the safe house if you can hear me," he instructed. Emma squeezed her eyes shut. She was already here. There wouldn't be another opening like this until after her 24 hours were up. "Emma, abort mission. Abort. God, I hope you can hear me," Jefferson continued. Emma made her decision. She reached up and dug the clear plastic ear insert from her left ear, stuffing it in the pocket of the black hoodie she was wearing along with the ruined glasses and pulling her glove back on. She was doing this. Tugging her gray beanie down over her ears, she doubled down on clipping through the fence. When there was an opening large enough for her to squeeze through, she did so, just as she saw headlights from the patrol truck heading towards the opposite corner from where she was. They would be turning her direction any second. Emma jammed the snips in her pocket and sprinted for the nearest building, bag bouncing against her leg and her heart pounding with how close she came to getting caught. Making her way around the cold metal exterior quickly, she found the door to the living quarters quickly, staying well out of sight of any cameras. The panel was one she wasn't quite familiar with, but she knew the basics for systems like this were all the same. It was all about determining which wire she needed. She opened the messenger bag, cleaned out the contents of her pocket into it and pulled out a screwdriver, a flashlight, and a pair of smaller wire cutters. She made quick work of the panel face and clicked the dim flashlight on, sticking it into her mouth for stability. Her back was facing the guard tower, concealing the majority of the light from that angle, but she needed to see and she prayed this didn't give her away. Oddly enough, this was the riskiest part of her plan. Looking at the wires feeding into the computer parts and the building, Emma's instincts kicked in, identifying the ground wire quickly and snipping it. The door next to her let out a heavy click and she knew it had worked. After stowing her tools again, she turned the doorknob carefully and the door swung open, revealing a corridor with several doors on neither side and one at the end. It was a red door, where all the others were blue, and labeled with the warning "ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE" painted in bold letters directly onto the door. Well. Emma made her way more quietly than she thought she could, considering there was only the sound of the central air system pumping through the vents to accompany her. No signs of life anywhere. When she reached the door, a chill went down her spine and goose pimples broke out on her arms and the back of her neck. Jasmine crept in and Emma almost panicked. Milah didn't say anything. The floral fragrance was light on the air this time, and it seemed more like curiosity from the spirit. Anticipation? As if she wanted Emma to be aware that she was present, but she didn't intend to interfere. She was just an observer. Tentatively, she reached out and tried the handle. "Of course," she muttered as the doorknob rattled against its lock. She dug through her bag, pulling free her lockpicking kit and the flashlight again and began to work on the lock. A few pins and tumblers later, the door swung open. The room was clearly an office of sorts, the flickering lamp that Emma turned on once the door closed safely behind her revealed an immaculately kept cherry wood desk sat in the center, a lone leather rolling chair behind it. The desk had a red felt liner on the top of it where a clipboard with papers attached lay next to an old fashioned fountain pen set up. Two more modern pens lay next to it as well. The south wall was lined with filing cabinets and shelves, many of the shelves containing what looked to be personal effects. No pictures identifying this 'Hook' person were around, but a folded Union Jack flag with dog tags draped over it sat next to a picture of a large naval ship. There was also a charcoal sketch of a beautiful woman, dark wavy hair hanging over her shoulder, eyes round and knowing. The scent of jasmine she'd all but forgotten was present flared for a moment, but died back down to the gentle fragrance it was before, so Emma focused back on the task at hand. All of this was inconsequential and Emma decided to do some digging. Starting with that desk. She tried all the drawers, each perfectly organized, precision and order seemingly this Hook person's forte. The bottom left drawer, however, was locked. She made quick work of that with her lockpicking expertise and pulled it open. Jackpot. There were only two items in the drawer. One was an older style flip phone that was turned off. Emma placed that back in the drawer as soon as she picked it up. She wasn't after the phone. The other item though, she recognized immediately. It was the device Weaver Gold was after. She hastily shoved it into the bag she carried, along with her kit, before shutting the drawer and making sure nothing was out of place. Before leaving the room, she switched off the light and backed out the door. Almost home free, this was too easy, she thought giddily. She smirked to herself as she closed the door quietly and stepped back from it. Right into a solid something. Or rather, someone. An arm looped around her waist and held her tightly in place against the torso behind her and a hand came up to place what felt like a Crocodile Dundee worthy knife against her throat, cutting off her shriek of surprise and taking the struggle right out of her. She of course remained alert and her brain scanned through every option she could think of to escape, but there would be no wiggling free with a blade pressing into her skin. Her skin exploded into goosebumps as a stubbled face pressed close to her ear and the scent of jasmine spiked all around her, mingling with a very real scent of rum and cologne. "Come now, love," a deep English accent purred in her ear, a sharp contradiction to the dangerous hold the man had her in. "Don't you know it's rude to leave without saying goodbye to your host?" Emma stiffened in his grip further and Milah's presence was clawing at every angle of her inner being, whispers of SAVE HIM overlapping each other, the jasmine perfume so powerful now it almost nauseated her. She could hardly think with all of the information swirling through her brain, coupled with the most intense encounter with Milah she'd had yet, not to mention the all consuming fear for her life. Then everything stopped and her blood ran cold as she realized who's grip she was in. "Hook," she breathed. And then her world went black.

#CSSNS #csff #cs ff au #cs ff #captain hook #Captain Swan #captain swan supernatural summer #chapter 9 #monday update #emma swan #killian jones

21 notes · View notes

mustdang-100 · 7 years

Text

Inevitable

BNHA Fanfiction Based on this incredible art and AU by @keiid. Idea credit is theirs.

“They always insinuate that it’s a quirk fit for a villain. But I’m used to it now. It’s inevitable, society being the way it is.” It was really only a matter of time before Shinsou Hitoshi changed sides. (Minor manga spoilers)

A layer of haze hung suspended in the room of the abandoned factory. Dirt swirled through the air, displaced from cracked floor tiles and decaying furniture by the four people who entered and spaced themselves evenly throughout. A coating of filth clung to the lightbulbs, rendering their light weak and nearly useless. Motes shifted in the blue-white glare of a television propped in the corner, the brightest source of illumination in the room. The very air tasted of dust.

It wasn’t the cleanest place the Villain Alliance could have claimed as a meeting place, Shigaraki reflected, scratching at his neck. But it was convenient. And he wasn’t stupid enough to bring an untested recruit to their main hideout. They were too low on members to risk any of them needlessly.

But then, that’s what made a new recruit so valuable. And this one in particular…

Shigaraki gazed at the purple-haired teen in satisfaction.

Oh yes. This one could could be exactly the kind of asset they needed. It was just a pity his joining their side had coincided with such commotion.

Shinsou was staring wordlessly at the news channel displayed on the TV, his arms crossed over his chest. A banner scrolled along the bottom of the screen, screaming in bold white letters on a brilliant red background:

YUUEI HIGH STUDENT SHINSOU HITOSHI SPOTTED FLEEING SCENE WITH VILLAIN ALLIANCE

Above the banner, a trio of reporters gleefully engaged in furious discussion of Shinsou’s character. They dug up the measliest bones of his past, pulling them apart, gnawing at the marrow.

“A Yuuei High student with a brainwashing quirk…”

“…witnessed today approaching known Villain Alliance members during an operation of unknown purpose…”

“…rejected from the Heroics Course after failing the entrance exam…”

“…nevertheless, he had quite a strong showing in the Yuuei Sports Festival…”

“…but mind-manipulation just really isn’t a very heroic quirk…”

“…a quirk like that…”

“It was only a matter of time…”

Shigaraki pushed a button on the remote in his hand, muting the TV. He watched Shinsou closely, trying to gauge his reactions, but Shinsou had not moved from the casual pose. He was holding his expression steady, trying to stay as stoic as possible. Yet, Shigaraki caught the barest curl of a lip into a sneer.

There it was. There was the anger Shigaraki wanted to see. The contempt for the trash currently passing for their society.

Behind the hand that clutched his face in an ever-present comfort, Shigaraki smiled.

“You see how quickly they turn on you?” he said, trying to sound soothing, calming. Trustworthy. “This society, with such a limited view on what it means to be a ‘hero,’ and on what kind of people and quirks are allowed to be heroic, would never accept you. You’ve made the right decision, in joining us. This is your chance to…”

“I don’t trust him,” Dabi said from across the room, rudely interrupting. “He just showed up today out of the blue, and we’re just gonna let him in? Just like that?” Dabi shifted himself off a dusty desk and stood upright, reptilian eyes cold as he turned to look directly at Shinsou.

“You hear me? I don’t trust you as far as I could -”

Dabi stopped talking.

His face went completely blank, as though wiped clean. His jaw went slack, his wide eyes clouded. Shinsou turned towards him, very slowly. A baleful smile crept across his face, so bereft of mercy that even Shigaraki felt a little chilled.

“You know the best part of leaving behind my aspirations of heroism?” Shinsou asked softly.

Nobody answered. Dabi stood, motionless, reduced to a mere puppet.

“I can use my quirk as freely as I want. You should be careful what you say to me.”

Shinsou’s crooked smile widened. The very room seemed to hold its breath.

“But I’ll let you off easy this time. Now, go stand in the corner and think about what you’ve done wrong.”

Dabi walked slowly to a corner of the room and planted himself firmly into it, back facing the rest of them. Just like a toddler in a time-out.

Toga laughed from her perch on a table on the other side of the room, manic joy gleaming in her eyes.

“Oh, well I do like him.”

Shigaraki couldn’t help but agree, despite himself. Where the Alliance’s persuasions had failed with the loud, raucous, violent Bakugou Katsuki, they had apparently succeeded with Shinsou Hitoshi. Of course, it made sense that the overlooked one, the stealthy one, the one constantly pushed to second-class by their hero-worshipping society, that he would be the one to take up their cause. He should have seen this before.

Although, Shigaraki almost laughed to himself, Shinsou hadn’t been so quiet in the arena.

“Your comments to Midoriya during the sports festival were quite… illuminating.” Shigaraki paused for effect, as if in remorse, and then continued. “I did consider reaching out to you then, and I now regret my conclusion that Bakugou would be the student most likely to understand our cause. That was my mistake, and one I am glad to be able to correct.”

Toga spoke up again. “Unmute! Eraser’s on the TV!”

Shigaraki hit the button on the remote as Eraserhead’s face filled the screen. Clearly cornered by the media at the gates of Yuuei High, his eyes were hard, his jaw set. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to hit the reporter currently shoving a microphone into his face.

The audio cut in, filling the room with noise.

“ – have anything to say about one of Yuuei’s students joining the villains that our country’s top heroes have been hunting for months?”

The young reporter’s smile displayed every gleaming tooth. She bared them at Eraserhead, the hero who’d been a thorn in Shigaraki’s side since their very first encounter at the USJ.

On screen, Eraserhead scowled.

“No comment.”

The reporter was not daunted.

“The Villain Alliance? The group responsible for the recent downfall of former Number One Hero All Might?”

“No comment.”

The camera managed to zoom in even closer on Eraserhead’s face.

“There’s an inside source reporting that Shinsou might have been working towards re-qualifying for entry into the Hero Course. The word is that he’d been training with you, specifically, possibly as part of a specialized mentorship. Does that make you feel partially responsible for this betrayal-”

Rage flashed, wild in a face normally so bland. There was an edge of despair and pain in that expression that gratified Shigaraki. That anguish convinced him more than anything else Shinsou had done or said in the past few hours.

The reporter took a startled step back from her target, moving out of frame.

“No. Comment,” Eraserhead gritted through clenched teeth. He then turned and slammed the Yuuei gates behind him.

Shigaraki turned to look again at Shinsou, whose face had taken on an expression closer to that of a wounded puppy than a hardened criminal.

“Second thoughts?”

Shinsou shook his head, seeming to shake himself out of whatever Eraserhead’s words – or lack of them – had provoked.

“No. I realized I wasn’t going to get anywhere, despite… despite Sensei’s help.” He shuddered. “I’m done trying.”

Shigaraki awkwardly placed a hand on Shinsou shoulder.

“Here, you won’t have to try. You can just be one of us; a crusader, fighting for the same cause we are. You can simply… belong.”

A glimmer of hope gleamed in Shinsou’s face, in tired purple eyes. Shigaraki smiled again behind his mask.

There was a lot of power in the word ‘belong.’

***

As soon as Shinsou clicked the lock in the dilapidated bathroom door’s handle, he ripped his phone from his pocket. He typed furiously on the small screen, logging in to an email address composed of random numbers and letters that he had memorized by heart.

The browser window loaded slowly, so slowly. His pulse pounded in his ears. He didn’t have much time before some kind of transportation arrived, to take them to the Alliance’s main hideout.

He had done it. He was in. Now he just had to keep from fucking it all up.

The page finally loaded.

One message sat unopened in the inbox. Its sender was a second familiar string of anonymous numbers and letters. The bolded lettering of a new message was somehow both a shot of adrenaline and a balm to his soul.

The message was short. The message was everything.

Good job. Keep in touch as you can, I will do the same. Stay safe.

-AS

Shinsou logged out of the account, and wiped the browser history. Inexplicably, he suddenly felt the urge to cry. That wouldn’t do.

He collapsed onto the closed toilet seat and pressed his hands into his face, as though he could push his emotions back, back down to where they must stay hidden deep in his hero’s heart. He could not give away the scheme. He and the USJ teachers had prepared for this undercover mission too long for him to let them down. He had trained his quirk, his body, and his emotions too hard for him to make a mistake now.

And puffy eyes would be a dead giveaway – he would fail his school. Fail Aizawa, his sensei. Fail himself.

Shinsou took a deep, barely-shaky breath, and stood up. He needed to rejoin the villains.

Shinsou showed no sign of tears as he shoved the phone back into his pocket, leaving the bathroom door creaking closed behind him.

Part 2: Impossible

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #shinsou hitoshi #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction #long post #my fics #trying my hand at bnha fic #i have a couple ideas for a follow-up but we'll see

812 notes · View notes

yougottobesquiddingme · 7 years

Text

CamillexFynnion Pt.1: Crimson Cop

Just a heads up: this story will be splitting between locations of the main characters and this was a bit rushed. And there might be some slight cursing and mild gore. Characters belong to me and @tri-falls

There will be more chapters but I’ll be posting them on my mature blog once they’re all edited and ready. Hope you enjoy

*Inkopolis Police Department*

“Chief please you don’t understand. I assure you I can solve this case.” The dark skinned inkling insists looking at her commander from behind the desk.

“Camille I get what you’re saying, but you’ve been at this for months now and you found no new leads so far,” her chief says leaning over his desk. “Look just take a break from all this; in fact why not use some of your vacation time.” She looks up at him and clenched her fists together and furrows her yellow brows, straightening her back.

“Sir please I’m this close on finding the guy who has been making most of our murder cases disappear. Plea–”

“Camille Ekhoes! Just… take the day off,” he sighs leaning back in his chair. “What would your father think of the way of you acting?”

Camille tenses up, rises from her seat, and walks out the door slamming it shut behind her. “Don’t ever bring him up. He’s no father of mine,” she murmurs under her breath leaving the Inkopolis Police station to Sheldon’s training fields. The giant squid huffs kicking a pebble with her shoes running a hand through her tentacles with still a frown. “Of all the squids, the chief had to bring him up. I’m not like him,” she growls under breath as she walks into Booyah Base waving at the horseshoe lad behind the counter. “I’d like to practice with the N-zap ‘85 please.” Sheldon nods and points her to the door while Camille took the mono weapon and cocked it. 'Better let off some steam then,’ she thoughts as she fires the first target. ——————————

*Unknown location to the armory*

Walking upstairs, out of the basement, Fynnion sighs and goes to take a shower to clean off some blood. He then got dressed and decided to take a stroll, humming a soft tune to himself. He grabs himself an icy treat and takes a few bites, watching inklings walk about.

After a while, Fynnion walks to Sheldon’s shop and pays for some practice time. He walks out and sees the officer, deciding to hold onto his Aerospray. “Easy lady.” He said as he noticed her rage. “Save some for the rest of us.”

Pausing her practice she looks over and lowers her weapon. “Oh sorry about that I got a little carried away didn’t I?” she says with a small smile as she relaxes her body. “My boss pressed my buttons today. Um which section do you want to use? The cluster square or here the distance range? I can totally move to the other area.”

He waved his hand and walked to the back. He began to shoot, doing spins and rolls. He hit all the targets perfectly, never missing a single shot. When he was done doing 20 kills straight, he sighed. “Too easy…”

Camille lets her shoulders lax after tossing a few bombs at high and low as she took a sip from her water bottle watching at the other squid pop every dummy. “Wow that’s some good firing Tex,” she comments with a Southern accent as she leaned against the wall. “Practicing up for a few Ranked matches I’m guessing?”

He paused and shrugged. “Uhh, yeah.” He replied and put away his gun and walked past her. “Well, just gotta practice and let off some steam. You can go crazy if you want, I’m out of here…” He said and walked out of the place and returned the gun.

She chuckles and waves him farewell and goes back to her target practice a little more until she feels her body slack from the weight of her gun setting in. She decided that she had her fill and hands the firearm back to the shopkeeper and walks out, taking in a deep breath. ‘I should get a bite before I head home or something,’ she says to herself as she walks over to her cousin’s café and heads inside. “Evening boys~!” The twins behind the counter look up and smile at the brown squid, waving back. “The usual please and family discount,” she jokes and sits near the counter.

——————————

After a while, Fynnion walks into the closet café and sits down. He sighs and orders himself a coffee and a BLT. He looked around and then spots the girl from the shooting range and waves slightly at her before taking a seat himself to retrieve a journal from his bag. Noticing the same squid from earlier wave from the corner of her eye she nods her head in acknowledgement and smiles, taking a sip of her drink. “Oh? Is that your boyfriend Camille?” Greg asks setting her plate of food down, making the other giant squid blush and glare at him.

“W-what?! Heck no I briefly saw him at Sheldon’s and besides,” she takes a bite of her curry, “I’m way too busy solving my big case for a relationship. Oh! Speaking of relationships, how are you guys doing?” Greg blushes and laughs talking to her.

Fynnion ignores the conversation and Mika walks up to him and places his order down in front of him with a smile. “There you go, enjoy~” She sung and walked over to Greg before kissing his cheek. “Come on my teddy bear, we got some baking to do.” She said as she pulled him away from his cousin. Fynnion took a sip of his drink and a bite of his sandwich before took some notes.

Camille chuckles at the couple’s affection and gets back to eating her meal as she looks down at her phone looking through the case files she uploaded from her computer, skimming through it and thinking of possibilities on what to do. 'Maybe if I ask around squid A’s area? No that won’t do,’ she thinks then mumbling to herself, “maybe squid B..? Ugh that won’t work either.” She sighs and rests her forehead in her hand.

From time to time, he would look up at the Inkling girl and continue writing. ‘Sheesh…wonder what her deal is…she looks more stressed than me.’ He finished writing and closed the journal. It was entries of his little “friends” downstairs.

Finishing her meal, the giant squid walks up to the counter and pay her cousin for her fill. “Oh Camille, before you head off I have some letters from… you know at that place,” Nick says pulling the few letters from his pocket, “He still misses you.” She narrows her green eyes at the envelopes but doesn’t take them.

“Just burn them Nick. He lost my love and trust long time ago,” she says and turns away. “He’s no longer a father in my eyes, just a killer.” The tan squid tries to argue but frowns sadly and watches her storm out the door of the café.

The next day in front of the Tower Lobby... Fynnion went to play a few matches with his team, sweeping all the matches and getting on the top of all the scores. He waved goodbye and walked down to the center part of Inkopolis, looking around to see if any certain Inklings were on his “list”.

“Freeze IPD! Fugu Spines, fins on the ground now!” Camille shouted as she ran down the streets chasing a surprisingly fast puffer. She believed this guy was her only source for her case but it wasn’t easy tracking and finding the guy once he started bolting away. The cop growled under breath as she ran on his tail fin as the two were now running in an alleyway. She reached a dead end to see no suspect in sight, keeping her n-zap ready. “Where did you go…” she breathed darting her green eyes left and right. ”I know you’re he-“

——————————

Noticing a chase, he followed them and then spotted a suspicious looking puffer. He grinned and chased him, getting to his level and knocking him out. He then noticed the officer and waved. "Haven’t I seen you before?” He asked.

Clutching her temple with one hand to apply pressure from the blunt attack, she looks behind her shoulder to see the teal colored inkling standing over the puffer fish. “Oh it’s you from the training grounds,” she says walking over to the unconscious fish before pulling out a pair of cuffs. “Thanks for knocking him out.” She kneels down and cuffs the fella.

Fynnion nods and backs up a bit. “Yeah, so you are a cop?” He asked and eyed her up and down. “You sure don’t…look like the part…” He frowned and looked to the side.

She wearily chuckles, walking out the alley to her police car and put the apprehended suspect in the back. “I’m just an investigator and I tend to wear casual when undercover,” she says pulling out a first-aid kit and applies a bandage on her temple. “But one thing’s for sure. I’m going to prove both my cases, hopefully.” Frowning at the last part she swaps it with a smile and looks at him. “So why were you here? At the alley I mean.”

“Simple, I hate men like him.” He said, looking at the puffer. “So, what is this case you are doing?” He asked. He was curious, thinking he might have some fun.

“It’s kinda classified but it never really is with the news poking their noses into these sorts of things. I’m solving the disappearances of A to S rank criminals; such as Stan the Thresher Shark for example,” she shrugs summing up her case and glanced in the back, “And this fella, Fugu Spines, is going to answer a few questions.”

He looks at the man and then grits his teeth. “So that’s Fugu….” He muttered. He sighed and heard the other thing and smirked. “Sorry to hear that miss. Well then, I guess I should be on my way.” He waved and began to walk off, tossing something in the car with her not noticing.

She nods him a farewell and gets in her car, driving back to the station to write up her day with the puffer and sends him to the interrogation room. “Okay Spines let’s see here. According to your record you’ve been quite a trafficker of Jellyfish,” she says reading his file, “You’re gonna be put away for a long while but first I just want a few questions answered about your friend Thresher…” The huffing puffer fish glares at her then at the photo and spits at her. “Heh I haven’t seen that fool in a month but as if I’d tell you where he went last, you Ekhoes,” he smirks then shrinks seeing her stare at him dead in the eyes like daggers pressed against his very soul.

“Or maybe I can hurry this up and make it short.” He whimpers before telling her what he knew.

——————————

*Outside IPD*

Tracking the location, Fynnion reached a spot where he could see the puffer fish and the giant squid through a window. “How convenient, keeping a window for me.“ He aimed his sniper rifle and fired, penetrating the bulletproof window and hitting the puffer in the head, killing him instantly. He smirked before quickly holstering his weapon and running off.

——————————

Camille jumps as the fish’s blood sprayed on her shirt watching his head hit the table and looks at the direction it was shot. "Shit!” She hisses, running out of the room with a handful of others following in suit. “Attention all units we have a C-49 and are in pursuit! Shooter was last seen heading east from the station,” she says through her walkie-talkie as she chased on foot knowing the shot was still fresh. “Units 3 and 5 try to intercept.”

——————————

Fynnion got to a hiding location and removed his clothes and switched it back to his normal ones. He hummed a tune and went to a café to get something to eat. He saw cops running about and trying to find the killer, taking a bit of sip of his drink.

After a few hours of searching to only find the trail had gotten cold, the giant squid wasn’t pleased and slams her fist against the wall, cursing loudly. “Dammit I was so close. So fucking close!” She growls fighting back sour tears as her colleagues looked at her in concern.

“Camille I’m sorry you lost your potential lead but at least we have one criminal gone,” one of the cadets reassures nervously, “If lieutenant Ekhoes was here he would totally–”

“Shut up! I don’t care what he would’ve done. He’d just kill them upright!” She glares, but then sighs at the now shaking cadet and walks away from the group. “I’m gonna go home now…”

Fynnion noticed the cop and finished his meal, following her. “Hey, how’s it going? You seem kind of down.” He said as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

She tiredly stares at him and quietly shrugs his hand off. “I lost my source this evening,” she growls with a strained smile, “I almost felt myself closing the case and bam, it drops dead in front of me,” she mutters looking down at her feet then weakly laughs. “Chief was right… I wasn’t cut off for this case.”

Hearing that made his eyebrow twitch. “Maybe…I can help…” He replied. “Tell me, what kind of case are you doing? You can tell me, because it seems like you want to know about those missing killers.”

She looks at him little confused at his offer, blinking a few times. “I’m actually trying to solve four- now five connected murders and missing cases of high class criminals,” she explains, “But why do want to help me?”

“Cause, I can’t have a sad woman be in my sight.” He simply replied and spun around. “So you are trying to know about killers, rapists, and traffickers?” He took out his journal and gave it to Camille. “Here”

She takes the journal and opens it reading it through and through, her eyes growing wider and wider. “T-this can’t be… these are all of them…” she whispers then looks up at him. “You did this? You’ve been capturing and torturing them to death this whole time.“ Her hands shook as her mind tried to connect all the puzzles together.

He grinned and tilted his head. "So what if I have, they get what they deserve…but let me tell you something, tell anyone this…and you will end up like that puffer.” He said as he took the book back. “On the bright side, you got the one thing you wanted.”

Feeling her dark face drain of color, the yellow squid wanted to punch him and arrest him right then and there, but her body was stiff like a pole. “You son of a bitch…” she whispers as her knees gave way as she stared blankly at him.

He gave her a calm smile and turned around, walking off. He had no time for someone like her. ‘Might as well let her go home and relax,’ Fynnion mused to himself.

——————————

Exhaustion eating away at her, Camille checked out of her shift and decided to head straight home. As she tried to unlock her front door, she couldn’t help but see her hands shaking. She tried to clench them but failed to calm her body. ‘I spend so long trying to figure out those cases. And now…?’ She finally managed to get into her home before slamming the door behind her. ‘That guy…. He’s worse than my old man…’ She couldn’t help but laugh as she felt tears stream down her eyes, leaning against the front door and continued for another few minutes. Eventually the ordeals of the day took their toll on her as she passed out, the last of her tears dripping onto her lap.

TBC.....

PT2...TBA

#splatoon #squid fics #camille #Fynnion #mine and gf oc's #tri-falls

7 notes · View notes

premimtimes · 5 years

Text

In the second report of a three-part undercover investigative series, FISAYO SOYOMBO exposes how the courts short-change the law, and the prisons are themselves a cesspool of the exact reasons for which they hold inmates.

Too many unforeseen obstacles had sprung up against me by the time I arrived at the gates of Ikoyi Prison, Ikoyi, Lagos, on July 12: I had had my most tortuous night in the police cell; I had been messed up by the typically ruthless Friday evening Lagos traffic; I had arrived under the cover of darkness, which wasn’t the plan. Even the few things that went well would later come back to haunt me.

Proceedings were well underway at Court III when we stepped into the Chief Magistrate Court, Yaba, Lagos, after my unlawful detention for five consecutive days at Pedro Police Station, Shomolu. It was a little afternoon — or thereabouts. A funny but very contentious matter was ongoing. The protagonist, a woman, was being tried for, allegedly, illegally selling a piece of land belonging to a former associate of hers. This woman — ostensibly in her late 50s or early 60s — claimed, vehemently so, that the complainant indeed owed her millions of naira in accumulation of unpaid earnings for executed projects. She sold the land because she had been instructed to, to defray the cost of her service, she said. But the prosecutor insisted otherwise, arguing that the sale was fraudulent. The woman, irritated and incandescent, embraced and perhaps enjoyed every window to have a go at the prosecutor. Once, the prosecutor got under her skin by scoffing at how two of her high-profile witnesses were deceased. “Excuse you!” the woman fired back in protest. “Are you suggesting I killed them? Is it my fault that you’ve been dragging me from one police station to another and from court to court for more than 10 years?”

The magistrate — a dark, soft-spoken, middle-aged man whose eyes often evaded the lens of his pair of glasses when talking — adjourned the matter, as expected. And after two or three other cases, mine was mentioned. His orders: remanded in prison custody, two sureties in like sum of N500,000 each, N150,000 to be paid into the Registrar’s account by each surety, sureties to be from father’s side of the family. Not long after, the court rose, to be followed by my preparations for a long and difficult journey to the prison.

PRISON WARDERS ASK FOR BRIBES RIGHT IN COURT

Before the authorities take my freedom away from me, the first thing they do is give me a final semblance of it by unfettering my hands from the handcuff, as is the custom. That was just before entering the dock. Minutes later, the same man who released the handcuff returns to hand me over to a policeman who, accompanied by Zainab Sodiq, the lady posing as my sister, leads me downstairs. First stop on the ground floor is the office of the prisons service. Manning it, comfortably sitting opposite the entrance, is a gun-wielding prison warder, legs waggling, whose shirt hangs loosely on the wall inside, leaving his trunk scantily covered by a singlet. Inside that office are three more warders. The next room is a holding cell — for momentarily detaining inmates until the arrival of the prisons bus that conveys them to Ikoyi. I expect to be led to the holding cell, but I am taken into the prisons office and encouraged to “take a seat”. What manner of magnanimity is this? I was wrong!

The three officers summon my sister. “You can have a look at that holding cell and see if it’s the kind of place a human being should stay,” one of them tells her with feigned sympathy. “Your brother can stay in our office but it will cost you N10,000.” My sister takes a moment to peep into the holding cell, then returns to bargain. The negotiating parties reach an agreement of N5,000, collected by the singlet-donning warder.

Money in the bag, the warders’ initial measured disposition turns happy-go-lucky; I notice the ease with which they regale one another with tales of similarly shady financial dealings. “The day Naira Marley was billed to be taken to prison, I was on this chair making cool money,” says one of them. “I made some good money, I won’t lie. Transfers were just going up and down.” Naira Marley, the hip hop artiste whose original name is Azeez Fashola, had been arraigned at a Federal High Court in Lagos on May 20 by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), on 11 counts of alleged Internet and credit card fraud.

A second warder describes how he facilitated the payment of N300,000 to a senior colleague of his in Abuja, by a man who wanted to ‘smuggle’ all his three children into the employ of the Nigerian Prisons Service (recently renamed the Nigerian Correctional Service) during a recruitment “some years ago”. Though unqualified, all three were eventually employed by the service. It suddenly dawns on the warder that an ongoing promotion exercise in the prisons service offers him fresh opportunity for corrupt enrichment. “Let me quickly call the man; he may be interested in a deal to facilitate his children’s promotion,” he adds, running his hand through his breast pocket for his phone.

‘IF YOU HAVE YOUR MONEY, YOU CAN NEVER SUFFER IN PRISON’

Seeing the lack of restraint with which they discuss acts of bribery and corruption, I approach them for guidance on the allocation of accommodation in prison. Apparently, it’s a high-wire fraud involving prison officials in court and those in the yard proper.

“You can get a cell for N30,000,” one of the warders tells me. “You can also get for N100,000 or N150,000. You can even get a N1.5million cell.”

“A million and five hundred thousand?” I protest.

“Of course!” he insists. “When Ayodele Fayose was remanded in Ikoyi Prison, what kind of cell did you think he stayed in?” Fayose, the immediate past former Governor of Ekiti State, was remanded at Ikoyi Prison in October 2018 at the start of his N2.2billion fraud trial initiated by the EFCC.

Another warder cuts in. “Don’t worry, you can never suffer in the prison yard,” he says. “As long as you have your money.”

Patience, a third urges me. “The warders at the prison have warned us off striking deals with inmates while still in court,” he explains. “They’ve told us to leave them to push their own deals when the inmates get to the prison. So, when we get there, we will hand you over to the warders you will negotiate with.”

EMERGENCY BAIL FOR SALE BY ‘THE MAGISTRATE’S MAN’ AND PRISON OFFICIALS

Minutes later, one of the warders — dark, mild-mannered and diminutive — walks up to me to ask if I’m making progress with my bail conditions. The question confounds me. Who makes progress on bail application within two hours of a court hearing?

“My lawyer is working on it,” I reply, “but it’s too early to know since it’s just a few hours ago we left court.”

“No, no; it doesn’t mean,” he says. “I have a lawyer in this court who will help you perfect your bail ‘today today’. In fact, you will not get to Ikoyi Prison at all; you will go home straight from here. He works in concert with the court authorities. I can call him right now and he’d be here any minute, if you want.”

Stunned and curious in one breath, I nod in the affirmative. In a matter of minutes, the lawyer, ostensibly in his late 40s or early 50s, shows up. He speaks in carefully considered and restrained patches, sporadically wiping the lens of his glasses with a silky piece of cloth.

“What exactly is your offence?” he begins, then proceeds to hearing my bail conditions. He assures me that the problematic components of my bail requirements would be waived, but the process would cost me money.

“Did the Magistrate order you to pay any money to the Registrar’s account?”

“Yes. N150,000,” I say in error. It should have been N300,000 — at the rate of N150,000 per surety.

“Okay, that’s no problem,” ‘Mr. John’, as he introduces himself, says. “Can you make everything N200,000?”

I tell J I can’t. That’s a lot of money. Fifty thousand naira on top of the N150,000 is a lot of cash. But he disagrees. “You see, I am very close to the Magistrate,” he says. “I am very close to the man; therefore, we will waive many of these bail conditions for you.” We haggle for a while: N180,000, N170,000, N180,000. We eventually settle for N170,000.

John takes a quick look at his watch; it’s a little past 3 pm. “Hurry and get the money. It’s almost too late already — why did you wait till this long?” he laments. “Today may or may not be possible. If you had mentioned it immediately the court rose, say around 2 pm, I would have been able to totally guarantee you that you would go home today without ever reaching the prison.”

We exchange numbers and I promise to call, but I never do (The plan, really, is to end up at Ikoyi Prison.). Instead, I fold my secret device and tuck it away carefully. Yes, I’d taped all the conversations held inside the prisons office in the court premises. The original plan was to put the device away before going to prison, then retrieve it afterwards. I had been told that there was literally nothing I wanted to smuggle into the prison that I couldn’t; I only needed to grease the palms of warders and they would fetch it for me. But with accommodation negotiations set to take place on arrival at the prison, I began to nurse the ambition of smuggling in the device outright at point of entry. This was not the original plan. But if it works out, I would more evidence of prison-yard corruption. If it fails, I’m doomed. Big risk, I know. But I do it all the same.

PHYSICAL PAIN IN EXCHANGE FOR DIGGING THE STORY

Sunkanmi Ijadunola, the Assistant Chief

The prison warders do not quite know what to make of me when they find a hidden device on me, a supposed inmate, during the routine search at the entryway shortly after an Ikoyi Prison bus conveying the latest inmates pulled over at the prison gate. After a second, more thorough search during which nothing else is found on me, they hand me over to the ‘Section’ — a position occupied by the most senior convict in a cell — of the welcome cell. As I would later find out, this was under strict instructions: no phone calls, no out-of-cell movement, no frivolous interaction with inmates.

Very early the following morning, Sunkanmi Ijadunola, the third most senior warder in Ikoyi Prison, sends for me. They had seen the videos; they’d extracted the memory card from the device and watched footages of the five prison officials demanding bribes from me and the court official negotiating a premature bail with me. Sunkanmi, as he is widely known, asks me to confess: “Who are you and what is your mission here?” But he was asking the question a few hours too late. I’d spent half of the night deliberating on what to expect in the morning. I had imagined that in the best scenario, some senior official would have been thoroughly mortified by the sight of their bribe-demanding colleagues captured on tape, and would be keen to convince me about helping to further unravel the bad guys in the system. I didn’t deceive myself, though: this thinking was more or less illusory. I’d also thought that in the bad scenario, I’d be handed over to the Police; and in the worst, I’d be extrajudicially executed. After several hours of carefully considering all possibilities overnight, I resolved that even if they held a gun to my head, I would not disclose my true identity. I knew once I did, that was the end of the story. After five excruciating, emotionally and psychologically destructive days in a police cell, I wasn’t prepared to ruin everything so cheaply.

Seeing I am unwilling to offer any useful information, Sunkanmi, the Assistant Chief, accuses me of plotting a jailbreak. “You’re here to understudy the prison security so that you can send the videos to your gang members outside,” he says. “You’re planning a jailbreak. Or you’re working for Boko Haram; you’re a Boko Haram spy!”

I do not flinch. Instead, I stick to the original storyline I’d preconceived to offer in the improbable circumstance that my cover was blown. At this point, Sunkanmi sends for a cane and orders me to remove my shirt and trousers, leaving only my singlet and boxer briefs. Then he descends on me. Three rounds of beating: the first with several lashes of the cane searing straight into my skin and leaving me with blood and blisters; the second in similar pattern, with my hands cuffed behind my back; and the last with a thick stick targeting the interior and exterior joints of my ankles, knees, hips, elbows and shoulders.

Still, I refuse to disclose that I’m a journalist. By enduring the beating, I succeed in buying myself at least another 24 hours of understudying the corruption seeping through the different layers of prison operations. Bearing the pain was worth it in the end; someone needed to expose the scale of criminal corruption going on in that prison.

Corruption-Laced Registration

The first benefit of enduring the pain is that I am still accorded the treatment of a regular inmate, therefore I am sent for registration and documentation. The documentation holds inside a building opposite the Assistant Chief’s office. It’s a fairly big office with a small inner room littered with stacks of ragged files and paper, plus a narrow, hollow, open cell to the left where awaiting-documentation inmates sit without much latitude to stretch their legs. The inner room is manned by a warder easily noticeable by the ungracefulness of his chemical-bleached yellow skin. A light-skinned, heavily-built woman-warder spearheads the documentation process in the major office, assisted by three convicts. The documentation is both manual and digital, but to avoid compromising the security of the prison, I’ll skip the details. Prison warders are themselves the biggest threat to prison security, but I won’t aid them.

In the very final stage, a convicted inmate tells me to step forward for my cash. The procedure is always that an inmate turns in his possessions, including cash, at the gate. At the end of documentation, the money goes to the records department, from where he can retrieve a small sum every time it is required for a specific purpose. Just before I collect mine, one of the three convicts — they’re easily recognizable in their deep blue uniforms — whispers some instructions into my ears. “You will give that woman N1,000,” he tells me, “then you can have the rest.” It’s standard practice, I soon find out. Every inmate who comes in with cash must give up some of it at every registration point in bribes demanded through proxy, but with the full knowledge of the receiving warder. It looks a small amount but by month end it could be some stash of notes in dubious earning. In my one week in that prison, there were 16 new inmates on the day with the least number of new inmates. On one day, there were 45. If only five had enough cash to forfeit N1,000, that’s N5,000 daily, amounting to a little below or above N100,000 — depending on the number of court sittings in the month. Numerous honest, hard-working Nigerians do not even earn that!

I give up N1,000 of my N7,200 as instructed, and I receive a slip indicating my new cell will be D2 — that is, Block D Cell 2. I ask to be given the outstanding N6,200 but the convict tells me the money will be handed over to the warder overseeing the block — a happy-go-lucky albino who seemed very popular among inmates. Six thousand two hundred naira quickly becomes N5,200. This fresh N1,000 deduction, I am told, is to guarantee nobody in the cell lays hands on me. Again, if five inmates forfeit a thousand naira daily, that’s another N100,000 in corruptly-earned money by month-end. This is more than thrice the national minimum wage approved by President Muhammadu Buhari in April, but which still hasn’t taken off five months after!

COVER BLOWN BUT TOO LATE TO CONCEAL CORRUPTION

My stay at D2 is short-lived. Two members of my backup team show up as planned. They had been unable to reach me but they assumed all had gone well so far. With the extra scrutiny around me, it doesn’t take too long before they’re found out. It leaves me with no option but to admit I’m an investigative journalist and to fully disclose my mission. I just couldn’t see them endure the pain I had. This was a watershed moment in the investigation, as from then on, the prisons service bends over backwards to put its best foot forward while also eliminating my exposure to all ongoing ills. I remember overhearing a prisoner say even a death-row convict should still have the sense of self-worth to ignore the beans that was served that Saturday morning; but in my eight days at the prison, the warders ensure that I do not come in contact with the food served to inmates by the prison. The authorities relocate me from D2 to the welcome cell, with strict warnings never to leave the cell on my own under any circumstance. Unfortunately for them, it was too little too late.

Before they knew who she was, one of my visitors had actually been made to pay a bribe of N1,000 at the prison gate before she could be allowed to see me, much like the setting at the police station. This wasn��t at the discretion of the visitor; it was no act of voluntary tipping. Rather, she was expressly asked to part with her money as a condition for access to me. On the surface, this looks a pittance, but not so when viewed in the context of the human traffic to the prison. On Saturday evening, I had managed to do a headcount of visitors: 18 of them in an hour. Do the math! This Ikoyi-visit corruption has grown in leaps and bounds, evidently; back in 2016, a N200 bribe gave a visitor access to an inmate. Not anymore!

Also, one of the few lawyers who visited me was nearly asked at the gate if he was willing to enter a deal to relocate me to a more enjoyable cell. “You look too clean for your client to be in D2,” a warder at the prison gate had told the lawyer, who, several years before his admission to the bar, had earned a reputation among colleagues for his clean shaves and bespoke suits. The warder waved the lawyer in, all smiles and niceties, and suspiciously keen to converse. Once a second warder turned up abruptly to announce the name of the client in D2, everything changed. The first warder slipped into jitters; his eyes became reddened, his face contouring into a frown. “You cannot sit there,” he said as the lawyer attempted to settle into a seat. “Come this way; remove your glasses; we need to thoroughly search you.”

N10,000 IS THE COST OF DELETING YOUR DETAILS FROM THE PRISON’S RECORDS

Until I was called to come receive my visitors, I made my every second in Block D count. Even before reaching the block, I knew I was on borrowed time. I was certain that it was only a matter of hours before I would have to reveal my true identity. So, in between registration, feeding and dispatch to D2, I mixed with inmates as often as I could. On one of those occasions, I overheard three inmates discuss a birthday celebration by a ‘Yahoo boy’ — Nigerian lingo for internet fraudster — in prison the previous week. “It was ‘lit’,” one of them said. A second, obviously the shortest-serving inmate of the trio, asked how some of the birthday items were smuggled in. “It’s the warders,” the third answered. “With N5,000 and above, most warders will help you smuggle anything you need into the yard.”

Elsewhere, I’d also run into a group of four inmates fielding questions from an inmate who was worried about the implications of his conviction. I was interested in it, knowing the consequences are long-lasting. Section 107(1)(d) of 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended) states explicitly that no person shall be qualified for election to a House of Assembly if “within a period of less than ten years before the date of an election to the House of Assembly, he has been convicted and sentenced for an offence involving dishonesty or he has been found guilty of a contravention of the Code of Conduct”. A similar provision in Section 137 (1)(e) makes it clear that a person shall not be qualified for election to the office of President if “within a period of less than ten years before the date of the election to the office of President he has been convicted and sentenced for an offence involving dishonesty or he has been found guilty of the contravention of the Code of Conduct”.

“What’s your business with that?” one of the inmates fires, irritated. “We will delete your name from the records. There will be no trace of you. Nobody will have any evidence that you ever came here, so forget whatever the implication is. My brother’s friend did it before and it cost him only N10,000. I’ll link you to the warder who did for him; he will help you too, but that will only be after you have regained your freedom.”

SODOMY, BOOZE, SEX AND DRUGS… AS LONG AS YOU HAVE YOUR MONEY

While in prison, I’d exchanged contacts with an awaiting-trial inmate who had promised to reach out once he regained freedom. True to his words, he called on the day he exited Ikoyi Prison. Weeks after, I drove about 340km out of Lagos to meet up with him.

“I saw how you were beaten up in prison and I didn’t want you to suffer in vain,” he says as we exchanged handshakes, each sizing the other up for elements of trust. “I’m going to help you by giving you additional information to what you already have. But this will be a very brief meeting, and this will be the only time ever you’d see me. That’s the best way for me to stay alive, because I know these bad guys will come after me if they trace any information to me.”

He explains that the special accommodation mentioned by the prison warders in court, which I was shielded from seeing, is called ‘Nicon Luxury’. It’s an apartment where inmates pay between N20,000 and N50,000 for a night’s sleep, plus access to cigarettes, drinks, Indian hemp, drugs and girls.

“The apartment has air conditioners, good couches and mattresses; meanwhile, 118 inmates are packed like sardines into one room that should normally hold 30 inmates. Those at Nicon are not only political prisoners or people of influence; just people who have the money.”

He describes the unfair world that the prison is, with only the poor truly imprisoned while the rich live fine.

“There is a lot of impunity in the prison,” he says. “An inmate, so long he is rich, can have almost everything, even sex. Inmates sleep with prostitutes. If you want to have sex, just tell the warders. They will bring a girl to the Nicon Luxury for you, set the two of you up; you f**k, you pay. It’s that easy,” he reveals.

“There is free flow of drugs in prison, which is impossible without the facilitation or compromise of warders. You’ll find Colorado [a hard drug] in huge sale; I took it myself. I paid just N5,000 each time I wanted it. Tramadol and refnol are sold, too, but Colorado is the highest in demand.

READ PART ONE HERE: INVESTIGATION (1): Bribery, Bail For Sale… Lagos Police Station Where Innocent Civilians Are Jailed And Criminals Are Recycled

“Look at Vaseline, it is a very scarce commodity in prison but it is available at expensive rates for use in sodomy. At Ikoyi Prison, the powerful inmates sodomise the others, and it happens right under the nose of prison authorities. They know that these things happen. But, you see, the warders are the problem — because inmates do not have access to the outside world, and those coming from outside are screened from head to toe. Therefore, nothing can enter the prison without the knowledge of warders.”

NOTHING LIKE REFORMATION OR CORRECTION IN PRISON

Nurudeen Yusuf

Despite the signing of the Nigerian Correctional Service Act 2019 into law by President Muhammadu Buhari, to reflect the new thrust of inmate reformation and correction, Nurudeen Yusuf, a Lagos-based legal practitioner and human rights activist, says any prison reforms that doesn’t kick off with warders is an “absolute waste of time”.

“With the sex, sodomy and abuse of drugs at Ikoyi and other prisons, there can be no reformation in the prison system. Under the law, inmates only have a right to one stick of cigarette a day, but look at the sheer availability of drugs to them,” he says.

“For instance, we got a guy out of Ikoyi Prison through our advocacy programme; we paid his bail sum of N100,000. We were shocked that he was desperate to go back. In less than three weeks, he got himself sent to prison — because of the big life he enjoyed there.

Infograph: Inmate Life

“The prison world is like an animal world. Inmates who have access to drugs, money and gadgets use that power to oppress the others. You see prisoners who have access to phones, they can extort outsiders right from inside the prison. Many prisoners convicted for fraud and murder are rich, and they live a big man’s life in there. Prisoners make cash transfers from their accounts while in prison.

“While in prison, inmates are supposed to learn new hands-on skills with which they can earn legitimate income after serving their time. But many of the workshop centres are not functioning, even in Kirikiri Maximum prisons; no materials, no resources to work with.”

Yusuf says he has had clients who were sodomised at Ikoyi Prison but the warders turned a blind eye because the victims were suspected Boko Haram members. “These people are innocent until proven guilty in court,” he noted. “Therefore, sodomising them is criminal; and this happens at almost every prison in the country.”

Possible. A 31-page piece titled ‘Sodomy of Children in Maiduguri Prison and The ICRC Conspiracy of Silence’, released by imprisoned-for-life Independence Day bomber Charles Okah in March, details child prostitution, sodomy, abortions and even outright murder at the Maiduguri Maximum Security Prison, Borno State. Then Governor of Borno State, Kashim Shettima, subsequently set up a panel to investigate Okah’s claims, but its work was frustrated by Ja’afaru Ahmed, the Controller-General of the Nigerian Prisons Service and Sanusi Mu’azu Danmusa, the Maiduguri State Controller.

‘SET THE PRISONERS FREE, JAIL THE WARDERS’

Ikoyi Prison Warders

Prisons in Nigeria, exist to “take into lawful custody all those certified to be so kept by courts of competent jurisdiction, produce suspects in courts as and when due, identify the causes of their anti-social dispositions, set in motion mechanisms for their treatment and training for eventual reintegration into society as normal law-abiding citizens on discharge, and administer Prisons Farms and Industries for this purpose and in the process generate revenue for the government”.

The NPS continues to fulfil all these basic functions, bar two — identify the causes of misbehaviour, and kick off treatment and reintegration to society. Incidentally, these two are the most important of the lot.

Yusuf worries that prison sentence is turning a catalyst for more crime rather than the deterrence it was intended to be. “The implication is that inmates have no remorse over the offence for which they have been convicted,” he says. “They are willing to commit more crimes. They have just become terrors unto the society, either in prison or out of it. If you have money, you can live the life of a governor while in prison. The only difference is that you don’t have freedom to go out of the prison.”

My ex-inmate-friend sums it up more chillingly. “I was convicted for fraud but I left the prison knowing I was a better human that many of those warders,” he tells me. “You see those warders, they’re the ones who should be in jail. They’re far more fraudulent than I was. Their freedom should be in my hands, not mine in theirs!”

—

This investigation was published with collaborative support from Cable Newspaper Journalism Foundation and the International Centre for Investigative Reporting (ICIR)

INVESTIGATION(2): Drug Abuse, Sodomy, Bribery, Pimping… The Cash-And-Carry Operations Of Ikoyi Prison In the second report of a three-part undercover investigative series, FISAYO SOYOMBO exposes how the courts short-change the law, and the prisons are themselves a cesspool of the exact reasons for which they hold inmates.

#apc #buhari #corruption #EFCC #Fisayo Soyombo #icir #ICPC #ikoyi prison #investigation #Justice system #Naira Marley #Nigeria #PDP #police brutality #PREMIUM TIMES #The Cable #Undercover Reporting

0 notes

jenmedsbookreviews · 6 years

Text

Thought long and hard about whether to write a post this week as I have done pretty much nothing of note. Then I thought to myself, I have had a lifetime of doing nothing of note and it has never stopped me posting before so here we are. How are you? Did you manage to get a clear sky and see the ‘Blood Moon’? No? Me neither but hey. Not the first and probably won’t be the last and a red moon is a red moon right?

So. My week went pretty quickly. After the busy weekend and fun of Harrogate it was somewhat of an anticlimax (understatement), but it did show me what a fabulous bunch of folk I know and I appreciate your friendship and support so much. Those who know me, know why. Those who don’t yet know why will find out soon enough. Cryptic you say? Hell yeah.

Happy to report I think the internet is fixed. Made my week. Yep. It’s one of those weeks where the little things matter. A lot. Also been doing a lot of reading which after the paltry two books (good as they were) I managed to finish last week, is not a bad thing. I’m now ahead of my reading schedule. Whoop whoop. Might even make a dent in my Netgalley mountain if I’m lucky.

Book wise, it’s been a pretty slow week for me. Two bits of book post and one e-book post and one book on Netgalley. No new Amazon orders either. I know. I should be ashamed right? My book post was most excellent. First I got a copy of Trap by Lilja Sigurdardottir from the lovely Orenda books, who were also responsible for my e-book post, After He Died by Michael J Malone. My second bit of book post was The Syndicate by Guy Bolton from the lovely folk at One World. Netgalley wise it was Karin Slaughter’s Pieces of Her which I’m reading for a blog tour.

Books I Have Read

The Language of Secrets – Ausma Zehanat Khan

AN UNDERCOVER INFORMANT HAS BEEN MURDERED… BUT WHOSE SIDE WAS HE ON?

The sequel to The Unquiet Dead by Ausma Zehanat Khan, featured on BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour

‘Powerful’ – Bookpage * ‘Exceptionally fine’ – Library Journal * ‘Compelling’ – Leigh Russell

A terrorist cell is planning an attack on New Year’s Day. For months, Mohsin Dar has been undercover, feeding information back to the national security team. Now he’s dead.

Detective Esa Khattak, compromised by his friendship with the murdered agent, sends his partner Rachel Getty into the unsuspecting cell. As Rachel delves deeper into the unfamiliar world of Islam and the group’s circle of trust, she discovers Mohsin’s murder may not be politically motivated after all. Now she’s the only one who can stop the most devastating attack the country has ever faced.

The Unquiet Dead author Ausma Zehanat Khan once again dazzles with a brilliant mystery woven into a profound and intimate story of humanity.

Ah. This book. What a read. I knew when I started it that it was one I needed to take time over, and take time I did. Set in a world of hatred, intolerance, suspicion and violence and against a backdrop of terrorism, Khattak and Getty are back in a case which could see them both in a perilous position. Family and loyalty are key themes in this marvelous follow up to The Unquiet Dead. You can catch up with my review in the highlights below and order a copy of the book here.

…

Death Rope – Leigh Russell

The new novel in the million-copy selling Detective Geraldine Steel series

‘UNMISSABLE’ – LEE CHILD * ‘A RARE TALENT’ – DAILY MAIL * ‘BRILLIANT’ – JEFFERY DEAVER

Mark Abbott is dead. His sister refuses to believe it was suicide, but only Detective Sergeant Geraldine Steel will listen.

When other members of Mark’s family disappear, Geraldine’s suspicions are confirmed.

Taking a risk, Geraldine finds herself confronted by an adversary deadlier than any she has faced before… Her boss Ian is close, but will he arrive in time to save her, or is this the end for Geraldine Steel?

Good lord this book. Murder, lies, secrets and double crossing in this book which sees Geraldine Steel pitted against a most savage killer. This had me guessing until the end and on the edge of my seat. Top read and another stunning entry in a brilliant series. I’ll be sharing my thoughts tomorrow as part of the blog tour but you can order a copy of the book here to get ahead of the game.

…

Do No Harm – LV Hay

Till death do us part…

After leaving her marriage to jealous, possessive oncologist Maxwell, Lily and her six-year-old son have a second chance at happiness with headteacher Sebastian. Kind but vulnerable, Sebastian is the polar opposite of Maxwell, and the perfect match for Lily. After a whirlwind romance, they marry, and that’s when things start to go wrong…

Maxwell returns to the scene, determined to win back his family, and events soon spiral out of control. Lily and Sebastian find themselves not only fighting for their relationship, but also their lives…

Chilling, dark and terrifying, Do No Harm is a taut psychological thriller and a study of obsession, from one of the most exciting new voices in crime fiction.

Twisted. That’s the only way I can think to describe this book. Twisted relationships, twisted minds and a truly twisted storyline which had me guessing and second guessing myself from start to finish. Fired through it in an afternoon and evening and the ending left me astounded. In a good way. Fabulous read and if you’d like to find out why you can order a copy here.

…

Kiss of Death – Paul Finch

Could this be the end for Heck?

The Sunday Times bestseller returns with an unforgettable crime thriller. Fans of MJ Arlidge and Stuart MacBride won’t be able to put this down.

Don’t let them catch you…

A Deadly Hunt DS ‘Heck’ Heckenburg has been tasked with retrieving one of the UK’s most wanted men. But the trail runs cold when Heck discovers a video tape showing the fugitive in a fight for his life. A fight he has no chance of winning.

A Dangerous Game Heck realises that there’s another player in this game of cat and mouse, and this time, they’ve not just caught the prize: they’ve made sure no one else ever does.

A Man Who Plays With Fire How far will Heck and his team go to protect some of the UK’s most brutal killers? And what price is he willing to pay?

Dang. This book. That ending. What a story. High stakes from the off this sees our favourite hero Heck tracking down a fugitive and not remotely prepared for what he is about to find. This book takes you on a real adventure where everything is at stake and my god, the ending will have you on the edge of your seat and then stuck in slack jawed shock. Top stuff and fans of the series are in for an absolute treat. You can order a copy of the book here.

…

The Affiar – Sheryl Browne

The moment she opened her eyes, she knew everything had changed. The stale taste of alcohol; her uneasy stomach. She looked at her husband sleeping peacefully, and knew she would never tell anyone what happened last night.

You will think you know what happened to Alicia that night.

You will see a desperate wife, lying to her husband.

You will watch a charming lover, trying to win her back.

You will judge her, just like everyone else.

You will assume you know what happens next. But everything you think you know about the past, the relationships, what drives Alicia and her husband to lie… is wrong.

If you loved The Girl on the Train, The Wife Between Us and The Sister, you’ll love this compelling and gripping psychological thriller from Sheryl Browne. The Affair will have you hooked from the very first page!

If I were to be honest, it is hard to know quite where to classify this book. it’s not quite domestic noir, more domestic drama or suspense, but if nothing else, it’s addictive. Raced through this in a day and while it’s not a story that will leave you guessing, it is powerful stuff. Those opening scenes nearly had me in tears. And the tension towards the end … A fab read. You can order a copy of the book here.

…

Not bad huh? Five books. Not sure I’ll do as well in the week to come as I have the beauty of Bute Noir to amuse me at the weekend but that does me a couple of long train journeys so who knows? Anything is possible. Blog was pretty busy too this week – recap below.

A Cold Flame by Aidan Conway

The Emperor of Shoes by Spencer Wise

Mini Review: No Time To Cry by James Oswald

Press Release: Bloody Scotland – Ashley Jensen appearing at this year’s Festival

Guest Post: Abby’s Promise by Rebekah Dodson

The Language of Secrets by Ausma Zehanat Khan

The Daughter of River Valley by Victoria Cornwall

This week sees me and Mandie buried under blog tours – happy days. Starting today with One Little Lie by Sam Carrington, we also have Death Rope by Leigh Russell, Her Name Was Rose by Claire Allan, My Very Italian Holiday by Sue Roberts, Murder By The Broads by Anthony Tamiozzo, Her Last Breath by Charlie Gallagher, Telegrams and Teacakes by Amy Miller and Murder on the Marshes by Clare Chase.

Not too bad, but it’s mostly Mandie’s hard work this week. Making her earn her keep so to speak. Or her books. Either or.

Have a fabulous week all. I am hoping for a nice sunny one up in Bute. If all else fails there will be cake and books. What more can a girl want?

See you on the other side.

Jen

Rewind, recap: Weekly update w/e 29/07/18 Thought long and hard about whether to write a post this week as I have done pretty much nothing of note.

#Rewind Recap #Weekly Round UP

0 notes