"I want to see some realistic reactions from characters having synthesis forced on them, to having Reapers and Husks being domesticated and having to see the monstrous things daily. I don't want the brainwashed characters we see in the epilogue, I want to see the reactions of the people who have stood with our Shepards for the last five years, I want to see theiir horror at finding out their bodies have been violated without their consent, and then I want to see how they take having to live every day along side the enemy that slaughtered many of their loved ones
( ... )
With Eyes Wide Closed [2/9]
anonymous
July 12 2012, 02:06:40 UTC
Silence ensues. The suit gives him a second shot, but he’s running on diminishing returns. After a few attempts, he manages to prop himself up on his good elbow
( ... )
With Eyes Wide Closed [3/9]
anonymous
July 12 2012, 02:12:38 UTC
“Here. I think it’s functional.” Corvus presses a Striker into his hand, closing his fingers around it. Then, he moves behind Zekiel and, with a grunt of effort, lifts him to his feet. He’s limp at first, but soon his toes manage to find purchase, kicking aside the loose rubble to reveal solid paved slabs. Corvus lets go, and he’s left there swaying, stars popping into his vision, the weight of the pistol threatening to topple him
( ... )
With Eyes Wide Closed [5/9]
anonymous
July 12 2012, 02:18:46 UTC
It’s a relatively undamaged intersection. Well-lit, too. By the Reaper. There’s cover, but very little of it: three charred skycars and half of a bus, stained dark with mud and blood. Zekiel has to close his eyes. A sudden surge of sorrow washes away the dust-or becomes one with it, making his mind into a quagmire. There’s a curtain before his eyes upon which the scene is painted, and it’s rippling, undulating
( ... )
With Eyes Wide Closed [6/9]
anonymous
July 12 2012, 02:25:37 UTC
Part II: Corvus
When they first met, four weeks ago, under Oren’s command, he thought that Zekiel belonged back in boot camp. Quiet, diffident, obeying nonsensical orders at the drop of a hat - those were not the traits you needed to survive this war.
He put up a mean barrier back there, though. Corvus owes him one. Which is why he’s screaming into the mic for Zekiel to turn back.
But he’s not responding. He’s frozen there, in the full glare of the Reaper’s spotlight, pistol clattering to his feet.
“Operative! If you can hear me, retreat! Retreat! Retreat!” He waves his arm in vain. “Retreat!”
He breaks down into a fit of coughing. When his eyes focus again, Zekiel hasn’t moved one bit. And then he shifts, slowly, to face the Reaper proper.
“Zekiel, listen to me! Listen to me! Go back now! Get coverThe Reaper’s not firing, either. It’s probably doing something to the kid’s head, not even giving him the chance to scream. It’s been trying to get to Corvus, too. That dust, that hint of darkness at the edges of his vision throughout
( ... )
With Eyes Wide Closed [7/never trust the word count]
anonymous
July 12 2012, 02:31:17 UTC
Zekiel shakes his head. “No, no, no. I just talked to them, they didn’t do anything! They didn’t do anything, I swe-“
He thrusts his pistol further into the soft underside of its jaw. It gags, an awful, wretched sound. “You’re indoctrinated. ‘Talk’ to it? We can’t ‘talk’ to it. We blow it sky-high, remember?”
“I’m not indoc-“ Zekiel coughs violently, heaving, struggling to arc his torso under Corvus’ weight like he used to do in the damp, dark privacy of Corvus’ cot. There are flecks of blood around his mouth and chin. “I’m not indoctrinated. Corvus, please. You have to believe me.”
“I’m sorry.”
When he opens his eyes again, Zekiel is very much alive, green eyes wide open and moist with tears. There’s a fresh pit in the concrete, centimetres beside his head.
--
Even a block away, he can’t shake the feeling from his head. Can’t seem to make the right decisions, the smart decisions.
He couldn’t have gone back for the bomb. That was true. The Reaper would have destroyed him.
With Eyes Wide Closed [8/never trust the word count]
anonymous
July 12 2012, 02:37:05 UTC
“I don’t know what the hell you’re saying, but it doesn’t sound like freedom to me.” He lowers his pistol - at this rate, they’re screwed either way - and walks over. He kneels by Zekiel’s side and reaches for his hands, and they’re eager to clutch his own even with fingers slipping in a rush of fresh blood. “Look at what it did to you. Look at what it did out there! Look at what it’s still doing! Can’t you see it?”
Zekiel frowns, his eyeballs shuddering beneath the lids. “Everything’s changed. For better or for worse.”
On second thought, maybe that brackish water from the pits would come in handy right now. He’s infected and delirious. What’s the worst that can happen?
No, I’m not falling for that again. You bastards. You fucking bastards. He grits his teeth. Still a chance.“Listen carefully, Kiel. Fight it. Fight it for as long as you can. I’m going to go kill that fucker. And then I’ll come back for you
( ... )
With Eyes Wide Closed [9/10]
anonymous
July 12 2012, 02:42:04 UTC
He hurls his glove at the banister. The shroud retracts in the span of a blink. There’s a sharp crack from the concrete, and the steady thump thump of the blood in his ears.
He snatches the nearest thing - the helmet - and holds it close. Zekiel’s looking at him. Not smug or afraid, no; with more sadness than anything else.
“Shut up,” he whispers. “Just shut up. I’m going before I lose my mind.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. You stay here until I come back.”
“Then I might as well be dead,” he cries, sharp notes reverberating in Corvus’ ears. Oh, yes, dead. He still has a pistol with a full clip and half a mind to reach for it. “Don’t throw your life away. The war is over. The war is over for good…”
“Fine,” he spits, bitterness seeping from his subharmonics. “Then what do you suppose we do? CelebrateZekiel unfurls his knees. A drop of blood drips down the end of the rebar and lands in his eye; he blinks it away
( ... )
With Eyes Wide Closed [10/10]
anonymous
July 12 2012, 02:44:05 UTC
It’s raining for the first time in a month, and Zekiel’s not here to see it.
Corvus is examining his radio. Nothing broken, as far as he can tell, and he was the back-up tech. Still no word from Command, or from the other teams. They must be out of range; the Reaper’s not jamming. Guess they’ll have to haul their sorry asses back to base after the mission if they want to find out what the heck is going on.
The bomb is still there, judging by a cautionary ping in its general direction. He has a pistol with two clips and a sniper rifle with one. Those should get him to the Reaper. Maybe even back.
And if they can’t?
The power’s running too low for his omni. He fiddles with the feed controls. The adjustments are accompanied by large, bold print: WARNING. SHIELDS COMPROMISED.
You know the drill. Save the last shot.
The chest piece he’s laid out to collect water is three-quarters full. He takes a sip. Not bad for acid rain. Grimacing at the aftertaste, he walks back indoors.
Filled primarily for the bolded part of:
"I want to see some realistic reactions from characters having synthesis forced on them, to having Reapers and Husks being domesticated and having to see the monstrous things daily. I don't want the brainwashed characters we see in the epilogue, I want to see the reactions of the people who have stood with our Shepards for the last five years, I want to see theiir horror at finding out their bodies have been violated without their consent, and then I want to see how they take having to live every day along side the enemy that slaughtered many of their loved ones ( ... )
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When they first met, four weeks ago, under Oren’s command, he thought that Zekiel belonged back in boot camp. Quiet, diffident, obeying nonsensical orders at the drop of a hat - those were not the traits you needed to survive this war.
He put up a mean barrier back there, though. Corvus owes him one. Which is why he’s screaming into the mic for Zekiel to turn back.
But he’s not responding. He’s frozen there, in the full glare of the Reaper’s spotlight, pistol clattering to his feet.
“Operative! If you can hear me, retreat! Retreat! Retreat!” He waves his arm in vain. “Retreat!”
He breaks down into a fit of coughing. When his eyes focus again, Zekiel hasn’t moved one bit. And then he shifts, slowly, to face the Reaper proper.
“Zekiel, listen to me! Listen to me! Go back now! Get coverThe Reaper’s not firing, either. It’s probably doing something to the kid’s head, not even giving him the chance to scream. It’s been trying to get to Corvus, too. That dust, that hint of darkness at the edges of his vision throughout ( ... )
Reply
He thrusts his pistol further into the soft underside of its jaw. It gags, an awful, wretched sound. “You’re indoctrinated. ‘Talk’ to it? We can’t ‘talk’ to it. We blow it sky-high, remember?”
“I’m not indoc-“ Zekiel coughs violently, heaving, struggling to arc his torso under Corvus’ weight like he used to do in the damp, dark privacy of Corvus’ cot. There are flecks of blood around his mouth and chin. “I’m not indoctrinated. Corvus, please. You have to believe me.”
“I’m sorry.”
When he opens his eyes again, Zekiel is very much alive, green eyes wide open and moist with tears. There’s a fresh pit in the concrete, centimetres beside his head.
--
Even a block away, he can’t shake the feeling from his head. Can’t seem to make the right decisions, the smart decisions.
He couldn’t have gone back for the bomb. That was true. The Reaper would have destroyed him.
But he shouldn’t have done this either ( ... )
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Zekiel frowns, his eyeballs shuddering beneath the lids. “Everything’s changed. For better or for worse.”
On second thought, maybe that brackish water from the pits would come in handy right now. He’s infected and delirious. What’s the worst that can happen?
No, I’m not falling for that again. You bastards. You fucking bastards. He grits his teeth. Still a chance.“Listen carefully, Kiel. Fight it. Fight it for as long as you can. I’m going to go kill that fucker. And then I’ll come back for you ( ... )
Reply
He snatches the nearest thing - the helmet - and holds it close. Zekiel’s looking at him. Not smug or afraid, no; with more sadness than anything else.
“Shut up,” he whispers. “Just shut up. I’m going before I lose my mind.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. You stay here until I come back.”
“Then I might as well be dead,” he cries, sharp notes reverberating in Corvus’ ears. Oh, yes, dead. He still has a pistol with a full clip and half a mind to reach for it. “Don’t throw your life away. The war is over. The war is over for good…”
“Fine,” he spits, bitterness seeping from his subharmonics. “Then what do you suppose we do? CelebrateZekiel unfurls his knees. A drop of blood drips down the end of the rebar and lands in his eye; he blinks it away ( ... )
Reply
Corvus is examining his radio. Nothing broken, as far as he can tell, and he was the back-up tech. Still no word from Command, or from the other teams. They must be out of range; the Reaper’s not jamming. Guess they’ll have to haul their sorry asses back to base after the mission if they want to find out what the heck is going on.
The bomb is still there, judging by a cautionary ping in its general direction. He has a pistol with two clips and a sniper rifle with one. Those should get him to the Reaper. Maybe even back.
And if they can’t?
The power’s running too low for his omni. He fiddles with the feed controls. The adjustments are accompanied by large, bold print: WARNING. SHIELDS COMPROMISED.
You know the drill. Save the last shot.
The chest piece he’s laid out to collect water is three-quarters full. He takes a sip. Not bad for acid rain. Grimacing at the aftertaste, he walks back indoors.
“Wake up,” he says.
Reply
Tremendously done.
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