RESI 8 SPOILERS PRESENT.

“It’s funny, yes. Mainly because you know you do not have laces. And still, you look.”

His laugh is accompanied by a snort as he thinks about it more, wishing he could’ve seen her full expression. Her body language, almost like a startled cat, would have to do.

“Let me guess. Brownies for breakfast? You should be glad you’re here in pyromancy, not elsewhere in espionage. You wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

“ listen, ” there’s a laugh of her own, a short lived crooked smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “ it helps me work. ”

it’s an odd sensation; the seemingly casual conversation verses the very warranted wariness of the spy ( former spy, maybe? ). mask remains hiked halfway up her nose - he’d seen her already, no real sense in trying to hide completely.

the amusement of the banter fades quickly, and the pyro can only dread what his presence now implies.

Is he joking? Perhaps. Smoking too, not a care in the world that a RED, an enemy, was so close he could both touch her and refer to her by name.

As the smoke wafts, color seems to drain. Splotches where air is thicker with smog, the blue of his not so pigmented.

His expression reading that of hidden confusion, is attempted to stay neutral.

@crashedbyplane​ said:

“Move.”

Zeke’s voice is steady. Deeper. They all but tense after the words escape, but they’re ready for what comes after. awhen Jax registers. They’ll kill him if they have to. But they’re final in their statement.

They have to get out.

and right now, the only thing standing in the way of that freedom is jax.

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

( ya YEET )

     With his back to Zeke, Jax seems to be mulling something over in his head as his gaze scans across the notes upon a clipboard. Hands steady, he doesn’t seem to register - or care - for the other’s words. Not just yet anyway, a slight ‘hmm’ escaping his throat.

     It would do well for the other to just back down and be quiet but he knows that, as a part human being, they would eventually want freedom. Such is something he himself craves himself albeit enjoying his work. 

     He exhales.

     “Freedom is such a natural thing for humans.” He finally perks up with, flipping a paper up to peer at the contents under it. “And as far as I am aware you are not human.”

     Spinning on his heels, he soon faces Zeke, a gentle smile upon his lips under eyes that reflect a cold, harsh state. A stare that could freeze normal people in place. 

     “You are naught more than a creature. A lab-created specimen. A monster. And if you so got your freedom? Then what? Soon enough you would be kicked to the kerb by whoever you befriend. Because you will never be like them. You are not even like a Pokémon so you would not find any salvation there, either. You are only welcome in my grasp.”

     Hands fold neatly behind his back, clipboard still between them.

They didn't know anything about the outside world other than what the labcoat told them, but more and more now, it sicked Zeke. That angry, blazing R on everything in sight. The endless checkups, endless tests and questions and training, the opressive, overbearing AURA the building simply oozed-- all for what? Was the outside world that bad? The other lab animals, though none quite like THEM, seemed to think so.

Thoughts, they soon realized, were the little voices constantly heard. Never above a whisper, always simple feelings. Emotions, almost.

free, hurts, run, hungry.

outside.

They'd finally snapped. Couldn't take it anymore, had to run, leave, flee, OUTSIDE --

even if it meant death, by whatever reason from exposure or fear of the monster Jax had created.

They felt they couldn't breathe, and both hands came forward. kneading themselves, white knuckles, almost seeming to glow. Zeke had never rebelled, never done anything like this - but it felt right.

"I don't care."

they did care. deeply. Almost all of the energy forming in their palms consisted of the rage, dear, and tension ebbing from their shoulders, drooping slightly. It hurt. But it felt right.

Documenting where Beth fits into the canon of Far Cry 3; missions dedicated to her with their objectives, explanations and some quotes, where she appears in-game, her survival guide entry, and more!

Now, I think lately enjoy drawing them more. 💊💙✨

---

Jason slowly approached the shack, 1887 held firmly within his grip and ready to be fired at a moment's notice. These days, he had an ITCHY trigger finger. It was better to be safe than sorry, even at the ( rare ) expense of a friendly Rakyat warrior. On the island, it was KILL OR BE KILLED, and after Grant, he preferred the kill option.

If not for his own sake, then for his friends.

Door was carefully, slowly opened. Barely a creak as he slowly, heel-first, stepped inside and approached the man working over a table. Tech laid around, some broken or otherwise discarded for later use. On the walls, he spotted the usual rotting and bullet holes you'd come to expect. This guy, this PIRATE, had something he was after, and Jason wasn't going to be leaving empty handed so easily.

"Look man, she--"

oh.

oh.

this wasn't a pirate. This wasn't a privateer, either, no this was... an entirely different animal.

Color draining from his face, West's breath caught in his throat. Staring down THE Jason Brody he'd heard so much about. The gun -- it was right in his face -- where was everyone else what the fuck what the fuck what the fuCK HE HAD TO GET TO AN ALARM --

no. don't panic. he doesn't know where you keep stuff here. Doesn't know anything. Just relax. breathe.

"sh..she'd kill me man. I can't."

The smaller between the two of them doesn’t stand a chance of keeping his grip, let alone his balance. The push is almost like a punch coming from a monster like Heisenberg, and Ethan stumbles back, sneakers skidding in the dirt and sand on the floor.

He’s at least pleased he’s bloodied Karl’s jacket, leaving a smear streak of blood that should’ve been a lot brighter red on the lapel.

Heaving, steam almost visible from his ears, the man forces himself to calm down. Even as he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, even as his blood pounds in his ears from the effort, he stays on his side of the room.

Loathe as he is to admit, the other man is right. Ethan doesn’t know HOW he’s survived this far, through TWO shitfests let alone one. Suddenly acutely aware of just how much metal surrounds them. How dangerous it really is to be here, with a man that could probably lift a engine without a second thought.

he shouldn’t have come here. but then again, who else besides the unhelpful merchant was actually on his side? (karl wasnt, Ethan could tell as much, but he was as good as any in a place like this.)

Face almost twitching from the effort to restrain himself, keep his guns holstered, Ethan sucks in a breath, lets it out slow. Focus. Relax. You can’t afford to piss him off.

cant afford to die either

“I don’t believe you. I saw her die. At least. At least three clips were emptied in her chest – you can’t fake that. How the hell did she survive?

“How the hell have you survived ?!” He retorts, his own thoughts slipping the tongue between his lips. He quickly silences himself, words exchanged for a loose grin - a shake of his head to depart from any suggestion that Ethan is anything but a normal man trying to save his normal kid. How the hell this man doesn’t know better is beyond the engineer but hell, he’ll take it for now. 

Heisenberg clears his throat, lips sucking his teeth before he’s running hands down his coat. 

“Mother Miranda - how can I describe it-” he thinks on his own reasoning, the lightbulb popping to life when he clicks fingers toward Ethan “Louisiana! Think…Louisiana! I’m sure you saw some crazy shit there, Ethan. Probably went through worse yourself.” 

He presses his cigar to puckered lips, another drag taken - not only smoked but instead delighted in. 

...And Mia. As insane as that sounds.

Winters lets out another shaky, strained breath. Obviously struggling, though whether to hold back tears or violence even he doesn't know.

Heisenberg is holding all the cards. He's going to win this little poker game. And the most enfuriating part is Ethan is sure there's seven aces (all held by Heisenberg) in the deck.

"You don't get to fucking talk to me about Louisiana."

The growl is out before he can hold it back. Dangerous. Rivaling that of a cornered, wounded animal. Threatening to end himself as well if only to kill the apex animal in front of him.

he's crazy. he must be crazy. this is a trap. has to be a trap. another game. another test. another escape room. fuck he's out of his goddamn MIND--

"Just tell me what you want so I can save my family."

The doctor, so lost in thought, hadn’t realized she’d started drawing until she was well into the picture on his foot.

Though, even when he did, he continued to watch.

too many witnesses.

[..hmm…..]

[How aerodynamic is a six year old…?]

  She made some incoherent babbling noises as she continued, some researcher’s tried to approach her and gently lift her up from the ground to return her to the childcare rooms - but every time they came close she threw a fit, growling and ( gently ) hitting them with her marker. They had to wait for a guard to come by and help her up, but being the spiteful child she was she’d still continue to swing unless it was Ulgrin.

he could probably clear half a football field if he tried...

[ Crayons are for paper, D. Not my fucken shoes, not classified documents and not the goddamn ground. ]

If anyone else had been watching, it might've looked like Alto was simply lost in thought. In reality, which he so often bent and surprisingly got away with, he didn't feel like airing their conversations aloud. Especially if he was cursing at a little kid like he was.

Bending over, he reached out a hand to grab at the scruff of her jumpsuit, half expecting to miss due to how damn squirmy she was.