Escape the Motherloving Nightmareâs Tumblr masterlist can be found
>HERE<
Alternatively the entire fic (except the latest update) is on AO3
>HERE<
It is a part of a wider universe âProtection Verseâ but no pressue. Let me know if youâre interested in reading more but otherwise, I hope you enjoy.
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A/N - There have been over 30 failed drafts of this update. Itâs pivotal. Events in this update are far-reaching and will affect many people in PV, and shall have aftershocks that ripple far into Season 2.
The designer is incompetent; the players refuse to play; the Game is in shambles. It would be so much easier without these complex rules, but they lend the required nuance to the true art of its existence.
Still achieving the true goal is essential and time is running out before the bubble bursts and the survivors are dumped. So just this once, against its every instinct and urge, the Game must act without abandon. The Detective has to die. It only takes Calliope, the gypsy woman, the playerâs guide through all the wondrous chaos, with the pink gun to find the target, though he isnât alone.
The Investigative Reporter tries to protect him, throwing herself in the way, pushing him back, but of the five shots Safiya only manages to stop two, and by the time he hits the floor, itâs over.
Safiya tries to catch him, one hand clutching her side as she stumbles and misses. She only manages to grab a hold of Dirkâs jacket, almost torn from her grip as he drops. She screams at him, to stay alive you idiot! He doesnât respond, eyes glassy, a pool of blood quickly growing beneath him. Itâs too late.
Dirk is dead.
This wasnât what she wanted.
There have been so many deaths tonight. Itâs nothing new. Death has this annoying habit of literally following her around, an unfortunate price of the road she walks. She knew very few people would escape this night, but Dirk was different. He was smarter than most of the other sheep led into this slaughter. Sure he was compassionate and caring, but beneath the surface there burned a fire that so few of humanity carry around any more. A willingness to fight tooth and nail for what he believed in. To die for it.
Safiya loosens her grip, straightening up. Her face is still as marble, and she exudes a terrifying level of calm as she turns without a word to Calliope, raising her blood-stained fingers towards the bitch. Within her eyes burns a rage unbridled, fingers twitching, gripping seemingly at nothing. Calliope starts to choke, seemingly on nothing.
The arm raises and so does the woman, feet dangling, airway closing. Â Safiya merely watches, as though sheâs done this a thousand times before. The life of this creature means nothing, and ending it will bring no closure, but still, it no longer deserves to breathe.
âAlways with the rage.â Says a calm familiar voice behind her.
Itâs one she knows, though itâs not enough to draw her focus until Calliope stops twitching. The body drops and Safiya turns.
A soft-faced gentleman with short brown hair, round black-rimmed glasses and a brown cardigan over a white shirt and pink tie stands a short distance away. He regards her with a solemn sadness, though even now a slight smile tugs at his lips.
âEmile.â she greets him. âWhat an unwarranted surprise.â
âI thought you were looking for Henrik?â he tilts his head with that insufferable kicked puppy dog look he always wears. She ignores it though, glancing to the air around them
âDoes that mean sheâs here?â
Lady Fate. Judgemental bitch. Floats around like nothing can touch her. Like sheâs so much better than the rest of existence. They say hate is a strong word, but for Safiya when it comes to the Lady, itâs not strong enough.
âSomething came up. Itâs just us.â
Safiya looks to Emile. Itâs been a while, a couple of decades at least, since they last shared the same space. Back in the good old days when the four of them worked together in relative harmony. An impossible feat these days, what with Henrikâs disappearance and the oncoming dangers.
âHow did you find this place?â
âThis little polyp of greed, and death? Weâve known about it for years.â Emile looks almost impressed as he glances at the world around them. âA single frozen second of time stretched out like a rubber band to span months creating an almost unending moment of non-time in a temporary pocket universe.â he smiles, âSometimes the mortals really are quite remarkable.
âYouâre a bit late.â she gestures to the bodies behind her.
Emile shakes his head. âIâm not here to intervene.â
Of course not. Thereâs a time and place for things like that. Very specific times that are never clearly explained. Far more important things to focus on like the balance that doesnât exist, and other bullshit like that. Thereâs a reason Safiya doesnât listen to the Universe. Often, it acts like itâs drunk.
âThen why are you here?â
âThereâs a new Deity,â he holds his arms to his side, âand Iâm the Welcome Wagon.â
âOh?â Safiya scoffs. âI didnât realise one of your kids was here.â
âOof.â Emile holds a hand to his chest and pretends to wince. âThat one hurt.â
Safiya raises her hand and shoos at him.
âGo on. Welcome your precious little Deity. None of them will be any help in the end. Iâll just grab what I came here for and get back to looking for Henrik.â
âWe know about your army.â he calls out as she turns to leave. âAnd you canât take the ink grunt.â
âSays the Lady?â she calls over her shoulder.
âThe Universe has a plan.â
âThe Universe always has a plan, Emile.â Safiya walks to Calliopeâs body and proceeds to pat her down. You never know. Joey isnât a complete and utter moron. Itâs likely there may be something valuable on the gypsy womanâs corpse. âUsually something cryptic and convoluted that it never tells us. Weâre supposed to maintain balance and it keeps secrets. I bet,â she pauses, raising a finger to jab in Emileâs direction, âthe universe already knows where Henrik is and just isnât telling us. Instead lining up the dominoes to fall at just the right moment, while weâre running out of time.â Nothing. Maybe she overestimated the blond bimbo. She stands and glares at Emile. âAnd you canât stop me.â
âThe ink grunt is the Deityâs challenge.â
That stops her in her tracks.
Every Deity, every single one since the dawn of the early eons to the last ever syllable of recorded time must face a test of adversity. A dilemma that prompts a decision that will guide them into their role, or remove them from the path forever. A decree from the Universe itself. No one, not even Lady Fate can change that path. If Emile isnât lying, and sheâs never known him to, then the ink grunt is beyond her grasp.
âCome back to us, Safiya.â Emile steps forward, purposefully avoiding the bodies, a hand reached out towards her, âWe can work together to find Henrik, and-â
âIâm doing my job,â Safiya isnât crying. She isnât some bratty teenage girl whoâs been told she canât go to the dance. Sheâs not some weak little bitch who needs validation. She isnât crying. She isnât! Safiya steps away and glares at Emile. âLike you should be.â That fatherly tone may win over everyone else, but Safiya is not some basic bitch mortal who can be coddled by some loving father act. âI hope your son does it better.â
Emile frowns in confusion. âWhat do yo-?â
The air crackles and pops, Emileâs entire body convulsing as vibrant chaotic pink sparks dance and jitter across his entire body, burning and scarring as it goes. Just as you think it might stop, it goes on, dragging on for minutes before it stops and Emile finally drops to the floor. Dead.
A person stands over him. A striped long sleeved undershirt, half covering their extended hands, hooked over their thumb, beneath a bright yellow set of dungarees with each pocket topped by a thick black line. The weird outfit is finished with a neon pink crop hoodie, the hood of which is pulled half-way over their curly brown hair. Yet none of this outfit comes near to the level of creepy that their bright, wide unnatural smile does. It strains at the edges of their mouth, almost as though itâs about to split their face in half, and the longer you look, the less it seems that the smile reaches the bright pink irises.
âThere. Wasnât that fun?â Bending down, they gently jab the body in the ribs. Straightening up, they spin in a complete circle, dusting their hands off. âAnd the job is done.â
âSmiler.â Safiya barks.
The unnatural smile turns to the Investigative Journalist, eager and awaiting instruction, and looking even creepier opposite the obvious anger.
âSearch for survivors,â Safiya gestures to the town, âAvoid anyone near the Deity. Understand?â
âGot it boss.â Smiler gives a huge wink and enthusiastic finger guns before dashing away, still smiling. Recruitment is always the best part of the job.
Safiya steels herself as she watches Smiler run. This may not be how things were supposed to go, but sheâs nothing if sheâs not resourceful. It may be a set-back, but thereâs much still for her to do.
-Shoutout to @crazygreatgamerperson for allowing me permission to use their character Smiler, and being a patient as fuck consultant when it came to writing this update-
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This article was published in the East Tennessee Medical News this month on our good friend and client Don Cook of Baptist Eye Surgeons. Don is new at BES, but we have already enjoyed getting to know him. I can say personally that what Don says here is true. He is straight up, honest, trustworthy, detailed and does what he says.Â