#mnhuntd

she knew what tonight would entail; a bunch of shaking hands with politicians who years ago were rooting for her death in the cold wintery streets of detroit. they cheered when markus died in the streets, hoping to see you right next to him.  you never gave up.  tonight, they smile  &  laugh as they attempt to toss their previous haughty comments out the window, insinuating they were only speaking out of a hybrid containing ignorance  &  fear,  &  never wanted another civil war to take place in their backyard. it takes every ounce of nylon inside her to hold herself back from pouncing on her prey, ripping them to shreds  &  her mugshot making the evening news:  north jericho, androids right activist, commits murder at charity benefit!  it’s what they’re all waiting for: the slightest screw-up to pin on androids to take away their rights. after everything they’d all gone through with the protests  &  at jericho, she can’t be the reason they lose it. if it means plastering a complacent smile across her features, shaking hands,  &  contemplate aiming her police-issued pistol at her head: so be it.

what she wasn’t expecting was elisabet sobeck also being in attendance. she’d heard of the woman in passing amongst colleagues  &  whilst attending interviews, often asking for her position on sobeck’s work in robotics  &  the usage of androids for her various reasons. that was thing with humans: androids were props for them, often used for their various political reasons. that’s what sobeck’s work was, whether she’d admit it or not,  it was political.  it’s when north approaches sobeck when her posture straightens, jaw tight  &  vision steady, her wispy hand reaching out for an greeting.   

let’s clear one thing clear: i know i shouldn’t be doing this. i shouldn’t be talking to this douchebag, beck. he doesn’t get you. when you talk to him, there’s no joy there; his eyes don’t light up like mine would, and you know it! i would listen to everything you say, because guess what? i care, unlike this asshole. the only reason i’m doing it is because you invited me to one of peach’s parties, only for me to bump into him. (you invited me strictly as a friend, because you still want to ride his dick like a merry-go round. that’s going to change.) 

he’s drinking a beer; even if it wasn’t in his grasp, i would be able to smell it on his breath. i swear, there’s some white shit underneath his nose too   —   you didn’t tell me your boyfriend was a cokehead either, beck. god, you’re really making me do all your dirty work for you, aren’t you? but that’s fine   —   i don’t mind, especially if it’s for our future. it feels like i’m an A-B-C-D check-box away from splitting the difference me and your boyfriend; i want you to be clinging to my arm, showing me off to your friends   —   he doesn’t. he rather hide out in the kitchen because guess what: i think he knows he’s not good enough for you. believe it or not, i am. i will treat you the way you deserve to be treated   —   i won’t drown myself in beer and hope you’ll get scooped up by some other random dude. (i can read his face; he’s fantasizing about walking in on you with another dude, just to have a reason to call it quits. he’s pathetic. i’m not.)

“hey, man.”   god, i want to kill him. i want to grab one of the knives behind him and shove it into his chest, but i won’t. i can’t, not right now. instead, you have a shot, luke   —   i’m giving you a shot to walk away! to leave beck alone and not make her life a living hell. because guess what, if she stays with you, her life will be a living hell. she’ll wind up marrying you and one day, in a fit of anger because you don’t love her enough, question what went wrong before becoming one of those desperate housewives wannabes. (to be fair, i wouldn’t mind being the pool-boy she calls over every so often. but that’s besides the point   —   i don’t want to be the pool-boy, i want to be hers.)

There should be some guilt to this.   He knows this and with every passing moment he’s sitting at the meeting, he’s contemplating every decision he’s about to make. It’s hard not to listen to all their stories   —   people who have struggled for years maintaining their sobriety, people who are freshly sober and looking for a brand new start, and people who were simply just forced to attend by loved ones. He should feel disgusted with what he’s thinking about doing, eyes darting back and forth between Badger and Skinny Pete, as if he’s hoping they’ll say something to him. But no, they aren’t going to because this was his idea. Selling to these people was his idea, not theirs. 

This is who he is   —   he’s the bad guy and it’s time to accept it.

There’s a story that sticks out to him; a guy not much older than him, having his sister buy him shit right before he went into rehab. He even added the fact that she’s dead now   —   hanged herself in their childhood house and it became a huge family fiasco. It makes Jesse wince, thinking about if his little brother did something like that. (He hardly even knows the kid, just the fact he’s a raging pothead and yet, he’d still probably shed a tear if Jake did that. Maybe he should call the kid. He knows he won’t but he contemplates it for a split second.) 

When the meeting ends, he calculates the easiest customers out of the group. The people who look like they’re itching for a fix and if they don’t get it, they’ll drop dead on the sidewalk. It’s not too hard to pinpoint a few tweakers out of the crowd, sending Badger and Skinny Pete to handle them. There’s two options for Jesse: the woman named Andrea who blatantly said she didn’t want to be here, or the guy who actually seems like he wants to better himself in his life for the sake of his dead sister. Jesse’s up for a challenge. 

showing up at her home unannounced wasn’t the best approach. he’s well aware of this  &  if it were other circumstances, he would have made more a professional effort. it doesn’t stop him, though. there’s not much of anything that can stop him from getting what he wants  &  yeah, this is something he needs. theodor faro   —   ted faro, the bastard. he’s a smart man, one all about business  &  homelander can respect that. what he can’t respect is tossing robots into the military. fucking robots. it’s comical  &  if homelander wasn’t in this position, he would be dying of laughter because it’s fucking funny. the united states government depending on war robots to defend the country. (aren’t we fucking doomed!) but no; he’s not a normal civilian with a nine-to-five job who’s dying on the inside, hating their life before shoving the tip of a shotgun into the mouth  &  pulling the trigger. he’s homelander   —   the leader of the seven, the greatest superhero, the man who is here to save everyone! how the hell is he supposed to save everyone if the stupid fucking robots are going to do it beforehand? 

he’s tried talking to vought about it, but as usual, they wag their fingers  &  tell him to stay put. (we don’t need the media on our asses right now.) excuses, excuses, excuses. that’s all they were ever good at. looks like he was going to have to take matters into his own hands, which is exactly what he did. showing up at doctor elisabet sobeck’s home unannounced. ex - chief scientist of faro automated solutions who is currently drowning in lawsuits. maybe they can help each other if she wants to play along. he wastes no time knocking on her door, plastering the boy scout appearance on his face, ready to find out the answer. 

because, after all, he is homelander. who doesn’t want to have a conversation with him?

when she opens the door, he plasters a smile across his lips  &  puts on the superhero voice. (i mean business but i am here to save your life!)   ❛   dr. sobeck, i’m so sorry to drop in unannounced. i happened to be in the neighborhood  &  i know of your work!   ❜   lies are spoken with ease out of his mouth as he points his index finger towards her, nodding his head with every word. over the years, he’s become more convincing   —   a liar who can pull off even the most risky plots. right now, he feels like he’s nailing this part. (still waiting on my oscar, hollywood! or a fucking pay raise, vought.)   

❛   i’m so proud of you.   ❜   it seemed like only yesterday when she dropped him off at the rehabilitation facility. she remembers watching as he entered through the front doors, hoping to herself when she saw him next,  her brother would be back.  her wish had been answered because here he is, sitting in her living room, looking healthier than she’d seen him in years. it brought a bright grin to her face, laughter spilling from her mouth as she moves to wrap her arms around him once more, embracing him in a tight squeeze. she lingers momentarily, as if she’s afraid if she lets go, he’ll disappear into the stygian shadows once again.  she doesn’t want that.  she can’t have that happen.

in this moment,   you’re in the desert   ;   the scorching heat from the nevada sun beaming down on you,   residue of your footprints expanding across the sand,   beads of sweat beginning to glisten across olive skin,   a thirst beginning to expand inside your stomach   &   crawl its way up your throat.     if you look closely enough,   you can see the agonizing scratch marks   —   want  to  take  a  peek?    there’s a deep craving inside of you,   raging synonymous to a fiery inferno,   attempting to grasp what it wants.    it desires a taste of satisfaction,   that’s what it wants.    you’re not satisfied,   you never are.    you know what’ll make you satisfied   ;   you want to blossom over his blood   &   have it rush beneath you,   carmine fermenting as it chokes your heart   &   mind.    you know exactly what you want.

his words sound distant,   far away from your ears as they enter in one,   exit out the other.    the room suddenly changes when you blink   &   you’re no longer in the desert with the horrid western humid   ;   you’re on the couch of his home,   a glass of wine in your hand that looks as if it’s about to tip over.    the air conditioner blows against you,   your head shifting as his sentence comes to an end,   mind collecting itself from the thoughts floating inside your brain.    you find yourself daydreaming more these days,   thinking about how things could be different   —   as if you’d like things to be  different.    [as if  you’d  like to be different from the creature you are.]    sometimes you wish they were,   your vivid brain becoming dull   &   mute,   operating at the same processing rate as everyone else.    that wasn’t you,   though   ;   you were special.    just  like  will  was.    you know that entity well enough already to entertain a smile,   head finally shaking at his words.    fingers grasping the stem of your glass,   you take a moment to swirl the shiraz in your glass,   inhaling the floral aroma once more.    it claims its residence in your nostrils,   a wave of misery crashing over your body,   as if you’re looking at a garden of blooming tulips.    you  always  hated  flowers.    ❝    ain’t that ironic comin’ from ya’?    yer  always  distracted.    ❞    it was a cruel irony,   a type that blooms,   grins,   &   eats you alive.    just  like  a  fucking  flower.

the rim of your wine glass is brought to your lips,   the liquid surging its way down your throat.    a dry laugh bubbles as you set your wine glass down on the end table beside you,   legs moving to curl themselves up on the couch.    ❝    i was just thinkin’ ‘bout work.    got some important shit going on   ;   a bunch of new college lab assistants comin’ in,   gettin’ all up in the way,   thinkin’ they know better than  all  of  us.    the ones who’ve been there for years.    ❞    it’s not a lie,   but not even  close  to the actual truth of your wandering thoughts.    the faux mask is worn with elegance,   your hand moving for the added theatrics as you speak.    ❝    sometimes  i  just  wanna  strangle  them,   ya’ know?    they get in the way,   ruin a good thing.    i just hate ‘em sometimes.    ❞     just  like  i  hate  you.    you don’t imagine  strangling  them  with your bare hands until their faces turn blue.     you imagine  strangling  him,   petite hands wrapped around his neck,   face turning blue as the oxygen slowly leaves his body.    a  picture  perfect  sight,   one you would capture   &   frame forever inside your mind   ;   no  mistakes  would  be  made.