Thank you for the tag @f1-stuff
Share a snippet of a current WIP!
So this story had been stuck in my WIPs for months now and I first shared the idea about 5 months ago on this ask. So basically...
'We breathe a sigh of relief' is a story about 8 people who discovered they were another type of human species. It is essentialy a Sense8 AU with multiple driver pairings (Charlos, Carlando, Yukierre, Maxiel, Alonstroll... you get it.)
The plot still does not exist but I'm already about 5k words into the first chapter. The first chapter will essentially be similar to the first episode of Sense8, so if you have seen it, then this will be familiar to you. I will share half of the first chapter but please read the following notes below first:
This story contains depictions of sensitive and complex topics such as death, suicide, gun violence, physical violence, drug use, emotional manipulation, misogyny, and sexual acts. These themes may be uncomfortable or triggering for some readers. Hence, reader discretion is advised. It is the responsibility of the reader to manage their own reactions to the material.
Enjoy. :))
Inside the remains of an abandoned church, the air was thick with the musty stench of dampness and decay. The once beautiful stained glass windows lay shattered and scattered amidst the rubble and debris, casting ghostly shadows on the ruined walls.
A filthy mattress lay in the centre of the room. Upon it, a man writhed in agony, his anguished sobs and groans echoing off the walls.
He reached for a small tin box under the mattress, bony fingers frantically searching for relief.
Blockers. His blockers. Where are they? He should have more. He swore he had more. He wants— No. He needs it. He just needs one, just a small piece, it would do. Please.
Finally.
He found one: a small, broken piece—a glimmer of hope.
Temptation whispered in his ear «take it!» loud and demanding.
But a smaller voice pleaded.
Don’t.
He looked at it, the small black pill, imagining the pleasure of it melting in his mouth, the tingling sensation as it blocked his sense, the way it relaxes his muscles, they way it lulled him to sleep.
Peace.
But he couldn’t do it. Not yet.
Begrudgingly, he kept it in his pocket. As soon as he did, his body started to contort and twist in pain, his nails digging through the mattress, red staining the soiled sheets.
He can’t take it anymore. He needs something. He needs someone.
"Seb," he cried out, reaching out his hand, clawing for the surface of the water like a drowning soul fighting for air. “
Seb,” he called out again, his heart pounding. Please.
His outstretched hand caught a familiar warmth, saving him.
“Mark!” his voice raw as he pulled him up. Sebastian held him close, Mark’s body sagging against him. “I’m here love, I’m here,” he whispered, his fingers brushing through Mark’s hair as he held him in his arms.
Mark looked up at him. He could breathe again. “You came,” he said through his smile. Despite it, Sebastian could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the pain etched deep in the lines of his face.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Sebastian sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Shhh. Don’t cry. I’m still here love, still fighting,” Mark said, hushed.
“All this time?”
“All this time.”
Damn it, Mark. “Don’t do it alone. I’m here. I can help,” Sebastian begged.
Mark shook his head. “I can’t risk it,” he said, cupping Sebastian’s cheeks. “You’re too precious to me.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Mark,” Sebastian said, his voice breaking. “We could do this together.”
Mark shook his head. “It’s too late,” he said, his voice strained with pain. “I’ve run out of time, and I’ve run out of blockers. He will find me soon enough.”
Sebastian's heart sank as he realized what was happening. His voice shook as he said, "No... no no no. I'll come to you. I'll ask for help and get you out of—"
"Don't. Please don't,” Mark pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or else, he will find you too."
As soon as Mark uttered the thought of him, the devil showed itself.
His gloved hand picked one of the aluminium wrappers on the floor, inspecting it. «Is this how you’ve been hiding from me? Blockers?» Toto whispered in his ears, a menacing growl. The hairs on the back of Mark's neck stood as he refused to give the devil the satisfaction of a response.
He was dressed in all black: black coat, black sleeves, black everything—a perfect reflection of his rotten soul if he even had one.
"I don't care if he finds me," Sebastian choked out between sobs. "I just don't want to lose you, Mark. Not you too. I don't know how I'll go on without you," he admitted, his voice breaking with the weight of his emotions.
“Shhh… I know you can do it, love,” Mark reassured. “I believe in you.”
«Is that, Sebastian?» Toto asked with a smirk, all too eager. «Tell him, I can’t wait to meet him.»
Mark's heart skipped a beat. Sebastian felt it, his eyes growing wide. "Is that him?" he asked.
Mark managed a faint nod, trying to conceal his conversation with Sebastian from Toto.
«I wonder what your precious Sebastian would think if he knew all the things you did for me,» Toto mused, his eyes glinting with pleasure. "Do you think he'd still love you, knowing what you've done?"
Mark gritted his teeth, refusing to give Toto the satisfaction of a response.
“Seb, listen to me,” Mark said, urgent, indifferent to Toto. “I found hope, Seb. I found more of us.”
“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked, his brows furrowing.
Mark knew Toto was listening. He knew that he would hunt them regardless, just like how he hunted everyone else. But He can’t let that stop him. Sebastian and his children were his last hope.
The pounding pain in his head grew. The clock was ticking.
“I’m giving birth,” Mark revealed.
Sebastian's eyes grew wide but deep in his heart he knew what was happening. He felt it.
A sinister grin crept up on Toto's face, his eyes glinting with malevolence, before he broke out into a cruel laugh. «Oh, Mark,» Toto said, »how nice of you to bring them into the light for me. Thank you. It would be my pleasure to meet them too,» he warned.
“But,” Sebastian said, apprehensive. “They’ll get hunted down by Toto, by the FIA.”
“I know,” Mark said, “But promise me, you’ll protect them. Promise me that you’ll show them the light.”
Another mocking laugh came from Toto. «I always find my prey, Mark, you know that. You really think little Sebastian can protect them?» He tutted. «How optimistic, even for a dying man. Let me clarify a few things for you, alright? First: I will find you by the end of this night. Second: I will have Sebastian by morning. Third: All eight of your children? Gone before they could even say hello to each other.»
Mark’s breath hitched as he felt Toto’s satisfaction. No. It’ can’t be.
«Did you feel that, Mark? My team just found your location. Looks like we will be meeting each other sooner than I thought,» he said, disappearing the moment the words left his mouth.
“What did he say?” Sebastian asked.
He can’t know. “Seb, love, I need you to be strong alright? I need you to be there for them.”
Time. He felt it slip away from his fingers.
“Why can’t you do it, Mark?” Sebastian pleaded, his voice strained. “Show them the light, just like you did with me?”
“Oh Seb,” Mark sighed, kissing Sebastian’s knuckles. “I wish I could. But I’m running out of time.”
Sebastian shook his head. He wished that he could do something to help Mark, to take him out of his pain, to protect him from Toto. But he knew better, he knew that the only thing he could do now was to do what he was asking.
“Okay… Okay,” Sebastian agreed through broken sobs. “I promise— I promise I’ll find them… and protect them. I’ll try.”
Mark smiled, feeling a moment of respite before pain surged through him again, all at once.
It was time.
Mark's consciousness ignited, a cosmic burst like a supernova, casting luminous tendrils that surged through the obsidian expanse of the One Mind. One mind is a place one can feel but never reach, a concept one could know but never understand, an idea within grasp but always intangible.
What was once a sanctuary for homo sensoriums, now a graveyard for those who came, and those who hide. It used to be a universe, glimmering with stars, but now it was just a void, except for the faint light of those who hunted them, one of their own. Those who work under Toto. Apart from them, no one else dared to come here. Coming here is like wishing for death.
Perhaps it was cruel, giving birth to his children in such cruel times. But it seemed worse if he didn’t, a betrayal to himself, to the future of his kind, to the forces that led him to them. A selfless yet selfish act.
At the precipice of this vast expanse, Mark found them. Faint beacons of hope, his children, like distant stars in an infinite night. Finding them was nothing short of a miracle, a work of the Divine. Who would’ve known that their salvation lay dormant beyond their grasp waiting to be known.
So that's what he did. He made them known.
He drew them in until
they were a part of him,
a part of those who came before,
a part of everyone who still lives.
Together, they were One.
“I see them,” Mark announced, his tone full of hope.
“What are their names?” Sebastian asked, hushed.
Mark closed his eyes as he made his very first and last visit.
In the dead of the night, buried under the bricks of London, the DJ ignited the dance floor with the unmatched beats of techno music. A sea of people jumped and swayed, bathed in a spectrum of neon colours. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and perfume, tequila and vodka, marijuana and coke. Everyone danced like it was the last night of their life.
The moment the DJ dropped the beat, he saw him, the man in white standing in the midst of the crowd like a rock in the middle of a torrentous river. Unyielding.
Who the fuck?
“Lando,” Mark said.
Under the glimmering lights of Times Square, the Artist clung to the cold steel of a lamp post, patiently waiting for something interesting to behold itself. His keen eyes peered through the viewfinder of his Leica M6, scanning the crowd.
He was framing a shot when he saw him: the man in white, standing in the middle of 7th Ave, yellow cabs passing him by. He was tall and lean, his features sharp and chiseled, his piercing blue eyes seemed to glint with ancient wisdom, and his pale skin was almost translucent, like he was made of moonlight.
Click. The shutter closed.
Gone. Just like a ghost.
Was he dreaming?
“Charles,” Mark said.
On the rooftop of a war-abandoned building in Moscow, the Spy proned, his eyes peering through the scope of his rifle. The frigid winter winds bit his skin but he paid it no mind. He has one goal tonight and he is not leaving his spot until he achieved it. So he waited, his breaths shallow and measured.
That's when he saw him: the man in white, blending in with the snow, staring back at him. He seemed to glow in the darkness, his piercing blue eyes boring into the spy's eyes, seeming to see right through him with an all-knowing gaze that sent shivers down his spine. His gut had never betrayed him before.
Max placed his finger on the trigger.
Bang.
“Max,” Mark said.
Beside the Old Port of Montreal, the Hacker sat in front of a wall of screens, his fingers dancing across the keys with the fluid grace. Lines of code streamed across the monitors, their glowing green text a mesmerizing sight. His eyes scanned the code with a hawk-like precision as he crafted a programme aimed to kill and destroy.
As he turned around to get a drink, the man in white stood in his apartment, his ashen skin illuminated by the monitors. Lance yelped, falling to the floor with a thud, his head hitting the sharp corner of his table.
Ouch.
“Lance,” Mark said.
At the top floor of a gleaming skyscraper overlooking the Marina Bay Sands, the Businessman sat through one of the most pointless meetings he had ever attended: the succession of the largest media empire in the world. His father sat at the head of the table while a line of lawyers were infront of him and his lovely sisters beside him. No offence to his sisters but a woman can’t handle the pressures that came with running this empire.
He was about to say something when the man in white appeared behind his father.
¡Madre mía!
“Carlos,” Mark said.
In the rugged terrain of the Australian Outback, the Daredevil defyed gravity by soaring through the air on his dirt bike. The engine roared, as he revved up for another hill, wheels kicking up a cloud of red dust, the sun beating down mercilessly on his tanned skin. He lived for the thrill of danger, elusively dancing death with every trick.
He saw him the moment he launched into the air: the man in white, standing on the track, curious. For a moment, the daredevil was suspended in the air like a bird, before he landed with a jarring thud, his bike bucking beneath him as he fought to regain control.
Fucking cunt.
“Daniel,” Mark said.
Under the clay roof of a small sushi restaurant in Tokyo, the Chef in his pristine white uniform glided the sharp edge of his knife across fresh tuna, preparing it with the precision and artistry of a master. The scent of freshly grated wasabi and soy sauce wafted through the air, mingling with the subtle, sweet aroma of the rice vinegar. Soft murmurs of his customer mingling and enjoying the food filled his ears.
He carefully placed two pieces of Tuna Nigiri on a plate before coming to attend a new customer standing by the door, the man in white. “Irrashaimase. Nan mei sama— Eh?” the chef asked, stopping when he saw a foreigner wearing white, with blood dripping on his forehead. He was unsure wether he wanted sushi.
Daijoubu?
“Yuki,” Mark said.
Under the relentless sun of Djibouti, the Soldier stood stoicly in the face of the blistering heat. His uniform clung to his sweat-soaked body, fingers clutching his rifle, waiting for his captain's signal. The hot, dry air was thick with the stench of diesel fumes and dust, the gritty sand coating his boots and filling his nostrils.
The glare of the sun was blinding, casting harsh shadows across the barren landscape and making it nearly impossible to see.
But he still saw him, the man white, standing on top of mudhut, staring down at him.
Contact!
He pulled the trigger.
“Pierre,” Mark said.
“Boys… they’re all boys?” Sebastian asked.
"Just like your cluster," Mark added, tinged with sadness.
Sebastian was the last of his cluster.
Mark was the last of his cluster.
“I’ll find them. Every single one of them. And protect them,” Sebastian promised.
Mark's touch was gentle, his fingers brushing delicately against Sebastian's cheek. ”Thank you,” he whispered, “for everything.”
Sebastian leaned into his touch, letting the world around them fall away as they savoured this fleeting moment.
"You look as beautiful as the day I first met you,” Mark said. “I wish we had more time.”
Sebastian clutched Mark’s hand. “I love you,” he said. “Always.”
“Always.”
Mark brought his face close to Sebastian's, and they shared one final kiss. Tears streamed down Sebastian's face as he held Mark close. He felt all of him: his soul, his body, their love.
For one last time.
The soft screeches of tire on asphalt broke through the silence. The devil has arrived.
“Go,” Mark whispered, giving Sebastian a choice.
“No,” Sebastian rebelled. “I’ll stay here till the end.”
Mark managed a weak smile. He knew this was coming. He reached for the black pill in his pocket, the last one.
Sebastian closed his eyes, withdrawing. Mark had always been wiser than him.
“I’ll see you on the other side?” Mark
Sebastian nodded. “I love you.”
Mark took one last look at Sebastian before swallowing his last blocker. Within seconds, the light of the One mind disappeared along with Sebastian.
Sound of heavy boots approaching echoed through the church, an all too familiar signal of impending doom.
With newfound determination, Mark reached for the pistol hidden under the mattress. It was his last resort.
Toto turned the corner with an army of soldiers in black in his trail. “Oh please, Mark,” he said, eyeing the pistol. “We both know you won’t do it.”
“Watch me,” Mark taunted, pressing the cold barrel on the roof of his mouth before the devil could posses him.
"Stop him," ordered Toto, his voice betraying a slight tremor. His soldiers sprinted towards Mark, desperate to catch him.
But they were too late.
Bang.
-+-
Max jolted awake, instincts kicking in as he snatched his pistol from the nightstand, aiming at the intruder who just fired a shot.
But there was no one else in his bedroom.
What the?
The clock read 4:00 AM. He winced.
The sound of the gunshot still rang in his ears, reverberating like a thunderclap, igniting a searing pain in his head. He wanted to sleep more, but the pain wouldn’t let him.
"Damn it," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He stood up and stumbled towards the bathroom. He switched the light on, assaulting his eyes and making the pain worse. He walked over to the medicine cabinet, fingers frantically searching for relief but he was only met with empty bottles of painkillers. Leaning over the sink, he prayed for it to subside, to no avail.
The man in white…outside blending in with the snow…inside a church…staring back at him…a black pill…a pistol…bang.
It’s been a week since he first saw him. He doesn’t know why he still kept seeing him in his dreams. He used to not dream at all.
It’s fucking him up.
“Are you going to tell me what’s up?” a voice asked, bringing him back to reality.
Rico Verhoeven, his partner, leaned against the doorway in all his glory for the world to see. "Can you put on some pants?" Max asked, his voice clipped.
Rico’s brows furrowed. “Since when did you care?” he asked.
“Since, right now.”
“Too bad. Deal with it.”
“Rico, I’m not in the mood to—” Max said.
"No shit, you haven't been in the mood," Rico said, his voice a low growl, grumpy.
“It’s just the migraine…” Max attempted.
“Just the migraines my ass,” the giant scoffed. “We’re going to be stuck in this shithole for two more months if you don’t don't tell me what's actually going on.”
Max hung his head low, quietly admitting defeat. He had almost sabotaged their mission. If it wasn't for Rico's intervention, they would have blown their cover and probably be on an electric chair under the Kremlin right now.
Rico let out a deep sigh, walking over to Max, placing his massive hands on Max's shoulders, and kneading them with a firm grip. "Do you need some… loosening up?" he suggested, his voice softening, carrying another meaning.
This was Max’s eighth mission assignment with Rico. They are Field Agents working together for the Vanguard Intelligence Agency (VIA) for five long years. They had been through it all: stranded in deserted towns of the Gobi Desert, hid in the cargo hold of container ships during a typhoon in the middle of the Pacific and even camped in the middle of the Siberian permafrost. Isolation had always been part of the job description. Field agents like him are trained to spend a year without human contact. Not a single one. But luckily for him, he was assigned a partner.
A partner who was willing to… relieve him of the stress that came with the job. Max was also more than willing.
However, their missions were bearable most of the time. But occasionally, fear and uncertainty swoops in from their back, taking hold of their thoughts. And it usually came at night, when the world was quiet.
But it wasn’t one of those nights.
Max shook his head, careful not to jog it too much. “No,” he said, removing Rico’s hands off him. “Like I said, not in the mood.”
“Alright, if you say so.” he shrugged, turning to leave. “Goodnight, partner.”
“Before you go,” Max said, stopping Rico. “Can you tell the neighbours to turn the music down?”
Rico frowned. “What music?” he asked, bewildered.
"The music. Don't you hear it?" Max asked, his voice strained with confusion and pain. The sound was deafening, drowning out all other noises. He could feel the bass reverberating through his bones, and the cheers of a crowd were like a knife to his already throbbing head.
“Max, there is no music,” Rico said, concerned. “And we don’t have any neighbours.”
But the music and cheers only got louder, taunting him. "Never mind," Max said, his words clipped as he pushed past Rico, ignoring his partner's worried gaze. "I'll do it myself."
Max stomped over to their neighbour's door and banged on it, the sound of his fists echoing in his own head.
"Hey, open up!" he shouted, his voice hoarse and frustrated. The blaring music spilt through the cracks of the door, grating on his already battered senses. Realizing that screaming was no use, he resorted to force. Stepping back, he kicked the door open, causing splinters of wood to fly off the knob.
He got what he wanted. The music stopped. The cheering stopped.
Because no one was there.
-+-
Everybody was there.
In the rugged terrain of the Australian Outback, Daniel savoured everyone’s cheers as he landed another stunt. After a solid week of sitting on a couch munching on potato chips, drinking coke and jerking off three times a day, he was pumped to have his baby, the KX250**,** in between his legs again.
“BOOYAH!” He cheered. “Oi! You didn’t see that coming, did yah?!”
Oscard rolled his eyes, unamused. Of course, he was. The cunt just kissed his 500 quid goodbye.
Daniel? Oh yeah, he was born to be behind the wheel. He also meant that literally because her mom was leaning on his dad’s massive monster truck wheel when he came out of the womb. Nuts, right?
What's more nuts is that at three years old, while most kids were still drooling trying to figure out how spoons worked, he was already speeding around in a go-kart. Shocking by today’s standards. Back then? Nah, just another Tuesday. Though if it were now, his dad would probably have his own reality show titled: "How to Kill Your Kid While ".
At six, he was zipping around on a mini dirt bike. Sure, by today's norms, it's like giving a kid a chainsaw for his birthday. But Daniel was practically NBA height at that age, so his father thought, why not put my son on a bike? A Kawasaki one, at that.
By ten, he was racking up trophies like they were Pokémon cards. Australian Motocross Championship? Check. Australian Rally Championship? Yep. Australian Kart Championship? Of course. And that's just the start of it. Let's not forget the I-beat-grown-ass-adults-at-racing-stuff awards too, like the Finke Desert Race, Targa Tasmania, Rotax Pro Tour…
You know where he's getting at. He's cool, right?
Damn right, he was.
I don't know if I will ever come to complete this and post it on AO3 it's definitely quite a challenge. So for now, it would exist here. :)) Ignore this if you've done it already, but I'll tag @pgaslys @queent09 & @effervescentdragon If y'all have any WIPs share them. :))
