#warmcnger

     “Diamond Dogs..” Raiden’s affinity with PMC’s have been an ever growing sour topic for as long as he could remember. It seems this concrete jungle seemed to have its share of mercenary and privatized forces sprouting it’s seeds across every corner imaginable. This seemed to be the most recent of the bunch. Perhaps it was just on reflex that he was wary of this. The worst case scenario for this city is to be bathing in the sea of war. At least one reason to justify riding the lightning and shutting them down. But deep down, he didn’t want any more Rippers sprouting about with how accessible for these PMC’s to kidnap kids.

Lights are out. That means Volatiles. No, wait. It used to. Snap out of it, Crane, you’re not in Harran anymore. Yet his fingers keep twitching, eager to snap open an ultraviolet flare and bathe everything in neon.

At least he’s finished his first lap outside. Back into the base he goes.

He has to admit, the digs are pretty sweet. It’s what he’d expect from a well-funded military organization. These guys aren’t stingy at all. Must be nice, not having to worry about some outbreak.

“Sir.”

Why would someone not get a replacement for any missing limbs was beyond him; then again, that came from a man who was perfectly healthy and yet opted to chop off said limbs and body parts, all for a stupid promotion that never really happened.

"This is making me a bit anxious..." She sighed.

                       no matter how many nights she has carried it, the tray still feels heavy in her hands, the cool of silver feeling so foreign, unwanted. she wants to see the princess eat downstairs, after all . . . wants to hear that laughter and crisp banter drift through the dining hall again. it has been weeks since and somehow, the air always seems different once ella reaches the twelfth step -- more quiet, still. hollow. it isn’t part of the palace anymore, it’s a world of its own where time has stopped because oh, how she knows her highness wishes it would have before . . . but now she is trapped in the same day after day only remembering her hurt. ella tries desperately to reach her, but she knows ( god, how she knows ) the wounds lying deep in the graveyard inside her, and how nothing could ever wrench them out. they had to blister and scar before they could heal, but ella would hold her hand all the while.

is it bad that the first thing i thought of was jane eyre instead of fifty shades of grey lmao